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Nazareth Awakened [Mage: The Awakening] [OOC]
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<blockquote data-quote="Mosier" data-source="post: 6302658" data-attributes="member: 6776381"><p>Nazareth is long gone. Infinity stretches before him, and behind. Only the tower is real, looming ahead. Wherever he turns, the tower fills his vision, as if space itself exists simply to present the colossal iron structure to him. </p><p></p><p>"I can't," Orlando whispers. His voice is a hoarse croak. Dry. Exhausted.</p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">Not yet,</span></em> the demon agrees. The thing is maddeningly immune to the heat, hunger, and exhaustion of this infinite journey.</p><p></p><p>"Why not?" He's sure he said the words aloud, but no sound comes forth.</p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">You lie to yourself, yet,</span></em> the demon offers simply.</p><p></p><p>Orlando doesn't understand. He's on his knees now. The end of his strength. Vultures circle above him. Or is it below? The tower continues to stand in the distance, in judgment of him. </p><p></p><p>"Please," Orlando says. "I am worthy." His eyes close as the vultures descend. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">Mastigos is not a gift, foolish man. It is not something given to the worthy. </span></em></p><p></p><p>The buzzards begin to tear into his flesh. Each beak that pierces his skin is a painful reminder of all his failures. He is weak. His character is flawed. He thinks himself clever, but he is terrified of being exposed for the imbecile he truly is. He failed in school. He failed in life. Even worse than failure; he never even tried. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">Now you begin to see, perhaps too late. You shall not enter the Iron Gauntlet until you see yourself as you truly are. Lazy. Pathetic. Stupid. Parasitic. Deceiving yourself to the contrary is pointless. Know yourself. Know your weaknesses, and your strengths. Only then can you turn your sight outward, to others. </span></em></p><p></p><p>Lazy. Pathetic. Stupid. Parasitic. As the demon vultures consume him, Orlando feels himself become lighter, as if the flesh being torn from his body is revealing a stronger, more vital core. Confronting the truth of himself, far from being debilitating, is actually invigorating. His concentration is freed from the burden of his own self-deception.</p><p></p><p>He can stand again. The demon vultures lay dead all around him, poisoned by Orlando's very nature. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">Mastigos is not something given to the worthy, </span></em>the pale demon repeats to him. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">It is something taken, by the strong. </span></em></p><p></p><p>Orlando finally understands. </p><p></p><p>"Welcome," he says, arm outstretched to the pale figure. The demon figure mirrors his motion, and the two hands clasp together. </p><p></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000">Welcome.</span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000"></span></em></p><p><em><span style="color: #ff0000"></span></em>Orlando and the pale demon turn together in unison. The drawbridge opens, and Orlando confidently walks across, leaving the demon behind. From the outside, the tower is vast, soaring into infinity, and wider than his vision. Inside the tower is a small, simple library. There is no door, no window. </p><p></p><p>A single chair is pushed to a small table. A closed book is on the table. The book is bound in flesh, and the red ink of the title glows with power. "Know Thyself"</p><p></p><p>He opens the book to find a list of names. The pages turn and turn, but the end never comes. There is no final page. No end. A cold iron dagger lies next to the book, its tip sharpened to an impossibly fine point. The book is open to a blank page. The Awakened pilgrim takes the blade and neatly slices the index finger of his right hand. As he writes, his blood stains the page. He tries to write "Orlando Raleigh" in the book, but the blood begins to pool around the letters, smearing them into obscurity. As it dries, his new name is all that's left behind. His Shadowname.</p><p></p><p>"Agnasci." Growing. Learning. Improving. </p><p></p><p>Unworthy. </p><p></p><p>His eyes blink awake, as a fist smashes into his jaw. Agnasci staggers backward, his heel striking the curb, sending him stumbling to the concrete ground. </p><p></p><p>"Tonight, you understand?" An unfamiliar figure growls, looming over him. "One way or the other, you won't be anywhere near Nazareth tomorrow."</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, sure," Agnasci mutters. He feels a trickle of blood from his mouth. The thug raises his booted foot and uses it to pin Agnasci to the pavement. </p><p></p><p>"Next time I see you, you're a dead man," the thug says again. He doesn't mean it. The tough guy act is just for show. Inside, the man is terrified. Desperate. </p><p></p><p>But Agnasci humors him, and pretends to be scared.</p><p></p><p>"You won't see me again," Agnasci lies.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mosier, post: 6302658, member: 6776381"] Nazareth is long gone. Infinity stretches before him, and behind. Only the tower is real, looming ahead. Wherever he turns, the tower fills his vision, as if space itself exists simply to present the colossal iron structure to him. "I can't," Orlando whispers. His voice is a hoarse croak. Dry. Exhausted. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]Not yet,[/COLOR][/I] the demon agrees. The thing is maddeningly immune to the heat, hunger, and exhaustion of this infinite journey. "Why not?" He's sure he said the words aloud, but no sound comes forth. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]You lie to yourself, yet,[/COLOR][/I] the demon offers simply. Orlando doesn't understand. He's on his knees now. The end of his strength. Vultures circle above him. Or is it below? The tower continues to stand in the distance, in judgment of him. "Please," Orlando says. "I am worthy." His eyes close as the vultures descend. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]Mastigos is not a gift, foolish man. It is not something given to the worthy. [/COLOR][/I] The buzzards begin to tear into his flesh. Each beak that pierces his skin is a painful reminder of all his failures. He is weak. His character is flawed. He thinks himself clever, but he is terrified of being exposed for the imbecile he truly is. He failed in school. He failed in life. Even worse than failure; he never even tried. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]Now you begin to see, perhaps too late. You shall not enter the Iron Gauntlet until you see yourself as you truly are. Lazy. Pathetic. Stupid. Parasitic. Deceiving yourself to the contrary is pointless. Know yourself. Know your weaknesses, and your strengths. Only then can you turn your sight outward, to others. [/COLOR][/I] Lazy. Pathetic. Stupid. Parasitic. As the demon vultures consume him, Orlando feels himself become lighter, as if the flesh being torn from his body is revealing a stronger, more vital core. Confronting the truth of himself, far from being debilitating, is actually invigorating. His concentration is freed from the burden of his own self-deception. He can stand again. The demon vultures lay dead all around him, poisoned by Orlando's very nature. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]Mastigos is not something given to the worthy, [/COLOR][/I]the pale demon repeats to him. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]It is something taken, by the strong. [/COLOR][/I] Orlando finally understands. "Welcome," he says, arm outstretched to the pale figure. The demon figure mirrors his motion, and the two hands clasp together. [I][COLOR=#ff0000]Welcome. [/COLOR][/I]Orlando and the pale demon turn together in unison. The drawbridge opens, and Orlando confidently walks across, leaving the demon behind. From the outside, the tower is vast, soaring into infinity, and wider than his vision. Inside the tower is a small, simple library. There is no door, no window. A single chair is pushed to a small table. A closed book is on the table. The book is bound in flesh, and the red ink of the title glows with power. "Know Thyself" He opens the book to find a list of names. The pages turn and turn, but the end never comes. There is no final page. No end. A cold iron dagger lies next to the book, its tip sharpened to an impossibly fine point. The book is open to a blank page. The Awakened pilgrim takes the blade and neatly slices the index finger of his right hand. As he writes, his blood stains the page. He tries to write "Orlando Raleigh" in the book, but the blood begins to pool around the letters, smearing them into obscurity. As it dries, his new name is all that's left behind. His Shadowname. "Agnasci." Growing. Learning. Improving. Unworthy. His eyes blink awake, as a fist smashes into his jaw. Agnasci staggers backward, his heel striking the curb, sending him stumbling to the concrete ground. "Tonight, you understand?" An unfamiliar figure growls, looming over him. "One way or the other, you won't be anywhere near Nazareth tomorrow." "Yeah, sure," Agnasci mutters. He feels a trickle of blood from his mouth. The thug raises his booted foot and uses it to pin Agnasci to the pavement. "Next time I see you, you're a dead man," the thug says again. He doesn't mean it. The tough guy act is just for show. Inside, the man is terrified. Desperate. But Agnasci humors him, and pretends to be scared. "You won't see me again," Agnasci lies. [/QUOTE]
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