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<blockquote data-quote="Joker" data-source="post: 202709" data-attributes="member: 826"><p><strong>Nemesis.</strong></p><p></p><p>“I am Nemesis. May my sword of justice be sharp…” </p><p></p><p>The man stood in front of the mirror, scraping the short hair of his head. </p><p></p><p>“May the instruments of my righteousness be undefiled…” </p><p></p><p>Scrape. </p><p></p><p>“May the shield of my faith be strong.” </p><p></p><p>With every scrape, he uttered another one of the lines from his three-line mantra. </p><p>When his head felt smooth again, he wiped the condensation of the mirror to see the result of his handiwork. </p><p>His unusually blue eyes stared back at him. </p><p>He gazed at his throat, looked at it for a moment then looked back at the sharp razor. He was tempted, but then he put the razor down. </p><p></p><p>He turned around and walked out of the bathroom naked, into the large living area that contained everything he owned, which was everything he needed. </p><p></p><p>He walked towards the man-high mirror and inspected his tall, muscular body: The clean shaved head, the broad shoulders, the powerful arms, the rippling muscles on his stomach and the muscled legs. On the left side of his body except his face he had carved the word ‘DUTY’ in every known language and on the right side he had carved the word ‘HONOR’ in every language. </p><p>But there was not a single hint of vanity on his face. Instead, the look that he wore was one of meticulous objectivity, as if checking to see if a tool or weapon that was of great import to him was in good shape. </p><p></p><p>As always, he was satisfied. </p><p></p><p>He put on his clothing and the padding that was needed to keep his massive full-plate armour from chafing his tough skin. </p><p>While he walked over to a huge closet, pieces of the full-plate appeared out of thin air, enclosing his strong body in polished mithril. The pieces seemed translucent at first, almost ethereal, finally shimmering into reality. </p><p></p><p>He stood in front of the simple dark wooden closet for nearly a minute, giving his armour time to come into existence. First came the straps, which were held suspended against his body by some unknown force until the individual pieces connected them. The last thing that came into existence was his helmet. But before it solidified into being completely he took it in his hands and laid it on the floor beside him as he kneeled in front of the closet. </p><p>He put his head down, crossed his arms in an x and uttered a the same three-line mantra again. </p><p>Then he opened his eyes as he looked up at the closet doors and opened them slowly. </p><p></p><p>It was immediately obvious what the purpose of the closet was. There were two distinct sides, the right one being a lot bigger than the left. The left one was filled with some simple clothes and the necessary items for survival. But it was the right side that he focused his attention on. </p><p></p><p>It was filled with ‘the instruments’ of his ‘righteousness.’ </p><p>Weapons of all shapes and sizes. All of them were simple of design, yet masterfully crafted. On the bottom shelf there laid three weapons. An intricate steel dagger, flanked by two gauntlets. The daggers’ point was in the shape of an arrowhead and it had a slit running through the middle. The gauntlets were identical, save that they each were for different hands. They sprouted all manner of spikes, which were designed in such a way that they did more damage when pulling it out of your opponent just like the dagger. </p><p></p><p>To the right hung a large bow, made of the horns of the demons that had met him and that didn’t survive, not that any did. To the right of the unstrung bow hung a quiver completely filled with arrows. And below the bow was one arrow laying horizontally. Its head was in the shape of a toothy and horrifying skull of one of the mightiest demons that can be found in the Abyss. It was a special arrow that he had never seen used before but only knew its purpose from the High Priest Azoun. He once told him that these extraordinary arrows were keyed to a certain creature, in this case denizens of the Abyss, and that the merest touch of this arrow would consume it and the creature touched entirely. </p><p>To the left of the bow were the two parts that, when screwed together, would make a lance. Beautiful in its simplistic design it is nonetheless extremely deadly in trained hands. </p><p></p><p>But the thing, the one thing that made his very being bathe in pure delight was the sword that hung suspended directly in the middle of the closet next to its leather scabbard. The entire sword radiated a powerful aura of righteousness and was the pinnacle of expert craftsmanship. Yet it was completely void of any kind of expensive material such as a hilt laid in with diamonds or gold, something that you would expect from someone of his status. No, everything he owned was simplicity in itself and was designed for one thing and one thing only. Killing. </p><p>Even though all the weapons were cleaned and polished meticulously, it was obvious by the worn hilts that they had been used countless times. </p><p></p><p>He carefully pulled the large sword out of the closet. Its blade was so keen that the merest touch would cut him. </p><p>He stroked it gently, watching how the bright light from the window glistened of the beautifully polished steel. Images flashed through his mind. Instances when he used the sword to sink it deep into the skulls of his enemies. A smile crept on his face with these wonderful thoughts. </p><p>He put on the strap of the scabbard around his shoulder and waist and then let his greatsword slowly slide into his scabbard. He took the rest of the weapons and put them or strapped them where they belonged. </p><p></p><p>When he was finished equipping himself, he moved over to a small featureless desk that stood under a small square window. Nothing lay on it, save for a sealed scroll. He didn’t need to know what was written inside. He knew what he had to do. </p><p></p><p>He took a large dark brown cloak from the left side of the massive closet and pulled it around his entire body. The cloak had a slit in the neck for his sword, so that he could swiftly pull it out of its scabbard if it was necessary. </p><p></p><p>He put the unopened scroll in its case and hung it on his belt. </p><p></p><p>With his lance in his left hand and his bow over his right shoulder he slowly pulled the door open. </p><p>The warm morning sun hit his exposed face. He took it and the cool morning air in with his eyes closed. A moment of pure calmness and absolute tranquility washed over him as a pleasant smile emerged from deep within his heart. But the smile faded quickly as he felt the heavy weight of his armaments and opened his eyes with the dim realization of what he had to do. The world around him didn’t share his sense of dread, however. The birds were singing their morning songs, the sun kept on rising slowly, burning away the morning mist. He didn’t mind. He has chosen for a life of servitude so that others can enjoy theirs without knowing about the war being waged for their lives.</p><p></p><p>Still standing in the doorway of his small keep, he took his helmet from under his arm and stared at it intently. He gazed through the t-like split and it filled him with unease. He hated putting on his helmet. For he knew that as soon as he put it on, he would no longer be Aaron Blake, noble servant of Torm. No, once he put on that helmet, he would become Nemesis. But then again, to all who knew him, Aaron Blake was dead and all that remained was a heart full of hate and a mind set on revenge.</p><p></p><p>He gazed at the helmet for minutes, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. </p><p></p><p>“It must be done.” He whispered softly to himself as he slowly pulled the helmet on.</p><p></p><p>“I am Nemesis.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Joker, post: 202709, member: 826"] [b]Nemesis.[/b] “I am Nemesis. May my sword of justice be sharp…” The man stood in front of the mirror, scraping the short hair of his head. “May the instruments of my righteousness be undefiled…” Scrape. “May the shield of my faith be strong.” With every scrape, he uttered another one of the lines from his three-line mantra. When his head felt smooth again, he wiped the condensation of the mirror to see the result of his handiwork. His unusually blue eyes stared back at him. He gazed at his throat, looked at it for a moment then looked back at the sharp razor. He was tempted, but then he put the razor down. He turned around and walked out of the bathroom naked, into the large living area that contained everything he owned, which was everything he needed. He walked towards the man-high mirror and inspected his tall, muscular body: The clean shaved head, the broad shoulders, the powerful arms, the rippling muscles on his stomach and the muscled legs. On the left side of his body except his face he had carved the word ‘DUTY’ in every known language and on the right side he had carved the word ‘HONOR’ in every language. But there was not a single hint of vanity on his face. Instead, the look that he wore was one of meticulous objectivity, as if checking to see if a tool or weapon that was of great import to him was in good shape. As always, he was satisfied. He put on his clothing and the padding that was needed to keep his massive full-plate armour from chafing his tough skin. While he walked over to a huge closet, pieces of the full-plate appeared out of thin air, enclosing his strong body in polished mithril. The pieces seemed translucent at first, almost ethereal, finally shimmering into reality. He stood in front of the simple dark wooden closet for nearly a minute, giving his armour time to come into existence. First came the straps, which were held suspended against his body by some unknown force until the individual pieces connected them. The last thing that came into existence was his helmet. But before it solidified into being completely he took it in his hands and laid it on the floor beside him as he kneeled in front of the closet. He put his head down, crossed his arms in an x and uttered a the same three-line mantra again. Then he opened his eyes as he looked up at the closet doors and opened them slowly. It was immediately obvious what the purpose of the closet was. There were two distinct sides, the right one being a lot bigger than the left. The left one was filled with some simple clothes and the necessary items for survival. But it was the right side that he focused his attention on. It was filled with ‘the instruments’ of his ‘righteousness.’ Weapons of all shapes and sizes. All of them were simple of design, yet masterfully crafted. On the bottom shelf there laid three weapons. An intricate steel dagger, flanked by two gauntlets. The daggers’ point was in the shape of an arrowhead and it had a slit running through the middle. The gauntlets were identical, save that they each were for different hands. They sprouted all manner of spikes, which were designed in such a way that they did more damage when pulling it out of your opponent just like the dagger. To the right hung a large bow, made of the horns of the demons that had met him and that didn’t survive, not that any did. To the right of the unstrung bow hung a quiver completely filled with arrows. And below the bow was one arrow laying horizontally. Its head was in the shape of a toothy and horrifying skull of one of the mightiest demons that can be found in the Abyss. It was a special arrow that he had never seen used before but only knew its purpose from the High Priest Azoun. He once told him that these extraordinary arrows were keyed to a certain creature, in this case denizens of the Abyss, and that the merest touch of this arrow would consume it and the creature touched entirely. To the left of the bow were the two parts that, when screwed together, would make a lance. Beautiful in its simplistic design it is nonetheless extremely deadly in trained hands. But the thing, the one thing that made his very being bathe in pure delight was the sword that hung suspended directly in the middle of the closet next to its leather scabbard. The entire sword radiated a powerful aura of righteousness and was the pinnacle of expert craftsmanship. Yet it was completely void of any kind of expensive material such as a hilt laid in with diamonds or gold, something that you would expect from someone of his status. No, everything he owned was simplicity in itself and was designed for one thing and one thing only. Killing. Even though all the weapons were cleaned and polished meticulously, it was obvious by the worn hilts that they had been used countless times. He carefully pulled the large sword out of the closet. Its blade was so keen that the merest touch would cut him. He stroked it gently, watching how the bright light from the window glistened of the beautifully polished steel. Images flashed through his mind. Instances when he used the sword to sink it deep into the skulls of his enemies. A smile crept on his face with these wonderful thoughts. He put on the strap of the scabbard around his shoulder and waist and then let his greatsword slowly slide into his scabbard. He took the rest of the weapons and put them or strapped them where they belonged. When he was finished equipping himself, he moved over to a small featureless desk that stood under a small square window. Nothing lay on it, save for a sealed scroll. He didn’t need to know what was written inside. He knew what he had to do. He took a large dark brown cloak from the left side of the massive closet and pulled it around his entire body. The cloak had a slit in the neck for his sword, so that he could swiftly pull it out of its scabbard if it was necessary. He put the unopened scroll in its case and hung it on his belt. With his lance in his left hand and his bow over his right shoulder he slowly pulled the door open. The warm morning sun hit his exposed face. He took it and the cool morning air in with his eyes closed. A moment of pure calmness and absolute tranquility washed over him as a pleasant smile emerged from deep within his heart. But the smile faded quickly as he felt the heavy weight of his armaments and opened his eyes with the dim realization of what he had to do. The world around him didn’t share his sense of dread, however. The birds were singing their morning songs, the sun kept on rising slowly, burning away the morning mist. He didn’t mind. He has chosen for a life of servitude so that others can enjoy theirs without knowing about the war being waged for their lives. Still standing in the doorway of his small keep, he took his helmet from under his arm and stared at it intently. He gazed through the t-like split and it filled him with unease. He hated putting on his helmet. For he knew that as soon as he put it on, he would no longer be Aaron Blake, noble servant of Torm. No, once he put on that helmet, he would become Nemesis. But then again, to all who knew him, Aaron Blake was dead and all that remained was a heart full of hate and a mind set on revenge. He gazed at the helmet for minutes, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “It must be done.” He whispered softly to himself as he slowly pulled the helmet on. “I am Nemesis.” [/QUOTE]
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