OaxacanWarrior
First Post
Rhynos is very evil...let's see more of him!
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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Blade of Phoee (Updated 12/08/08)
- Thread starter Funeris
- Start date
Funeris
First Post
Chapter 3: The Grim Hand continued
The warlock perched upon the edge of his desk, staring at the wicked scar emblazoned upon his palm. His memories danced backward to the day of its creation, as easily as if it had been yesterday as instead of more than a decade in the past.
Rhynos stood, a boy of only twelve, upon the right angle streets of Midloth, capital of the Kingdom. His hair was pitch black even then; his body wiry and trim. In his hand, the child spun and twirled two slivers of wood lashed together: a toy sword.
The child dipped left and right, running his imaginary opponents through. His mouth stretched open, a fierce battle cry erupted; he leapt upward, bringing the blade down against a rusted, waste can. His full weight bent the can inward, a grimacing dent smirking at the child.
Rhynos shifted backward into a feral crouch, lifting the sword for a killing blow. In his mind’s eye, the child as a powerful lord lifted his unbreakable blade preparing to execute the treasonous and cowardly dog of a brother that had betrayed his kingdom. The sword poised perilously above the enemy, above the smirking can.
A fell blade pounded against the back of Rhynos’ arms, his sword dropped amidst the expanding threshold of agony. He spun, arms outstretched and there stood his true brother, a true coward. The wooden sword dashed downward, ripping a deep chunk of flesh from Rhynos’ hand. The child collapsed screaming, his brother’s eyes growing wide with glee.
The slamming of a door ricocheted against the stone walls of the small manor. Talia, his mother, dashed across the street grabbing Rhynos by the scruff of his neck and dashed back to the house. Inside, she cleaned and bandaged the wound all while holding the child to her breast.
Vargiban[1] had stalked inside after his mother, taking care to watch the proceedings. The sharp wood twitched in his hands, yearning for more blood. Talia turned toward the other brother and smiled feebly. Vargiban smiled innocently back.
And then the door was nearly pulled from its hinges once again. In plodded Rhynos’ father and quickly evaluated the scene. Varg had had another long day at the shop, his eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. With a speed belying the overweight merchant, he snatched the sword from his eldest child and then slid almost preternaturally to the sink. With a callous grip, he ripped Rhynos from his mother’s comforting arms and smashed the woman against her face with the toy. Talia stumbled backward, crashing into the table and onto the floor. A line of blood, ragged flesh, and jagged splinters etched into her broken jaw.
Varg lifted Rhynos into the air with and by one arm. The child felt his shoulder dislocate, sending shudders of pain from his arm to his toes. He cried out in agony. Varg tore the bandage from his child’s hand, blood splattered upon the smooth, wood floor. Grabbing a riding crop from the wall, Varg whipped and whipped and whipped the open wound. A sadistic grin stretched across the man’s face as more and more blood flowed openly.
“Let it bleed. Let it scar. Let it serve as a reminder to not be so foolish.”
Once Varg tired, sometime long after Rhynos’ wails had quieted to sobs, he tossed the child against the wall like an unloved toy. Then the merchant stormed to his study, taking his eldest with.
A great orb of concentrated energy drew Rhynos back to the present. His scar tingled as if fresh. The arcane flames he had trained to control surged upward from his palm. Screaming with rage, he hurled the bolt to the left. It slammed into Sergeant Gardone’s sister, dragging her soul into the afterlife.
Rage carved a wicked smirk upon the warlock’s face. He allowed the anger to draw another bolt of energy into his palm; then turned to exit the tent and unleash his wrath.
--oo--oo--
“SIR!” Gardone had stormed into the tent, immediately drawing to attention. His lip quivered at the sight of his sister’s festering corpse. A lone tear streamed down his cheek but the soldier did not release the stern facial expression.
Rhynos spun toward his sergeant, completely nude as usual. Unlike his typical state, Rhynos’ hair was matted unceremoniously behind his head, gelled by a crimson fluid. Once he turned completely, the flickering light illuminated the swirls of blood the warlock had rubbed across his chest. Bits of flayed skin clung to the blood, giving the arcane master a horrific appearance. In his eyes burned a flame of madness; the crooked scar upon his palm was etched in a green glow.
“WHAT is it SERGEANT?!” the warlock bellowed. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of enjoying your SISTER?!”
Gardone struggled not to smack his superior. His body was on edge, adrenaline and hate forcing his muscles to move--and if not move to quiver at least. The soldier bit his tongue, warm blood billowing into his mouth.
“Speak up Gardone. Did you want to join your sister and I?” Rhynos pirouetted around the collapsed corpse, rubbing one bloodied leg over her cold shoulder. The warlock grinded provocatively against the fragile body, sliding closer to the mask of death stretched taut around her mouth. As the Lieutenant bent the corpse’s head forward, Gardone noted claw marks around her empty sockets. Little blood polluted the torn flesh indicating the wounds as postmortem.
The sergeant’s temper snapped and he lunged. His steel-plated gauntlet slammed into Rhynos’ face as the sergeant wrapped his arms around the nude officer. They collided to the floor behind, Gardone’s spiked knee-guard severing his sister’s dead. The mailed fist rose and descended over and over again in a seemingly endless repetition. The detached head rolled to a stop within Gardone’s view, its eyeless sockets piercing his mind.
The distraction was all Rhynos needed. The energy coursed from his palm and he shoved his hand against his Sergeant’s armor. The warlock sighed as the energy ripped through his body and dove through the protective metal. Gardone jolted backward, flung into the empty air. With a thud, he landed violently against the floor.
Rhynos drew up to his full height, the flames of insanity replaced by those of betrayal. More energy coalesced around his hand and he stepped toward Gardone. The sergeant rolled over and flung his one good arm over his head. The warlock hesitated.
“Sir, we found a pack of the trolls. That’s what I came to tell you,” the Sergeant blurted, his last chance.
Rhynos roared but released the magical fire. His scar still pulsing, the green fire alighted behind his eyes. “Take me.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] - Son of Varg
The warlock perched upon the edge of his desk, staring at the wicked scar emblazoned upon his palm. His memories danced backward to the day of its creation, as easily as if it had been yesterday as instead of more than a decade in the past.
Rhynos stood, a boy of only twelve, upon the right angle streets of Midloth, capital of the Kingdom. His hair was pitch black even then; his body wiry and trim. In his hand, the child spun and twirled two slivers of wood lashed together: a toy sword.
The child dipped left and right, running his imaginary opponents through. His mouth stretched open, a fierce battle cry erupted; he leapt upward, bringing the blade down against a rusted, waste can. His full weight bent the can inward, a grimacing dent smirking at the child.
Rhynos shifted backward into a feral crouch, lifting the sword for a killing blow. In his mind’s eye, the child as a powerful lord lifted his unbreakable blade preparing to execute the treasonous and cowardly dog of a brother that had betrayed his kingdom. The sword poised perilously above the enemy, above the smirking can.
A fell blade pounded against the back of Rhynos’ arms, his sword dropped amidst the expanding threshold of agony. He spun, arms outstretched and there stood his true brother, a true coward. The wooden sword dashed downward, ripping a deep chunk of flesh from Rhynos’ hand. The child collapsed screaming, his brother’s eyes growing wide with glee.
The slamming of a door ricocheted against the stone walls of the small manor. Talia, his mother, dashed across the street grabbing Rhynos by the scruff of his neck and dashed back to the house. Inside, she cleaned and bandaged the wound all while holding the child to her breast.
Vargiban[1] had stalked inside after his mother, taking care to watch the proceedings. The sharp wood twitched in his hands, yearning for more blood. Talia turned toward the other brother and smiled feebly. Vargiban smiled innocently back.
And then the door was nearly pulled from its hinges once again. In plodded Rhynos’ father and quickly evaluated the scene. Varg had had another long day at the shop, his eyes rimmed red with exhaustion. With a speed belying the overweight merchant, he snatched the sword from his eldest child and then slid almost preternaturally to the sink. With a callous grip, he ripped Rhynos from his mother’s comforting arms and smashed the woman against her face with the toy. Talia stumbled backward, crashing into the table and onto the floor. A line of blood, ragged flesh, and jagged splinters etched into her broken jaw.
Varg lifted Rhynos into the air with and by one arm. The child felt his shoulder dislocate, sending shudders of pain from his arm to his toes. He cried out in agony. Varg tore the bandage from his child’s hand, blood splattered upon the smooth, wood floor. Grabbing a riding crop from the wall, Varg whipped and whipped and whipped the open wound. A sadistic grin stretched across the man’s face as more and more blood flowed openly.
“Let it bleed. Let it scar. Let it serve as a reminder to not be so foolish.”
Once Varg tired, sometime long after Rhynos’ wails had quieted to sobs, he tossed the child against the wall like an unloved toy. Then the merchant stormed to his study, taking his eldest with.
A great orb of concentrated energy drew Rhynos back to the present. His scar tingled as if fresh. The arcane flames he had trained to control surged upward from his palm. Screaming with rage, he hurled the bolt to the left. It slammed into Sergeant Gardone’s sister, dragging her soul into the afterlife.
Rage carved a wicked smirk upon the warlock’s face. He allowed the anger to draw another bolt of energy into his palm; then turned to exit the tent and unleash his wrath.
--oo--oo--
“SIR!” Gardone had stormed into the tent, immediately drawing to attention. His lip quivered at the sight of his sister’s festering corpse. A lone tear streamed down his cheek but the soldier did not release the stern facial expression.
Rhynos spun toward his sergeant, completely nude as usual. Unlike his typical state, Rhynos’ hair was matted unceremoniously behind his head, gelled by a crimson fluid. Once he turned completely, the flickering light illuminated the swirls of blood the warlock had rubbed across his chest. Bits of flayed skin clung to the blood, giving the arcane master a horrific appearance. In his eyes burned a flame of madness; the crooked scar upon his palm was etched in a green glow.
“WHAT is it SERGEANT?!” the warlock bellowed. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of enjoying your SISTER?!”
Gardone struggled not to smack his superior. His body was on edge, adrenaline and hate forcing his muscles to move--and if not move to quiver at least. The soldier bit his tongue, warm blood billowing into his mouth.
“Speak up Gardone. Did you want to join your sister and I?” Rhynos pirouetted around the collapsed corpse, rubbing one bloodied leg over her cold shoulder. The warlock grinded provocatively against the fragile body, sliding closer to the mask of death stretched taut around her mouth. As the Lieutenant bent the corpse’s head forward, Gardone noted claw marks around her empty sockets. Little blood polluted the torn flesh indicating the wounds as postmortem.
The sergeant’s temper snapped and he lunged. His steel-plated gauntlet slammed into Rhynos’ face as the sergeant wrapped his arms around the nude officer. They collided to the floor behind, Gardone’s spiked knee-guard severing his sister’s dead. The mailed fist rose and descended over and over again in a seemingly endless repetition. The detached head rolled to a stop within Gardone’s view, its eyeless sockets piercing his mind.
The distraction was all Rhynos needed. The energy coursed from his palm and he shoved his hand against his Sergeant’s armor. The warlock sighed as the energy ripped through his body and dove through the protective metal. Gardone jolted backward, flung into the empty air. With a thud, he landed violently against the floor.
Rhynos drew up to his full height, the flames of insanity replaced by those of betrayal. More energy coalesced around his hand and he stepped toward Gardone. The sergeant rolled over and flung his one good arm over his head. The warlock hesitated.
“Sir, we found a pack of the trolls. That’s what I came to tell you,” the Sergeant blurted, his last chance.
Rhynos roared but released the magical fire. His scar still pulsing, the green fire alighted behind his eyes. “Take me.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] - Son of Varg
HalfOrc HalfBiscuit
Adventurer
Darker and darker yet.
(Which is not a criticism.)
Now, I'm assuming Rhynos isn't being introduced as a new PC.
(Which is not a criticism.)
Now, I'm assuming Rhynos isn't being introduced as a new PC.
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
And a Yeti chuckles somewhere.......HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:Darker and darker yet.
(Which is not a criticism.)
Now, I'm assuming Rhynos isn't being introduced as a new PC.
Funeris
First Post
And somewhere an angel has earned her wings...
Remember that this part of the interlude is approximately 50 years prior to the actual game. Rhynos is in his mid-twenties....which would push him right to the limit of the human age range....were he to join the party at that time...odds are he'd die on the road, an old old old man....
unless of course...he found some way to circumvent death....or maybe it found him....
Guess you'll just have to wait to find out
~Fune
Remember that this part of the interlude is approximately 50 years prior to the actual game. Rhynos is in his mid-twenties....which would push him right to the limit of the human age range....were he to join the party at that time...odds are he'd die on the road, an old old old man....
unless of course...he found some way to circumvent death....or maybe it found him....
Guess you'll just have to wait to find out
~Fune
Rhynos is a bad man. Someone needs to find him some pants, and run him through with a broadsword. Not necessarily in that order.
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Anti-Sean said:
Rhynos isn't that bad, honestly him and Cassock have very similar views on certain things.
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See
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Now a little more Cassock insight.
Cael doesn't care of good or evil, and really neither does Cassock.
He might try to do good, but like mentioned before. He would slaughter the innocents if he thought it furthered Cael's goals.
Yeti
Funeris
First Post
Rhynos is evil. Period.
But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his reasons
I much prefer characters that have some reason for being what they are...Rhynos definitely fits the bill.
And hopefully I have scared away any "prudish story hour readers" by now. Because in all honesty, I'm only going to get worse....grittier...dirtier...
But I promise to leave some extremes (detailed necrophilia for example) to your own twisted imaginations.
~Fune
But that doesn't mean he doesn't have his reasons
I much prefer characters that have some reason for being what they are...Rhynos definitely fits the bill.
And hopefully I have scared away any "prudish story hour readers" by now. Because in all honesty, I'm only going to get worse....grittier...dirtier...
But I promise to leave some extremes (detailed necrophilia for example) to your own twisted imaginations.
~Fune
TheYeti1775
Adventurer
Funeris said:
At least until the PDF verisions right.
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