Post by Asher. on Mar 4, 2019 22:52:29 GMT
JACY: Bursting through the earth, a surge of fresh blood splits the crossing roads. A fissure breaking the surface of the earth with tremendous force sprays broken bits of dirt and sticky sanguine liquid. The wound spreading across the material world is sixty feet long and thirty wide. The blood shoots into the sky, raining back down. It becomes a thick film over the earth, creating rustic, muddy paths just as quickly as the fissure came. Nothing good can come from this.
The waddle and daub houses of the poor inhabitants of this land are soaked with raining blood, softening the mud and staining their thatches. Every person there pauses, turning to see this wellspring of blood, accompanied by the flatulent smell of something most foul. In horror they flee, turning away and slipping on the muddying ground, in a desperate attempt to escape whatever this phenomenon is to bring. Its smell is foul, as though the bowels of Hell have been discharged onto their homes. Mothers grab their children and fathers usher their families further and further away from the chaos of this geyser.
The tremor that moves through the ground and shakes the poorly made homes eventually slows and comes to a halt. The geyser wavers when two orbs of violet beam from its core. Leathery wings stretch out, splashing blood to both sides of the newly formed laceration brought onto the physical realm. The torrent of blood is cut short, and it puddles within the fissure. In its stead is a being that none of these mortals have seen before. The creature in which this phenomenon has birthed is a Devil, whose exposed musculature and flesh flex beneath plates of armour. Infernal chitin covers him from head to toe, its off-white colour wet with blood and bound to his muscle groups by thin layers of fatty tissue.
His violet eyes do not blink and they create a smoke that furls around the crown of his head and his outward curved horns. His jaws are fused to his chitin helm, creating a mouth with no lips and large, uneven teeth that clatter when he appears before them. The tips of his fingers to his shoulders and down his body, between each plate is enough empty space for him to move freely. This armour does not encumber him at first glance; however it seems to shield the most vital areas: his chest, his abdomen, his back, his arms, his legs, his pelvis, and his head. Each area has exact-fit plates of infernal chitin that are equipped with half-inch spikes. Even along the ridge of his wings, small broken bits of this infernal material protect him.
Dropping to the earth, the Devil’s four talons sink into the mud just beside the fissure and dig in. Folding his twenty two foot wings to his back, he looks to the directions of the path. On his left, he sees one road where many feet away, people are running for their lives. To his right is another path, where off in the farmland, people are gathering their livestock to escape.
Looking down to the corner of the road, he sees an apple that has been drenched in mud and blood. He bends at his knees to pick it up and throw it into his mouth, where he swallows it without a single bite. The material world has much to offer and sustenance as this only revs the arcane engine deep within his gut.
This Devil, Phantasma, a creature of Lord Bloodtide’s design, is more than an Enforcer to those who refuse to pay their loyalties to the Archfiend. He is a being built to create the necessary chaos required every so often and to do so it requires arcane marvels that would bring fear to anyone
who came across him. With the use of his latent arcane powers, those who would dare oppose him with flame are rendered useless, as the engine produces an aura that warps the nature of mundane flame. In Phantasma’s presence, the blue and red colours of fire are warped to a wonderful purple and magenta hue. Its destructive nature bends to Phantasma’s will, and he commands such hellish flame for his own desire. Whether it is through the use of conjuration or evocation, powers of flame are at his command. With such a power, even those who dare touch him with cold abilities often find their magics delayed.
Doubly, with this arcane engine, Phantasma is able to produce a variety of spells. Attuned especially to transmutation, Phantasma has warded off creatures with his renowned transmutation abilities. Turning creatures to stone, warping his material form, and creating forces with a simple weave, Phantasma is never without his creativity and vicious killing prowess.
Despite his arcane ability, Phantasma is not strictly a mage by any means. His six foot, eight inch tall figure is packed with muscle. Able to tear through mundane metals and crush mortal bodies with his bare hands, he is also a dextrous fighter. Agile and strong, Phantasma is able to produce preternatural strength and amazing speed. Even the murky saliva that drools down from between his teeth is dangerous, as it produces a paralytic effect once it touches another’s flesh that isn’t his.
Simply put, Phantasma is a creature made to kill. Not only with magic, but his physical aptitude, he is a Devil made to enforce the Lordship of his master, and ensure that all who dare cross him are thrown into the belly of Hell.
[END]
The waddle and daub houses of the poor inhabitants of this land are soaked with raining blood, softening the mud and staining their thatches. Every person there pauses, turning to see this wellspring of blood, accompanied by the flatulent smell of something most foul. In horror they flee, turning away and slipping on the muddying ground, in a desperate attempt to escape whatever this phenomenon is to bring. Its smell is foul, as though the bowels of Hell have been discharged onto their homes. Mothers grab their children and fathers usher their families further and further away from the chaos of this geyser.
The tremor that moves through the ground and shakes the poorly made homes eventually slows and comes to a halt. The geyser wavers when two orbs of violet beam from its core. Leathery wings stretch out, splashing blood to both sides of the newly formed laceration brought onto the physical realm. The torrent of blood is cut short, and it puddles within the fissure. In its stead is a being that none of these mortals have seen before. The creature in which this phenomenon has birthed is a Devil, whose exposed musculature and flesh flex beneath plates of armour. Infernal chitin covers him from head to toe, its off-white colour wet with blood and bound to his muscle groups by thin layers of fatty tissue.
His violet eyes do not blink and they create a smoke that furls around the crown of his head and his outward curved horns. His jaws are fused to his chitin helm, creating a mouth with no lips and large, uneven teeth that clatter when he appears before them. The tips of his fingers to his shoulders and down his body, between each plate is enough empty space for him to move freely. This armour does not encumber him at first glance; however it seems to shield the most vital areas: his chest, his abdomen, his back, his arms, his legs, his pelvis, and his head. Each area has exact-fit plates of infernal chitin that are equipped with half-inch spikes. Even along the ridge of his wings, small broken bits of this infernal material protect him.
Dropping to the earth, the Devil’s four talons sink into the mud just beside the fissure and dig in. Folding his twenty two foot wings to his back, he looks to the directions of the path. On his left, he sees one road where many feet away, people are running for their lives. To his right is another path, where off in the farmland, people are gathering their livestock to escape.
Looking down to the corner of the road, he sees an apple that has been drenched in mud and blood. He bends at his knees to pick it up and throw it into his mouth, where he swallows it without a single bite. The material world has much to offer and sustenance as this only revs the arcane engine deep within his gut.
This Devil, Phantasma, a creature of Lord Bloodtide’s design, is more than an Enforcer to those who refuse to pay their loyalties to the Archfiend. He is a being built to create the necessary chaos required every so often and to do so it requires arcane marvels that would bring fear to anyone
who came across him. With the use of his latent arcane powers, those who would dare oppose him with flame are rendered useless, as the engine produces an aura that warps the nature of mundane flame. In Phantasma’s presence, the blue and red colours of fire are warped to a wonderful purple and magenta hue. Its destructive nature bends to Phantasma’s will, and he commands such hellish flame for his own desire. Whether it is through the use of conjuration or evocation, powers of flame are at his command. With such a power, even those who dare touch him with cold abilities often find their magics delayed.
Doubly, with this arcane engine, Phantasma is able to produce a variety of spells. Attuned especially to transmutation, Phantasma has warded off creatures with his renowned transmutation abilities. Turning creatures to stone, warping his material form, and creating forces with a simple weave, Phantasma is never without his creativity and vicious killing prowess.
Despite his arcane ability, Phantasma is not strictly a mage by any means. His six foot, eight inch tall figure is packed with muscle. Able to tear through mundane metals and crush mortal bodies with his bare hands, he is also a dextrous fighter. Agile and strong, Phantasma is able to produce preternatural strength and amazing speed. Even the murky saliva that drools down from between his teeth is dangerous, as it produces a paralytic effect once it touches another’s flesh that isn’t his.
Simply put, Phantasma is a creature made to kill. Not only with magic, but his physical aptitude, he is a Devil made to enforce the Lordship of his master, and ensure that all who dare cross him are thrown into the belly of Hell.
[END]