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Author Topic: The Historical Superpower OOC  (Read 136694 times)

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Offline Slartibartfast

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1095 on: January 05, 2008, 03:02:10 am »
Just so you'll know:
I'm leaving today for a family gathering.  It's going to be at a ritzy cabin in the woods.  There's supposed to be a computer with an internet connection there, but if not, I won't be back until the 9th or 10th.

My plan is to have my character be with the caravan coming into town, if that helps with the plot and ease of introduction.

Offline Brandonazz

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1096 on: January 08, 2008, 05:58:59 pm »
This is going well.

Offline PatMan33

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1097 on: January 08, 2008, 06:06:14 pm »
I think we're waiting on someone.

Yossi, make the villain do something so that we can bring our characters together.

Offline Yossitaru

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1098 on: January 08, 2008, 06:08:23 pm »
Right, I was going to do something today, now I remember. I've just been really off my game because of that power outage.
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Offline Mr. Consideration

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1099 on: January 09, 2008, 09:25:55 am »
I had the sneaking suspicion everyone was waiting for me...
"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone elses opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." - Oscar Wilde

Yes, I am aware of the irony.

Offline Yossitaru

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1100 on: January 09, 2008, 09:49:32 am »
Well, at this point, it's up to Slarti, the caravan has arrived, so he can go ahead and introduce his character now, if not, I can move on to the meeting.
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Offline PatMan33

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1101 on: January 09, 2008, 11:18:53 am »
Shall I finagle a way to get Martin into the pub?

Offline Yossitaru

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1102 on: January 09, 2008, 11:23:52 am »
Seems kind of improper for a knight to be eavesdropping. This is a secret meeting and will be treated as such. Eavesdrop if you can, but it won't be easy.

Plus, I will offer up an alternative to eavesdropping if anyone still left out isn't up to spying.
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Offline PatMan33

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1103 on: January 09, 2008, 11:31:46 am »
That's cool, just don't forget to include Martin eventually.

Offline Slartibartfast

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1104 on: January 11, 2008, 10:51:37 pm »
I'm sort of confused on what time it is.  It seems to be dawn where the caravan is, but early evening in town.

Offline Yossitaru

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1105 on: January 11, 2008, 11:19:01 pm »
Well, I sped up the caravan a bit because I had nothing further planned for the night, but at the inn, I have it at about 2 AM. To help put things into a little better perspective, the murder of the lieutenant happened around roughly 11 PM.
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Offline Slartibartfast

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1106 on: January 12, 2008, 02:28:34 am »
Hademar Krieger (born Hademar Steinhauer, Hades to his close associates.)

Age: Around 70 years old; looks to be in his mid-20's.

Bio:  Hademar was born in the city of Osnabrück in the spring of 1174.  His father was a stonemason and his mother the cook at a local inn.  Hademar considers the first 14 years of his life to be idyllic compared to all the years that followed.  While life wasn't easy helping his father carve and carry stone for -- what seemed to Hademar -- the endless construction of bridges, the city walls, and the local cathedral; at least he was always well-fed with the scraps his mother was able to pilfer.  The years of hard labor and good eating showed.  By the age of 14, he was already 5 feet tall and as well muscled as a blacksmith.  Sadly however, it was for this very reason in 1188, when Emperor Barbarossa declared that the Holy Roman Empire would be joining in the Third Crusade, a local lord conscripted Hademar -- right off the street -- into his peasant levy. 

Despite his attempts at protest, Hademar soon found himself at a makeshift training facility in Mainz.  The next year was grueling to say the least.  Doing spear drills six days a week, while the nobles were taxing the people to the breaking point to fund the expedition didn't lighten the mood much either.  The only break Hademar seemed to get was in March of 1189 when he somehow caught the attention of a knight by the name of Kuno Gudrun.  It was a very odd meeting.  The levy was drilling under the inspection of a group of nobles when Sir Gudrun just walked up to the formation and snatched Hademar out of it.  There was a great deal of confusion when Sir Gudrun tossed a training sword to Hademar and told him to defend himself.  Despite his confusion, and the general sense of pandemonium, Hademar actually managed to block two of Sir Gudrun's blows before being struck soundly in the solar plexus.  As he lay breathless on the ground, he heard Sir Gudrun negotiating his servant price with the Earl of Osnabrück.  He was very surprised to find out he was worth 20 silver marks.  He was still finding it very hard to breath when Sir Gudrun yanked him off the ground by his hair, looked him in the eye and said, "You are now a page in my corps-at-arms.  I see a lot of potential in you.  If you follow my instruction and learn your lessons well, you might actually accomplish more with your life than to die in a muddy field."

Sir Gudrun's corps-at-arms was a rag tag group of about 30 individuals: mostly German men-at-arms, but a few mercenaries from distant lands could be found among them, along with an Italian priest and a Venetian merchant charged with procuring supplies.  The amount of work, training, and studying Hademar had to do was staggering.  Six hours of sleep a night was a blessing most days.  Besides having to clean and mend everything in the group, tend horses, and spar hours on end; Sir Gudrun also required him to learn to read and write German, Latin, and Greek, math, science, philosophy, and history.  At first his lessons consisted of one subject a day but by the time the army had reached Anatolia, the next year, Hademar was sparring with three men while having to answer questions in foreign languages!

The Third Crusade was a disaster for the German forces by any measure one would wish to apply; from Barbarossa drowning in the Saleph River to his son Frederick VI's death at Acre, it was a gruelling miserable campaign.  The fact that plague, dysentery, and fever were constantly running their way through the army didn't help matters either.  It was these constant epidemics that lead Hademar to discover that Sir Gudrun had been trained in medicine in Salerno.  While their group lost men in battle, they never lost any to disease or infection.  It never crossed Hademar's mind that a 100% recovery rate was odd; and he considered the fact that he, himself, never got sick to begin with pure luck.  Through it all Sir Gudrun was a stalwart and determined leader, never wavering in the face of adversity.  Hademar vowed to be like him someday. 

Hademar was 18 when the Third Crusade ended and he thought they would finally be going back to Germany.  Sir Gudrun had different plans.  Sir Gudrun had decided to stay in the Holy Land on a seemingly personally quest.  He offered Hademar the chose of traveling home alone or staying and being his personal squire.  Hademar chose to stay. 

The next decade was full of perilous adventure, disappointing "monster" hunts, and a seemingly endless number of futile searches for religious artifacts.  Every strange rumor, any odd occurrence was a reason for Sir Gudrun to saddle up and ride forth.  The most dangerous beast they hunted was a lion that had taken to eating sheep.  On a dozen different occasions they followed leads to shards of the one true cross, only to have Sir Gudrun examine them and declare them sadly false.  He claimed to have an eye for the truth on such matters.  On one occasion the monks guarding a shard took great offense at the accusation, luckily for them Sir Gudrun was in a very forgiving mood that day.  The most toilsome was a horrid six months roaming the Sinai looking for a secluded monastery claiming to have nothing less than the Prepuce of Christ!  When Sir Gudrun declared their claim false and they violently objected to his blasphemy, there was no mercy for the charlatans that day.
                
It was not all battle with bandits, false hope, and miserable failure in those years.  Sir Gudrun still had much to teach Hademar.  He was taught advanced strategy and tactics, "secret" weapon techniques, Arabic, Italian, French, medicine and surgery.  The art of the physician was his hardest struggle.  While better than any village barber, Sir Gudrun was always disapproving of Hademar's lack of technique and grace.  Hademar did, however, learn to apply his knowledge of anatomy to his arsenal with devastating effects.

It was fall of 1201, while based in the city of Acre, when Sir Gudrun received a mysterious letter.  He told the the group that a Fourth Crusade was in the works, with Egypt as the initial target.  He informed the group they would be going there forthwith as advanced scouts in the familiar role of questing knights.  Anyone that didn't wish to go was free to leave.  After much discussion and argument only six, including Hademar would be going.  Later that night Sir Gudrun came to Hademar privately and told him the letter also contained information about his parents.  They had died three years ago during the civil war following the death of Henry VI.  Hademar's only real remorse on the matter was that he didn't feel any grief upon hearing the news.

Upon arriving in Egypt, it was seemingly business as usual.  They wandered the country listening for strange occurrences and visiting holy sites.  They were in Alexandria when they first started hearing strange rumors of things going on in the south: sightings of the Grail, visions of the Holy Mother, lepers being healed, and even that Christ's baby cradle had been found.  This was far too much for Sir Gudrun to ignore and they set out on an expedition to the south.  While they thought themselves ready for anything, in truth there was no way they could have been ready for what occurred.

They followed the stories south, then west, for two months, far further inland than any European had sane reason to be.  Even the local guide and the few porters they had hired were starting to feel out of place.  Then one night the dreams started.  The vision of a ghostly woman holding a small goblet beckoning any that deemed themselves worthy to come and partake of everlasting life.  The next morning the locals fled making off with half the supplies as they went.  It was decided to abandon everything besides food, water, and one weapon each, it was not as if anyone was wearing their armor in this heat anyway.  Four days later they hit the point of no return, if they did not turn back they would never make it to the last oasis they had visited.  Sir Gudrun reluctantly gave the order to turn back.  Within a hour of starting their return journey, the sandstorm hit.  Three men, five pack horses, and all the camels where lost.  The survivors found themselves trapped in a rocky outcropping waiting for the storm to end.  After three days all the horses were dead and all the water was gone.  Even though they had the horses to eat, the other two men died of thirst three days after that.

On the eve of the next day Sir Gudrun called Hademar over to him.

"There a few things I've been meaning to say to you quite some time now.  Considering I will not be alive when the morning comes, now would seem to be the time to say them.  Take a knee."

Hademar did so.  If there had enough moisture in his body to form them, he would have had to hold back his tears.

"Even though you are from humble birth, there can be no doubt you contain a noble and valiant spirit.  You are a knight in my eyes; no man can question this, and I dub the so."

Sir Gudrun drew his sword and lightly placed it on both of Hademar's shoulders.

"I wish you to have my sword.  Take it from me."

Hademar knew that a knight could not simply give his favored sword away while he still lived, it had to be taken in a sacred custom. 
Hademar reached out with both hands and grabbed the blade of the sword and pulled it toward himself.   
Sir Gudrun only held on long enough for the blade to make the most shallow of cuts into the palms of Hademar's hands.

"Now you know the price of taking a knight's sword and the pain of the duty to wield it," Sir Gudrun quoting the words his own master had said to him so many years ago.

"Now that such simple matters are complete, I must inform you of more a complicated one."  He proceded to reach into his tunic and pulled out a pendant and a sealed document pouch.
"I did not pull you off that drilling field by chance.  I saw in you a vast potential.  My only regret is I will not live to see it come to fruition.  When you get out of this God forsaken desert, you must travel to the university in Salerno and give these to the Master Librarian.  Tell him it was my dying wish that you be my Acolyte Successor.  I wish I could tell you more than that, but the vows of the Sodality forbid too much candor in these matters."

Hademar took the items.  While he did not voice the concern that he had no idea how he would get out of this desert, it was etched on his face along with his determination to do so.

"Do not worry Hademar, if anyone can get out of this it is you.  You are one of the strongest souls I have ever laid eyes on.  It will take more than a mere desert to wrench it from your body.  And I still have one more thing to give you.  While I would have given my life for you at anytime, I now give my life to you, in the hope it will give you a few more days to reach your destiny."  With that Sir Gudrun spoke some words that Hademar did not understand and grabbed Hademar's hand.  A soothing white came out of his body and entered Hademar's, then his body fell lifeless.  He was still hungry and thirsty, but Hademar felt more invigorated than he had ever felt in his life.  Even so, all he could do that night was weep tearlessly as the wind and sand howled around him.

When morning came Hademar covered the dead with rocks, put as much horsemeat as would fit into a saddle bag, and wrapped himself up in bandages and strode out into the storm.  He could only see one cloth-blurred, sandy foot in front of him, but it would have to do.  He had no idea which way he was going.  He was forced to go whichever way the wind was blowing to make any progress at all and the wind was constantly changing.

The visions of the Lady had not stopped.  Days before Sir Gudrun had said if he were alone he would have continued on, but a commander cannot make such selfish decisions for his men.  Those words haunted Hademar now.  He was alone now, but did not want immortality, or even think himself worthy of it; he just wanted out of this place.

Time lost all meaning in the sand.  Light. Dark. The Lady. Light. Dark. The Lady. Light. Dark. The Lady. Light. The Lady. Dark. The Lady. The Lady.  The Lady. The Lady.  Hademar did not know how much time had past, but when he found himself gnawing on the leather saddle bag he knew the end would come soon.  Sadly, he would not be so lucky.

The visions were constant now.  She was even calling him by name.  In his starved, dehydrated, delusional state, he could do nothing but heed the call.

Hademar found himself crawling through the desert.  Then suddenly everthing stopped.  The sandstorm.  The vision.  Even the pain. 
He found himself next to a cliff face.  An obsidian, obelisk shaped archway carved into its side.  A strange green glow coming from within.  The voice of the Lady beckoning, "Enter.  Drink of the Chalice and be judged."

Hademar crawled inside to find the Lady veiled from head to toe in scarlet and seated on an alabaster throne holding forth a small, glowing green chalice.  He scurried across the floor, taking the chalice, and drinking it's contents in one gulp.  Only in the aftertaste did he realize it was acrid and sulfurous.  His wits returned to him and he examined the chalice.  There was, what appeared to him, a peacock fornicating with an octopus while holding a set of merchant scales and an hourglass carved into its relief.

With a look of horror in his eyes, he raised his head and exclaimed, "This is not the Holy Grail!"

The Lady leaned forward, exposing her blank milky white eyes into view for the first time, and gleefully intoned, "I do not recall saying anything about this being the cup of Christ."  She began to cackle inhumanly.  Hademar slumped face first into the floor.  His eyes began to close, while she whispered into ear, "You will either awaken as one of the children, or you shall be a feast for them."  Everything went dark.

Hademar awoke to an excruciatingly numbing pain. He reflexively started to scream.  No sound came out of his mouth, not even a gurgle.  After a few moments, he regained some composure and, through the pain, tried to assess the situation.  He could barely move his eyes, much less his head.  He was in a dimly lit room, some strangely shaped candles on the walls the only light.  He seemed to be on a raised platform in the middle of the room.  Some feeling was returning to his neck and upper back, they felt cold and sticky.  He tried to listen for any sound, at first he heard nothing, but then perceived what sounded like pigs rutting, echoing from some far off place.  A great fear started to rise up within him, that he was one of "the children" now.  What did that even mean?!  A pain struck him in the chest, as if, he had just been kicked by a mule.  After a few panicked moments, he realized it was just his heart reminding him that it still was beating in his chest.  Then, just as suddenly, his lungs decided they needed more air than they were getting and he let out a desperate rasp, like one would expect from a man just pulled from quicksand.  His numb hands flew to his mouth to cover the noise; his silent prayer that the "pigs" had not heard him.  It was then that the coppery smell and taste of blood washed over his senses, and the thought rampaged into his mind that he must be coated in it.

He managed to suppress his revulsion enough to, calmly and quietly, spit it out of his mouth.  The pain had subsided to the point where it was more of an annoyance than an agony.  He was  also  able to move his limbs now.  He ever so carefully sat up and looked around.  He was naked on an altar, covered in blood, in the middle of a large room littered with, what must have been, the treasures and debris of previous victims. 

He looked about at the charnel chamber of horrors and was at a loss as what to do.  Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar glint of Sir Gudrun's blade, and he knew what he had to do, or die trying.  He couldn't just sneak out; he had to put a stop to this madness.

He slowly walked over to the blade trying his best not to disturb the refuse.  It took both hands to pick up the sword.  He could feel himself getting slowly stronger, but he did not know how much time he had to do so.  Almost as if on cue, he heard the sound of approaching footfalls.  He quickly moved over next to the archway, hoping to take at least one of them by surprise.  Luckily, there was only one of them.  It casually shambled into the room, a living mockery of the human form.  Hademar struck with all his might at the thing's neck, not out of fear or desperation, but out of disgust.  The Damascus steel lived up to its reputation and severed the abomination's head in one swipe.  The headless body started groping about randomly.  The eyes on head started darting about wildly.  In saner times, Hademar would have been at a loss as what to do, but these were insane times.  He kicked the head across the room, over the altar, hoping its obstructed view would hinder the body somehow.  Then he cleaved it's arms and legs off.  He pondered what to do next as they began to skitter and flop about.  He noticed a strange black mist coming out of the torso toward the dismembered limbs, upon reaching them, it transformed into a black liquid and started drawing the limbs back toward itself.  Hademar saw mist floating to and from the head, and did the only thing he could think of, imposing himself between them to stall for time.  The sensation as his body intruded on the ecotoplasmic link was an indescribable mix of torment and elation.  The mist from both directions sped into him as if his body was a vortex and as the last strands were absorbed, the thing's remains crumbled to dust.  Hademar felt invigorated beyond words, but had a horrible aftertaste in his mouth, as if he had been eating diapers.  He was surprised nothing else had been drawn by the commotion, but realized it had all taken place in less than a minute.  He acted quickly donning some light, but usable, armor and finding a decent shield.

He kept close to the wall as he crept down the hallway.  He soon realized why nothing had heard the melee; the hall was quite long and twisted.  He did not want to imagine what they were doing to make so much noise to be heard this far away.  He did not have to avoid imagining long.  He rounded a corner to be greeted by a soft green glow coming through an archway, the strange noises ever so clear.  He got as close as he dared and peeked into the chamber.  The image still haunts his dreams.  Things doing things to each other.  For an instance he thought of gouging out his own eyes, but in the next moment, clarity -- they were the ones who needed to be gouged.  He composed himself and assessed the situation.  There were about nine things in the pile on the floor, but there were at least three, that he could see, near the walls watching and, seemingly, eating something.  Hademar was deciding how to best approach the situation when a voice from the pile, sounding like the Lady, but in a language incomprensible began speaking.  One of the eaters got up in a disgruntled fashion and starting making its way toward the hallway Hademar was occupying.  'Well, somebody's got to be first,' Hademar thought to himself.                          


Offline Slartibartfast

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1107 on: January 12, 2008, 02:30:01 am »
Hademar formed his desperate plan in the long moments waiting for it to reach his shallow wall alcove.  He would have to dismember and separate them as quickly as possible and work his way to the chalice, in the hope that smashing it might effect them somehow.  He pondered having to stand inside their internal mist again, but he didn't like the idea, not knowing what it was or what it might be doing to him.

As the creature drew near it started sniffing the air curiously, then it seemed to smell its own bloodsoaked hands as if they were the source of the odor.  Realizing it was smelling his own bloodsoaked body, Hademar lunged towards it.  With two quick strokes, he had beheaded it and severed it in twain at the abdomen.  Even though Hademar knew they could reform, they seemed as vulnerable to sharp steel as any unarmored man; this gave Hademar cause for the briefest of smiles.  Hademar unceremoniously kicked its head further down the hallway and grabbed a foot with his shield hand, dragging the legs with him to the doorway.  He knew confusion was key and would have to be quick.  He chopped a leg off at the knee from the set he had and looked for another target.  Two of the eaters were sitting within 10 feet of the door; they would do.  He tossed the leg at the furthest of the pair as he rush out and cleaved his sword through the other one's head.  The yelp of surprise from the leg stricken one finally drew some attention from the pile to Hademar.  Hademar wasted no time dispatching the yelper, then quickly kicking both heads down the length of the wall.  He turned to face the pile expecting a massive onslaught.  They were sitting up like drunks roused from a stupor, looking around more confused than enraged, gibbering expectantly to each other in their unknown tongue. 

The Lady's voice came from the pile, "What manner of mage are you?"

"I am a knight!" Hademar rebuffed.

A look that resembled bemusement crossed its face.  "Whoever blessed you, truly only fed us twice."

The mass of creatures leapt up and the scene turned into the melee Hademar had been expecting.  The monsters, while quick and strong, lacked strategy and patience.  The lessons he learned fighting dervishes served him well here; protect yourself and let your enemies lack of concern for themselves be their downfall.  Soon, however, he realized he was stalemated.  While the floor was littered with arms and legs, he was making no progress toward the chalice.  He shuttered at the realization that a stalemate with the undying was really just a prolonged death.  He noticed out of the corner of his eye, the Lady taking the chalice from its wall sconce and moving towards her throne, as if she knew his intent and was mocking him. 

As the minutes, dragged on the Lady's voice began to enter his head.  "Impressive, but would it be too much trouble to accept your fate and die?"  His left arm numb, but responsive; he had stopped parrying with the shield, their strikes were like a percusion of warhammers.  It was hard to see with the all the black internal smoke from their limbs swirling around him.  He was too busy to truly notice that while many of those he had maimed were still attacking, none of them were completely healing either.  This did not go unnoticed to the Lady.

The Lady cried out in her strange tongue and a look of concern crossed the faces of Hademar's opponents.  "Could I be winning?", Hademar thought.

Five of the beasts lunged at Hademar, one of them losing its head for its efforts.  They brought him to the ground with an savage fury; clawing, biting, and gouging.  Playtime was over.  Hademar found himself laying on the ground, one pinning his sword arm to the ground punching randomly at his head and neck, another wrapped around his legs trying to bite through his codpiece, another astride him rabidly kidney punching him, and the last pulling on his shield arm trying to rip it from his body.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Hademar felt the tendons and joints in his arm start to bend and tear.  He thought he heard someone screaming, but who could it be?  The screaming stopped with a wet, sickening plop as his arm was wrenched from his body.  The beast hit Hademar a few times, with Hademar's own arm, before dropping it and sitting down thinking the fight would soon be over. 

The blood arced out of Hademar's shoulder with each beat of his heart.  At the same time, the mists from the maimed monsters were still swirling around Hademar.  When the blood from his shoulder reached where his arm laid, a horrifying miracle occurred.  The blood formed into a tendril and yanked his arm back to him reattaching it, while simultaneously, the black mists of the recently beheaded monstrosity poured into Hademar's body like a whirlwind, it's body crumbling to dust.

Hademar didn't waste time questioning what he had just witnessed, he just knew he had to fight.  He shield bashed the one on his sword arm enough to get his arm loose.  He quickly sliced up the ones on his torso and legs.  He leapt to his feet looking around the room to seek his next target, while still hacking up the bodies near him.  He realized victory was within reach; they were panicking.

The next few minutes were terribly brutal and without mercy.  Hademar suffered horrible injuries, but none slowed him for long, while his enemies continued to disintegrate; even the sandstorm that formed inside the room did not hinder him from his grisly work. 

Eventually, through sand and shadow, he found himself in front of the throne, face to face with the Lady, again.

She sat there defiantly.

"What are you?  No mere sorcery could do all that I've seen.", she questioned.

Hademar chopped off her hands and stopped the chalice with his foot as it rolled along the floor.

"I am but a simple knight, but today -- for you -- I am the wrath of God."  He struck the chalice with his sword, white and green sparks filled the air.  The chalice was unharmed.

"You really have no idea what's going on do you?!", she cackled. 

Hademar smote her in twain, enraged both at her words and his failure to shatter the chalice.
A raspy laughter came up from both halves of her.  Hademar did not stop dicing until she crumbled to powder. 

. . . . . . .
Hademar managed to find the things Sir Gudrun had given him.  He decided to take the chalice with him, in the hopes the "Sodality" -- whoever they were -- would know how to destroy it.  Nothing in the "treasure" room tempted him, especially considering he would have to lug it through the desert.   

After some more harrowing desert travel, Hademar was actually relieved when he was temporaily enslaved by Kurdish nomads; they had food and water, and they were heading north.  Upon arriving in northern Egypt, finding there to be a horrible famine in progress, Hademar liberated himself and his possessions on the outskirts of Damietta and quickly found passage on a merchant ship to Italy.

In Salerno, Hademar did everything Sir Gudrun had told him to and presented the Chalice to them.  The few members he met did not seem pleased about any of it.  They eventually acquiesced to admitting him, but there would be a test.  Hademar spent the next two years chanting, meditating, and doing strange things that, frankly, didn't make any sense.  One day, he was asked to preform a new chant while six on-lookers watched.  He's still not sure what was supposed to happen, but when he started glowing a bright white they seemed impressed; however, when the black lightening bolts started sparking around, they ordered him to never perform it again. 

The nature of his training changed after that.  He studied exotic bestiaries, read journals involving strange adventures, and tried to comprehend esoteric manuscripts.  His martial training resumed in earnest.  Weapon trainers were brought in to show him combat styles from all around Europe.  This went on for five more years. 

One night, in what seemed like an impromptu ceremony, Hademar was initiated into the Sodality.  Despite their reservations, they found his "gift" too beneficial to ignore.  His mission, his purpose, would be to seek out and destroy supernatural threats.  Hademar excepted this role without hesitation.  He has know little besides conflict ever since.

Powers:  
 
Why won't you die?! :
Hademar has come to the conclusion that he is a revenant, charged to walk the earth fighting evil.  It's a little more complicated than that.
Due to the strange convergence of : his genetic heritage, Sir Gudrun's spell, and the dark powers of the Chalice, Hademar has gained a potential form of immortality.  He doesn't age.  He has amazing, if strangely inconsistant, regenerative abilities.  He's been forced to develop an incredible tolerance for pain.

What powers this phenomenon?

Soul Vortex :
Hademar attracts, absorbs, stores, and consumes any corporeally unbound life force in his immediate vicinity.  This normally occurs when someone or something dies nearby, but ghosts, astral projectors, and disembodied entities of all sort would be well advised to stay at least ten feet away at all times.  This in effect makes his body an event horizon for spiritual energy.  His soul is well and firmly entrenched in his body.

Combat and Tactical Experience :
Hademar has five decades of combat under his belt.  While he would never boast of being the best at any one particular combat style, few could claim expertise in so many.  Being able to learn from normally fatal mistakes has really helped him learn the ins and outs of combat.  Yet, he constantly strives to improve his battle prowess, for while he knows he will continue to get up, those that fall while he is down do not.  He has developed an eye for others combat skill, while not supernatural or perfect, he's usually at least close, but it has made him a little paranoid. While he still follows the code of chivalry in how he acts and when he should fight, he has found out the hard way that honor and fair play have no place in a fight. 

Occult Knowledge : 
Hademar has amassed a large amount of book knowledge on the occult, monsters in particular.  This normally gives him a clue as to the nature of strange events and how he should proceed, but he does not rely completely on it.  He has come to realize that a lot of what he has studied is merely the educated guess of someone else.

Sir Gudrun's Sword :
Hademar thinks this Damascus steel blade is enchanted in some way.  It may very well be.

The Sodality :
Not so much a power as a relationship.  Hademar is not well liked by the hierarchy of this strange, mysterious organization.  They tend to treat him like a weapon rather than a person.  While he does have a few friends among the other field agents, he is usually sent on missions alone.  It is a very go there, do this, we'll call you, don't call us arrangement.     
« Last Edit: January 23, 2008, 03:31:25 am by Slartibartfast »

Offline Mr. Consideration

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1108 on: January 12, 2008, 02:53:21 am »
/Impressed. Keep it coming.
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Offline PatMan33

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Re: The Historical Superpower OOC
« Reply #1109 on: January 17, 2008, 10:37:59 pm »
Hmm... what's the word folks?