Medieval & Fantasy Minecraft Roleplaying

Greetings Explorer, Navigate into the Lobby!

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Be sure to "Get Whitelisted" to join the community on server!

Uriel

Mara

Lord of Altera
Legend
Pronouns
She/Her
The_Reaper_Angel
The_Reaper_Angel
Legend
] | [

A Demon General slain in single combat by the Exalt of War.
While the realm may prosper in newfound safety, consequences
and complications are quick to arise.​

[Curse of the Blasphemous] You are cursed with an obsession over an object, person or place-
Uh oh
 

BoredBrit

Bored Brit
BoredBritishGuy
BoredBritishGuy
Legend
-=][=-

Steel clove through flesh leaving behind a spray of ichor in its wake. As one enemy fell, the next took its place and the Warlord stepped aside to swing once again. Thick black blood caked his steel and splattered across his face. It was an almost pleasant feeling in the dry heat of hell. Almost pleasant; if it were not for the stench of hewn flesh already beginning to rot in the hellish air. He was unsure how long he had been here, but he knew soon he had to move. That was the way of things here; kill and move. In the depths of hell there was only war. Pure hatred drove him. The angers and impurities within him flowed freely with each strike of his blade against the hellspawn. Each enemy felled spurred him to find more. Begged him to continue the carnage. To bring forth the bloodshed. He obliged.

Hell was no place to be navigated. There was no strategy in mind. There was only the purity of combat. He relished the thought. So many times he had spoken of this with his brothers in arms. So many times had he been told of its foolishness. Despite their warnings, he had come. An oath was sworn and farewells given. Uriel Valhart fought blindly through the dredges of hell with a single, simple goal. He would climb the steps of Dranoden's Citadel and he would bring forth the wrath of the stormlord. He smiled grimly at the thought.

A snagging, pulling, sensation tugged at his cheek. He turned with it, already swinging his blade. His cheek wept and his smile faded. He had let himself get distracted with thoughts of a future. There was no future, only the moment in which he had to survive. Always a single moment. He thrust his blade into the hellspawn's chest. That was his way. Surround himself in death and defy all odds. Thunder cracked from above as his blade struck bone. Take pleasure not in the victory but in the ability to keep fighting. Each carcass left in his wake was evidence of his strength.

When all was done, and it was never truly done, Uriel stood amid the death. His shoulders heaved with exertion. The smell of ash, rot and ozone moved with him. He had not even noticed the few enemies that had tried to flank him. From the looks of their jagged burns, God had taken care of their dishonour. Here, in Hell, he was Anathema to all that walked. No sooner than he had caught his breath had the need to keep moving returned. The need to keep fighting until he sought the heart of the Ivory Lands and the despot who sat upon its throne.

-=][=-​
 
Top