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- Male
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, Scifi, Modern, Magical, Horror, Romance,
A pelfrey, trotted carrying a particularly large humanoid with fire emblazoned hair that fell down along the character's broad and muscled chest. His muscled arm were astride the saddle he sat upon like a king to his throne. Indeed. He felt more free on a steeds backside than anywhere--like a bird soaring. But this unusual breed of humanoid was covered in blood. A scent he wore, rather than simply carried. From his balled fists which showed signs of recent use, to his chest which bore the marks of swords slashes, and spear thrusts narrowly avoiding him. There was even blood that had accumulated around his mouth as though he had bitten his own tongue off--or someone else's.
Indeed,this seemingly feral 'man' was no man at all. He was a Manakete. A race of quasi-draconian lineage that could trace its roots back to the great creator Naga. But there were variations of Manakete, just as there were of those dimwitted insects the Beorc's. This Manakete was fire born and he proved he had, had the fire in his soul from the very beginning. While it was true that flame Manakete's were common--he was uncommon among them. This character's height, let alone build, set him apart from most of his kind. He's a towering figure, standing well above most others and his physique doesn't try to hide its prowess, it makes it very very clear what he's capable of. Those characteristics apart--he also carried the ruby faceted eyes that was infamous for breeds like his. His skin carried a warm 'glow', it was somewhat tanned but expressed a perpetuating characteristic as if it were golden under the sun.
Days ago, this behemoth had freed himself from slavers. He could have done so earlier, certainly. But he didn't feel that innate call that beckoned him back to his homeland. What was a peaceful, ordinary evening several nights ago--became a blood bath with this Manakete at the center stage. It was like a light had been flipped on in his soul, too bright to see it quite clearly, it was enough to drive the desolation out of him and replace it with rage and an eagerness to see his homeland. It was savagery at its finest. A sight to truly behold, one that could empty the stomach's of those weak of resolve. This Manakete was no stranger to violence...
Alone. For I do not feel you breathing the spark of life in this mortal coil.
A despondent Aurieus stood barely clad before a group of men. They groped him. Felt his arms for themselves as if testing the truthfulness of his stock. Though his starkly colored eyes and hair did nothing to belie who, and what he was. However, this Manakete stared out as if far away. As if waiting for something, but his eyes were empty of any indication of what it might have been--food, water--a good fuck. They weren't sure rather to keep him for the rarity, or discard him because they simply weren't making money off of him. Their uncertainties, for a large part kept them from disposing of him too hastily. Even so, it would spell their untimely demise.
Twilight had settled up the wilderness about the camp set up by the brigands who held Aurieus captive. But as the fires crackled around them the flame born Manakete stirred in his catatonic state. It brought the Manakete to his feet, his long dirty red hair; full of leaves, twigs and other assortments draping down past his face overshadowing the features of his face. Aurieus began taking in great breaths, as though he simply hadn't breathed in a very long time. Meanwhile, his heart started to throb, almost painfully yet it was anxious as well. Deep in the recesses of his clouded mind an image was birthed clearly amid the shrouding and turbulent heaves. It was of home, of Rausten.
I am not alone. For I hear you calling.
I am not alone. For I feel you breathing the breath of life into me once again.
Aurieus opened his eyes slowly, and he stepped forth towards the cage's structure--the other changlings opting to now stare at him curious as to what he was up to. Aurieus gripped the thick wooden beam that kept the cage locked shut, his grip continued to increase slowly until his hands started openly bleeding. Aurieus didn't stop there though. His grip started to fracture the wooden beam until the wood had splintered in twain betwixt his hands. The door fell forwards flat releasing him from his cage. The others were in marvel of this uncommon sight. The beam had been about the width of a man's arm. Stepping out of the enclosure, they looked on anxious and wandering if he would release them as well--but he was a Manakete. That being said, Aurieus did indeed lift the wooden lock that confined several other shape-changers.
Once they poured out of their inhospitable cages, they seemed to defer a sense of leadership to Aurieus who sought weaponry of any kind. The weapon that he ultimately wound up using--strangely, if ironically--was a brazier. The rest of the captives managed to round up several heavy pieces of wood, a shovel, a farm scythe and a pitchfork. There were various other improvised weapons and this was due largely in part to the caravan having its own feed stock. Aurieus' heart was thudding excitedly in his chest and with each beat the image was seared into his every thought. He had to get home.
Gripping the brazier two-handed, Aurieus spun and launched the blazing stand like it were a fireball. It struck its mark, two of the guards became engulfed as the searing coals touched their skin, their clothes and the tents around them. Whatever could catch fire--was now just about burning. The flames worked more or less two fold; it distracted some, and panicked the others into thinking they were being attacked by an actual enemy--not their own slaves. Whilst the chaos ensued, the sounds of screaming filling the burning air around him--he could see the image of the flames climbing higher yet from a distance, it probably looked no more bigger than a common flame. It was mesmerizing and beautiful in its own way.
Aurieus had come across a small shield, it wasn't big enough for a man of his stature, but it would have to do because his first opponent came up on him. The man swung wildly and with wanton abandon. Aurieus did what he could, the sheila sufficing, every blow met with a resounding impact. But truth be told, he was always more clumsy on foot than on a horse. But these Beorc were nothing but petty criminals, and while they had experience with holding a blade--they didn't often encounter experienced fighters themselves very often. Aurieus gave the man one solid blow from the iron shield across his brow causing the human head to 'snap' violently to the left. While not dead from initial impact of the first blow it dazed and distorted the man causing him to falter and fall to the earth.
Aurieus stepped over the fallen man who now had a serious gash across his forehead--lifted his right foot and pivoted as he stomped down his victims exposed windpipe. He leaned over and lifted the sword the man had been using before his demise--a falchion. Or at least a variation thereof. The weapon didn't 'feel' right in his hand. Though it was heavy, the handle was too small and while he preferred spears--two handed swords were the next best thing. Still, he had to use it. He wasn't about to go back to using large club or some other dissimilar weapon. He left the man gurgling his last breath and continued on. His sole purpose was make it to Rausten, that was all that mattered to him now. He would kill to achieve it, he would die in the attempt if Naga meant it so.
A second brigand assaulted him with a flurry of blows not unlike the first foe had done, but these were quicker paced--lighter. This could be more problematic; He wasn't as fleet footed, and the weapon he was equipped with wasn't suited for his large hands. It mine as well have been a throwing weapon all things considered. Still, Aurieus' pride was nothing to laugh at. Nor was his temper, which, after being cut in several places had accumulated. Gritting his teeth, he was thoroughly annoyed. Enough so that when his would-be attack poised to strike again, Aurieus tensed his arm that the shield was strapped to. His bicep engorged, swelling to nearly twice its normal size. When his assailant leaped at him, Aurieus swung his arm out in a large arc catching the Beorc and sending him crashing through a tent that was ablaze.
Dropping the sword in his other hand, he freed it just in time to reach down and grab the pitchfork that one of the changelings had grabbed that had been killed. A third attacker came at him while he was still bent over. Fortunately though, the shield had obscured his grabbing the farm implement. The Beorc's sword scored a solid glancing blow as the sword had 'skidded' over the boss the center of the shield and laid gash across Aurieus' spine. Aurieus then thrust the pitch fork into the abdomen of the slaver, lifted him up while the prongs and impaled the earth using the handle. The man dangled, still alive on the pitchfork, but unable to free himself as he was unable to stand on the ground.
Aurieus was so close. So close to freedom. But a weapon he didn't expect, lacerated his face leaving several marks like those of claws. In reality, it was a multi tailed whip and each tail had iron studs that could rip flesh. Once struck, this even brought Aurieus down to one knee. Another blow came upon his already bleeding backside; several lacerations appearing as if by magic. He was now bowed forwards. With his head bent downwards, it slow rose and his eyes rekindled the animosity in him. While he couldn't transform in the literal sense, he could very well become an animal in all others. The slaver reared his arm back, jostled it a bit and slung it forwards as though casting a line.
With his empty hand,the tails twirling up the length of his arm, embedding the small iron spikes into the flesh but the muscle in his arm tensed dramatically leaving him latched on the other end. Arm bleeding, it wasn't enough pain to keep Aurieus from jerking back on the whip, further splaying his own flesh like gutting a fish in preperation yet at the same time sending the man within striking distance. The shield met the man's forehead with a sickening 'crack' that left little doubt that the man was more than likely dead. Nevertheless, Aurieus mounted the man, slid his arm from the straps of the shield, and proceeded to further bash the Beorc's skull in.
By the time he had finished, there was little to no recognition of the man. Bits of bone and brain were slathered all over its surface giving it an almost polished sheen. Whilst in his semi frenzied state, he was screaming but not in agony, oh no. This was an almost feral call, reminiscent of a dragons fearsome roar. He stood and tossed the shield aside, the camp was empty. Bodies strewn; dead or dying. Some had made it out alive. Aurieus picked and plucked the metal spikes that had done 'wonders' for his skin, leaving it shredded and bloody but mostly in tact. He then wandered around a bit, still feeling the euphoria of battle. His brain telling him to go to Raustan still, the only problem was the fact his face had been flayed and he could hardly see through the blood oozing down it.
That not withstanding, he mounted one of the caravan's many horses. They were of common stock. But one was a pelfry. This is a well bred horse that was bred for general purpose riding, war and for travel. How they obtained it, he could definitely guess. Nevertheless, it was a blessing. He finally felt as if he stood on even ground now...
Aurieus neared his home town, dismounting the steed he looked about--to and fro. Many would look upon him with bewilderment. Even among his own kind he was, needless to say, uncommon. But in addition to his stature, there was the matter off the blood. Most of it had dried, but there was few spots where it was still liquid in form. He couldn't say what had brought him here. Just that there were invisible strings pulling his tired body among the huddled masses. But then he caught a peculiar scent. It was Manakete, he knew that much. But this one smelled 'different'. He honed in on it, and after a bit of tracking he came face to face with the Envoy. But he wasn't alone.
He stood listening attentively, completely focused on the female Manakete. With her words, her cherished words--it became clear to him why he was so intent on getting here and what his purpose was. If the Envoy said protect this Branded, then that's what he would do. He might not have liked the vague smell of Beorc in his blood, but if it could help the Manakete race from perishing he would do his best to ignore it. As for the others, they were varied like shades of color. But standing there wounded as he was; no doubt scarred from his brief battle to escape. He couldn't help but ask himself if this would truly work.
Indeed,this seemingly feral 'man' was no man at all. He was a Manakete. A race of quasi-draconian lineage that could trace its roots back to the great creator Naga. But there were variations of Manakete, just as there were of those dimwitted insects the Beorc's. This Manakete was fire born and he proved he had, had the fire in his soul from the very beginning. While it was true that flame Manakete's were common--he was uncommon among them. This character's height, let alone build, set him apart from most of his kind. He's a towering figure, standing well above most others and his physique doesn't try to hide its prowess, it makes it very very clear what he's capable of. Those characteristics apart--he also carried the ruby faceted eyes that was infamous for breeds like his. His skin carried a warm 'glow', it was somewhat tanned but expressed a perpetuating characteristic as if it were golden under the sun.
Days ago, this behemoth had freed himself from slavers. He could have done so earlier, certainly. But he didn't feel that innate call that beckoned him back to his homeland. What was a peaceful, ordinary evening several nights ago--became a blood bath with this Manakete at the center stage. It was like a light had been flipped on in his soul, too bright to see it quite clearly, it was enough to drive the desolation out of him and replace it with rage and an eagerness to see his homeland. It was savagery at its finest. A sight to truly behold, one that could empty the stomach's of those weak of resolve. This Manakete was no stranger to violence...
Several days ago...
Alone. For I do not hear you calling.
Alone. For I do not feel you breathing the spark of life in this mortal coil.
A despondent Aurieus stood barely clad before a group of men. They groped him. Felt his arms for themselves as if testing the truthfulness of his stock. Though his starkly colored eyes and hair did nothing to belie who, and what he was. However, this Manakete stared out as if far away. As if waiting for something, but his eyes were empty of any indication of what it might have been--food, water--a good fuck. They weren't sure rather to keep him for the rarity, or discard him because they simply weren't making money off of him. Their uncertainties, for a large part kept them from disposing of him too hastily. Even so, it would spell their untimely demise.
Twilight had settled up the wilderness about the camp set up by the brigands who held Aurieus captive. But as the fires crackled around them the flame born Manakete stirred in his catatonic state. It brought the Manakete to his feet, his long dirty red hair; full of leaves, twigs and other assortments draping down past his face overshadowing the features of his face. Aurieus began taking in great breaths, as though he simply hadn't breathed in a very long time. Meanwhile, his heart started to throb, almost painfully yet it was anxious as well. Deep in the recesses of his clouded mind an image was birthed clearly amid the shrouding and turbulent heaves. It was of home, of Rausten.
I am not alone. For I hear you calling.
I am not alone. For I feel you breathing the breath of life into me once again.
Aurieus opened his eyes slowly, and he stepped forth towards the cage's structure--the other changlings opting to now stare at him curious as to what he was up to. Aurieus gripped the thick wooden beam that kept the cage locked shut, his grip continued to increase slowly until his hands started openly bleeding. Aurieus didn't stop there though. His grip started to fracture the wooden beam until the wood had splintered in twain betwixt his hands. The door fell forwards flat releasing him from his cage. The others were in marvel of this uncommon sight. The beam had been about the width of a man's arm. Stepping out of the enclosure, they looked on anxious and wandering if he would release them as well--but he was a Manakete. That being said, Aurieus did indeed lift the wooden lock that confined several other shape-changers.
Once they poured out of their inhospitable cages, they seemed to defer a sense of leadership to Aurieus who sought weaponry of any kind. The weapon that he ultimately wound up using--strangely, if ironically--was a brazier. The rest of the captives managed to round up several heavy pieces of wood, a shovel, a farm scythe and a pitchfork. There were various other improvised weapons and this was due largely in part to the caravan having its own feed stock. Aurieus' heart was thudding excitedly in his chest and with each beat the image was seared into his every thought. He had to get home.
Gripping the brazier two-handed, Aurieus spun and launched the blazing stand like it were a fireball. It struck its mark, two of the guards became engulfed as the searing coals touched their skin, their clothes and the tents around them. Whatever could catch fire--was now just about burning. The flames worked more or less two fold; it distracted some, and panicked the others into thinking they were being attacked by an actual enemy--not their own slaves. Whilst the chaos ensued, the sounds of screaming filling the burning air around him--he could see the image of the flames climbing higher yet from a distance, it probably looked no more bigger than a common flame. It was mesmerizing and beautiful in its own way.
Aurieus had come across a small shield, it wasn't big enough for a man of his stature, but it would have to do because his first opponent came up on him. The man swung wildly and with wanton abandon. Aurieus did what he could, the sheila sufficing, every blow met with a resounding impact. But truth be told, he was always more clumsy on foot than on a horse. But these Beorc were nothing but petty criminals, and while they had experience with holding a blade--they didn't often encounter experienced fighters themselves very often. Aurieus gave the man one solid blow from the iron shield across his brow causing the human head to 'snap' violently to the left. While not dead from initial impact of the first blow it dazed and distorted the man causing him to falter and fall to the earth.
Aurieus stepped over the fallen man who now had a serious gash across his forehead--lifted his right foot and pivoted as he stomped down his victims exposed windpipe. He leaned over and lifted the sword the man had been using before his demise--a falchion. Or at least a variation thereof. The weapon didn't 'feel' right in his hand. Though it was heavy, the handle was too small and while he preferred spears--two handed swords were the next best thing. Still, he had to use it. He wasn't about to go back to using large club or some other dissimilar weapon. He left the man gurgling his last breath and continued on. His sole purpose was make it to Rausten, that was all that mattered to him now. He would kill to achieve it, he would die in the attempt if Naga meant it so.
A second brigand assaulted him with a flurry of blows not unlike the first foe had done, but these were quicker paced--lighter. This could be more problematic; He wasn't as fleet footed, and the weapon he was equipped with wasn't suited for his large hands. It mine as well have been a throwing weapon all things considered. Still, Aurieus' pride was nothing to laugh at. Nor was his temper, which, after being cut in several places had accumulated. Gritting his teeth, he was thoroughly annoyed. Enough so that when his would-be attack poised to strike again, Aurieus tensed his arm that the shield was strapped to. His bicep engorged, swelling to nearly twice its normal size. When his assailant leaped at him, Aurieus swung his arm out in a large arc catching the Beorc and sending him crashing through a tent that was ablaze.
Dropping the sword in his other hand, he freed it just in time to reach down and grab the pitchfork that one of the changelings had grabbed that had been killed. A third attacker came at him while he was still bent over. Fortunately though, the shield had obscured his grabbing the farm implement. The Beorc's sword scored a solid glancing blow as the sword had 'skidded' over the boss the center of the shield and laid gash across Aurieus' spine. Aurieus then thrust the pitch fork into the abdomen of the slaver, lifted him up while the prongs and impaled the earth using the handle. The man dangled, still alive on the pitchfork, but unable to free himself as he was unable to stand on the ground.
Aurieus was so close. So close to freedom. But a weapon he didn't expect, lacerated his face leaving several marks like those of claws. In reality, it was a multi tailed whip and each tail had iron studs that could rip flesh. Once struck, this even brought Aurieus down to one knee. Another blow came upon his already bleeding backside; several lacerations appearing as if by magic. He was now bowed forwards. With his head bent downwards, it slow rose and his eyes rekindled the animosity in him. While he couldn't transform in the literal sense, he could very well become an animal in all others. The slaver reared his arm back, jostled it a bit and slung it forwards as though casting a line.
With his empty hand,the tails twirling up the length of his arm, embedding the small iron spikes into the flesh but the muscle in his arm tensed dramatically leaving him latched on the other end. Arm bleeding, it wasn't enough pain to keep Aurieus from jerking back on the whip, further splaying his own flesh like gutting a fish in preperation yet at the same time sending the man within striking distance. The shield met the man's forehead with a sickening 'crack' that left little doubt that the man was more than likely dead. Nevertheless, Aurieus mounted the man, slid his arm from the straps of the shield, and proceeded to further bash the Beorc's skull in.
By the time he had finished, there was little to no recognition of the man. Bits of bone and brain were slathered all over its surface giving it an almost polished sheen. Whilst in his semi frenzied state, he was screaming but not in agony, oh no. This was an almost feral call, reminiscent of a dragons fearsome roar. He stood and tossed the shield aside, the camp was empty. Bodies strewn; dead or dying. Some had made it out alive. Aurieus picked and plucked the metal spikes that had done 'wonders' for his skin, leaving it shredded and bloody but mostly in tact. He then wandered around a bit, still feeling the euphoria of battle. His brain telling him to go to Raustan still, the only problem was the fact his face had been flayed and he could hardly see through the blood oozing down it.
That not withstanding, he mounted one of the caravan's many horses. They were of common stock. But one was a pelfry. This is a well bred horse that was bred for general purpose riding, war and for travel. How they obtained it, he could definitely guess. Nevertheless, it was a blessing. He finally felt as if he stood on even ground now...
Present Day
Aurieus neared his home town, dismounting the steed he looked about--to and fro. Many would look upon him with bewilderment. Even among his own kind he was, needless to say, uncommon. But in addition to his stature, there was the matter off the blood. Most of it had dried, but there was few spots where it was still liquid in form. He couldn't say what had brought him here. Just that there were invisible strings pulling his tired body among the huddled masses. But then he caught a peculiar scent. It was Manakete, he knew that much. But this one smelled 'different'. He honed in on it, and after a bit of tracking he came face to face with the Envoy. But he wasn't alone.
He stood listening attentively, completely focused on the female Manakete. With her words, her cherished words--it became clear to him why he was so intent on getting here and what his purpose was. If the Envoy said protect this Branded, then that's what he would do. He might not have liked the vague smell of Beorc in his blood, but if it could help the Manakete race from perishing he would do his best to ignore it. As for the others, they were varied like shades of color. But standing there wounded as he was; no doubt scarred from his brief battle to escape. He couldn't help but ask himself if this would truly work.