The watery grave. (Open RP)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Conviction., Jan 17, 2012.

  1. "I found myself traveling far from my previous destination. In search of an orb that lurked within a watery grave. Bourbon told me that deep in the blackness I could find the Eye. An eye of darkness which will allow me to see my fathers location. No matter what I can not fail. I must succeed and bring an end to my beloved's suffering. I have to go kill my father who succumb to his power in order to save the only woman I've ever loved. Just so I can say my final goodbye...."

    -Journal of the Immortal.-

    In a town not so far away...

    Boots stained with the dust of roads once traveled, body scarred with memories both bitter and sweet. Fresh wounds oozing crimson tides, a testament of a man in constant struggle. His sway was heavy; his eyes burden. And though he seemed clad in the finest leather armor, and possessed a sense of nobility and wealth. Depression did linger in his waltz. A heart burdened with sorrows past. A constant daunting song lingering and plaguing a once simple mind. His aura was a labyrinth. Calling out to the curious as if begging them to solve his inner qualms for him. Yet the man knew none could mend his battered soul or piece together his shriveled, swarthy heart. His lineage was common, hardly as exotic as most others. He was a human, a human cursed with an unfortunate gift. Many of his mortal kin would gaze into the heavens and beg to the God's for the curse which burdened him.

    But they were ignorant, unknowingly wishing for their demise. Immortality, never ending beauty and youth. How many myths were weaved together by such a desire? Yet like everything in this hostile world of ours. Such a gift came with great cost. He wandered the world aimlessly, watching as it turned and passed him by. He was nothing more then a forsaken relic. And no matter how much he tried to live a human life. Those he loved would perish. Resting under concrete's shadow. As he alone would be left to gather the pieces and press onward. A long forgotten Odyssey he was forced to walk. Granting him an epiphany. Though the Gods and himself obtain immortality by not wearing out. A mortal could do the same by doing one great thing. And so he had come to learn the envy of the Gods. And grasped a newly found appreciation for deaths bitter sweet purpose.

    With hood hung over rugged face. His jade eyes would infiltrate the shadows influence. Piercing it as the tanned strangers boots did tread lightly down the civilized road. "Thud, thud, thud..." The sound of their influence ringing down the nearly empty streets. A few locals would stop and observe him. It had become self evident that he ventured into this realm on a mission. He was a man of purpose; despite his heavy soul. His eyes were like that of an old, war weary veteran. Which contradicted his youthful exterior. Coming to an abrupt halt, the man would remove his hood, revealing his scarred and bloodied rugged face. His emerald eyes would dart across the scene. As if he were paranoid. Though truthfully the immortal expected trouble.

    In route/At The watery grave...

    After a momentary pause the man would press forward. Not wanting to waste anymore time. For tonight he would soon have but a brief realization of inner serenity. After walking for 3 or so hours. The weary soul found himself staring into the reflection of water.. In fact despite the almost alien aura engulfing the region. The immortal would not so as much flinch. Rather it phased through him. As if he possessed no fears of the unknown and the dangers which lurked within. There in the water, he saw his reflection. And behind him, a brief image of his recently deceased beloved. Her long golden hair seems to blow in wind call. As she touched his frigid cheeks, providing warmth to his skin.

    Slowly he would turn to face what he perceived in the water.Only to find that she was not there. Of course not, the dead do not simply awaken to provide comfort. Yet another warning of his rapidly decaying mental state. Most likely a byproduct of immortality. Still just the mere perception of an allusion close to heart. Reminded him of better days. And for the first time in a long while. A smile rested on his face. Quickly fading almost as fast as it manifested itself. Once more he would find himself peering into the fathomless depths of the waters. His hand casually drifting to the hilt of his blade. The hoarse whisper of steel grinding against steel would ring in the distance. With a flick of his wrist, the blade would hurl toward the ground. Impacting the soil as the sheer force dug the blade into the earth. The man would plop down back now resting against the blade. As arms folded comfortably across his chest.

    "I am here...What are you waiting for?" He whispered under his breath. As he closed his eyelids. His inner third eye awakening as he saw the world and his surroundings in a new light. Of which words would fail to describe. This man was strange, perhaps even an unwelcome visitor. But truthfully he had always been an undesired pilgrim of sorts. Ever since that day. Who was this man? A name had little value to him anymore. And so those few which have crossed paths and perhaps even blades with him. Bestowed on him a bland title...Ill Meathor. In the common tongue it translated to "The Warrior." Truthfully he found it colorless, but appreciated the simplicity of it. Here he would rest. His third eye observing his surroundings intently. As his aura began to thicken. He was meditating as he waited. Praying the locals might assist him. Though time would have to be the it ofttimes was.
  2. The wind was at his back, the sun shined dimly apon his masked face, with the existance of his next destination in mind. To most that would see him, he was just a man in a clad-black hooded cape and robe. That was a sight only seen by the untrained eye. But in other eyes he was a madman, a murderer, a liar, and so much more. His name is Raven, Raven Black fang. Due to his bone rattling reputation he is now known as "Crow" or "Nevermore" as used in the stories. He sat apon his grey horse, Grim, looking from the edge of a cliff. In the far three day travel distance he saw a small town. Most likely some may have known of his identity there like the rest. Leaving death in his way at every turn he'd make.

    "Come, Grim." he whispered as he mannuvered his horse from the edge. "We require shelter..." he said as they began trotting off into the path of mystery. When he arrives, what will happen? Shall he be hunted like a dog? Captured and then hung on sight? This he shall not know unless he raches his destination. To aquire the prying eyes of the people only to be held at blade point for who he is.
  3. What appeared to be a man was but 100 yards away from where the immortal was, growing ever closer. From what only a third eye could tell, he was very intuned to the magic that surrounded the area and everything else alive or inanimate. Some call it aura, some call it life energy, but this man called it magic simply because he found the word more appealing. Magic was the one and only thing that kept him alive, without it he would disappear in an instant. The only visible physical features were his tan arms that were in his hooded trench coat pockets that hid his face. There was something that drew the man to this place though he was just passing by, was it the immortal man or the item he seeked?