Krevster Darkheart

[Shadowsong]

Player Name: Shadowsong

Name: Krevster Darkheart

Age: 31.

Race: Human

Height: 6' 9"

Weight: 337 lbs

Occupation: Blood Guard, Bodyguard, Freelance Captain.

Physical Description: Mortal colossus of muscle and steel, displaying a powerful physique and sharply military bearing. Shows a lofty domed forehead above eyes of steel grey with veins of red through the iris, along a great beak-like nose and craggy features which speak of an unforgiving landscape. Features of an unforgiving man.

Raven black hair reaches down past his ears, wavy locks flowing back from his forehead as if recoiling from his fearsome face. Skin is a rough beige like sandstone, and clean shaven on the face, as though the harsh surface will allow nothing to grow there. A jutting jaw resembles a granite block, and the mouth is but a dark line across the face between pale lips.

Personality: A harsh and brutal man, who actively strives to act as a cold killer with a heart of stone. Once moved to berserker rages, he has now cooled his wrath into a chillingly malicious and malign hate which lurks in wait to spread misery and woe. Enjoys a dark humour which sees irony in deceit and art in cruelty.

Seems eternally at the end of his patience, in a constant state agitation, as if annoyed. Even so, he is intelligent and thoughtful in a ruthless kind of way. Replaces questions with demands for information, phrasing them in the form of orders to tell him what he wants to know.

Posessions:

Instrument of Slaughter, large sword - A sword forged of hewn black iron with gleaming runes of crimson etched upon the blade. Bones are worked into the hilt, taken from the corpse of a perfect child sacrificed to a cruel goddess, and when forged the hot blade was quenched in the blood of those slain in treachery.

Large, designed primarily for two-handed use, although can be used reasonably well with one hand. Provides extended reach and angular momentum for powerful strikes. Favours the cut over the thrust, too wide in the blade for fully effective piercing between the joints of armour, although tapers towards the point for limited thrusting ability.

At present the evil hexes worked into the bloody glyphs only reinforce the weapon against damage that would otherwise be done to the unorthodox construction. Shedding of blood reawakens the blade, so battles in which many are slain with this blade at once shall add to the unholy prowess of the weapon.

Blood Armour - Forged of rough, hammered iron plates strapped over the body, covering the major areas with solid steel although with gaps for a skilled foe to exploit. Marked deep red over most of the surface, with wide borders and small pieces remaining their normal iron grey.

As solid steel, resists cutting weapons without fail. Requires specialist weapons such as crossbows or warhammers to breach. Beneath these hammered iron plates is a bodysuit of strengthened material from the City Guard.

Voice of Blood - In the shape of a crimson teardrop, this amulet is cursed with the voice of demon and imparts dark secrets and knowledge through unholy dreams and whispers. While worn and kept, teaches foul sorceries dealing in blood and death.

Sacrificial Dagger - A yellowed knife for ritual bloodletting. A poor weapon, unsuited to the clash of blades or piercing armour, yet is a tool for sending souls to a dark god, who grants favour when murder is done with this weapon.

Powers or Strengths:

Battle Prowess - Death on two legs, with a brutal combat style that involves battering down the defences of the enemy, smashing the weapons and shields of foes during combat, barreling them over and pushing them back even during the clash of blades. Well practiced in hitting foes when they are not looking as well, landing solid and deadly blows.

Great Strength - Raw physical power is on his side, able to lift fair-sized men effortlessly with one hand and fling them aside, as well as cause great damage to both people and objects. With such massive size as his, he is mostly muscle.

Sheer Malice - Hatred is a mantra for him, a source of determination and energy. Simulates indominatable fortitude and willpower through his drive to conquer all opposition, refusing to admit defeat and pushing himself through pain and despair with the force of his hate. May also burn villages and put countless people to the sword without flinching if it serves his purposes. Utterly unphased by cruelty and torture.

Touch of Blood - Master of what flows in veins, through the favour of the Infernal Dark. Fresh wounds are dry and bloodless, unless he commands them be otherwise. Poison and infections borne in the blood pose no threat to him. Suffers from trauma and pain from pierced and torn flesh as would any other, but his blood remains inviolate.

Venom Lord - Knows poisons well, the methods of their creation and use, effects and methods of application. Can identify them by many of their features and symptoms. Knows something of antidotes, mostly based around the limitations of the poisons rather than curing them.

Interestingly enough, is on good terms with poisonous animals, able to bypass them unmolested. Considered an ally by them, and may count on them administering venom to nearby inconveniences. Lacks true control of them, merely the capacity to guide them.

Whispers - Receives unholy guidance from the dark powers, gaining an intuitive knowledge of matters related to bloodshed. These include secrets or nearby events involving blood and murder, which can be used for blackmail or even in search of converts for his death-cult. This knowledge is uncontrolled, neither granted nor requested, instead simply finding it's way into the mind of Krevster when he is exposed to something of unholy significance.

Hexes:

Learns unholy magic through communion with the Dark Powers, unholy forces imparting their arcane secrets to him. All of his foul spells are related to blood in some way, and are the workings of an ancient and nigh-forgotten cult of slaughter. A combination of dreams and the Whispers provide his instruction in magic, enschewing the need for more conventional modes of study.

Much of his power is fuelled by blood, typically that of others offered in sacrifice, usually spilled into a bowl directly from the veins. Ideally the blood is shed from a wound to the heart, with what is truly life blood granting far more power than what blood can be safely given. May also burn away his own blood in sacrifice by act of will, recharging his tainted essence over several days. To rebuild his power faster would be at physical cost, suffering fatigue from expending too much of his own blood.

Corruption of Blood - Taints blood gathered as if by sacrifice into a foul and brakish substance which acts as poison to living things who do not bear the taint of evil, inflicting a convulsive agony and setting nerves afire. Normally congeals into a paste suitable for blade venom, and if mixed with an conventional poison intensifies the effects.

Beacon of Despair - Wherever he treads, he leaves sensations of bitter pain and sorrow, more intense the nearer he approaches. Instills outright terror with but a word, a single baleful utterance which torments the mind with horrific syllables mercifully uncomprehended. Normal people will run screaming when faced with the full force of this crushing grief, while trained soldiers can force themselves to fight with difficulty. Only the heroically brave can remain unshaken by the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume them.

Fog of Slaughter - Calls upon the dark powers to fill the area nearby with a dreadful mist that obscures sight, emanating from himself, flowing through the air around him as he moves. Surfaces within the mist are left with a thin residue of slick blood afterwards, which may still be warm. The mist can be maintained for a long time and cover a large area, although is easily broken apart by strong winds or burned away by fire.

Profane Dominion - As an avatar and embodiment of bloodlust, may direct the bloodlust of other creatures, so they are more eager to obey his commands. Mindless predators do whatever he would ask, and his influence over all things he encounters depends on how far bloodlust rules their actions. So demons and berserkers and many forms of undead are innately compelled to obey him, and thus any creature that would attack him out of bloodlust alone would be instantly stopped by his command.

Natural compulsion is far from absolute, intelligent creatures still retain their free will. For example, the strength of his influence is equal to the strength of the impulse to kill and feed. Creatures capable of overruling their bloodlust (such as most vampires) are quite capable of overruling his wishes in the same way, although tend to look on his wishes far more favourably.

Weaknesses:

Madness - Glories in destruction and slaughter, seeking to demonstrate the power of both through gory and dramatic examples. Is addicted to murder, and when sufficiently roused or angered, develops an urge to kill, becoming distracted until satisfied. Favours impaling victims through the gut and watching them die slowly (typically enjoying a picnic as he watches) or taking heads to heap into fires and then burying the scorched remains.

Mercenary - Prone to becoming short-sighted when presented with the opportunity for personal gain, taking on unhelpful commitments when offered something of worth (typically eldritch power or treasure with a discernable use to him).

Morbid - Fascinated with death in all forms, such as the many ways one can suffer, die and kill. Indulges in dark habits such as using enemy skulls as drinking cups. Liable to be excessive in cruelties when using them, potentially undermining their intended purpose. Or may try to study a creature's last moments or analyse their death in such detail that it distracts him from the business of eliminating a foe.

Overcautious - Despite (or perhaps because of) his impatient demeanor, highly values time to think and consider his options. If pressured into making a snap decision, he is likely to lash out on principle in some form, and be far less effective in reaction to surprises.

Whispers - Not all of his infernal insights are useful. Many of them incite him towards dark acts of cruelty and mayhem, offering what are truly foolish gains against his ultimate plan. In short, the dark powers support cruelty and dominance and deception, which are not always good tools to achieve his goals.

History: Krevster's homeland is behind him. But he has sworn to return after the years with one thing in mind - to burn that city to the ground. They all must suffer. All of them. Espescially...her. The dreams still come and all he knows is he will have her head on a pike.

She would have let the death of a baby be in vain. Without her, he never would have been banished, never would have been hunted like an animal by those who were once his friends. He never would have had to draw steel against a man who was like a brother to him. She will pay. They will all pay.

And the years in prison. They mean so much more to the young, locked in a filthy rat-infested dungeon. All because of her.

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All it took was one life.

So they told him, and so he believed. A mere boy of fifteen, drafted to fight with little more than a short sword and thick clothing. There were others, veterans of the army, who had gained favour in battles through dedications of blood. Now, faced with a great danger, they were forced to make an equally great offering.

The blood of a child.

Desperation was in the air, and one death, just one death, could turn the tide of a civil war. Surely that was better than the fate of the city? How many children would die then? Better this way.

Her name was Sarlinna.

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The battlefield was dark, a gloomy, ominous dark. The light which surrounded Krevster was orange, glow from the fires of his army, camped on the northern edge of the war zone. Waiting.

Then the drums began, and hell broke into the world.

Lightning forked it's flashing arc across the sky, with the roar of thunder promising violent and painful death. Applauding the bloody show to come. Eager for carnage.

A tremendous force slammed into Krevster from behind as screaming men flew over their friends into the mud beyond the front lines. Terrifying cries of anguish and pain roared from the back of their army as it wheeled about itself to mobilise.

They had caught them napping. Their army was struck from behind by the assault vanguard of the insurgents, pushing down on them from the north. The battlefield was redefined, and they were being pushed off it.

Krevster returned to his feet, swaying for a moment, and ducked sharply as his closest comrade soared over his head and landed in a painful looking position. Krevster's heart went with him, torn as it was to see him die.

He rose again, now at the back line of the forces, fighting through his friends to get to the front.

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Standing amid the carnage, Krevster was victorious. His first true battle, and dozens were slain by his hand. It was all a haze, a blind orgy of rampant killing. Both friend and foe had died by his hand. In his hunger to reach the enemy, he had struck down his comrades.

Still, he was the victor of the day.

From the battle were new weapons and armour, which he claimed. In particular a hauberk of maille and a spiked axe, along with a leather cuirass and steel helm. In one battle he had achieved so much.

The sacrifice was a success.

From that day on, even his comrades feared Krevster, knowing he was indiscriminate in his bloodshed. Still, he was useful, and now larger and stronger than the other soldiers. So the leaders in the army began training him further.

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For weeks, there was cold war within the city. Both sides had taken heavy casualties, and were busy recruiting conscripts through press-gangs to replenish their forces before attempting to fight again. Krevster used this time to earn further training. With his success and distinction in the previous battle, superiors were more than willing to invest serious combat training on him.

Although there were problems with discipline. Infused with a savage lust for battle and bloodshed and sheer intense violence, a number of times Krevster broke heads over disagreements. Still, civil war was not the most controlled of circumstances, even if no attack took place. Through a combination of intimidation and persuasiveness, Krevster was able to ensure his impulses went overlooked.

Most of the days and weeks simply melded together between the killing, like an addict lost in the haze of withdrawal. Waiting for the next fight to stir his soul again.

Eventually, he got it.

Again he fought with fearsome vigour, winning spoils of blood and conquest. Laying about with his spiked war-axe, no foe could stand against him. Thankfully, taking the offensive meant no friend would stand against him either. So he managed to keep his berserker fury directed at the enemy. Sarlinna's name sprung from his lips with each frenzied hack, each brutal chop. No one knew the importance of that name, and assumed this frothing rage was inspired by once losing someone to the enemy.

From this he gathered more parts of salvaged armour, between those he won for himself by right and those he bullied from weaker soldiers. Now he had full leather and maille, complete with coif and a steel barbute helm. In keeping with his savage demeanor, he fitted curling horns onto his helmet to create a suitably feared visage.

Peace and quiet once more. This chafed at him. He wanted to hunt down and kill every last one of the insurgents. There was a certain pool from which they were drawing their conscripts, civilians who bore the simple misfortune of living in the enemy-controlled territory. Krevster had a solution to this.

Him, and a group of his followers, mere grunts who hung on to one of the most feared fighters of the bunch, raided the area, killing all they could find. Both men and women were slaughtered, and although no helpless child was murdered, the orphans were left helpless and parentless to die on their own.

No request for credit or honours was made. No, Krevster knew such an action would not be sanctioned. He just didn't care. They had to die. They deserved to die. They were the ones who supported the enemy. They were the reason Sarlinna was dead.

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Both sides wanted control of the city, and neither wanted to rule over a graveyard, thus the long stretches of time between battles. Each side sought to consolodate gains or limit losses without wiping out more and more of the city. Part of the secret to Krevster's success was having no such restraint - he wanted nothing less than to kill them all.

Seeking an outlet to his violence, Krevster found a position dealing with the disloyal. Not everyone supported the war, and Krevster made his sentiments very well known among those with thoughts of mutiny or opposition. Most were left able to fight, although in some cases grisly examples included one ringleader flayed alive in front of his fellows who would leave with the story.

Eventually, Krevster was accepted into the Band of Blood. Those who had demanded the child sacrifice. So, he performed the ceremonies and initiations, and fought with the other berserkers. They trained him well.

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The war lasted four years. Four years of constant delays and sieges, wresting points of economic control from the other. Desperation of those vying for the same resources. Eventually, the Band of Blood chose to end it through the aid of outside mercenaries - and engaged in a true siege, starving out the defenders. Again, the loose control of the situation allowed this action, which was disguised in the form of guarding strategic routes.

When the enemy were starved, they surrendered.

The leaders accepted the surrender.

Krevster refused.

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Two years of depredations followed. Torture, murder, outright cruelty as Krevster pursued his own agenda. Outright annihilation in the name of vengeance. They had stained his hands with the blood of a child and he could not forgive that.

Eventually action was taken against the Band of Blood, and the cult all went for their swords. Many died. Some were captured and dragged back in chains. There they met Princess Belesthana.

The Princess was not impressed. She was a hero, a champion of the people, a defender. No butchery would be tolerated under her rule.

Krevster saw her protecting those who were part of Sarlinna's death - the brothers, sisters, mothers and sons of those who forced her death. He thought this is who I fought for?

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Seven years in prison. In those years, the remaining members of the Band of Blood turned against themselves, against each other. Loyalty was no bond between them. Only the shared bloodlust and hunger for killing. No one else understood, no one else could share in that.

Damn that Princess and her holy teachings! Mercy? What a rediculous concept! They were the enemy! She was a traitor!

He was insane.

The entire city supported her. The traitoress. They must all pay. He would burn the city to the ground.

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Seeing as the captivity only fostered his bitterness, the Princess deemed exile a better solution. Keep him out on pain of imprisonment, and let him wander the world finding something else to live for besides vengeance. He was sent far, far away, to the great distance across the isolated deserts.

She sent him to the wastelands around Marn, hoping he would spend his vengeance on the brigands and monsters who frankly needed killing. Failing that, he would learn the value of community, or he would earn himself a grave.

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Eventually Krevster joined the City Guard of Marn. His hunger for vengeance was a powerful motivator which the authorities were shameless in manipulating. Eventually, the fires of hatred seemed to cool and he appeared thoroughly devoted to his new life in the Guard.

Until he learned from a scryer of a new path to power. An icon kept hidden away.

In a long quest, he sought out that icon, battling both a gigantic centipede and a three headed hound larger than a horse. The item he found was the Voice of Blood, from which he received the Dreams of Destruction. Demon Whispers revived his lust for vengeance against the city of Accimur.

Only instead of a raging fire, revenge was now a creeping ice.