Graterras: A Clash of Fates {IC}

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

A Black Void, Full of Nothing.

The icy claws of death grip your chest. They plunge deep into your skin filling you with the cold waters of the beyond. You feel numb... All warmth stops. All around you darkness, nothing to see but the black abyss. You only barely remember why you are here. It is but a fuzzy blur in your mind's eye. You feel it like a dreary midnight's dream. Was it real? Surely it couldn't be. Did you die?

The thoughts wander lethargically through your mind. The cold inky blackness makes you weary; It saps all your energy as if bathing in a lake of ice water. In a brief moment of clarity... you realize your body is gone. That you are just a soul without a vessel. You float through the endless blackness not being able to influence your path or your direction. Helpless at the currents of darkness there is but no choice to resign to your fate. There is no use fighting the dark energy. You don't even have a body with which to fight it. You feel your mind start to drift... the knowledge and experiences form your life... they feel distant... faded. Like old pieces of parchments... the ink isn;t as clear as it once was. It begins to unset... and disappear. There is nothing that can be done. Nothing. Nothing at all. You slowly lose who you are, what you stood for, what you loved, what you hated, All of the fiber of your being starts to unravel. The parchment itself comes undone. Strands of fiber start to float off into a sea of blackness. All that you feel is bitter cold. Bitter horrible cold. And yet... one warmth holds on.

In the core of your soul you feel a small kernel of energy, barely the size of a pea. It is but one thing... a burning desire. It holds you barely together, it barely keeps you from unraveling. It is the one regret that keeps your battered soul whole. It burns white hot, keeping the cold darkness from claiming you entirely. The cold hands of the afterlife dare not touch you for the fire would burn them to a crisp. It feels like an eternity. like you are floating forever in the void. With naught but a little kernel of warmth to keep your soul company. Without it... you feel like you would have went mad long ago. Where you would be now you don't know. You would never know for the vast darkness... it was still everywhere. You looked inward. Looking to the little kernel that rest in the depths of your soul. While it is the sole thing keeping you afloat... looking into it is painful. For you feel the weight of your death. You know that it is now true. And yet... it fills you with the will to remain. Regret wells up within you. It wraps the fraying edges of your soul and repairs them. Many of your memories... they become whole again. They flood back to you in flashes. Slowly at first, but gradually faster and faster. You feel a warmth around your whole soul now, as the kernel expands. It begins to wrap your whole form and bring it together.

And then... you feel stone underfoot. You find yourself looking up at the starry night sky all by yourself. You lay on bricks of a lavish violet colour, clearly not natural stone. As the clarity come back.. you learn that you once more have a body. A form to call yours. It aches right now. A dull pain. Nothing you aren't used to by now. The pain of an honest day's work or a long hike at best. You stand up now, finding that sits before you... a great Purple Keep. It sits upon a lonely hill in the distance. Rain cascades to the ground tapping the stone in a rhythmic pattern. It seemingly matches your heartbeat.

A Sole figure walks down the path. A man by the looks, but it is impossible to tell. He wears a magnificent cloak of pure violet. Slicked in rain and the fire of the stars, he looks like an angel walking on the ground. He holds a mighty staff of oak, adorned with many different pieces of bone. A cascade of multi-coloured beads hang from a bird's skull that perches on the the top. They click and clack as well as he approaches.

As he reaches you, he speaks in a voice as smooth as the violet silk he is wearing. It had a rasp that flitted at the end of it, like a knife's edge. He said but this, "I am the Lord in Violet... Who may you be?"

((Okay, so rules for the first post. Each character is by themselves meeting the Lord in Violet for the first time. Each will have an intro scene with him as they will have a conversation with him. These will all take place at the same time, however there cannot be any interaction between any PCs at this time please. You will get to kick the snot out of each other soon enough.))

[Kurotsune]

"I'm sorry, boss." The last words spoken still rang through his ears. Sorry my ass.

Matthew rushed through the deck, leaping into the air with unparalleled grace even as bullets peppered his form; As he landed, he landed hard on the traitorous swine, his sword biting deep into the man's flesh, the snake's bite making his death as sure as Matthew's own.

He knew he would die there, and that did soon follow. His form slowly released his grip on the man as he flailed to be free from Matthew's grasp; The sabre slid through the wound it inflicted smoothly, falling with it's master to the seas.

When he hit the cold waters, he felt the waves wash over his form. The first felt like daggers to his wounds, the salt in the sea burning the bullet holes that tore his flesh. The second felt like a warm embrace, perhaps because the water was now mixed with his blood, it wasn't as cold anymore. The last wave he barely did feel as his consciousness faded away...

"One day, Matthew, I'll be king of the seas!" The tall, rugged man exclaimed to the small boy in his shoulders. This man had a slender but exquisite frame that fit him well. A chiseled jaw adorned by a face that once definitely hid beauty within it, though now it was instead deformed by scars. The man wore his long dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail, and kept his son firm in his shoulders as he pioneered the ship.

"And I'll be your first mate!" The boy exclaimed, excitedly. The man chuckles "Maybe. Or maybe you'll be captain all on your own." He sets the boy down, waving him off with his now free hand. "Go, lad. You've practice."

"Aye aye cap'n!" Matthew ran off as his father watched him.

...Or was that his father? He felt as if he was living through his memories again, but they felt distant somehow. As if he was watching someone else's life unravel before his eyes, and find it oddly similar to his, and yet quite not the same. A spectator to his own show, oblivious of the contents within. He had no idea how long it had been now, since he had died.

He barely remembered why.

As he drifted through the seas of darkness that composed the afterlife, the once-man known as Matthew Corwil struggled to remember his identity. "I'm a man of the seas!" his thought raged. "I died with my father's sword in my hands!" they shouted. "I'm the captain!"

Soon, however, even those sounds became muffled nonsense. Eventually he could barely remember who he was, and began to lose hope.

Humans seek adversity. It is through adversity that we grow, that we develop. But what when adversity becomes too much? When faced with the torture of eternity, would one not prefer oblivion?

And yet, just as his soul was about to give up... It did not.

It held, a tiny ember, a spark of life long lost. It held to itself and to all that surrounded it, much like a baby's first breath of life, grasping at all that it could, giving it form, molding it anew. Soon, without really knowing why, Matthew saw himself as himself once again.

Rain. He always enjoyed the rain... Even the storms. They made him feel more at home, somehow. As if being surrounded by water truly - Both above and below - made him more connected to the sea around him. His eyes close softly, the man enjoying the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the ground below, seemingly matching the rhythm of his own newfound heartbeat.

The small things, you find, are the ones you miss most.

And Matthew planned to completely enjoy this moment. The smell, the sound, the feel of the droplets of water as they washed over him, the man cherished them all, until he heard a different kind of tapping. Alien, but not unfamiliar. He opened his eyes to see who it was that walked near him and mused at the man for a bit. It was not unusual for him to see odd types in his life, but that man was a special sort. He admired him as he approached, and their eyes locked. Matthew recognized the gaze he was given; It was one of appraisal, but not one of surprise. The man very likely knew who he was, and very likely knew why he was there. He was not reacting to an unexpected event; His motions felt as fluid as one acting out a script.

"I am the beggar in crimson". He replied in a mock-bow, taking the time to look over himself. "Or alas, I am not. 'Twould seem the tailors in the afterlife failed to produce the blood that so-adorably adorned my clothes at the time of my death. Or at least - That is what I am, correct? I decidedly remember dying. I do not remember much of what came afterwards.

...Or, of course, this is a side-effect of overindulgence in ale. It wouldn't be the first time."

Matthew smiled at the man, half-joking, and breathed in heavily afterwards, slowly and soundly releasing the air through his nostrils before he continued. "Where am I, and why am I here?"

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Matthew's Meeting

"Hmmm, I am afraid this time you won't be awaking from a drunken escapade, that is for certain Captn'." the oddly dressed fellow mused. He wasn't much taller than Matthew himself. It was hard to get a read on the rest of his shape though as it was heavily cloaked in all sorts of luxurious fabrics and different adornments. Clearly it could be seen now that his collar was of jet black raven feathers, perhaps coming from the same bird who's skull perched at the end of his walking stick. What's more... the silk wasn't only that. It was a blend of fine silks with a type of Wolf hide Matthew had never seen before...It was easy to tell, the violet colour in the fur, was entirely natural and not some sort of dye. It was so otherworldy... and it likely didn't exist on Graterras itself. Even the slightest movements of his body caused a lot of clicking and the rattling of bones and beads. "As to where you are... this is the Hall of Sorrows. Isn't she... beautiful?"

The man gestured to the mighty keep behind him. It sat atop the lonely hill... foreboding and impending. However, a great sense of sadness... and regret? Was it Regret? These emotions washed over one just looking at the fort. As to why... it wasn't certain. It looked so lonely sitting atop the hill by it's lonesome. Not even a single tree to keep it company. The rain beat down on it's violet cobbles, beating out a stoney dirge. "And as to why you are here, your second question. Do you not know the answer already, Mister Corwil?

[Zephyrus the Priestess]

Cold. She felt it biting at her being... if one could call it that.

O Heartless One...

The frigid nothingness surrounded her; that was all she could see and feel. Or had she simply gone blind, deaf, unable to smell? There was nothing but cold, cold, cold to pick up on. She could not even remember her name.

My god, why hath thou forsaken me?

Somewhere, somebody lamented. Perhaps she hadn't gone deaf after all... Or was she imagining things? Did I not serve you well? Am I not worthy of entering into your kingdom? The thought echoed in her mind. It felt like it was hers, that it came from her. It was such a sorrowful voice. What caused this grief?

Grief. The sound of somebody's crying. Tears streaking down a woman's face.

She died alone. Alone, while somebody mourned for the one who killed her. Vaguely she recalled having her throat slit, spilling her life and essence, the soul of a huntress... The soul and being of a black panther. But not before she tore and slew the... madwoman. It was underneath a bright moon. Madness... Lunacy. So much blood had been spilled that night of insanity.

Not even raven's feathers came down to adorn her in her death. My god, my god, why hath thou forsaken me? Lord Draven. Did I not prove myself? Did I not carry out your will?

The cries of ravens suddenly pierced the abyss. She searched, in the hope that she would be purged of the cold and to be finally at her lord Draven's side. Amidst the familiar calls of ravens and the flapping of their wings, she felt a faint pulse. It grew, with every passing moment, to a powerful throbbing sensation. Warmth. Warmth. It burned and surged through her... a little too intensely. The memories of feeling cheated and alone, even at her death, almost took her in the darkness. Fury welled up in her, as well as sorrow. They were momentarily quelled by confusion.

Wasn't one's life supposed to flash by before death, not during or after?

Her memories... Who she was was still catching up to her as she took form under the cover of starlight. How she longed to stay down and just watch the beauty of the heavens. The desire to stay down vanquished, however, she was alerted to the sounds of somebody approaching and the sounds of... clicking even as the rain fell. When she stood, she saw a figure clothed in purple and adorned with the bones of a bird and with beads.

He spoke, and she tried to recall if "The Lord in Violet" ever was a title of the god Draven... though right as he asked for her name, it came to her in a snap. The final piece to who she was. But was she to trust this mysterious figure? What purpose did the Heartless One have for her now?

"Ayla Ryssyl," she said, warily, eyeing the figure from head to toe. Her eyes regarded him with suspicion, and her body was tense as though she were ready to strike or pounce immediately if needed.

[Noir]

With that, he dealt what was his final stroke with his Ka'Gul sword, amidst the bitter pain of the countless scars and slashes on his bloodied body, the blade piercing through the hard of his revered grandfather, as he relished the final moment of pleasure, the cold in the burning flames of malice and war.

There was darkness. Vaguely remembering himself struggling across fallen leaves with lifeblood flooding endlessly from his wounds, he opened his eyes again after countless moments, as if he had just awoke from a dreamless sleep. His senses -- if they were still active -- welcomed only the bitter cold. He knew not of the situation, yet his curiosity had yet to berserk his mind scrambling for answers. He arose from his spread eagled position on the surface that seemed to be an empty ground, uncovering only a vicinity of darkness and nothingness.

Cold as the grip of oblivion itself. He knew nothing, apart from his sole existence right now in where nothing else had a form. Whether his was hell or the abyss he knew not, and perhaps cared not; he feared not of the darkness or cold, as if he were born of it, nonchalant of its haunting toils.

Memories began to attack his head as he clenched his head in confusion. He could barely remember all glimpses of each one as they passed through him swiftly, as the slight pang of pain in his chest began to follow. He was attacked by the swiftest slashes and the speediest arrows of the bitter torment his memories plagued his mind and soul with. He reminisced faces -- faced that smiled, faces of rage, faces that writhed in the pain of their deaths, and the strife that left only malice and sanguine, perpetrated by the clashing sounds of the steel of blades that echoed uncomfortably in his mind like relentless hammers.

Was his life but a murderous career, a path of blood?

His confusion shattered as a touch of warmth, barely detectable, spread amidst the cold as if it were a candle's flame amidst unrelenting darkness. He sensed distant footsteps shattering the soft hissing of the sudden, falling rain, clicking slowly as an unknown figure appeared amidst the vague shadows. The mild starlight did little to help the silver-haired youth recognize the approaching person, and the slits of water that drizzled upon them like an endless barrage of arrows gave him more of a reason why it was seemingly difficult. Yet he had not anticipated the vagueness of everything dissipate into clarity as the figure's existence seemed to cleanse all of what confused him. He could see and sense the person confronting him very clearly now, as he widened his eyes in slight surprise.

The figure revealed vague traces of his posterior through a cloak of violet -- the color of the elf's eyes itself, wielding a staff made out of a vaguely recognizable quality of wood, adorned by tattered bones and beads surrounding the staff's tip, an avian's skull. Their eyes met, as the younger one grasped the look in his eyes with his own solemn ones; it was an emotionless look akin to his own, yet it was inspiriting, with a mild touch of appraisal as his tilted his head slightly, perhaps being affected by mild doubt or the mischievous grasp of curiosity. For a few moments, only the rain moved. There was not even the slightest of quivering amidst the cold touch of the damp rain that seemed so warm in his presence; no motion, no words spoken, not even as much as the blink of one's eyes.

"Lord of the Violet." The figure finally spoke, acting as if he were an examiner that had completed an assessment. That was his title, presumably, revealed through a muttering tone, mildly reassuring the boy. The being knew who he was. He had answers. He knew things the boy struggling amidst amnesiac thoughts wanted to know. His very existence itself seemed to clear the taint of deception amidst the dimension of nothingness.

"Your name. Do you remember?"

And the words alone had helped.

"....Debronee." The silver-haired figure finally remembered.

[P.S Tell me what needs to be fixed.]

Edited June 20, 2015 by YagamiNoir4896

[Chevaleresse]

Silef felt nothing, and then something. Or, perhaps she had felt something before, but it was too awful to even consider remembering. Either way, strenght filled her limbs once more. . . which meant her fight was not finished.

The scenes of her life returned to her all at once. A noble birth and upbringing, the fertile fields and hills of her homeland . . . and death. So much death. Much of it dealt by her, though she felt no shame about it. Not enough, though, not enough to prevent the others from returning it twofold, fivefold, tenfold. Someone shuddered; it might have been her. Shouldn't have; a lord does not shudder. She remembered an arrow. An arrow! The manor, the seat of her power, her birthplace, they attacked!

Silef scrambled to her feet abruptly, instinctively wreathing herself in fire and drawing the slender blade at her side with a ragged, wordless battle cry. It took a few moments for the realization of her location to set in. She cast about with a wild look in her eyes for a few moments before the raised tip of the blade slowly moved toward the ground, the fire that had so suddenly appeared fading from sight. She breathed heavily, though not from the exertion - memory played a role, but shock is a powerful thing - as she examined her surroundings. It took several moments for her to realize that she had been spoken to.

"Silef, head of the house Asterlux," she replied with a respectful nod, suitable for one lord to give to another. "Pardon my. . . rudeness. I . . ." She trailed off, unsure of how to explain her behavior or even where she was.

[Flux]

Vayne fell to his knees, his hand loosening its grasp on his sword. His cloak felt tighter than usual -- that was his first thought as he began to die. He could feel the arrows piercing his torso, his clothes pinned to his body and sticky with blood. He could see the general standing above him, grinning like a madman as Vayne's life seeped out of him. There was something resting in his arms... it was... a body. A female body...

Lyra. The name came to him suddenly. And just as suddenly, everything came back to him in those last few moments. That was Lyra, laying dead in the general's arms. The arrows came from the men he fought alongside, though they were not his allies. He had tried to kill the general... that was all he had wanted before dying. Revenge. And he had failed to obtain even that. He would be remembered only as a traitor, the man who slew his entire city for one girl. And a girl he had failed to save.

He watched her body fall from the general's arms as his eyes closed for the final time. He could feel himself falling forward. And the arrows... There were so MANY. Their bodies hit the pavement together, the life gone from both of them. And that was the end of Vayne.

...Or so he thought, as his consciousness came to life once more. He was remembering everything, and that had been the final event. But if that was the case, how was he here, thinking and remembering it all? He felt a tugging sensation, a pulling of his very lifeforce as he was sucked out of this void in which he was trapped. Moments later, his eyes opened again, for the first time since his death. It was strange to even think those words. He was in the familiarity of his own body once again. His cloak was loose, as it usually was; the arrows were gone. Yet, he still felt a dull ache in his chest; the ache of regret. He had forsaken everything for her, and had failed anyway. Despite his "talents," he had been unable to save anything when the time came. He had instead become the villain. He fell to his hands and knees as memories of her surged through him. What he would give to see her one more time...

He could feel the tears coming as he looked towards the ground, but he fought to choke them back. He could hear a clicking... somebody was coming, but he didn't care. What point was there in trying to protect his life anymore? He'd lost everything.

The clicking stopped just in front of him. Vayne did not look up; he remained staring at the violet stones beneath him, waiting for death's swift sword to end him once more.

It didn't come.

He heard the voice before anything else. "I am the Lord in Violet... Who may you be?" Vayne looked up, seeing the man in the purple cloak. Lord in Violet indeed... He stood slowly, adjusted his own cloak, a deep green in color.

"My name is Vayne." He paused for a moment, before adding, "Vayne, the Traitorous Hero."

[Aurorix]

As Zagi sunk deeper and deeper into what seemed like an endless sea of darkness, except for the little bit of light in his chest, he wondered how long must death taunt him and make him suffer in this black abyss. Just after that thought he could feel a familiar sensation, like the feeling of stone. He blinks a couple of times, realizing that he now has a body. As he gets up, aside from whatever pain his body had been feeling, he remembered what happened just as he died.

He and his brother, Deke, were on the battle field together as allies. Hidden in a nearby forest, the two brothers were about to flank the enemy, but before Zagi could even take one step forward he felt the sharp pain of a lance pierce through his back, poking out of his chest, and almost immediately after pulled out. He dropped his blade, got onto his knees, and grabbed the wound in his chest hoping it would help a little. He turned his head back and was in shock as he saw his brother holding his lace, smeared with his blood. He coughed up blood as blood oozed out quickly from his back and chest. "Brother... Why..." He spoke wearily before fainting and ultimately dying from loss of blood.

As he woke up from his day dream, he noticed a purple cloaked man with a wooden staff approach him. Naturally, he was a bit cautious of the man, prepared to draw the blade on his back if he were suddenly attack. The man introduced himself as he asked for his name, he felt if the man introduced himself it'd be rude not to do so himself. "My name is Zagi, Zagi Adius." He spoke up to the cloaked man, "Would you happen to know where we are?"

[Felicity]

Varick noted a strange familiarity within his death. A raid like any other, Orcs like so many others. New recruits like the many who had come and gone, one way or the other. Really it was no different to any of the countless times he ad defended his home from the green bastards. He was fending the foes off alongside his fellow warriors, bulling through them and swiftly ending them with a swift slice to the throat with the bloody sword at his side. He had been doing this for around a decade.

So what went wrong?

Screams erupted from the new recruits, the fearsome Orcs charge finally made the poor screaming youth soil himself in fright. There was always one. But then another scream, and another and another and another. Their forces broke, Varicks senses were assaulted by more than just the stench of the battlefield and the sound of war cries.

The retreat was ordered, even though most of the cowards had fled already. However Varick knew. The horde of Orcs facing them would not relent. The moment they turned to retreat and flee it was over. Varick and all his fellows would be trampled and butchered by the charge. There was no way they could retreat.

And so Varick went to his death. He fought and fought and fought on until finally he was taken. No man could fight forever,

And so Varick found himself once more, reliving those memories on his back. He got up and the purple figure approached. Varick just gave a weary sigh. "Varick Harudim. Why am I not becoming a skeleton right now?" No point beating around the bush. Varick knew some otherworldly things were going to happen. If they didn't happen in the afterlife, where else?

[Ragnar]

Neville fought valiantly and was pushed to the limit as the young spellcaster foolishly confronts the group of bandits all by himself; He takes most of its members out with his elemental spells; preventing them to reach his hometown. Neville was successful in wiping out the bandits and became the unsung hero of his village, but at what cost? there so much that his body can take, Neville is losing so much blood in that encounter and was seconds away from his death.

Neville chuckled at his last moments before falling on his knees and went face first into the ground. He can feel that his magic is slowly depleting and leaving his body while lying down on the snow cover field and bathes in his own pool of blood. Why oh why did I ever decide to play the hero? my quest is simple: to find and reunite with my father. I did not expect my journey was this short live. well, at least i get a good laugh out of this. can't wait to tell paps about this if we ever meet again. Neville chuckled once more despite the sharp pain that he is going through. Neville accepts his fate as he lays still while hearing the howl of the frigid wind that blows through his motionless body as he dies alone in the blizzard plain of the aurora.

after which, Neville wakes up only to find himself in a different place and greeted by a divine violet man. The wizard ponders in disbelief and scans the place before he picks himself up with the use of his wooden staff for support and addresses the man's question.

"the name's Neville, Neville Frostburn" the elven wizard introduce himself, eyeing the Lord of Violet before him.

"this place is the afterlife right? cause that's the only explanation that make sense on how I ended up from the aurora up to this in place..."

[Kurotsune]

"The hall of sorrows, is it? What a fitting place for an afterlife!" The man exclaimed with a hearty laughter that soon followed.

He peered at the man, taking in his figure for a moment before continuing. "And are you death? My very own reaper, here to show me where I shall spend the rest of eternity? Am I doomed to wander this place alone and forgotten, swimming in the pool of my own regret for what I could've done in life?"

Matthew was always one for dramatic flair, and always valued highly a polished vocabulary, even among his crew of pirates. He didn't wait for an answer, however, and continued. "But alas, 'tis a question I know the answer of as well. I'm not here to simply stay, am I? My passage is more temporary. If I'm to have my body back, I presume I am to be given a second chance?" He peered at the man, and then at himself.

"How odd that one such as I would be given this chance. Perhaps there's something you want me to do first, or after? Am I to kill someone in your name? Spread the word of your divinity? I'll have you know, I drive a hard bargain for my services."

Matthew spoke casually, but on the inside he carefully examined his surroundings, trying to make what he could of his situation. If he was simply to be given another chance, why awake here at all? Furthermore, why awake here with his weapons?

His father's sword - The sword that was in his grasp when he died - was in his grasp again when he was given form. His clothing and armor, same he'd wore for years, were pristine and new as they adorned his features, as if just woven. Whatever this man wanted, Matthew knew he'd make him fight for it.

"...Should I presume that if I succeed, I can live again? And if I fail, I am to face the end of my existence?"

Absolution or redemption; Matthew couldn't quite tell which option he feared more.

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Matthew's Meeting.

"You are just as intuitive as I though Mister Corwil. You do have a real mind for these things." The violet clad man said. He leaned on his staff looking Corwil in his eyes. two orbs of purple mist sat in the Lord's head. Not much like humans eyes were they. "However, this is not the afterlife, this is a limbo. This place exists between the world of the damned, dead and forgotten, and the world of Mortals. It has no name, at least none known to any mortals." He stared the old Captain down, judging the man with every look. The Lord in Violet had a powerful stare, one that told him nearly everything about those that stood in front of him. It was no harsh judgement, no cruel thing. It was a power that allowed him to understand those he looked at completely. He understood any being completely with but his gaze alone. Not a power many could boost. He crack his neck, a loud noise interrupting the silence. And he talked once more after. "You remember that kernel of warmth? Well... you answered my invitation Mister Corwil. You are here because you choose to be here. You decided you wanted to fight. Because you have something... left undone do you not?"

He turned around and paced for a moment. The beads and bones rattled quickly as he hastily turned. Then they gently clacked as he walked a few paces. He stood with his back to Matthew staring at the great Violet keep behind him. His voice once more rang into the silence, seemingly drowning out the sound of the rain. "Your services aren't of my need, but that of your own Mister Corwil. You fight for yourself today, not for me. It is you who will fight to wash away that one bitter regret you still have. After all, you answered my invitation... You must have some reason to fight, no?"

Ayla's Arrival

"Why so tense Ayla? I am not here to cause you harm." the Man clad in violet spoke quickly in a hushed and gentle tone. He clearly meant to show he had to ill will towards the woman standing before him. He bowed quickly and courteously, dropping his staff to his side as he did so. He didn't loose his grip on it, showing he had incredible grace and knew his own body well. "To what do I owe the pleasure of one of Draven's Faithful being here? Tell me Ayla Ryssel... do you know where you are? DO you know why you are here?"

Debronee's Disembarkation

The man in violet looked at what appeared to be a young man. He knew why he was here and the nature of that arrival... however... he still couldn't really believe it himself. He waved a hand in front of the young man's face, not to be rude, but to check on him. He seemed to not all be there at the moment. "Debronee, do you know why you are here? Do you know where you are?" He asked quickly as if trying to keep the young man's attention. He wasn't trying to be forceful, but he had a bite to his words making sure they were to be heard crystal clear. He stood straight and tall, cutting an imposing figure. He tried to look solid make sure that he could be trusted. The Boy was clearly disoriented, or was very recently. He had to make sure that he could be trusted. He tried his best to seem as such. Holding his wildly eccentric staff still by his side. He tapped it on the ground once as a bright purple light flashed. "Hopefully, that helps clear your mind entirely. SOmetimes, souls have issues with their memories reattaching. That flash of light so tie them more hastily and keep your head on straight. Now, as I asked before; Do you know where you are, and why you are here Debronee?" The Lord in Violet asked firmly and swiftly.

Silef's Session

"Ah, no matter Milady." the man said as he he nodded in reply. He took off his wild tophat. It was the same colour as the rest of his getup along with having 3 black raven's feathers pinned to the side. He bowed quickly holding the hat to his chest. Silef could see the top of his head... or rather, what seemed to be the top of a great helm. It was a strange sight to see; a helmet underneath a hat? He placed it back on top of his head as he outstretched his unoccupied hand. He still had his head lowered below the level of hers. He offered this kindness as a Lord to a Lady, a proper Graterrian gesture. He would take her hand in his as he walked her to the gates of his Keep. "Please Milady take my hand, I shall explain what I can to you on our way to the Halls of Sorrow, my beautiful home. It is an honour to have royalty here after all, we so rarely get visitors of your calibre Milady."

Vayne's Visit

"Isn't that... Impossible my boy? A traitorous hero sounds a mite like a contradiction." the Lord in Violet remarked. He paced back and forth around Vayne sizing him up, looking at him from all angles. He took in the essence of the one who stood before him. "But... you did it for love didn't you? You gave up everything for the one you held most dear in this world didn't you?" He questioned. However, Vayne would be able to tell... this man actually already knew the answers to the questions he was asking. While they were posed at questions, they were said like statements. This lord implied he knew the answers by doing this and he didn't make much effort to hide it either. He wasn't judging though, he didn't seem to be accusatory. He only was stating facts he knew. Could he easily anger the man? Probably. But, the Lord in Violet didn't care about that; To him it was more important this man know why he was here. "I wouldn't have invited you if you weren't a hero Vayne... O treacherous one. So... maybe that impossibility i mentioned earlier... maybe it isn't so impossible after all."

Zagi's Exordium

"And what if I didn't know where we were? What would you do then Zagi Adius?" TH figure clad in Violet asked. It was a serious question after all. Though by his tone it was clear he knew where they were. After all, he had come out to greet the man, it would have been hard to do so if he didn't know where they were right now. "Luckily for you, I do know where we are. These are the Halls of Sorrow." He said raising his arms in the air. He turned to face the mighty Violet keep that rose above the hills int he distance. It sat by itself on the hill, the rain covering the walls with a slick sheen. "Aren't they magnificent?"

Varick's Visit

"Well, clearly you are alive right now. Why would you be turning into one of those? You answered my invitation after all, I can't talk to a skeleton... usually." the Lord in Violet mused. It seemed as if he was vocalizing an inner monologue, or just saying his own thought aloud. He paced around, his boots smacking on the pavement and his staff clicking and clanking as the mountain of adornments cracked together over and over. He left out a soft huff, as he turned back to the half orc man. "Welcome to the Halls of Sorrow Varick Harudim, aren't they a lovely place?" He said gesturing towards that mighty Keep that rested on the hill.

Neville's Encounter

"This place is no afterlife Frostburn. It is a world between planes of the damned, deceased and the forgotten, and the land of the living." He said staring at the Wizard. "You should know this after all. It is you who answered the invitation I sent you. I figured you would know best of what this world is considering you answered it quite quickly." he paced back and forth now, his boots slamming into the Violet cobbles underfoot. The rain poured down all around still playing its rhythmic dirge. The Raven's skull seemed to stare at Neville almost as much as the eyes of the Lord in Violet himself. He looked the Wizard up and down and from every angle he could get from his pacing around the man. "So, is it safe to say that you don't know why you are here then too huh?"

[Felicity]

"I can't say I ever had an appreciation for architecture" Varick stood stretching as he spoke. He didn't quite feel accustomed to his body for some reason. Besides, it gave him something to do as the entity in front of him spoke. The voice sounded male, so Varick assumed it was a he and he was... interesting to say the least. More so than a building. "What would you wish to see me about? I can't recall being invited to much of anything." Varick said with a neutral tone. He remembered dying. That knowledge had put his whole life in a strange perspective now. If Varick was the ponderous, philosophical sort he might have been considering the worth of his life, what it all meant etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. Instead Varick patiently awaited the answer from the man in the strange garb.

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Varick's Visit

"Hmmm, well you are here therefore you answered the invite, there is no other way for you to have gotten here after all." He said, scratching his chin. He paced even more than he had before clicking and clacking all the same. "Do you know why you have arrived here at the Halls of Sorrow? Do you know what it is you are here for Varick?"

[Zephyrus the Priestess]

Not for a second did Ayla's rigid muscles relax as she watched the man bow. That position would've left him easy to strike down, left him vulnerable, unless he had the reflexes and magic to protect himself... but, evidently, this man knew how to carry himself. Either way, it didn't seem like he was about to attack. He called himself "Lord", right? And that meant that he owned the domain. In response to his question, Ayla shook her head and her shoulders twitched in a tiny shrug as she forced herself to relax just a tiny bit. The beads, amidst the raven's feathers in her snowy hair, clicked softly as they made contact with each other.

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Ayla's Arrival

"Hmmm, not a talkative one are you? I should have expected as much, but I had hoped you would speak to me. Much easier to communicate that way. But, I will not press you do do that which you do not want to." The violet clad man spoke. He threw up his staff as he stood back up, and caught it. It wasn't to impress or anything but the easiest way to get the staff out of the way to stand back up at full attention. At least for the Lord in Violet. He paced around with the clacking of beads and bones filling the mostly still night air. "Well Ayla, you are here because you answered my invitation. As such you have been summoned here to the Halls of Sorrow." he answered his own questions to her. He wondered how quiet she would remain, if he'd get any response at all. The first indicated she wasn't the talking type. He knew this well enough to begin with. She only ever so slightly relaxed to begin with. He knew that she did, but she was still very much on guard.

[Zephyrus the Priestess]

It was true; she wasn't a talker by nature. The only time she spoke was when it was something her body could not communicate. Speech gave less away and language could only convey so much. For this reason, she tilted her head and peered curiously-- maybe questioningly, rather-- at the Lord in Violet when he said "invitation" and "Hall of Sorrow", though she guessed that the latter was what the strange keep ahead was. The Drow had no memory of an invitation, much less to a Hall of Sorrow.

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Ayla's Arrival

"Hmmm, so you do not. Strange, you have answered the invitation of your free will, hence why you are here. So, I don't know how you do not know of it." He looked genuinely confused while saying this. He scratched his head as he paced around. He had sent the invitations many a time and never had this many complications. Most of those arriving here knew their purpose to be here. However, he wondered how spread the legends of the Hall of Sorrows were in the world of Graterras these days. Once all knew about them and it was reflected by the spirits who arrived. They knew very well what they were getting into. But this particular batch... didn't seem to know. He sighed out of frustration, though tried to remain composed. After all, couldn't let a mortal see him visibly upset. "Walk with me won't you? Perhaps, I will be able to explain more while we walk to the fort."

[Flux]

"I wouldn't have invited you if you weren't a hero Vayne... O treacherous one. So... maybe that impossibility i mentioned earlier... maybe it isn't so impossible after all."

"Of course it isn't..." Vayne muttered. He was obviously distraught and not completely set in reality at the moment. "Any hero can become a traitor... all it takes is a single moment - a single reason to push them past the boundaries of logic."

Vayne stopped there, his voice choking up at the end. He closed his eyes and went through the old calming exercises he had learned as a child in the forest he had come to know so well. After a short while, he opened them again and met the gaze of the Lord in Violet, his eyes bearing a steely gaze. He was clearly more focused and together now, living in the present once more.

"What did you mean when you said you "invited" me?" he demanded. "Why couldn't you just leave me dead... It's what I deserve..." His voice drifted away with the last sentence, and he appeared to be returning back to his inner thoughts once more...

[Chevaleresse]

Silef took the proffered hand and began walking alongside the strange individual. "I thank you for your courtesy. Allow me to apologize should I come off as rude; it has been quite some time since I last visited a court properly." A very long time, indeed. She elected to keep any questions about his dress to herself; there were far more important things to learn than why the man dressed in purple, or wore a helm underneath a cap. "You flatter me, by the way; I am no queen, nor a descendant of such." She examined the Lord in Violet. "I would presume us equals, under different circumstances, but these are rather. . . odd." The sorceress was still trying to figure out where she was. It seemed, not familiar, but as if she should recognize the place somehow.

[Noir]

And with that, Debronee's memories began to take form. There was this new, profound sense of clarity implanted into his mind as the final traces of the violet light had vanished.

He remembered everything now -- at least, almost everything. As much as his memories had returned, he knew not still of the mysterious dimension they stood in. Nevertheless, the boy remained calm, and while his curiosity had yet to sway, he had yet to succumb to trust, whom the half-elf boy saw as mere weakness. Knowledgeable and perhaps now important to him the cloaked man in violet was, he had to stay on his guard. He remained a shady, dubious figure, and he was presumably invited here, to this place -- and this person had some connection. Why me? He thought. I am but one stained of blood, a being of massacre and malice. Or is it perhaps that itself of which this Lord requires?

"This be the abyss of oblivion or death, I care not. But be this a dimension of life, why grant me a second chance? Or would this transcend both aspects itself? This...Hall of Sorrows...."

There was only silence for a moment from both sides yet again.

"You seek a murderer," Debronee finally said. It was a rhetorical question, a statement, rather than one that Debronee wanted answers for, presumptuous as it was. "A swordsman, an assassin. You find interest in my heritage of two infamous bloodlines of my parents, as well as my training under my foster father, and master."

Edited June 21, 2015 by YagamiNoir4896

[Aurorix]

Zagi didn't really ponder too much on the man's first question, if the man didn't know then he'd continue searching for the answer. Even if it may take months or years, information can't be found by just sitting around and since it seemed like he has more then enough free time on his hands it'd give him something to do. Though during his studies he'd never heard of a place called The Halls of Sorrow. This man must know a lot about this situation and seeing as he died there could only be a few ways this could go down in his mind. First scenario, this is the after life or the second scenario, he was revived by some necromatic/summoning spell to do someone's dirty work. Though seeing as the man just asked his opinion he should answer that first before he began to pose his questions.

"Indeed, how you were able to build this is impressive and must've taken an enormous amount of time." He said to Violet as he peered at the Violet keep on the hill. Now turning his head towards the man he asked, "So if you don't mind me asking, is this the after life or have you summoned from the cold abyss that is death? Because I swear I remember being killed by someone, their spear pieced me right through my chest." Zagi said place right his hand on his hand on where the blade hit. It was right under his breast plate where his armor ended and his clothes began to show from under them. Upon closer inspection his realized the wound was gone, even the one on his back was missing. Well, I guess having a wounded body ready for death after waking up from said death wouldn't be too useful.

[Code: PIRULUK]

Death is a funny thing. Everybody fears it. Everybody expects it. Everybody thinks it is terrifying, yet accepts that oblivion is peaceful. Everyone holds that belief that the quiet, eternal sleep of death bring peace and nothingness. They are not entirely wrong. It is an unending nothingness. There is nothing, and nothing, and beyond that, nothing. But... it is far from peaceful. In the oblivion of death there is too much of nothing. Time passes; time does not pass. Your soul floats; your soul is still. Stasis and movement lose their distinction. All is nothing, yet nothing is nothing, for nothing is as nothing ought to be.

In the midst of nothing the existence of the self does not exist, yet it also exists; for how can you perceive nothing if there is nothing for nothing to be perceived by? The self exists as a something within nothing. Hence, in yearning for something that is not nothing, the self turns in on itself in the oblivion of death.

Everything the soul did, everything it yearned for, everything it wished for, everything it regretted, everything it ever felt, heard, saw, or thought; all these become considered by the soul in its bid to escape from the oppression of nothingness. Some might think it cathartic, reliving and looking upon one's ended existence with retrospective consideration. Then there are the souls like Helen Lemercier.

Erva!

Erva Erva I'm sorry I'm so sorry why why did I do that why couldn't I stop why did I let myself do that I hurt you I'm sorry

Helen, in her incorporeal retrospection, relived her last acts: of attacking her beloved, of turning on her love. She remembered little, but she remembered regret. Regret became the emotion that filled her nothingness. Had she a body, she might have curled up, or cried, or even slit her wrists over and over in atonement for her sin. But she had no vessel, so all she could do was exist within the nonexistence of death, fueling the fire of her soul with self-reproach.

Fire. To Helen, it was a familiar thing. Not a friendly thing, not by far, but one she was well-acquainted with. At some point - time had no bearing on a place where it did not exist- she had noticed a slight warmth, reminiscent of fire, burning away within the remains of her tattered soul. At some base level, she was aware that it was this kindling which kept her conscious, which stopped her from melting away into nothingness. The self-reproach that was Helen's soul became tinged the color of irony. The fire that had taken away her innocence was now denying her the freedom of oblivion. An unending, meaningless, oppressive oblivion, but oblivion nonetheless. The fire beckoned to Helen, inviting her. The first time Helen had touched fire, her core was fundamentally warped and distorted. Now, fire was inviting her to touch it again, possibly to warp her more. If Helen were to accept its invitation, surely she would be warped even more; denied even the questionable peace of death.

Helen gladly embraced the fire. One such as her, who would hurt her only love, deserved not peace even in its ugliest form. One such as her deserved not even nothing.

The first thing Helen felt was cold stone beneath her bare feet. The next was the cold wind stinging her naked body. As she glanced downward, she first noticed the garishly violet flooring, contorting her face in disgust. Violet as a color hadn't been in fashion for years. At least, not at the time she had died. Who knew how much fashion sensibilities had changed in the time she had spent floating around as a ball of something in nothingness? For that matter, who knew how much time she had spent in that state? It was a mystery, which Helen could not particularly find the ability within herself to care about. She was more concerned about her state of dress. Specifically, her state of undress. She was stark naked, bar the long, white silken shawl that had been her constant companion and guardian in her life. Yet, the white shawl was beautifully white. Completely pure white. Spotless.

It made her uncomfortable. She wanted the bloodstains back. The lack of clothes, her closest friends, was bad enough, but without even the shawl which shared her stained purity, Helen was well and truly alone.

Well, perhaps that was what she deserved.

clack, clack

The sound of wood hitting against stone resounded, snapping Helen out of a visual self-inspection. Approaching her, on the road, walking with purpose and a strong figure, was...

...a travesty. A crime against fashion.

Helen lamented as she tried to fathom why anyone would ever want to wear so much violet. The figure approaching her was wearing so much violet, she instinctively tightened her grip on her shawl, tempted to strike down the stranger in case his severe lack of taste was somehow contagious. The ridiculous-looking staff did not help. Using animal bones to create a sense of mysticism was perfectly acceptable - she had dressed according to that concept on several occasions in life - but in conjunction with multicolored beads? The only fashion statement that made was "I can't tell the difference between modern jewellery and ancient mystical formations and therefore feel they go great together."

As the walking tragedy stepped closer, Helen stepped back, maintaining a solid distance between them, such that she could easily indicate her lack of relation to this individual in case the two of them were seen by a third party - unlikely, given the circumstances of her materialisation, but one should always prepare for every eventuality.

The Badly Dressed Individual then spoke up.

"I am the Lord of Violet. Who may you be?"

Part of Helen was hesitant to acknowledge the existence of this travesty, but she did need to know more about the circumstances of her current materialisation - no matter how badly her sole source of information dressed.

She faced the Lord of Really Bad Taste and spoke up.

"I'm Helen, of the Lemerciers. I'm going to assume you have something to do with why I suddenly appeared here, as well as the circumstances behind my sudden materialisation. So, first things first: Why is my shawl white and could I please have my bloodstains back?"

[Raindrop Valkyrie]

Vayne's Visit

"I didn't bring you here. I sent you the invitation, and you answered it. That is why you are here. You have a regret that you need to solve... do you not? That is why you are here. You came here of your accord so clearly you don't believe that you don't deserve to live. You are here because you want to be." The Lord in Violet said to the distraught man. Clearly... these folks coming through here really didn't understand the idea behind the invitation. While he could ask them here, he couldn't cause them to come here as they had no body. They had to create it themselves with their own willpower after which they would find themselves here at the Halls of Sorrow. It was rather annoying explaining this to most souls that come through here. Especially the hysterical ones. Oh woe is me, I caused everyone I trusted and know to die!!! Ever think that might be why you are here bub?

He sighed rather loudly, "So, if you are going to blame anybody for being here it best be yourself bub. Because, you are the one that wanted the chance to fix what you did. So, don't be mad at me, I am trying to do you a service."

Silef's Session

He held her fingers in his hand gently, making sure not to touch his palm to hers. Even though he had a glove on and it didn't truly matter, he didn't want to break common courtesy. "And no worry Lady Asterlux, there won't be... that kind of court today. It shall be a very different kind of court, so don't worry about that Milady." he walked at a steady pace to not rush the lady and besides there wasn't much of a rush anyway. There was plenty of time yet, why not enjoy a nice stroll with a Lady after all? "And Odd indeed, it is not oft that a Lady such as you ends up here at the Halls of Sorrow. Rarely do Nobles regret their lives... so you must be a rather... special noble after all."

Debronee's Disembarkment

"No offense, but I don't choose who gets invited, I have little to no interest in you at all. You are the reason you stand here before me. You answered the call and materialized your body here in this plane of existence." He stood there, not trying to look imposing but not really trying not to either. He stood up tall and straight, not moving much while staring down the young man what he said was true, but the Lord in Violet could care less. Plenty killed... in fact not a single spirit came through the Halls that hadn't taken a life at least once. The pointless whining of a man who didn't accept the fact of what he did was necessary. Quite frankly, as such the Lord in Violet had no real interest in this one, or any that he he did hold, had been quelled as he learned the truth. "You are here for your own purpose to fight for yourself. I am only an Overseer. You have no need to fight for me, because it isn't me you are here for. You have summoned yourself here."

He cracked his fingers. "So... I shall lead you to the Halls. They are where you will fight to cleanse your soul."

Zagi's Exordium

"Neither, you are here of your own accord. I merely sent the invitation you are the one who answered. I am not the one who created the body you know inhabit... you are." The Violet clad one said. His walking stick clanked as it hit the Violet cobbles underfoot. "Come, we can speak more on the way to the keep."

Helen's Happening

((The sad irony... beads represent the elements in Graterrian fashion, like red beads being fire etc... commonly used by Shamans or spellcasters to show which elements they had conquered of used themselves in battle. On traditional walking sticks, they were commonly attached to the skull of the Caster's Spirit Animal to represent the elements that they had mastered within their souls etc... [and by the way... it is the Lord ->IN<- Violet, not the Lord of Violet. just so you.]))

"I have very little to do with you appearance here Helen. I sent the invitation you yourself answered it, and you are the reason that you are here. You created the body you now inhabit including the Shawl you hold in your hand. So... you made it that way not I, and therefore I cannot give you anything for that I have never given you anything to begin with. It is best to ask yourself why it is not that way... perhaps... you might find a reason. Perhaps you felt you didn't deserve to have it... as well as a lot of other things you are... noticeably lacking at the moment." He said, clearly talking about her state of undress. It wasn't common for one to summon themselves in the nude. Mostly because most places in Graterras it was considered shameful. However... the Lord in Violet had a pretty good hunch about why this one did so. After all... he knew everything about her. It was part of sending the invitation. He learned all there was to learn about the soul. He might not get all the context, but he learned it. Meeting them was when things started to fill in properly and he got the full understanding.

"Either way, you have a stake in the Clash of Fates. Therefore you have summoned yourself to rectify some wrong you yourself committed. What that wrong is... I really don't care; It isn't my business. I am just here to oversee the proceedings nothing more, nothing less." he said in a clear calm tone. He didn't really convey much emotion in his voice, it was a clear flat tone, seemingly to make sure she understood what he was saying. "Anyway while I rightly don't care about your state of dress, other mortals will. So... I will solve that issue now and we can be on our way to the Halls of Sorrow."

He tapped his staff on the ground one time. All the green beads on the staff glowed with a bright green light as it flashed green where he struck the ground. within an instant, Helen found herself dressed in a giant over the top Violet ball gown. The Lord in Violet made a sharp 90% turn at this point and started walking towards the Keep in the distance. He spoke back over his shoulder. "It is only temporary, I am sure we can find something more battle worthy in the keep."

[Flux]

"So, if you are going to blame anybody for being here it best be yourself bub. Because, you are the one that wanted the chance to fix what you did. So, don't be mad at me, I am trying to do you a service."

"I don't plan on blaming anyone else for my actions..." Vayne muttered. "It was my decision, and I knew what it meant. Now I'm only left with... regrets." He thought about what the man had said. He supposed that the "invitation" must have been the tug his essence had felt in that void. It was true that he had gone along with that tug, wherever it may have taken him, so he supposed that counted as the "accepting of the invitation." The Lord in Violet had said that he was here because he had regrets... But what did that mean? Why were his regrets any different than those of anyone else? Looking around, he appeared to be the only one here.

"You said that I'm here because of my regret. What does that mean? Am I to be given a second chance? What make me so different from the thousands of others who die with their dreams unfulfilled?" He had so many questions to ask this man. But he couldn't help but feel that his time to ask them here was running shorter by the second. He was here for a reason, that much was sure. He just needed to know what it was.