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    Callisto, the Shame of Isis


    Posts : 1
    Join date : 2014-07-13

    Callisto, the Shame of Isis Empty Callisto, the Shame of Isis

    Post  Onikage on Wed Feb 18, 2015 8:22 pm

    Act I. Biographical Data


    Given Name: Zariel (Before the Fall) Callisto (After the Fall)
    Nicknames and Aliases: Greywing, Greyfeather, The Arche (Before the Fall) / The Grey, Righteous Death, Shame of Isis
    Gender:  Male
    Birthdate: February 14th, 246
    Age: 118
    Race: Angel (Currently Fallen)
    Soul Type: Newborn


    II. Physical


    Appearance:  (Mandatory)

    - Height: 6'4"
    - Weight: 343
    - Hair Colour/Style: Short black hair, close cropped
    - Eye Colour: Grey (with flecks of orange once he Fell)
    - Skin Colour: Dark Brown

    Body Type & Physical Condition: Physically large individual. Little to no definition of muscle. Lean. Peak physical condition, average wingspan (13ft), no visible signs of aging, looks to be a male in his prime.
    Physical Abilities & Limitations: Physically quite strong, prefers close quarter combat as opposed to using magicks. Incredible eyesight and healing abilities. Can 'will' himself to regenerate from most injuries. Fights employing a strange style which incorporates his wings, using them to blind, and buffet opponents, while the deathblow comes in unseen from odd angles.
    Physical Illnesses & Afflictions: N/A
    Physical Imperfections: Represses his healing factor in his left eye, so that the scar over it stays there, forcing it to heal in only the direst of circumstances. Due to his mental instability, inflicts the wound again, once he has no more use of the eye.
    Clothing style: Low hooded purple and black robes conceal the once holy armor, now descrated by its wearers fallen status. Discarded now in favor of light chainmail.
    Distinguishing Features: Medium sized scar over his left eye. Sometimes pretends to be hunched over, when in fact the 'hump' is created by his wings folded underneath the robe.
    Voice: A rich baritone that is usually monotone, except for emotional periods.
    Transformation: (awaiting approval, tentatively named: Cro’angllah roughly translated to mean, ‘Unclean Angel’) A dire change comes over Callisto, he encases himself in darkness for mere moments, focusing his mind, before emerging as an entirely different being. One fuelled by his repressed anger and hate, the form he attained after his brutal weeks long battle with a demon wraith inside the confines of his being. In this form he is stronger in the shadow, the dark side of magick, his ruined eye and hands secreting a dark murky fog, the physical manifestations of his newfound power. In this form he calls himself Kuroe, and he is a danger to friend and foe unless he can learn to control this dark entity residing inside of himself.


    III. Mental


    Alignment:  Chaotic Neutral
    Outer Goals: To achieve a balance of light and dark and become the first necromancer to fully master death and life.
    Inner Goals: To bring 'her' back to the land of the living.
    Super Objective: To make Isis understand his cause is noble, through force if necessary.
    Personality: A quiet individual who balances thoughtful insights with the drive to act if deemed necessary. After his first disasterous attempt at necromancy, he has become humbled, and seeks to understand his new craft completely. His intensity on the subject is intimidating.
    Likes/Dislikes: Likes reading, quiet, rabbits, swamps, a good sparring session, research, and oddballs from every walk of life. Dislikes, people who like hearing themselves speak, ignorance, the color yellow, large crowds, violence without purpose.
    Hopes/Desires: To become competent enough to restore a specific individual to true life, at any cost to himself or the world.
    Fears/Phobias:  That the next transformation (to be confirmed) will be his last, that he will forever succumb to his other side and be lost in the process. That he will utterly fail his goals. Hates cats.
    Sexual Orientation: Straight
    Dirty Secrets:  Misses Isis and the City of Angels
    Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert
    More Thinking or Feeling: Thinking
    Selfish or Selfless: Selfless
    Attitudes Toward:  
    - Self: Wary, doesn't know himself like he used to. Does care about himself though.
    - Others: Others intrigue and perplex him, makes observations about an individual before coming to a conclusion.
    - Friendship: A valuable asset, has few, would kill for them with no hesitation
    - Love: Stays away from it, the only love he has is currently residing in his weapon (to be confirmed)
    - Religion: Thinks most are inane and only serve to further divide the world.
    - Country: Cares not where he resides, N/A.
    - The World: Is only slightly interested in the rise of the amount of undead, finds it a perfect environment to conduct more tests.

    Superstitions: Does not prepare rituals that require the same set up time as his first botched summons.
    Admirable Traits: Will help others less fortunate, still has some level of empathy, code of honor remains more or less intact.
    Negative Traits: Is driven by an almost obsessive need for knowledge about necromancy. His alter ego. Hatred of Angels not fallen.
    Prejudices: Believes most mortals are weak, silly individuals that need proper guidance.
    Most Painful Things in Their Life: The loss of his special one, and being exiled from Isis
    Mental Disturbances: Mentally unstable, battles with the darkness inside of himself regularly and worries about his blackout state.  
    Philosophy of Life: 'Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone.'


    IV. Skills & Talents


    Talents:  A growing talent for the necromantic arts, coupled with an extensive knowledge of magicks and hand to hand combat make Callisto a force to be reckoned with. Can fly at high levels of speed without much effort and has been learning to increase his acceleration and use the results to bolster his combat ability, can hold his breath for extended periods of time (20-30minutes), is becoming proficient in raising the dead and certain dark arts. Still retains and puts to use his knowledge of angelic properties, seeking to meld them with necromancy to create something...divine. Unusually dextrous wings. Highly intelligent, can make deductions (usually correct or close to the truth) quickly. Can almost immediately tell when someone is lying unless they are an expert, through visual cues using his phenomenal eyesight to pick out facial ticks or enlarge/shrunken pupils. The 'silent steps' technique is something he developed and  learned almost by accident, he found that if he timed his steps with small flaps of his wings, he could make himself almost completely silent while moving up on a potential threat. Still perfecting this technique, as his body mass is quite dense.

    Skills:  Necromancy, his unstable transformation, he is also an expert swordsman but disdains them currently, to him they are a reminder of his former life and former self, he now wields a heavily modified double sided scythe and is becoming more than proficient in its use. His time spent in the village he used to frequent, taught him carpentry and how to build, he finds the inherent methodical nature of constructing things soothing and is an adept builder, a skill he works to improve on in his spare time.


    V. Social


    Political Alignment:  (Mandatory)
    Religion: (Before falling) Ordo Aria: Was dedicated to the preservation of knowledge, frightfully single minded in this cause. (After falling)  Finds some of the teachings interesting, but beyond a passing interest has come to spurn most, viewing them as trite. Finds the teachings of Neo Arcanum most to his liking.
    Job/Class: Fallen Angel/Necromancer
    Family: None
    Relationships: A hermit who lives not too far away, he is a mysterious individual and Callisto spends time talking with him when their paths cross, most of those he knew perished when the village was attacked by the undead/necromancer. Maybe new relationships await on his journey...?

    Noted accomplishments:
    - Famous/infamous: Wiping out a village of undead in a day, then going on to battle a powerful necromancer, whom he brutally tortured then killed.

    Hobbies: Reading, writing, training and gardening.
    Pets: A single undead rabbit he calls Scillia, who has...some modifications...

    - Weaponry, Armoury, and Inventory: (if this section is used all questions within it are mandatory)

    Weapon (Before the Fall): A golden long-sword that was forged in purifying fires. The blade was called Severas while Zariel wielded it . Not much is known about it, except that it was bestowed upon Zariel upon his induction into the Angelic Vanguard. Upon falling he discarded the weapon with little thought, thinking it to be a weapon of the ones he despised. But after using the blade for so long, as he fell…it also fell, from a weapon of pure light to a corrupted version of itself, alternatively shedding tears of shadow and light for its former masters abandonment. It is currently locked away in the vaults, with wards placed over it to stop any potential troubles.

    Weapon: Double sided scythe, can be split into two full length scythes. (if possible, if not the former option.)
    Weapon Name: Genesis
    - Whispering Sickle, Grief Harvest
    Weapon Type:  Scythe/s
    Origin Lore: The impressive weapon he wields was crafted for Callisto by a legendary blacksmith, one of the few who knew the correct temperatures and dimensions to construct this complicated masterpiece. Also one of the few who knew how to work with Espíritos. When he first brought the idea to him, the blacksmith was skeptical, he questioned the practicality of such a weapon, and wanted to know where Callisto would even acquire that much Espíritos. When he unloaded a sack full of the rich, ore, the blacksmith went into a thoughtful silence. 'You know who I am then?' The blacksmith inquired of Callisto, who simply smiled and nodded. ' must have the...other component for this weapon,' the blacksmith said softly. Callisto muttered a few words a brought forth a small soul, unremarkable itself, however when Callisto made contact with it, it surged with a repressed energy. The blacksmith smiled gently, 'Loved ones make for the best partners in battle. Even moreso those who wish to enter the pact willingly.' And that evening he went straight to work, for this was no ordinary blacksmith, but one who had studied the arts of soul conjuring and bindings, one who had potent knowledge of the arcane. Also being the very curious individual he was, he wanted to see the end result of this loving soul transplanted into a weapon. It took 2 months, the entire time Callisto stayed close by, happy then depressed in turns. When the blacksmith exited the smithy for the final time, and motioned him in, he went without hesitation. There she is, the blacksmith said, Callisto looked over at him sharply, but the old man didn't say anymore just nodded towards the wicked looking double sided scythe that lay on the table. Callisto was overcome by two contrasting emotions...dread...that he had corrupted her beautiful soul but doing this, and that it would no longer be her...and elation...that he might finally be with
    her in some capacity. He grasped the handle and....gasped in delight. He felt her, he brought the handle to his face and kissed its unblemished surface. Exiting the smithy, he did a few cursory spins with it, like he was spinning a staff, some horizontal slashes just for good measure too. The blade sang as it sliced the air, and he wept then for a moment, overcome with emotion. However, through his tears he swore he heard a voice emanating from the weapon...he leaned in closer and listened...and then a smile touched his face. The blacksmith watched all of this through a hazy cloud of pipe smoke. Well I'll be...he thought incredously, boy can communicate with it...their must be…enormous. After Callisto had paid him, the blacksmith tossed him a specially crafted sheath (because, as the blacksmith explained, that's quite an odd weapon, don't think they just sell 'em out there) and bid him adieu.
    Weapon Description: 4m in length, composed of Espíritos metal, infused with the soul of his beloved. It is nigh indestructable because of the strong bond between him and the spirit residing inside. The actual blades themselves are about 2.3 feet long, and curve down wickedly.

    Special Properties: Made of Espíritos and houses a spirit that has a strong resonance with him, almost indestructable, because of the nature of the soul inside, is quite potent against shadow or creatures of the dark. Becomes useless when used against Callisto. Can be split into two single scythes, each 2m in length and maintaining the same blade integrity, which he then dual wields. Can run the power of his darkness through the blades in his transformed state but refrains from doing so because he can feel it harm the soul inside, instead he wraps in the blade in shadow and inflicts internal wounds that way.

    Armor: Light chainmail that has no special properties, due to his accelerated healing Callisto decided to shirk the heavy plate mail that those in the Angelic Vanguard tend to wear, as both protection and sign of stature, and stick with something that gave him more freedom of movement with which to execute his dynamic and acrobatic fighting style.
    Armor Type:  Chainmail, 2 pieces, torso and lower leggings
    Origin Lore: Simply bought from a travelling merchant at a good price.
    Armor Description:  A dull dark grey color, fitted to his form with holes in the back made specifically for his wings. There is a helmet component that he rarely wears, preferring to have a full field of vision. The leggings cover his legs and shins, the armor is rarely seen, usually covered by his black and purple robe.
    Special Properties: N/A
    Note: He will get some sort of special armor in the future however, I haven't thought of an adaquate idea yet.

    Item: (Will think on this)
    Item Name or Type:
    Origin Lore: (Rumors, legends, or truth of how the weapon came to be including the craftsman)
    Item Description:  (measurements, appearance, materials)
    Special Properties:

    Properties (if this section is used all questions within it are mandatory)

    Name of Business:
    Industry classification:
    Current Owner(s):
    Player Character Employees:
    Brief Description:
    Brief Background:
    Properties owned:
    Partnered Organizations:
    Products/Services of note:


    Building Template
    Name of Building:
    Type of Building:
    Detailed Description:
    List of facilities:
    Items of interest:
    Associated Businesses/Factions:

    Education:  All the Library of Light has to offer is at his disposal, has read almost every book.
    - Languages Spoken: Sindarin, Avarin
    - Literacy: Quite literate.


    VI. Background/ History  (Mandatory)


    The tale of Zariel is a cautionary one, both used to frightening and warn young Angels about the hazards of the outside world, the cruelties they will bear witness to, and the choices they inevitably will have to make. A dedicated warrior in the Vanguard of the holy army, he fulfilled his role as scout admirably for many years without fail. A dedicated lover of knowledge he would read within the holy libraries of Isis for days on end, his hunger for knowledge and purity, boundless, his righteous vigor an unending fountain of light. He gave his all to the Goddess and expected nothing in return. The elder angels would nod sagely when inquiries about Zariel came their way, ‘yes, a fine soul, an excellent warrior, and on the path to greatness, this is one to watch’.  As the world began to spiral into darkness and the forces of evil grew ever bolder, Zariel was assigned the task of covert reconnaissance to gather information on this impending darkness. He decided to create his base of operations in a small village near Caelin called, Boroughstown. It was big enough so his sudden presence would not be questioned, yet small enough so that he would easily be able to keep tabs on the comings and goings of the populace. And from the depths of a mission most innocuous, there descended a whirling storm of chaos which would impact his life in ways that even that great seer of Angels, Layla, may not have been able to decipher in a thousand years. This is his story.
    He stared out over the hard earth, past the villagers hurrying about their everyday lives, past the cattle grazing in the lush fields beyond the homes erected nearby, concentrating on a single branch that was swaying gently in the breeze and was currently occupied by a praying mantis. He watched its every, almost imperceptible movement, the way its wings sometimes emerged slightly to keep it steady, the chinks in its armor where its joints adjusted every now and then. He had been watching it for some time now, about twenty minutes was his estimate, and it seemed that his patience would pay off. A small bird had the misfortune to choose this tree of many atop of a hill, to rest upon. It began to playfully flit from one branch to another, until it came to the one where the mantis lay in wait. It was over in moments, and as nature ran its course he retracted his vision, slowly the world around him becoming proportionate to his field of vision. He closed his eyes as he felt the final contractions of his pupils. When he opened his eyes he found that a few of the villagers were staring at him in amusement. He gathered the remaining bits of his dignity, swung himself off of the wooden fence he was sitting on very carefully, remembering to keep the robe covering his…extremities, and strode away without a backwards glance. When he put some distance between himself and the spot where he had carelessly zoned out, he began to walk at a slower pace, the sun shone through the trees that stood on either side of the lane like ancient protectors, allowing errant rays of light through. He had been here for nearly 5 years, and he was still seeing new things and having new experiences. Lost in thought, he lit a pipe, and then inhaled the entire contents in one go, he exhaled a veritable nimbus cloud, then grinned slightly at a memory that action invoked.
    It was early in his stay in Boroughstown, and he had been about to step out of a tavern he had been casing for information, when a wrinkled, sallow-skinned man had approached him and offered him a drink. Never one to be rude, he took up the kindly old man’s offer and sat down with him. They both took out their pipes, filled them, and lit them at the same time. He still remembered how the elderly gentleman’s eyes had widened to the point where he thought they were going to fall out of his head. He had inhaled the entire contents of his pipe in one go, not knowing that this was not considered normal behavior. He had beat a hasty escape upon deducing that fact, and to this day the thought made him chuckle at how naïve he had been regarding human mannerisms and characteristics.
    A smile still touched his lips as he rounded a bend in the road obscured by foliage, and he saw his destination in sight. A small cottage on the outskirts of the village which housed his favorite family, or more accurately his favorite person in the village. Speak of the devil, he thought in wry amusement. A small figure was outside of the house, chopping wood. From this distance he took in all he saw in an instant and felt himself giddy with happiness. Her small form belied a strong body, and every time she brought down that axe upon the wood stump, it met it with little to no resistance. Her raven colored hair normally reached down to the bottom of her waist, however, now since she was performing chores it was tied up into a ponytail and swung to and fro whenever she made a move. She was wearing a simple floral dress composed of light pastel colors which seemed to gain vibrancy from her simply wearing it. Her small semi-tanned face was narrowed in concentration as she performed her tasks, giving her face a serious sort of cuteness. She noticed movement and looked up, her hazel eyes adjusting and finally the light of recognition was lit behind them. She dropped the axe she was using and came out to greet him. Ah, what a wonderful being I have encountered in this small town, what incredible luck, he thought wistfully, Glory to the Goddess for blessing me with such a good friend.
    ‘Zariel,’ she said as she held one of his hands in both of hers, ‘It’s good to see you, care to come in and say hi to the rest of the lazy butts in here?’ The twinkle in her eye let him know she was kidding, he had a habit of…taking things a bit too literally at times.
    He smiled and nodded his head, ‘Sure Dahlia, lets go see how they’re doing, afterwards I’ll help you out with that firewood.’ She smiled and nodded, ‘Sounds like a plan captain!’ She tipped him a salute. He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly…he had been about to correct her and tell her he was not a captain but a Lieutenant, he shook his head softly at his idiocy, then turned to follow her into the house. As soon as the door opened he could already tell it was a typical day at the Siobhan household, the kitchen was alive with the sounds and smells of food being prepared as well as the good-natured bickering that signified the presence of her mother and sister. Almost inaudible footsteps padded their way towards the door, in a rush of fabric  a small shrieking figure hurtled itself towards Zariel. He sidestepped the oddly clothed creature as it barreled past him and landed in a heap in the yard.
    ‘Hello, Thomas, that was a pretty good attempt, but next time lose the banshee howl,’ he said lightly.
    The covered figure unravelled itself from its makeshift clothing and bounded to its feet.
    ‘Almost got you that time Zar!’ Thomas said with pride, grinning ear to ear. Zariel had to chuckle, the kid had been obsessed with landed an ambush on him from the day they had met, and he had to admit, he was getting better.
    ‘Oi, boy-o you better be getting what I asked you to get outside instead of hootin’ and hollerin’ all day!’ a booming voice said from deeper within the house.
    ‘Okay okay, I’m going I’m going,’ Thomas said glumly, as he walked back into the house Zariel, ruffled his reddish brown hair. The kid looked up and flashed him a smile, then darted into the house.
    ‘Afternoon Mrs. Siobhan, Erika,’ he said as he made his way into the kitchen behind Dahlia. They looked over at him, said their hi’s, then went right back to arguing about what the stew for dinner was missing without missing a beat. He had to smile at that.
    ‘Is that Zar I hear? Get in here man! It’s been too long!’ that booming voice cried out in delight. Dahlia rolled her eyes at him, ‘Get in there and tell him about a hunt you’ve been on, he’s dying to hear more. You brought this on yourself.’ He winced, he did talk to Frank about his hunts, but…he left out specifics and was liberal with replacing words such as demon, devil king and unclean ones with deer, bears and mountain cats. Still, the effect was good to see on the man, a hunter in his prime he relished the stories of the hunt and was an apt listener and to this day, a master trapper. Zariel walked into the study and found Frank sitting on his bed, threading something very delicately together.
    ‘Feel free to begin, I’m working on something new right now so I only have eyes for this, however my ears are still free and my mind is rearing to absorb a new great hunt, so lets hear it Zar!’ he ended with a quick look up from his work and an equally quick smile. Zariel settled down in a spare chair and began his tale.
    Roughly an hour later, he exited the room with Frank still slack-jawed in amazement of the story, and headed out to the back, on his way he saw Dahlia in the kitchen mediating the ongoing battle between sister and mother, he signalled to her that he was going to chop some wood, she nodded and made gentle shooing motions to him. He nodded and headed out, walked over to the wood stump and axe and studied them for a moment before scrutinizing the area around him. He nodded to himself, confident that no one else was nearby. He reached down and exerted some of his Power to lift all of the logs at once, then bending at the knees threw all the logs high into the air. He muttered a phrase of Power, and made a quick weaving of energy through the air. The logs were all split in midair in an instant, as they came crashing down he prepared himself to collect them all. He threw off his robe for a moment exposing his magnificent white wings, stretched them quickly, then darted underneath the mass of falling logs, with one strong beat of his wings he caught them all in a gust of wind, then rotated them to create a mini contained twister, whipping the area with strong wind but allowing the logs to remain semi-suspended in midair. He weaved another sign of Power, and brought them all down at the same time. He donned his cloak once more as the door burst open and mother Siobhan burst out.
    ‘Where on earth did that strong wind come from?’ she wondered aloud, ‘Zariel did you see anything?’
    ‘No ma’am,’ he lied innocently, ‘just an unusually strong gust of wind out of nowhere, hey, I finished chopping all the wood!’
    She gaped at him for a moment, before bustling back into the house, he caught the words ‘what an odd boy’ muttered under her breath before she went in. He followed her in while grinning slightly. The rest of the day went by quickly, he assisted with anything he could help with and played with Thomas for a bit before Dahlia informed her parents that they would be taking a walk for a bit. A chorus of assenting noises followed them out the back door as they walked down the road heading to the stream, in the dusky light of the evening. They walked on in a comfortable silence to a spot they had been going for months now, a rocky enclave that looked out over the nearby lake. The water reflected the suns dying light, giving the area a warm orange yellow glow, and as they sat down and began to talk of nonsensical,  things, Zariel felt that there was no where else he would rather be.
    The next few weeks went by in a blaze, he was quite busy meeting with his unit commander in the dead of the night, keeping up appearances in the village etc. One day there was a message waiting for him at his small house on the outskirts of the village, there was a small outbreak of undead in a township to the north of Boroughstown, he was being dispatched to go end the necromancer who was the root cause of this uprising. For a moment he faltered, thinking lovingly of his wonderful Dahlia, then he shook his head to clear the distractions, he wasn’t chosen for this mission for no reason. That very night he packed his armor and weapon into a sack and left the village, looking back once he sent up a prayer for the continued preservation of peace in this small village that he had come to adore.
    This is where the tale of Zariel takes a dark and tragic turn unfortunately...for it was not his commander who had left that message for him, but a servant of the necromancer who he was sent to dispatch. The dark caster had discovered the presence of an angel in a village that he wanted to use as a ‘testing grounds’ of sort. His risen servants were specified to raise and wreak havoc upon the township to draw the attention of the angelic forces while he had his way…and have his way he did.
    Zariels sack dropped noisily to the ground as he stared at the utter ruin and carnage that had been wrought in his absence, once he had dispatched the undead in the northern town, he had heard whispers of a darkness in the south and had rushed back with as much haste as his wings could muster.  It hadn’t been fast enough. Flames licked the sides of buildings already burnt out, the mindless undead wandered around, feasting, groaning, their eyeless sockets somehow found him and they began to shamble over in droves, as if sensing the holy presence of one who did not belong. Silver tears fell from his eyes as he took in the sights of his neighbors and loved ones stalking towards him with the intent to kill and devour. He knelt down and began to say a prayer, a prayer which was cut short by a mocking voice emanating from a corpse which quite clearly had no vocal chords.
    ‘Ohh there there little Angel, come, you can be reunited with them in the Dreaming ,’ the grating voice said through the rotting corpses mouth.
    ‘Necromancer…’ Zariel said slowly as he raised himself off of one knee, ’you have signed your own death warrant filth, scum of the pit, soa’karick!’ He reached into the sack and removed his sword, the golden lined blade he called Severas (Severity).
    ‘I am sorry my friends, please find peace with this,’ Zariel intoned as he began the long, hard and incredibly emotional work of re-killing everyone he had known in the village.
    Hours later as he stood breathing deeply, covered in soot, blood and dirt he called out, ‘Show yourself coward! I have dealt with your minions, I have laid them to rest so that they may find peace in the Dreaming. Now face retribution you stain on Nyxheim!’ Tinkling laughter caught his ear and his breathing stopped, time seemed to move slower and his belief system faded away into nothingness.
    A figure in a ragged dress made its way towards him, stumbling every now and then, the darkness covering their face, but he didn’t need a light to figure out who it was.
    ‘Light…no…’he murmered as Severas slipped from his hand and landed on the ground with an audible thud.
    Dahlia sashayed her way closer, and with the burning buildings nearby for light, he could fully appreciate the horror that was standing in front of him. The first thing he noticed was her formerly beautiful mahogany hair was ripped out in spots, one of her arms was broken and bent backwards at a cringe worthy angle. Her face was mostly left in tact except for the left side of her jaw was must have been caved in by an incredible amount of force.
    The silver tears fell from his eyes in a rush, he knelt to grab the sword meaning to finish her off before her body could suffer more indignities when he heard her voice.
    ‘Why did you leave? For a month you were gone…the 3rd day after you left they came and this happened,’ she said in a monotone voice.
    ‘Do you want to know what the did to Thomas and Erika? He forced them to drink a potion, he said it would be a pain free way to die without coming back, it was the most we could hope for at that point. But it was a lie, after an hour they began to vomit, at first it was food and drink, then it was organs, until final bits of bone began to make their way out, it was already too late though. There, over there can you see them roaming? They still came back, it was a fantastic lie.’ She pointed back to a few figures shambling in the forest trees. He closed his eyes hard, then opened them again.
    ‘For myself and our parents however…we received a different gift,’ she said while attempting a smile her jaw could no longer realize.
    ‘We were given something else, force-fed  a  draught that would make us able to withstand the…traumas inflicted, to increase our ‘durability’ one could say, ‘ she laughed again. ‘We were tortured far past the point any human would be able to survive…and yet, with help we did. Unfortunately it is far from the gift of immortality and so my parent expired about a day and a half ago, bodies just gave out!’
    ‘Me however, I’m young and strong, I’ve still got about a week left of living the life,’ she lifted her ruined face to the sky, spread her mangled arms and spun in a slow, lazy circle.
    The burnt corpses of houses lay all around them, the dead and walking dead lay and move at irregular intervals throughout the village, the sky was obscured by smoke and flames, it looked and felt like the deepest pit of the abyss and here she was, celebrating. Zariel shook his head to clear it but nothing seemed clear, everything was a mess, it took him a moment to realize that the low groaning sound he had been hearing for awhile was him. Did…I cause this…that seemed to be the only thought his muddled brain could piece together.
    Dahlia continued on breathlessly, ‘They knew we were in contact with an Angel, so they thought we were co-conspirators…apparently when one of the divine spends time around us mortals…you leave a mark on us we change ever so slightly, they smelt it on us and it disgusted them,’ she could have been discussing the weather for all of the emotion those words contained. She looked up at him through heady lidded eye and a haze of smoke, madness clinging to her like well fitted dress.
    ‘Do you want to know what else they did to me?’ her voice took on a low sultry lilt.
    That snapped him out of his stupor and he gave a great cry. ‘No!’ Zariel roared, ‘I come for you now Necromancer, you die TODAY.’ He spread his wings but before  he could take off, Dahlia let out a shriek and launched herself at him, her ruined arm was bristling with sharp objects that had been implanted in the skin and she swung it at him like a bat.
    ‘Kill the one you adore little bird, kill her or die,’ the grating voice said with malicious mirth, as the body of Dahlia viciously attempted to assault him.
    ‘Forgive me!’ he half moaned as he sank the blade deep into her heart, then swung around and lopped off her head. He sank to the ground for a moment, the regal bearing gone, the pride and arrogance of an angel a distant memory, for the moment he was just a being that had loved and lost, and lost hard.
    It didn’t take long for Zariel to find the necromancer Krotia in his lair, as darkness can detect the presence of light so too can light sense the deplorable nature of dark. Half maddened with grief Callisto did not make her death quick, nor painless. Any of her servants involved also met the same slow cruel end. Before Krotia died, he made her tell him about necromancy, for the 4 days he kept her alive he was as apt a pupil as a teacher could ever hope for. And when she expired, it was the first time since the tragedy that he knew what had to be done. He atoned in his small way, by gouging out his left eye and suppressing his healing ability, then set out in search of knowledge.
    He was knee deep in necromancy scrolls and teachings when the other angels founds him. Horror was etched across each one of their faces.
    Amial, the Commander of covert operations  spoke first, and with great concern in his voice, ‘Brother, what is it that you are trying to do? The threat has been neutralized, we are needed elsewhere. Come, let us leave this place of death and destruction. Do you not long to be back in the Gardens?’ Zariel had his back to them and was poring through a collection of notes and scrolls, so he did not see when Wyndiel pointed towards his exposed wings with a face filled with revulsion. There were tints of grey speckled throughout his wings. Amials eyes widened and in an instant they all had their weapons out and had backed away from him as if he were infected.
    ‘Brother you are not well, you need to come with us,’ Amial said levelly .
    Zariel laughed.
    ‘And do what? I can feel my connection with the Goddess lessening each and every day, and I do not mind. I have fallen, I AM falling, and I could care less. I care about one thing and one thing only,’ he said as he turned around and stared them in the eyes.
    ‘I will bring her back, and any obstacle to that will be treated with extreme prejudice.’
    The madness in his eyes was undeniable, Amial sighed, ‘You have chosen your path dark one, you are hereby exiled from the Garden, never to know its warmth or enjoy the feeling of being one with the Goddesses intentions. You are DAMNED, may the Goddess have mercy upon your soul.’
    Zariel said nothing for a moment, then exhaled, ‘Fuck the Goddess.’
    All six of the angels present beat him to the point of immobilization before leaving with Amial speaking once more before he left.
    ‘Your obsession will get you killed, Zariel. Thank whoever you worship now that we simply did not end your existence right now.’
    As his bones began to knit together and reform, and his cuts and bruises abated, he looked up at Amial with hate tinged eyes, ‘My name is Callisto, and the City of Angels will pay. Angels, will pay.’
    Amial simply shook his head and left.
    During his first month of exile, Callisto wandered from area to area, covertly gathering intelligence and info (books,scrolls) anything that would help him in his quest to achieve the ability to perfectly raise those that died into living, fully sentient beings as they once were. He believed he was ready to attempt such an endeavor, unfortunately falling prey to that prideful arrogance most angels wore like a badge. He methodically went about preparing the ritual to summon a spirit and bind it to a body he had prepared specifically for this purpose. Everything that was required was set up over the course of a week and a half, some of the items were quite difficult to procur and even more volatile to handle, but he took care of it efficiently, and as soon as the moon showed its face that night, he began the ritual. Initially, everything was progressing as planned and his confidence grew with every passing moment, that is until the black smoke. He was reading from one of the scrolls he had gained, when he noticed that the area was becoming shrouded in a darkness, an inky blackness that seemed to cling to his garments and skin like the moistness of a humid day. Wary and alerted, he nonetheless continued his incantations, bolstered by his overconfidence. As the final word left his lips, ('arac'aman!'), the area was plunged into midnight. He heard an indescribable cacophony of screams, laughter, anguish and suffering being emitted from all directions. However, in that blackness he could tell neither his left from his right, up from down, nothing had form and at that moment he felt something invade his mind, body and soul. He 'awakened', surprised to find himself garbed as he had been once in Isis, he slowly began walking through the City of Angels, 'Impossible,' he thought, 'What is th-' A great roaring drowned out everything he was thinking, making coherent thought a distant memory. He fell to his knees and grasped his head in his hands. 'Arrogant little winged faru'shaak,' a low growling voice said in amusement,' You know not what you have done, a most fortuitous turn of events...for me.' It roared laughter again, and through the pain, Callisto managed to look up. This is not real, he thought with mounting dismay, I followed everything to the tee...what could have gone wr-
    And in that instant he knew, they were in his mind. He looked at the owner of the voice that taunted him, a large black mass, that only vaguely resembled something humanoid, but with two long horns that intertwined above its massive head. 'Vile demon, you are not wanted here, I have no business with you!' he intoned once he had gained his legs. He stood looking up at the demonic soul that had invaded his being. If this is my mind...I should have control over...he concentrated...and nothing happened. The great demon laughed once more, 'No small one, you can't affect this area, this is MINE, as you soon will be as well. You WILL belong to House Shax!' Callisto looked around frantically, then forced himself to calm down, he said the area... He concentrated again, and willed his weapon of choice into existence, a greatsword he wielded with one hand. He looked down and smiled, pleased to see his experiment bear fruit. He looked up again ready to face the demon in a battle for his soul and...found no one there. An incredibly hard hit sent him flying forward, he expanded his wings and used them to slow his forward speed and right himself. Not giving him time to breath the demon attacked again right away. They fought on for weeks, his actual body standing in the same spot he sought to summon a soul, a vacancy permeated his eyes. Over the course of the fight, there were several instances where the demon soul gained the upper hand, but each time he pressed forward, growing more and more vicious in his assault, gradually relying less on his angelic arts training and more on instinct and brutality, in the final confrontation with the demon, he remembered being badly injured, blacking out...and waking up to the defeated demon kneeling before him. Fingers splayed out before him he aimed his arm towards the demon and banished it from his mind, body and soul, before it was returned to The Dreaming, the demon grinned up at him, now in its smaller form and whispered,’ I've left my taint on you, you will never be the same… it threw back its head and laughed even as it was being sent from this plane. Callisto opened his real eye and observed some strange changes in himself. There was something...different, a piece in him that was not quite...sane. A gnawing urge to commit unspeakable acts of carnage, in the coming years he would come to discover another self that welcomed and embraced the darkness he was not so willing to, a strange gift (or curse) leftover by his internal battle with the demons soul. A powerful darkness that might one day consume him.
    VII. Past Storylines: (Optional - add to this as you go)




    Posts : 289
    Join date : 2009-04-05
    Location : Ruins of Epentar

    Callisto, the Shame of Isis Empty Re: Callisto, the Shame of Isis

    Post  Adonis on Mon Feb 23, 2015 11:02 am


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