Post by Gangrel Orsino on Oct 20, 2013 17:52:14 GMT -5
Mountains; the unofficial territory of preference for those who ruled the tortured lands of Hell. From the high grounds one could see Hell in broad perspective, and with it the countless wailing souls locked in eternal, dire torment. Many found it grotesque... Gangrel, surprisingly, felt a shudder of disgust as he stood atop one of the many burgundy peaks. It came up in a curve spire amidst the horizon, and behind him was an unending pile of bones descending down the winding paths one had to treacherously climb to get here, littered with the remains of the fallen. He wondered how many of the souls that were lost here had already moved on to their next reincarnation within Hell.
He turned his back to the scene of perpetual carnage he had once again witnessed from above, the steps of his skeletal-armor clad legs crunching a myriad of skulls and bones as he traversed the rocky crags and murderous terrain. Meeting the edge of another cliff on his way down he was forced to make a left, towards yet another corpse strewn road, this one adorned with the occasional rusted weapon. It brought his attention to his own. Reaching over his shoulder, he gripped it's spine shaped hilt...
Strapped to Gangrel's back by a loose chain was his flamberge - a towering zweihander of his own forging, with a serrated, serpentine blade suited for inflicting anguish and shredding open arteries. It wasn't suited for a quick kill... rather, this was a weapon that served no purpose other than to provide a slow, anguished death for it's enemies. His fingers tightened around it's bone grip and pulled it from it's resting place, snapping the chains that bound it to him with a crackle of sparks that fell swiftly from view, their light lasting only fractal portions of a second.
Gangrel's path came to an abrupt half ahead, but beyond it, he could see a steep trail leading straight down. From his sides he could see from decayed twine that a series of ropes had once connected the two pathways, but some indeterminable time ago, the bridge had been destroyed. Scanning the rocky cliffside to his left carefully, and the abysmal fall below to his right into the spiked rocks below, Gangrel gripped his greatsword in both hands and swung it into the rocky wall beside him. His body glowed red, discharging a formidable current of reiatsu into the rock that artificiated a veritable landslide of rocks, dessicated bodies from Hell's endless skirmishes, and infernal ash.
The tumbling, thunderous mass came crashing down in an almost endless stream. Gangrel withdrew his blade from the chaos of it all with some difficulty and shielded his eyes from the debris with his arm, feeling the occasional rock strike his body to no avail. Before long the onslaught of rocks and dust quieted, leaving naught but a crude path of uneven rocks and bones between Gangrel and his destination where emptiness had once been.
Crossing it with a faint smirk at his handiwork, he was preparing to place his zweihander into a more idle form when a familiar and oppressive reiatsu came close. He stopped in his tracks as he descended down the peak, spying a blonde he was not so fond of near where the ground became flat again. He grumbled and kept his weapon in hand... the dreaded leader of the sins was before him, the all powerful being he wished to inundate from her height of status. There was none he was more jealous of than her... this Leto Phoenix, standing brazenly ahead. He approached and stopped a modest distance away, tapping his sword against his ankle with a single hand as they both stood on shared rocky land.
He scoffed, first. "The queen bitch herself, eh?" He spat, before literally spitting, casting a wad of spittle near her feet. "Can you even wield a blade..." He hissed at her, as he ceased the tapping of his blade against the bone of his light armor.
He turned his back to the scene of perpetual carnage he had once again witnessed from above, the steps of his skeletal-armor clad legs crunching a myriad of skulls and bones as he traversed the rocky crags and murderous terrain. Meeting the edge of another cliff on his way down he was forced to make a left, towards yet another corpse strewn road, this one adorned with the occasional rusted weapon. It brought his attention to his own. Reaching over his shoulder, he gripped it's spine shaped hilt...
Strapped to Gangrel's back by a loose chain was his flamberge - a towering zweihander of his own forging, with a serrated, serpentine blade suited for inflicting anguish and shredding open arteries. It wasn't suited for a quick kill... rather, this was a weapon that served no purpose other than to provide a slow, anguished death for it's enemies. His fingers tightened around it's bone grip and pulled it from it's resting place, snapping the chains that bound it to him with a crackle of sparks that fell swiftly from view, their light lasting only fractal portions of a second.
Gangrel's path came to an abrupt half ahead, but beyond it, he could see a steep trail leading straight down. From his sides he could see from decayed twine that a series of ropes had once connected the two pathways, but some indeterminable time ago, the bridge had been destroyed. Scanning the rocky cliffside to his left carefully, and the abysmal fall below to his right into the spiked rocks below, Gangrel gripped his greatsword in both hands and swung it into the rocky wall beside him. His body glowed red, discharging a formidable current of reiatsu into the rock that artificiated a veritable landslide of rocks, dessicated bodies from Hell's endless skirmishes, and infernal ash.
The tumbling, thunderous mass came crashing down in an almost endless stream. Gangrel withdrew his blade from the chaos of it all with some difficulty and shielded his eyes from the debris with his arm, feeling the occasional rock strike his body to no avail. Before long the onslaught of rocks and dust quieted, leaving naught but a crude path of uneven rocks and bones between Gangrel and his destination where emptiness had once been.
Crossing it with a faint smirk at his handiwork, he was preparing to place his zweihander into a more idle form when a familiar and oppressive reiatsu came close. He stopped in his tracks as he descended down the peak, spying a blonde he was not so fond of near where the ground became flat again. He grumbled and kept his weapon in hand... the dreaded leader of the sins was before him, the all powerful being he wished to inundate from her height of status. There was none he was more jealous of than her... this Leto Phoenix, standing brazenly ahead. He approached and stopped a modest distance away, tapping his sword against his ankle with a single hand as they both stood on shared rocky land.
He scoffed, first. "The queen bitch herself, eh?" He spat, before literally spitting, casting a wad of spittle near her feet. "Can you even wield a blade..." He hissed at her, as he ceased the tapping of his blade against the bone of his light armor.