Kain, The Divine Aspect

Kain, The Divine Aspect

Age:206
Height:2 peds 1 fore
Weight:1 pygge 8 hebs
Race:Elf
Tribe:Co'orhem/Kayrrhem

Eyes:Pale Cerubell and Ithild
Hair:Cyhalloi Snow with Sor’inyt Orange highlights
Skin:Pallid with Karikrimson tattoos

Occupation:Mage
Title:Aspect of Divinity

Overview

Kain Cristar is a mage of confused intentions. He expresses his rage for all life by changing it to his will. The basis of Kain's being is that he is driven by an inner darkness. A darkness which urges him to destroy all other darkness. He hates himself and yet covets his pitiful existance. He hangs onto life with an iron will and scorns all that tries to snuff out his raging energies. Kain is certainly not a heroic man, yet he his only purpose is destroying all evil around him.

Appearance

Kain is tall and striking in appearance, with pale flesh covered in Karikrimson tattoos. Most notable are the markings under his eyes, the symbol for Static Bolt on the palm of his left hand, and the incantation for Clap of Thunder across his chest. Most tattoos are different spells that he has memorized, bled onto his chest with pain and ink, though some are merely dark symbols that frothed up from the raging storm of his mentality.

Kain's body is thin and lanky, sporting soft muscles and no hair. His gracefully long arms lead to spider like fingers, which seem to always be poised at the brink of unleashing furious death on all around him. He is unkempt and wild, yet dashing in a windswept and chaotic way.

His face is dark and sharp. Kain's irises are Ithild around the pupil, and pale Cerubell at the edge of the iris. Like a blue sun surrounded in a storm of snowy gray. They are always focused on something, always fiery and intent, though their color has dulled. His nose is sharp and points downwards, toward his thin and sneering lips. Thin sor'inyt hair rests raggedly atop his head, which is over all covered by a light cloak's hood.

Kain almost always wears his cloak, which ranges in shade from deep nor'sidain to pale barsha dusk. This garment is unique in many ways. First of all the cloak comes down to the small of his back, giving him ample room to maneuver, also instead of being open at the front, Kain's cloak is slit open at the left side, with a large triangular opening. The inner lining is filled with hidden pockets, which hold Kain's reagents, runes, spellbook, and spell scrolls. Lastly, the cloak is crafted so that it hides the lower half of his face. The tailorship is hard to describe, and it is best to just look at the portrait provided.

Under the cloak Kain wears a strange one piece outfit. The suit is form fitting, and is held together with a series of large brass rings attached to white strips of cloth. Once again it is best to just consult the provided portrait. This outfit has sections of thick boiled leather at the chest, groin, outer thighs, shins and boots that absorb damage. There are no arms, and the leather sections are small enough that all of his key joints are given ample flexibility. His abdomen, knees, inner legs, and ankles, are covered by thin nor'sidain cloth. He also wears a belt with a large circular brass ring at one end, which he uses as a pressure clasp to hold it together. The belt holds his heavy short sword. Kain carries this more for the appearance of capability than anything else. He is far too weak to wield it effectively in battle, and without any formal training.

Personality

Kain is an evil being, yet acts much like a hero. He is driven by dark lusts and psychotic ambition, yet he desires for little other than the complete eradication of that which he believes to be wrong. Some might believe this lust for vengeance makes him heroic in a twisted sort of way, yet he does not follow any of the archtypical conceptions of classical heroes. He wants to stop evil, he wants to fight the shadow he is driven to decimate all darkness. At the same time, he hates the common man, he yearns for power beyond the imagination, and draws his greatest powers from the shadow itself.

In the classic hypothetical situation, if Kain is to hear a call for help, he is less likely to rush in, slaughter the minions of hell that have entrapped the maiden in distress, and ride into the sunset; then he is to run in, slaughter all the minions of hell that have entrapped the maiden, then suck her dry of power so that he may challenge the evil lord who rules the minions of hell who he just slaughtered. The main deciding point is an equation which involves the beauty of the maiden and her repulsion to himself.

Kain is wracked with the torment of his duality with every moment of his existance. He despises all that is not pure, yet he himself is the cess that most cess stays away from. Born of rape and murder, raised partly by Co'orhem elves, and weighted down by thousands of sinful acts, Kain is disgusted with himself in every conceivable way.

This loathing shines through when he interacts with other people. He keeps to himself in most situations. When he does talk, it is either to condemn himself, defend himself, or condemn another. Kain believes that all, even and especially Avá the beautiful, are corrupted and twisted. Each has a potential to do good acts, and each will always convert to evil in the end. He is suspicious of everybody and has never trusted anyone in his life. He is more fluent in words in books than actual speech, and so his speech has an archaic flair.

Kain has a very limited range of emotions in which he feels comfortable. He is lonely, but prefers loneliness to the companionship offered by humanity. If he is not embroiled in hatred, malice, wickedness, violence, or mental debate, Kain is unsure as to how he feels. Certain things can offset his balance, and his underlying concept as to how the world is. The greatest gift, in his mind, is that of beauty. Beauty, he feels, is a gift form the divine, and even greater, a representation of the divinity within a being. Thus while the elf scorns the virtuous and powerful, he adores the beautiful. Nothing matters to him as a beautiful woman, and he will protect nothing as he will a thing of beauty. Such a feeling is strange to the mage, and not often felt. Things of beauty must be of beauty he has never before witnessed. Not only must they be simply beautiful, they must be breathtaking. These things, however, earn his protection, trust, aid, and perhaps even his love.

Artifacts

Overview:

This blade is thousands of years old and originally wielded by the bone queen, then later dubbed the midnight blade and used by one of the Chosen. The Midnight Blade corrupts the powers of the one who wields it so as to create greater, if more demonic, effects. Specifically the blade warps the powers of wind magic to bring chaos and torment onto the world, and slowly maddens any mortal foolish enough to attempt to use it.

Appearance:

The Midnight Blade is a heavy two handed sword, with an oddly pocked and pitted blade, which seems to be forged of it some kind of dark volcanic rock. While some blacksmiths would conclude that the weapon is made of some variant of black iron, the blade is much lighter and stronger than this would make one assume. A scholar of great mental prowess and wielding of an awesome library of esoteric knowledge might correctly recognize the mineral to be Soulbane, a rare and magically based mineral forged of pain and torment. No modern mage has the power to create Soulbane, such things are reserved for the god-like Chosen. The hilt and hand guard are also forged of Soulbane, and an astute smith would note that the weapon is actually one whole giant shard of the magical rock, rather than several attached pieces, which would seem fairly obvious considering. Because of its magical nature, the hilt is far stronger and harder than any good steel and easy to hold. A wielder's hands meet little slippage, as if the hilt were wrapped in supple leather. When staring at the weapon for extended periods of time, one may see the tormented faces of those who's souls the Midnight Blade has sundered. They may seem to slowly swirl across the blade's surface, as if trapped in some kind of an eerie dance.

The sharp edge of the weapon is deep Karikrimson, and the fuller is a void of Nor'sidian. This makes the blade look like it is permanently stained with blood. The blade is full tang, and extends into a light pommel which does little to balance the weapon. The hilt has an intricate design, though it is unknown just what the design depicts. Because of what seem to be horns acting as the hand guard, it is usually assumed to be a very stylized representation of Kahrlkaroth. Being nearly two peds long, it is far to large and heavy to be of practical use as a sword, though it's weight gives it a great deal of power upon a swift downward slash.

Uses:

Wind spells are known for their healing of the soul and body. Those under the influence of the Midnight Blade use the powers of wind to wreak havoc and chaos upon everything that lives. The weapon enhances the magical powers of the possessor, and warps the effects of his spells, making them more powerful, and much more malicious. Usually this means that when a mage casts a violent spell, it steals him some of his target's life force, and imbues it upon the wielder. Also the spell carries greater destructive force, which is touched with a vile taint. With this weapon spells become utterly devastating. A blast from the Midnight Blade can easily rend powerful enemies to pieces.

When the user attempts to heal others with spells such as enlightenment, the effects are both good and bad. On one hand, the target of the spell will indeed find himself cured of what had ailed him, and the blade will intensify the wielder's abilities, allowing her to heal wounds much more terrible than she would without the artifact's aid. On the other she is often burdened with a small portion of the wounds that she heals (mental, physical or spiritual), and the weapon taints the very person who she is trying to save with its dark malevolence. This taint will cause the cured victim to suffer slighter versions of many of the terrible side effects of wielding the Midnight Blade which are described below. The magnitude of the taint is determined by the magical power that is required to heal the wound, and the duration of the spell.

Such a powerful tool comes at a terrible price. A man learned in the lore of the Midnight Blade could identify a long time possessor of the artifact by looking into his eyes, which would appear to be washed out and faded, as if the life they once held had slowly ebbed away.

When using the blade to cast spells, one is physically damaged. This damage ranges from sore muscles, bloody noses, and burnt fingertips to broken bones, large lacerations, third degree burns, and internal bleeding. Each different wound is of course granted with its own, unique, form of pain. If the spell is destructive in nature, such as static bolt or clap of thunder, the life force stolen from the target heals some of these wounds.

A spell with a longer casting time usually grants greater wounds to the caster, as his wounds grow over the duration of the spell. The basis of the wound, or its beginning, is determined by the power of the spell. A mage must concentrate through the pain in order to finish casting the spell. This, when considering the chaos of battle, is a daunting task indeed. When over exerting himself, such as by casting a spell above his level, the mage can black out due to the pain and damage his body has taken; this can lead to disastrous effects, like spell fizzling. If he can stay awake through the a powerful spell, then he will invariably black out just after the spell is finished.

The body is not the only aspect that this sword thirsts for. The mind is slowly maddened by its power. Each moment that one holds the blade in her hands, it urges her to do evil acts. Casting spells for nefarious purposes, slaughtering the innocent, rape, pillage, murder, and the pursuit of chaos. Each day her will is broken more and more, until it brings her to do its bidding. About once every two or three weeks, more or less depending on the will of the wielder and how long the blade has crushed her mentality, she is driven mad by The Midnight Blade's dark intentions, she remembers everything she has done, she watches herself do it in Co'or's vile name; yet she cannot stop herself. By the time she regains control, it is absolute. Sometimes it will take minutes, sometime it takes days. Every time, however, she once again has complete control of herself, only for the cycle to begin again. As the time of her breaking comes closer, her mind can lose control at vital moments, such as the directing of one of her powerful spells.

The wielder's soul is also drained by the weapon's power. This cycle is guided by the light of the sun. At any time where the sun is coming onto the blade, he grows weaker. By high noon on a sunny day he could more more cast a spell than you or I, as the blade needs his spirit to defend itself from the purity of sunlight. He feels frail and weak, as he indeed is. His body is more susceptible to damage, as is his mind. He is much slower and the world seems to be a blur rushing ahead of him. But as the sun sets he is rejuvenated and all the life that he had lost surges back into him, with the additional boost granted by the sword's might. He feels like he could crush stones with his bare hands and can feel his magical potential pulsing in his ears and fingertips.

It is assumed that the Midnight Blade takes life energy from the wielder in order to protect itself from the sun's light and warmth. The weapon seems to flow with the movement of the sun, and seems to draw strength from cold and darkness

Lastly, The Midnight Blade's influence on the wielder's spells wanes by daylight. If he could summon the energy to cast any spell in pure sunlight, without a cloud in the sky, which he cannot, unless he is supremely powerful, it would be as pure as any good wind mage's. But by midnight, or on a stormy day, the spell is more the sword's than his own.

The blade can, of course, also be used as a weapon. It is sharp like volcanic glass, and never loses its edge. Though the weapon appears to be pocked and pitted, it is immune to wear and cannot be broken by mortal hands. The Midnight blade is a two handed greatsword, which, though slow and cumbersome, could easily slice a man in two with a good downward slash. A knowledgeable warrior could use the weapons very unbalance to create great momentum with each attack, able to rend armor and foe alike.

History:

A blade of this power was not built this century and surely not in the century before that. Many millennia ago, when the "midnight-blade" was well known and feared, wielded by one of the most ruthless Chosen to walk the land, sages debated the blade's origin. Some clerics stated that the blade was built for Lokath by Kahlkaroth, citing its ability to corrupt wind magic, and the demonic engravings on the hilt and pommel, more skeptical historians suggested that it was created for the Bone Queen. Nobody knows why it harms its wielder so, some say it is because the weapon is meant to be handled by a Demon Lord, and uses the godly powers of such a master to enable much more powerful effects, others assume that the mortal creator of the weapon was mad.

For this section we shall concentrate on founded history, and ignore the more mythological accounts of the artifact's past.

The first written account of the Midnight Blade originated in a piece of literature that escaped the ruins of Fa'av'calar, and was later incorporated into an ancient tome, "Demonic Origins and Pathways" which was stored Aellenrhim Library. Upon its addition to the tome, which was compiled around 8000- b.S. the literature was updated, and a wholly separate section was added, which centered around the exploits of a man who was simply referred to as the Demon Son, and his devastating artifact sword. Both ancient and new were cryptic in nature, and the whole tome was lost to a devastating orcish raid thousands of years ago. Today, only fragmented copies survive.

Within the updated papers it is stated that the blade was mended within massive forges of pure liquid flame (which refers, obviously, to the heart of a volcano) and cooled within a pool of an innocent elven slave's blood. Here it becomes evident that the weapon is Soulbane. What little we know of the anciently powerful magical rock is that it is formed of a mixture of magma, magic, and pain. How the pain is actually imbued into the liquid rock is unknown, though the tome hints at several horrific contraptions which fueled the weapon's mending with the torment of tortured slaves and warriors. Magical preparations are also described, though no modern mage has been able to make sense of the rituals or divinate their exact purpose, though several marks and signs are illustrated. It is said that Soulbane is deprived of the life which touches all things, and so takes it from anything which touches it, in an attempt obtain the balance inherent in nature. This lack of essence which seems to characterize the mineral may also explain why anything forged of Soulbane seems cold to the touch, and may account for some of the blade's stranger properties.

The smith's name is not clearly stated, it is simply mentioned that he born of demonic powers and held in his heart the cruelest of evils. The Tome's subject is centered around the times of 9000 b.S., and leaves no doubt as to its main subject, The War of the Chosen. From logical deduction and much scrutiny one realizes that the forger of the Blade must be one of the Archmages, who must have planned to use the blade to gain an upper hand over his fellow Chosen. The coloration of the blade being a deep crimson black seems to suggest that it was most probably reforged within the bloody forges of Tak'Dinal. It is noted that the entry specifically used the word mended, which infers that the blade had already been forged, and was simply being repaired, which is critical, considering that Soulbane is actually poured into form with magic, and immensely difficult to repair if sundered. To use the word mended, the tome shows that the Demon Son went through a great deal of pain to repair a very important blade, as it would have been much easier to simply forge a whole new weapon. Thus, its original powers must have surpassed even this Demon Son's capabilities, or had some kind of special significance to him.

The first and elder document is far older than the other and its origins alone truly date the Midnight Blade. The scroll tells the tale of The Bone Queen and her battle with the orcish general, Us’gar Loc’um’rak. It clearly states that she is armed with a gigantic blade with devastating magical powers, which is broken in the heat of battle. In the entry, the artifact is called by the name, Móhephér. The tale centers around this blade, and describes the hilt as being engraved with the likenesses of the horned lord of darkness, and was as long as the woman who wielded it. It then revels in the myriad of powers which it had imbued onto its mistress. The precision of the de*****ion and how exactly it matches the unique appearance and powers of the Midnight Blade leaves little doubt to historians that the midnight blade is the blade which the story speaks of, and that it was indeed used by the Bone Queen, and presumably forged for her by her most skilled smiths and mages in the final days of Fa'av'calar. Of course, the Midnight Blade is not to be mistaken with the sword which was later fashioned of Avásh'aelía's famed bone armor. That weapon was destined of a much more glorious fate. By the writings of the elven authors, Avásh'aelía hid the shattered Midnight Blade away after her battle, and did find any further use for it. Perhaps she felt that the weapon had failed her, having shattered under Us’gar's flurry of blows, and from such sundering, allowed his axe to carve a grievous wound into her cheek. A wound which would forever mar her once unparalleled beauty.

Myth/Lore:

Neither document gives concrete evidence to the actual origins of the blade, though hints of Co'or's bidding lace both, and both do mention the wrathful queen of wind. Because of these hints, Clerics believe the weapon is of more demonic origins than historians would have them believe. The sword's massive girth seems to denote that it was not made for human hands, as it is longer then most men are tall, far too heavy to be used effectively in actual combat by a human. A demon on the other hand would find the weapon very capable, and perhaps they would find themselves immune to the weapon's vast array of negative effects. Clerics of Co'or take these facts as proof that the weapon was created by a powerful demon. As superstition grabs hold of the general populace, it is held in the lore of the Midnight blade amongst commoners that the weapon was created by Kahlkaroth for Lokath, who later gave it to the Bone Queen so that she might sow hate and pain beyond the scope of mortal reckoning.

The tome that calls the weapon "The Midnight Blade" goes on to further detail about the blade's creation and uses. Many of the powers that the book speaks of seem unlikely to really have been imbued within the weapon. Such as the notion that the blade eventually mutates the wielder into a demonic being. The book also supports clerical theories as to the final resting place of the sword, stating that the blade was last taken into a great battle of wrongful death, through which men were prevailed to survive great trials, and after which there saw no mortal eye. "With the twelve's will, the blade was buried beneath sand and water for all of eternity. Let us all hope it shall never touch mortal hands again."

The battle that ended the War of the Fallen took place near the castle of Tak'Dinal, at the great gash in the earth that is now Eight Winds Bay. In this battle a massive spell was cast that destroyed the surrounding area and all of the warriors in it, including four of the Chosen. Considering the proximity to the Archmage Eckra the Cruel's great tower, Tak'Dinal, it is assumed he was one of the mages to be caught in the spell's path. Clerics and commoners both believe that he brought the weapon with him to that final battle, which he would then have fought till the bitter end. Many even state that it was this weapon's great powers which sundered the earth in the final moments of that great battle. If so, the Midnight blade may still rest in the depths of Eight Winds Bay.

Magic

Kain began to learn the ways of wind magic when he was 31 years old. At this age he came to Ximax. He was tired from his escape from Nybelmar and yet eager for knowledge. Many of his teachers took kindly to his will to learn magic for the helping of others, and his urge to destroy the minions of the shadow.

His ability to easily focus on the world around him and to quiet his mind became useful assets for the next century of his life, in which he learned to master wind magic. He moved up the ranks by his own speed, assuring himself that he was a master of each aspect of a spell before he moved onto the next, studying each sphere with obsessive accuracy. He did not move quickly up the levels, but he did move thoroughly.

Kain became devoted in nothing but the ways of the Car'all and rarely did anything other than study and train. His already haggard and thin body became starved as he prepared himself for a deadly reunion with his father, and the evils which he represented. Kain would practice his aim and stamina outside the city walls on anything that he could find. He would fire his spells until he was drained of all power, then do it again the next day. Slowly he built up his will to resist fatigue and also the accuracy with which he could hit his foes.

His mentors became concerned with his increasing interest in spells like Clap of Thunder, Confusion, Touch of Fate, and Static Bolt. They told him that he must seek balance, yet left him mostly to his own.

As he rose in level and was granted access to more of the Ximaxian Library, he found a new interest. The War of the Chosen. The power of the ancient mages astounded him, as did their greed and corruption. He read everything that he could get his hands on, and discovered quite a few references to a blade of dark powers.

He spent more and more time researching this blade, and soon was obsessed. He had to have it. His mentors grew disturbed and as he was on the verge of his sixth level they informed him that he must change his ways before they allowed him access to such power. He fumed and raged and after six days of intense planning, left for the northern lands.

Some of Kain's spells have been modified by Mo'epher's influence. The two most changed are static bolt (dark bolt) and Clap of thunder (reign of darkness).

When Kain casts Static bolt, he unleashes and thick black stream of energy from his outstretched palms. The writhing blast connects him and one opponent for a few seconds, frying his foe to a charred husk, and feeding Kain his life force. The bolt can be maneuvered with Kain's palms, as the normal static bolt. The rush he feels is like falling off of a mountain. He feels alive as it drains his foes. The target feels a burning sensation, much like being hit with lightning. They can sense their flesh boiling for as long as they stay conscious. Also they should feel their nerves spasm as they are overloaded, a sharp pain that roils across their body, much like being struck with actual lightning. More hearty foes, who can ignore the pain to a degree, sense something like a river flowing down form their soul, along the center of the black energy, and into Kain. They can feel their strength leaving their body, and a sensation much like having large amounts of your blood pulled from your body. The experience is altogether unpleasant.

When casting Clap of thunder the weapon summons a nor'sidian cloud into existance, which forms into the shape of a fanged skull. Then black lightning bursts from its open maw, slashing down Kain's foes up to eight times. After the spell's damaging effects are complete, Kain gains some of the energy that his enemy lost, making him stronger, healing his wounds, and granting him unholy virility. His foes feel a pain similar to that of Dark Bolt.

Weapons

Kain is surprisingly well armed for somebody who knows almost nothing about swordplay. The pointy end goes in the other person, and not in you. That would sum up Kain's skill with the two swords he carries. While his short blade is much smaller than Móh'efér, its broad blade gives it allot of weight, and he is slow to the draw to say the least. While Kain could theoretically fight an unarmed and untrained foe with some hope of a living outcome, such theory is not advisable. He has slit quite a few throats, and uses the blade to disembowel unsuspecting foes, but if it comes to actual combat, Kain will simply fry his foes. The blade is also used for various non violent tasks.

Móh'efér is always carried upon his back, With its sheath strapped to a leather strap that swings from his shoulder. The blade is so long, almost 2 peds in length, that it cannot be worn at the hip, and is almost useless in combat. The blade takes a long while to draw, being longer than most men are tall! Since Kain must be holding the blade to use its positive enhancements (if they could be called such a thing) he usually just reaches behind his back and holds the hilt while casting. When he needs both hands he will pull the weapon off of his back and spear it into the earth, and then begin his incantations. Sometimes he just holds the blade, but because of its immense weight this is very tiring and done sparingly.

Strengths

Kain is battle hardened and experienced in the ways of killing. He can keep his cool while wading in pools of blood and mutilated bodies. He is courageous and does not psyche out easily, having lived through some of the worst terrors imaginable.

Cunning is one of Kain's most over looked abilities. He is devious and quick of thought, he formulates intricacies and has the time to allow such ageless plans to work themselves out. Kain is quick of thought and not at all unimaginative.

His ability to focus on one thing not only makes him a powerful mage, it also allows him to simplemindedly pursue a task with all of his powers. Whether it be kill that man, or get that sword, Kain is very good at single tasks.

Will is Kain's strength of spirit, which has few bounds. Kain is willing to die for what he believes in, and to go down with a fight. Kain will not give up, and will give his dying breath to a battle cry. His force of will, his will to survive, has stayed him during the worst of times, under the worst of tortures. Where full grown men would perish, Kain has thrived as a child. Now Kain has faced the twisted north, were few ventured, and scorns that which has tried to end his life.

Kain is a powerful mage. His ability to destroy is awesome to behold, he wields the power of lightning and wind. He smashes his foes and blasts them to oblivion. His quick focus and flexible car'all both give him an edge, as does his centuries of experience in the ways of magic and his devotion to its ways.

Moh'epher is an artifact with few peers. Wrought many millennia for the use of a blood thirsty elvish queen, then brought back to use for one of the Chosen, its history alone is impressive. Its capability to corrupt, torture, and defile both its master ands his foes are both terrible and beautiful. Kain wields its powers uncaring of the damage he does to himself, so long as it does greater or even equal damage to the forces of the shadow.

Through his obsessive research, Kain has complied an extensive database on powerful and especially evil criminals. He understands the criminal mind, and knows weaknesses, and strengths which they man have. He has tracked hundreds, and is relentless in his searching.

Weaknesses

Kain is frail, his body is starved from his long journeys and he is very weak. His very being is twisted by the evil places he as resided for the past forty years, and his capacity to take damage is greatly reduced. Where his spirit is strong his body is weak. He would have a hard time lifting half of his body weight, and grows weary easily. Long treks and prolonged battle are hellish for this elf.

Single mindedness. Once Kain has his mind on something, it is nearly impossible for him to see outside his tunnel. Not only is this bad when facing situations with multiple factors which must be faced at once, it is also disastrous to what little people skills he may possess. He is right, and he will not reason with his righteousness. There is only black and white, good and evil. Anyone who thinks otherwise can burn.

He is burdened with dismal people skills. Companions are not a luxury that Kain can afford. He lacks the gold to pay them off, and the charisma to keep them on his side. Kain usually works alone, or at least outside the main body of the group. This is usually a bad idea in battle, since Kain has no way of defending himself when his considerable skills in magic are not an option.

Kain's mind is fractured. His childhood and his recent years in the north lands have ravaged his sanity. He is unstable and cannot be trusted. He cannot have friends, he trusts no man, he fears love and caring. The closest things he has felt to these abstracts are admiration and respect, which he could care less about. With the added effects of Moh'epher, one can never be sure who Kain might strike down with a rain of vile lighting.

Moh'epher has many down sides, and has driven him more than slightly insane. When it holds sway, Kain is a blood thirsty ravager. He consumes innocence and spits out death. The sins that the Midnight Blade has caused him to unleash upon the world are too terrible to speak of. Kain hates himself with the same fervor that he hates all other evil, and is almost as likely to vaporize a friend as a foe. Kain can black out due to the damage that Moh'epher inflicts upon him, and has a hard time casting his most intensive spells.

Kain will always protect things of great beauty. These things may be women, or objects, or things found in nature. He finds in these things a divinity untouched by the true corruption of evil, one thing which has not been touched by the dark forces which have so scarred his own life. He will die to protect these things without giving such actions a second thought.

History

Kain was born of rape and lust. He never knew his mother, who was a young Kayrrhem woman with ideals of peace and harmony. She died giving birth, as is all to common. He would rather not know his father, an older Co'orhem filled with a need to fuel hate, chaos, and greed. Kain grew up lonely and despised for his lesser breeding and his half blood status. Yet, we jump far ahead of ourselves, it all began in a cool dark night...

The stars shone down with a twinkling embrace, wrapping their adoration about S'ishay. She walked confidently under their gaze and within their arms. It was late and she was still far from home, but she was not afraid. Nothing had ever happened on this route back. Insects chirped and the air was clean. She moved slowly and beheld the beauty about her. Birds cooed their last songs, before falling into peaceful slumber.

Shadows shifted behind her and an icy breeze clutched about her neck. Suddenly she could feel razors race down her veins and her heart clench tight in terror. She did not know why she was so afraid, but something within her told her that evil actions were afoot.

She spun around, eyes wide and eyes darting in every which way, fearing what she might find. The path was clear, naught but a leaf swirled across its dusty surface. The trees about her cackled mightily, and what was once a beautiful nightscape was now a nightmare. The stars were hidden in malicious clouds and the moon was a sliver of hateful yellow light looming in the horizon.

Hot breath slid down her back, and a deep voice spoke vile words. Before she could act she was held within arms as strong as steel, which crushed the air out of her lungs. She could do nothing, she couldn't even plead for her life.

By the morning she had staggered back to her village. Tear streamed down her face, and cuts and bruises adorned her body. Her beautiful dress was stained with blood and dirt, and her mind was nearly broken. She had not even seen her assailant, a dirty piece of cloth had been wrapped around her face as he did his dark deed. The actions he had committed against her being were to grotesque to be stated in this document, but leave it to say that no woman could have gone through that night unmarred.

Her family cared for her as she regressed in health and mentality, she would not eat nor drink by herself. In her mind she was forced to relive that night every moment for the rest of her life. She would scream some nights, and others she would be silent as death. As the months passed, it became apparent that she was pregnant, and a great debate arose as the whether or not the child should be slain. On the day of Kain's birth S'ishay made not a scream of pain, nor a groan of agony. Despite this, it was apparent that something had gone wrong, as she began bleeding profusely. As the midwife held the child in her arms, and prepared to end it's short life, a whisper arose from the deathly pale girl, "Let him live." The midwife, who happened to be the S'ishay's sister, slowly lowered the knife who's purpose was to slay the infant. Those words gave Kain a long life to live, and fueled a vehement vengeance within him.

Kain grew up with his mother's family, though he was always kept away from the other children, and never allowed to eat at the same table as the rest of the family. Other adults would whisper about him, spreading rumors of his heritage. The most popular belief was that he was born of a Co'orhem father, though some went as far as to say he was spawned of Co'or himself.

Needless to say, Kain was given much alone time. With this time Kain would study himself, and the world about him. He would sit for hours concentrating on the objects of life around him, he would write analytical documents concerning about everything he saw and heard, and would adorn the dirt with heartfelt poetry and art. He felt that he could imprint some of his being into the things he wrote about, and strove to make himself and those things one. Most fascinating of to him was the wind. It's freedom and power bewildered him. If he could be one with the wind, he could escape, and run away to wherever he wished, whenever he wished. The wind, he noted, was always running.

Because of his outcast nature, Kain was rarely found within the village limits, and preferred to sit in the midst of a thick grove of trees and bask in the filtered radiance of the sun as the wind licked his cheeks and hair. He would speak to the wind, though it never said a word back. He would tell it how the others hurt him and shunned him, and would whisper his deepest darkest secrets.

Though he faced much scorn due to his father's actions, he would fantasize about who his real father was. Most often he was a daring seaman, who braved monsters and evil mages to get sad people to a happy place, or a powerful mage himself, who studied arcane knowledge and healed the dying. Once, when he told his grandmother of his daydreams, she slapped him with a cold glare, telling him never to mention his father again. This just agitated Kain more then ever. Maybe he was being hunted by the village for some injustice or another. Kain would write stories about being rescued from the village by his father, and living in a great palace and becoming a powerful mage.

As the years passed, Kain grew closer to the wind. He was able to feel its touch in ways that he could not explain, and he could touch it, and not in the usual way. He could really touch it. He was only able to do simple things, he would shape it and move it to his whim. Now the wind spoke back, and as Kain neared his twenty ninth birthday, it began to speak ill oaths. Dark brooding was carried by the wind's words, carried by the swaying of the giant trees that surrounded Kain's home.

He was out in the forest, in one of his favorite tree groves, and brooding in the cool shade. He was falling in love with one of the village girls, but she would never pay him any heed. He grumbled to himself and scratched hateful words into the soft dirt. The deep gray clouds above him carried the scent of his hatred, like cinder and fire. The scents roiled with screams as he growled at his misfortune, and they glowed with an eerie orange light as he fumed and beat the huge oaken trunks around him. He rested for a short while after he had worn himself out, he rested and wondered where the sun had gone.

As Kain walked back to the village, a horrible rot took root at the pit of his belly. He could smell the stench of burning and he could now see the thinning smoke in the sky. He feared for his family and for himself. There was no place to hide. Marauders were not so uncommon in these parts, Co'orhem with cruel knives and torches would attack small villages like Kain's own and decimate them. Yet Kain had never imagined that something like that could happen to him.

As he neared the village, the stench of seared flesh assailed his nostrils, and the weeping cries of the wounded called out to him for aid, aid which he was eager to give. Kain spent the day and night healing and comforting those who had shunned him all of his life, and felt at ease in his bloody task. He felt accepted and at ease, he felt like this was the kind of thing his father would do, this was a hero's task. Only a handful of his fellows lived through the night, and each owed it to him that they did, and knew it. They were grateful and two even apologized gently. Kain vowed that he would find the men who brought such pain to the world and destroy them by any means possible.

After four weeks of obsessive nursing, many of the elves were able to take care of themselves, and the others who were wounded with broken bones. Kain found a heavy bladed shortsword under the soot of one of the charred houses, and left to complete his vow.

The boy had no way of finding the assailants, and was not sure of what he would do when he did find them, yet none the less spent every waking minute searching for tracks. In the end, they found him, not the other way around. A lucky thing too, if he had found them first he would be dead.

Kain was soon lost in the wild and starving for food. He had never strayed more than a strall from his home village and had never slept a night alone in the thick forest. As dusk came on the youth began to grow worried. His shortsword was heavy in his hands and his eyelids felt even heavier, he wanted to return to the village but he had no idea were to go. Eventually, the weary elf curled up under the protective branches of a large tree and fell asleep.

He awoke to quiet voices and started up to his feet, grumbling something about killing him after sun up, or at least in his sleep. He reached for his sword and felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. He did not wake for some hours after the blackness settled from around the edges.

When he did awaken, it was to the same raspy voice. His head hurt, his wrists hurt, his mouth hurt, and his ankles hurt. After a few moments of self inspection he discovered that his wrists and ankles were bound, and his lips were cracked and bleeding in several places. He was in a large cage and two sinister looking elves, with pale skin and nor'sidian hair were studying him carefully. They seemed to be debating whether or not it was worth it work to keep him alive for use as a slave. At this point Kain would have agreed with the shorter one, he was starving and weak and not worth the labor. But the taller one, who was easily two and a quarter peds tall disagreed. He said he saw something in the child. Something familiar. Kain saw it too. This tall elf looked like him. Some gold was exchanged between the two men, and the cage was opened.

Obviously the short Co'orhem had not noticed the relation, it was hard to see. Kain's father had black hair and pallid flesh, a twisted smile and a lanky body, which was adorned with cruel piercings. He had mutilated himself several times and was missing his left eye. Yet in that other eye there was a certain spark, this man was certainly Kain's true father. The young elf might have been disappointed, but was far too scared for his life to feel anything but terror. For one, his father was wearing a sacred necklace from one of Kain's village elder's necks, and for two, he was splattered with specks of blood. Kain was unsure whether his father realized his role in Kain's life, and never found out, but felt deep down inside that the man was too seeped in his own evil to see anything but the next vile task at hand. He bought Kain out of his own egotism, he realized that there was something similar about he and the child and saw a little bit of himself. Also he purchased Kain because he was thin and frail, scared and dirty. Kain was perfect for his various needs.

The father, who's name was Vraal, lived with a group of Co'orhem raiders, who survived by sacking near by Kayrrhem villages. Vraal was their leader, and lead by example and pain. Kain became a servant for the other men, and a source of amusement. He grew to hate their evil with a soul burning passion and schemed secretly about killing them in their sleep. When he was not called upon, he would practice impressing his own spirit into the wind, hoping to merge with it and be whisked away to a wonderful paradise. At these times Kain found a semblance to happiness, and his connection with the wind slowly grew. At all other times, Kain fell more and more into brooding hate. He hated the people who the Co'orhem attacked for not killing the Co'orhem, for being weak and defenseless. He hated the Co'orhem for being evil and he hated their crude lusts.

He hated everything and more than all else, he hated those sinister and evil beings that had ruined his life. He did not hate them because they hurt other people, those other people had hurt him to the point that they were beyond redemption. He hated them because his father was one of them. Evil had taken what little he had to live for and shattered it. Because evil had taken his last chance at acceptance. Evil had taken his mother and evil had swallowed his father. He was alone in this world because evil had taken all the people who might have loved him, before he even had a chance to show them how wonderful he was.

For eleven years he lived like this. Obeying the rule of the mighty, starving and scarred. He grew tall and his intellect rose with his height. He was witty and quick, cruel and cunning. His rage cleared his mind, and he could focus all of his intentions upon single entities at a moments notice, planning and calculating. Most of all he wanted to take his sword, which one of the men, called Histhar, had kept for himself, and slit the raider's throats. He wanted them to look into his eyes in horror as their blood burbled forth onto his rusty blade. His eyes grew intense and cruel as the rest of him withered from lack of compassion and nutrition. But the aspect of him that grew the most was his hatred. Kain learned to hate as other men learn to breathe. He hated without thought or discrimination, he hated to survive. He existed to hate.

Every night they would lock him in a small cage. Four years into his entry to hell he had learned to pick the lock with a pin he had swiped from a smoldering woman's hands. He had hidden the action by kicking her as she screamed. The men had laughed and not noticed as he taken the tool.

It took him eleven years to raise the courage, or build up the blind hatred. Yet eleven years after Histhar had come upon Kain's heavy shortsword, it mysteriously slew him. When the other raiders awoke to find the blade shoved into his spine from his gapping throat, most of them took it as an omen. There were no signs of struggle, yet the body was badly mutilated, The sentries reported that a lizard could not have crept past their watch, much less an assassin.
Histhar was coming into bad luck anyways, he had nothing valuable to steal. “Evil men sometimes die in evil ways.” Vraal had intoned, then pulled the blade out from his partner's neck. The leader dropped the sword onto the leaf strewn earth, gave a glance to the securely locked cage in which Kain slept. "Check it."

The cage was locked, and after a thorough search, Kain was found to have nothing but the rags upon his back. The men then beat him and used him in the ways the usually did, then left him bleeding in his cage. After they had left Kain reached into his hair and pulled the pin from his scalp, wincing with pain and tears. Five men died in the next two years, and Vraal told his men that they would move, he told them that he feared that the villages had banned together and paid for skilled assassins to pick his men off one by one. He had the war band travel south and east, to the prosperous human harbors, were he decided they would raid farms to escape the threat of assassination.

It was only a matter of days before the men raided a profitable Farm. They used what they stole to buy drink and women, then partied and satisfied their carnal lusts. Kain was beaten worse than he had ever been beaten before, and survived horrible atrocities that were committed against his mind and body. That night Kain escaped once again and slit another man's throat, Yet this time, Vraal was waiting. Vraal had suspected his slave of the bloody handiwork that had been taking place, he had seen the hate filled eyes. He had sensed the blood lust. Yet his sinister and cruel whims willed him to wait and watch in the darkness. To watch the child coldly slit the mans throat with one hand over his mouth, then cut the body just so, slicing off key body parts and placing them inside the man's mouth. He watched in fascination as Kain took a ring from the man's finger as a trophy then raise that old rusted blade, the one that had always been found buried deep in the victims neck. Then Vraal strode out of the darkness. He never spoke much, especially to a lowly slave, yet this one was so depraved, that he deserved special attention. "Why do you do it?" Kain, leaped up, being startled and scared, Yet he kept quiet, the men may have fallen into drunken slumber, but Kain was always weary. Vraal was expecting a snide remark or at least a challenge, as he himself would have put forth. Yet, his son was a much more direct creature. In a moment of fear and rage he leaped forward and swung the dagger, catching his father's head with the hilt with a sickening crack. The other man crumpled without a sound, his eyes turned upwards in surprise. Kain chuckled quietly at his newfound luck. He grabbed all the money he could off of his father's unconscious body, then crept out of the camp.

With the money Kain bought himself a set of arcane looking clothes and an odd cloak that appealed to his wild interests. Lastly he purchased himself passage to Caelereth, were he had heard there was a school for those gifted with strange talents. By this time Kain could effectively move wind to his will and with great concentration cause sparks to erupt from his fingertips. The trip to Caelereth was calm and swift, and by his 31st birthday he had come to harbor in Milkengrad. From there he traveled south, toward Ximax.

Every day he worked on his magical abilities, by now he had learned what they really were. His outlook changed for the better, though the scars of his days on Nybelmar still haunted him. The change was so dramatic that he even stopped constantly thinking about rape and pillage every once and a while. Though whenever he had a chance to stop evil he took it. He still disdained most people, but he no longer wished to kill them in horrific ways. Now he just wanted them to leave him alone so that he could prepare himself to exact revenge on that entity that hat wrought so much wrong upon his life. By the time he reached Ximax, he was speaking Thranian fluently and had enhanced his limited magical powers enough that the instructors who met him were mildly impressed. They allowed him to stay, and sent him to the tower of wind. Kain had a thirst for knowledge, which many of his peer's lacked. While they stared and pretty girls he practiced night and day. Though his constant obsession with offensive spells sometimes put his instructors off, they simply attributed it to his youth and boyhood. He never showed any signs of instability, when he did talk it was about heroism and stopping evil and cruel beings. His appearance was not so odd to people who dealt with esoteric magics every day, and his lust for knowledge and introvert personality were not very odd in such a place either. Ximax was the closest Kain ever came to home.

Kain left the academy without having become a full fledged wind mage, though he was very powerful in the ways of wind magic. He traveled up through the Sarvorian continent toward the old ruins of Tak'Dinal searching the northern wasteland of Caereleth for the blade which would give him the power to crush his foes. After ten harrowing years in which he grew skilled in using his magic in battle situations and honed what spells he had mastered, He could see the terrible ruins in the distance. Many a strange unearthly beast had he fought, and many times had he almost lost his life, yet his spirit still screamed with the strength of a lingra as he set out to find his weapon.

The books had agreed that after the great battle in which water had swallowed all, the blade had gone missing. Kain theorized that the artifact would be found at the bottom of some large body of water, and thought he knew just which battle the tomes were referring to. He spent his time in and near the ruins studying wind magic and began to develop the spell that he would need to retrieve the blade. A spell that would surround him with a protective bubble of air as he descended into the watery depths in search of his blade. Insubstantial shield seemed like it would work, and with but a few failed trails and some quick modifications, Kain could slip into water with air to breathe, though if he stayed under too long the increased intensity of the water car'all would dissipate his spell, and if he ever lost concentration while he was too deep, he was doomed.

His years in the north changed him, he grew darker in spirit and even paler of flesh, he tattooed himself with arcane and esoteric symbols which represented his prowess as a mage and the destructive spells which he would gladly unleash upon evil foes. In a night of insane masochism, he tattooed the flesh around his eyes and his eyelids with a needle and dye made from the blood of an orc he had killed with clap of thunder. Kain recognized that the area was twisting him, changing him and maybe even driving him insane. But he knew he was so close to obtaining Mo'epher, and so pressed on, that morning he began his journey to the bay of eight winds.

After living life in the horrid northernlands for twelve years he finally came to the resting place of the sacred Mo'epher. He meditated for a day, not eating and cleansing his mind for the journey he was about to partake in. He had no idea how deep the lake was, and less of an idea as to where he might find the blade. He thought that he would search around the center, as Eckra seemed to be the kind that would appreciate blood splatting across his battle armor. He set up a make shift camp on the next day, and readied himself for a prolonged stay. He would not leave this place until he had the weapon within his grasp.

It took another two years for Kain to reach the bottom of the lake, and what he saw amazed him, though he would never speak of it. Nothing grew at the bottom, and the earth was still hard and blasted. There were no skeletons, the battle had taken place far to long ago. No fish ventured this far down, which was good for Kain, as he had had to escape from to many hungry sharks to appreciate their destructive beauty. He only had a few seconds to wonder though, as he had not yet become adept at keeping the spell stable at such depths, and was growing weary.

After twenty years of searching, his will was failing, his sanity gone, his body a wraith of its former self. He was covered in bloody tattoos, which gave further testament to his power, he grew more and more powerful, from his terrible experiences underneath the waves he became hardened to fear and death. He accepted that there were times when his life was in the hands of fate, and that at times there was nothing he could do but his best. He had found a few mundane artifacts at the bottom of the lake, and would sell them for what little moneys he needed to survive.

Then, he found it. Struck into the muddied earth like a crucifix, seeming to glow with darkness. It called to him to set it free. Beside it was a set of ancient armor, which he was careful not to touch. He grasped its mighty hilt and pulled, but it was at least a ped deep in the ground and would not budge. He studied it and wondered what to do, then marked the earth around the blade so that it would not be so hard to find.

It took another six years to move the blade from its home. Coaxing it with magic and what little muscle he had, it grew to trust him, and it marked its vile mark upon him. His eyes grew deathly pale as his flesh. When he finally pulled the blade from the home it had kept for tens of thousands of years, he brought it to the surface and rejoiced.

It was the next morning that he began to realize that the blade might be as evil as the tomes had suggested. He awoke amidst the charred and mutilated bodies of five humans. He was just outside of a farmstead, and could remember everything. He just could not stop himself. He wanted their innocence, their joy. He wanted them to feel his pain. The things he had done, just like his father, worse. And so did Kain realize the evil he had unleashed from his own dark soul, he also realized that he could never end his own evil, that his only hope was to redeem himself by destroying all the corruption of Co'or that he encountered. So did he begin traveling south, and once he had once again entered Santharia, he began to researching criminals, hunting them with ruthless efficiency.

Edited by: Kain Cristar at: 10/24/06 7:11