Mizzarah the Voiceless, Torn from the Shadows, Defiant to the Gods

PK Gank-O-Meter

Immortal Comments

Sun Oct 9 20:48:47 2005 by 'Khasotholas' at level 44 (195 hrs):
Insulted the male point of view to me. Turned into a male.

Tue Oct 11 16:54:12 2005 by 'Drokalanatym' at level 44 (200 hrs):
Aside to other players: This character has gotten consistently lenient IC treatment from imms, mostly because the RP is good and it's relatively original. I woul expect any imitators to be kicked in the crotch as little.

Tue Oct 11 16:55:29 2005 by 'Drokalanatym' at level 44 (200 hrs):
Er, would not expect. What I get for writing comments while on the phone.

Wed Oct 12 18:53:42 2005 by 'Valguarnera' at level 44 (203 hrs):
I disagree that this character is well-roleplayed. He basically shows zero fear of immortals, and tries to take advantage of the OOC fact that we're reluctant to kill him. I don't see the execution of the role as logical.

Wed Oct 12 18:54:20 2005 by 'Valguarnera' at level 44 (203 hrs):
Even if you think immortals are merely Very Powerful Mortals, you'd be remarkably stupid to pick fights with them.

Role

Chapter 1

What I have expected has finally come. The parasites of the Light
have finally snapped with fear. My words were poison to their ears,
burning them and their whores, causing them to shudder in the face
of the truth, and how it is now becoming well known. So Shokai, the patron
parasite of the Light, shuddering in fear, shivering in agony, lashed out
and assaulted me yet again, leaving me voiceless. So afraid are they
of the truth that I represent and walk getting even more known then it
is now, that they have done this. Shokai is nothing more then a flightless
rat, shivering in fear in his hole. The truth has come out and they must
try to preserve their little feeding ground.

The pathetic and weak continue to writhe before me. And even Shokai subjagated
himself to me by bowing to me after he struck me. In hopes that my wrath upon
him would not be too brutal. Even the supposed Gods bow to me, I am a God.

Role

Chapter 2

My war against the parasites continues to wage, but now they have struck
a blow out of obvious fear. They have gathered their limited power together
and brought upon me a magical assault that keeps me from taking to shadows.
The reason is obvious. I was hunting and about to kill one of the last panderers
of Arvam's and he had no choice. If I continued to murder Therethine, he would
certainly lose so much of his power he is draining from her, that he would be
ripe for my dagger in his pathetic arial back. So he martialed his powers, most
likely with the help of other parasites who fear me, and struck this blow.

I am torn from the shadows, but that does not disway me from my goal. The parasites
now enter open war with me, and that just reaffirms my ways to myself and to
the rest of Thera. The supposed Gods are afraid.

Soon after they brought this power against me, I continued undaunted, and murdered
Therethine, Arvam's precious little whore, within the streets of Arkham. And soon
after that, stalked her through the vale of invisibility and assassinated her upon
the rocks of the Sirine Islands. Know this parasites, no matter what you do, you
cannot keep me from murdering your little precious morsels and, soon, you as well.

Now this war gets interesting. I know the extent of your limited power
and you use it upon me, draining it quicker then you can regain. I had thought
Aarn was the closest to death, the way he assaults me like a common minotaur
mercenary, but it is Arvam, as he flails about to protect one of his last
sources of survival.

Role

Chapter 3

The truth is a difficult thing to discover about the parasite Gods unless
you take time to look at the largest of portaits that they paint. Then it
becomes obvious. I, as a student and master of history of all of Thera did
such that as I was bound up within the confines of the dark elf city. Some
called me just a student historian, but I was the true master. And when
the titled Master Historian turned up cruelly assassinated within his own
house, speculation was always upon me, but nothing could be proven. So then
I assumed the role of Master, but was always disgusted with foolish students
showing up and asking me questions, with that spark within their eyes of
a simple human dog, looking for approval. Pathetic creatures.

It is a pity that students started turning up dead as well. Necks broken or
accidently finding themselves into the adult cave fisher pens only to be
torn to pieces. I must say, as time goes on, I have become so delightfully more
creative in how to kill those who bother me.

As master although the dark elf city is requiring me to take students, but for
some reason any student I take ends up dead. Pity. So I spent my time driving
through the history books all the way back to the first age. And one common and
obvious thread existed. History has not changed, no side, whatever side is at war,
have never in millions of years gained anything over another side. Of course there
are some cosmetic changes but nothing real. Thousands of Battleragers who have
murdered hundreds of thousands of mages, and nothing still to show for it. Empire's
promise to rule the land, yet their dominance has not moved one inch beyond predetermined
borders of Imperial lands. Knights, and then Warlock and Fortress, then just Fortress all
sought to stamp out evil yet again, nothing gained. If one cut from page one of the
biggest history book to the last page, it would seem seemless and you would not
miss any of the other pages. History has spoken, something keeps mortals from gaining
anything.


A simple question I ask myself locked in the arcanus endlium of history within
the city holds, "Who gains from this?" and the question is simple. The supposed Gods.
More study of history revealed that all the parasites in the land relied on a
mortal paladin to blow the Horn of Fate and save them all. This most obvious of all
action revealed the parasites' ways of gaining power. They must gain it from willing
mortals. That mortal held in his hand the fate of every single parasite in the land, and
being a weak mortal paladin panderer, he did what they wanted. If it was
I, I would watch as all the parasites died off as the Horn of Fate sat
unblown. But now time has allowed them to burrow deep within this plane
and make them difficult to crush and pull out of the skin of this plane.
They are like ticks, fleas, simple parasites, feeding on mortals. Pathetic.

And thus embedded in history is the truth, the pure truth that the
parasites have tried to hide. But I have discovered it and now know the
truth. The best thing was to be expelled from my position as Master
Historian of all of Dark Elf City. They could never prove any of the many
murders I committed, but then again they wanted students in the arcanus and
my policy of killing every single fool who dared try to follow my pa

Role

Chapter 4

What I believe has been confirmed, thousands of times over by the
actions of the parasites. If I was just a fool they would leave me be
but now most of them have come to actively fighting me, obviously
out of fear that I know the truth.

There have been many and each tremble in their own way, it is time to
speak of their foolishness. For the time of the parasites and their pandering
whores is coming toward an end.

Aarn, the dwarven parasite of the Fortress. This one, of all the Gods is
obviously the most frightened and threatened. I have murdered so many of
his priests and meals and he has visibly weakened. This has been most
recently shown when I carved from Xilla's neck her lifeblood only to have
Aarn join three other Fortress mortal fools in a battle against me. Only
one so truly frightened and weak would come into a battle against me with
such odds and to be their common slave bashing whore. Something even a
hired mercenary could do. And even then I took his blows extremely well,
noticing the obvious weakness in the assaults, parrying most. Unfortunately
because of the bashing strikes I was slowly worn down and killed, but not
before my point was proven. Aarn also trembles in fear, for he has cast
out his hand to whatever pathetic mortal seeks him, and most likely some
that do not. This is evident by the massive upswing of paladins, shamans,
and healers. They are indeed scared, and now search high and low for
those mortals to replace those I have taken from them.

Innis, the summer prancing parasite. Although this one cowers and does not
dare face me head to head in either battle of wits or physical powess, his
upswing in gathering new replacements for those I have slaughtered shows
his fear as well. He is even now taking dwarves has his followers, which
most interestingly are enemies of the supposed Ancients he represents. He
is just another panicked parasite seeking meals for those I have taken from
his mouth.

Eshval, the supposed artist parasite. When I was younger I had a flurry
of slaughterings of those she called her own. And she came out and battled
me directly on many occasions. Despite her attempts on my life, she has been
only the cause of death for me once. Her tricks have become predictable and
easily avoided or countered. The sands of sorrow have become a second home
to me and I have discovered quick and easy escape routes from them. For a
creature that is supposedly all knowing, strangely enough she has no idea
how to escape quickly, information I already have. Another sign that this
foolishness of all powerful gods is failing in the eyes of a trained observer.

Ordasen, the great white bear cub. This male is even more predictable
then the rest. His reaction to me was brutish and on the most basic level
effective the first time. But subsequent times of striking me have come
to difficulties. He struck me down when I underestimated him with a pincering
upon Trade Road. But when he attempted to do it again, he missed me completely.
This shows that when prepared for, these parasites' powers are easily avoided
or combatted. Of all the parasites, he seems the weakest and in its frantic
throws of starvation. I must say, assassinating Caek was the most delightful.

Khasotholas, the hornet parasite. This one is more perplexing...

Role

Chapter 5

What is a Heretic?

A heretic is an individual who sees the Gods as what they truely are.
They are not unlimited powered beings, but creatures that must feed
just like any other creature, and thus without food, they can die.
And that is their goal, slaughter of the priests and the leech scarred.
There is another side to the heretic besides the hatred and the drive
of the death of Gods, there is a reasoning behind it as well.
Pathes down any road are easier if you can look up to another, who knows
the answer, or pretends to know the answer, and ask for advice, for
guidance, for assistance, or for a congratulatory pat on the back. A path
is much easier if you can get a reward in form of praise, scorn, slight
powers, interaction, or a touch. A true follower of any ideal moves down
the path without this reassurance. They know they will be alone and
there will be no one that they can peer to in times of weakness. You walk
the path you have chosen or you die trying, without the thought or
comfort of someone watching you, or someone you are seeking to impress
for an easier walk down the path.

This belief also assists in breaking the cycle the Gods have created
to supply themselves with willing meals. The dominate and the follower.
That cycle plays itself out in every aspect of this plane. Mortals
must please the Gods to gain something, lower ranking individuals
must seek favor from higher ranked ones within the cabals. Approval
and interaction are the core driving force behind everything, and thus
it promotes and even makes it easy for the Gods to gain meals to keep
their power.

Even the Gods themselves protect weaker, younger individuals from
the wrath of more powerful mortals to perpetuate this cycle of
weaker and subservant and the more powerful and leader. This realm
is built for them to maintain their power, and the heretics are
here to break that. If you are weak and cannot survive against
the most powerful, you perish and make way for others who are.

The Goal of a Heretic.

The goal of any heretic is to slay a God him or herself. To slaughter
and destroy every priest and leech scarred that walks this plane in
the hopes it will weaken the God enough to open him or herself for a
strike, from any enemy. One less God means less blinded followers and
one more step toward the driven ruling the land. Once the Gods
have been eliminated, physical power will rule, and thus that
is what the heretics are best at. No longer will the weak be
protected, no longer will there be the follower and leader mentality.
The strongest one leads, and if you can take that one down, you become
the strongest. When there is no one left, there is only but one who
will leave this plane a void, empty, and move to another to continue
the cycle, or break whatever cycle is there.

Thus is the way of the heretic, for they are the Gods undoing.

Role

Chapter 6

What is a God?
A God is a humanoid who seeks power just as any other, but to
continue to gain power they must stop fighting on the physical and
instead syphon the souls of mortals from their shells as they live
and when they finally die. But the trick to it is they must gain
this power willingly from their victim... or as they call it, follower.
Thus empowerment is not free, nor is it a reflection of the what
is truly being done. The follower believes he is gaining strength
but when all is examined through the eyes of a heretic, they are losing
in the deal in a dangerous way. The priest may get some piddily powers
and abilities, but the God in return, slowly devours and syphons their
very essence, strengthening himself and furthering his growth in
power. The follower is the host and the Gods, the leeches who steal
their essence blood. Gods are leeches, when deprived of their food,
shrivel and die off.

What is a Tattoo?

A tattoo is the carrot to those who do not seek to be priests. It is
a mark of the leech as well. Seeking and gaining a tattoo is seen
as a reward, something rare to be strived for, and the Gods wish
it to be seen like this. If it was given out haphazardly, they would
gain more to leech from in the short run, but when the uniqueness
of such is lost, most, if not all would no longer seek it, leaving
them with little to feast upon and gain power from.

Thus, the tattoo, or as a heretic calls it, the leeches' scar, is
similar to empowerment, but for non-priests. They gain something that
offers pristege and some power, in exchange for being another host
for the God to suckle from and absord their essence blood. In the
end the God consumes the soul of those foolish enough to be marked
and the more they consume the higher they can aspire to reach.
The ideas of a heaven, a hell, are false, there is only the
sweet quiet of the afterlife as a free soul, or eternal consumption
in the pit of any number of Gods' stomaches.

The heretics see through this guise of benevialance or fiended
unlimited power to the truth. A God can be killed if enough of
those they feed on are slaughtered, leaving the God weak for the strike.

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