Post by gatalis on Feb 22, 2012 3:36:30 GMT -5
Claire Sceleratus;
The woman was draped in black robes as she looked across the expanse, the symbol of Bane tattooed into her back by her former high priest she had looked up to before making her way on this pilgrimage to spread the word of her Dark God. The skies were gray, clouds filling them to their brink as the tides were subtle for a time. It was only a matter of time before the rains would begin, and the tides would pick up… Their ship drifted slowly as the woman closed her eyes, uttering her protective incantations in hope that her Dark Patron would support her in this quest. She had appeased him thus far, and had grown through his ranks to become one of the high clergy.
She slowly turned, reveling in the power that The Black Lord brought to her as she hoped to establish a church within the confines of the island she approached. To spread his word to those who might join him, and fear to those that opposed his power.
The storm picked up though as unnatural winds blew the ship, the putrid smell of undeath lingering in the air as she growled, turning to the helmsman, lashing out orders to turn the ship as he tried desperately to do so… For t’was unwise to anger those who worshipped the greater deity.
To his misfortune though, the ship seemed to be unable to pull away as the waves began to pick up, dragging them closer and closer to the source of the putrid smell, undead clinging at the shoreline, seeming to sense them quickly approaching.
She quickly stored the book of her deity within her robes as she looked out, calling to The Black Hand for his judgment, asking for his help in destroying the undead menace as the ship began to rock, the splitting of wood being heard as it crashed into a few rocks, the helmsman being sent overboard as he surely would become skewered upon one of the many spiked ledges.
Unholy green fire dug into a few of the undead, cleansing the area of their presence as the ship approached the shoreline, ramming into a large sheer ledge as a loud, almost painful splitting sound ripped through the ship, tearing it in two as it prepared to fall into the dephs of the watery grave.
. . .
The Banite drug herself through the freezing hell that had befallen her as she tried to swim to the shore, coughing up sea-water as she arrived at her destination, the island of Siranda… About her the undead gathered as she felt her strength depleted from the long trek to shore. Her black robes weighed her down as she looked up. She knew she had failed the Dark Lord, and this was rightfully her punishment, a slow and painful death at the hands of the undead. The high priestess shuddered as the thought swept through her. Her strength depleted, she remained in the sand, muttering one final prayer to her god. An act of salvation, to allow her to be an absolute vessel of his Will. She closed her eyes, knowing full well that the Dark Lord showed no mercy, showed no tolerance for failure.
Slowly, she lost consciousness, green flames seeming to shoot out of the tatoo in her back, enveloping the undead as they fell around her…
She wakened, finding herself stripped of the black robes that had surrounded her being, replaced by a simpler set of robes folded neatly next to her… The Black Hand’s symbol seemingly etched into her hand, and the religious texts of his followers in her other. She was still on the beach where she had fallen, and looking around, she found the charred remains of at least two dozen undead...
She found a shard of a mirror nearby, looking into it she found herself changed. Her hair was no longer a light blonde but instead a deep black, her brown eyes now contained a red tint to them. Most of all though, she felt her spiritual connection to the Black Hand severed. It was there, barely, but it was outside of her normal sphere of influence. She knew it was a punishment, that she would never be allowed to return to the position of power she had once held, but a voice in her head, simple a flicker of wind through her hair, convinced her that she may one day hold power once again nonetheless. The voice informed her, that her role was to convert more followers to the path of Bane, and his Tyrannical fist.
She slowly looked out over the horizon, spotting a nearby town in the distance… She would travel there, her body and spirit a vassal, and a completely loyal vessel to The Dark Lord’s will. To redeem herself from her failings, or to die trying… She found she couldn’t remember her name as she looked out into the distance, thinking for a moment… “I shall call myself Clair.”
Many years had passed since her arrival on the island, and though she had lost most of the items she had acquired, she had strengthened her connection... She was ready to spread Bane into the lives of her fellow survivors.
Name: Claire Sceleratus
Race: Human
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Height: About 5 ½ feet
Skin Tone: light-medium tan
Eye Color: Maroon-brown (acquire a distinctive red tint when casting divine spells with ill intent or when praying)
Hair Color: Bright Blonde
Place of Birth: Inside a Banite Temple
Distinction: The tattoo of the symbol for Bane, a black gauntlet, has been etched into her back and left palm. She carries herself with an air of authority, but cautiousness. It's generally hard to tell if she’s out to do evil or not, as she tends to follow laws and moral codes strictly in practice, though the same cannot be said in spirit. She tends to pray to Bane at midnight each night as a boon for the spells granted to her by her patron deity, and generally she seems like someone that one would get along with if not for her religious affiliations and practices based off of said affiliations.
Religion/Deity: Bane: God of hatred, tyranny, fear. Lawful Evil
General Alignment: While in spirit her views are generally evil, and said tendencies are even spottable on occasion, she tends to follow codes, laws, and morals put in place to keep from angering fellow residents, but only does so in practice, not in spirit. Her tendencies and teachings make her Lawful Evil. Constantly craving power, but going about it within the system and without needless death and slaughter, unlike her Cyricist counterparts. She’s just as likely to befriend a paladin as she is to turn them into a monster in the eyes of others.
//If you're truly interested in the character's past, you can look here: shadowsofsiranda.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=icbook&action=display&thread=246 \\
