Vitius Scelus: Trial by Tyranny
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The Bloodletting
Punch. Kick. Kick. "Scelus." Punch. Kick. Punch. Punch. Punch. Kick. "Scelus." Kick. Kick. Punch. Punch. Kick. Punch.
"Scelus!"
The young man, head freshly-shaven, stopped suddenly, glistening with sweat, breathing heavily, and looked toward the yelling that had intruded upon his training.
"It is time."
Scelus nodded once sharply and stepped into line behind the dark, muscular form who had summoned him. He grabbed a blackened cloth towel as he left the training room to dry himself off with, though he knew that he would soon be wet again, likely with something more pernicious than sweat. He was led into a small antechamber where a shriveled and scarred old monk stood beside a table. On the table were two small bowls, each filled with an inky substance – green in one, black in the other -- and a knife. The larger dark figure spoke:
"Stand in respect and fear of the Black Lord."
Scelus nodded again and stood facing the aged man, mind steeled for the worst. The ancient monk, with a dexterity belying his years, took up the knife and began to carve spidery designs into Scelus's flesh -- his arms, his legs, his chest, his face... nothing was spared. As the blood flowed like water, the old man smeared patterns of green and black ink into the open wounds, the ultimate goal being a series of ominous tattoos extolling the wonders of the Tyrant Lord Bane.
The Scarring
Scelus lay prone on the cold, hard ground in the combat pit, spitting blood. The same dark figure stood over him, bearing a large and dangerous-looking kama more befitting an ogre than a human.
"Come now, Scelus. Is this… the best that you can do?"
At the goading, Scelus sprang to his feet, cat-like, and assaulted the figure, his master, with a flurry of fists and feet. Though the master fell back, the young monk's attack was soon countered with the grace and ferocity of a lion as the master wielded his blade with deadly expertise. Tears were cut in Scelus's flesh as if it were made of paper, and he soon collapsed to the ground again.
"Pathetic."
Scelus leapt to his feet again and resumed his assault, with identical results. And yet he continued to press the attack until a pointed swipe of his master's hooked blade took his right eye. Scelus fell to the ground, screaming in agony, and his master peered down with a cold smirk, evidently impressed by his student's fruitless perseverance.
"You have done well today despite your defeat, Scelus. You have earned a name to match your strength of body and spirit, and your stubborn pride -- you will now be known as Vitius Scelus."
He paused and held forth the bloodied hook.
"Know your place in the hierarchy, or you will lose more than this eye."
The Sending
The blinded, scarred monk kneeled before a council clad in robes of emerald and obsidian, deigning not to turn his pallid yellow eye to their faces.
"You will travel to the northern land known as Narfell. There, you will locate the church of Bane in the region. The leader of the faith is Lord Mordus Gedder – do not disturb him with your presence. Instead find an individual of lesser power but influence nonetheless -- the Imperceptor of one of their temples, a Zanetar Den 'Kath. You will provide your services to his church and temple, and then after a period of one year you will report back to us with your findings. Fail, and you will die.
Now go. And the Black Hand go with you."
Vitius practically crawled from the lords' chamber, hacking and coughing, his body ravaged by its trials. He prepared to leave at once, for if he did not, the consequences would be far worse than any he would find en route to the frozen wastes of Narfell.
Login: Supremus Rector
Character: Vitius Scelus
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Reviewed - XP Pending.
