- Messages
- 26
- Character Biography
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For the first time ever, N'aschi Kona was fearful for his life.
He couldn't see, not clearly enough to be aware of his surroundings; his vision was blurred as though he stared through the ocean, dotted with fickle white spots and sporadically flickering stars. The iron-like taste of blood filled his mouth with every staggered breath he took, and all that his pointed ears could hear was the sound of his struggling lungs working to keep him conscious. N'aschi's back, the clothing ripped from it and left bare, burned as it was slowly dragged along the ground, the rocks and roots in the dirt grinding against his flesh. What had happened to leave him in such a state? His memory was foggy, he could hardly remember...
He'd been waylaid on the edge of Allir Reach, a flurry of claws and flame ripping and tearing at the young elven warrior. Rumors had been circulating all the way into his homeland of a twisted monstrosity, born of dark creatures left unchecked in the great wilds of Epressa. Kona had been halfway through a crisp mug of ale when he'd seen the bruised and frightened merchant stumble into the hole-in-the-wall tavern mumbling about devils and the end times. Of course, being an establishment meant for drunken fools, few had listened to him. He hadn't been the first to make those claims though, and if this unfortunate soul was here now, in such a disheveled state? That meant whatever had attacked him was still close.
N'aschi had declared his intent to slay the fiend with all the bravado and heroism one would expect from a warrior who would one day be written into history, secured his blade and spear hurriedly, and rushed from the small outskirt village he'd been staying at with blood boiling and skin tingling with excitement. The calm before a great battle, the moments before two lives clashed with intent to end the other, it was always a rush that brought him to heights no drink ever could, performing such grandiose feats. The hunt was not what he craved, however-- it was the sound of his name on the lips of others, spreading his name far and wide as the victor that was his reward above all else.
This time had been different.
The beast that N'aschi encountered, prowling just over the hills north of the village along the tree lines, was a horrific monstrosity: It walked on all fours, with black matted fur akin to that of a wolf. Whatever evil had created it seemed to ooze from every pore, causing its massive body to feel almost wet to the touch. Its head was scaled, its scalp lined with spiked horns, and a face resembling that of a reptile. Sharp, birdlike talons dug into the dirt with every step it took, and in its jagged, maw it now dragged Kona by a bloodied arm across the ground.
The young, overeager elf had underestimated his foe, and now he was being dragged off to be devoured as an afternoon snack. His weapons lay several feet away, torn away and discarded by the beast, and the heat emanating from that gnarled orifice that held him so tightly burned at his skin. If it was to be his end, then he could at least claim to have died the way he desired to; free and in charge of his own fate.
On this day, perhaps... That fate had other plans for him.
He couldn't see, not clearly enough to be aware of his surroundings; his vision was blurred as though he stared through the ocean, dotted with fickle white spots and sporadically flickering stars. The iron-like taste of blood filled his mouth with every staggered breath he took, and all that his pointed ears could hear was the sound of his struggling lungs working to keep him conscious. N'aschi's back, the clothing ripped from it and left bare, burned as it was slowly dragged along the ground, the rocks and roots in the dirt grinding against his flesh. What had happened to leave him in such a state? His memory was foggy, he could hardly remember...
He'd been waylaid on the edge of Allir Reach, a flurry of claws and flame ripping and tearing at the young elven warrior. Rumors had been circulating all the way into his homeland of a twisted monstrosity, born of dark creatures left unchecked in the great wilds of Epressa. Kona had been halfway through a crisp mug of ale when he'd seen the bruised and frightened merchant stumble into the hole-in-the-wall tavern mumbling about devils and the end times. Of course, being an establishment meant for drunken fools, few had listened to him. He hadn't been the first to make those claims though, and if this unfortunate soul was here now, in such a disheveled state? That meant whatever had attacked him was still close.
N'aschi had declared his intent to slay the fiend with all the bravado and heroism one would expect from a warrior who would one day be written into history, secured his blade and spear hurriedly, and rushed from the small outskirt village he'd been staying at with blood boiling and skin tingling with excitement. The calm before a great battle, the moments before two lives clashed with intent to end the other, it was always a rush that brought him to heights no drink ever could, performing such grandiose feats. The hunt was not what he craved, however-- it was the sound of his name on the lips of others, spreading his name far and wide as the victor that was his reward above all else.
This time had been different.
The beast that N'aschi encountered, prowling just over the hills north of the village along the tree lines, was a horrific monstrosity: It walked on all fours, with black matted fur akin to that of a wolf. Whatever evil had created it seemed to ooze from every pore, causing its massive body to feel almost wet to the touch. Its head was scaled, its scalp lined with spiked horns, and a face resembling that of a reptile. Sharp, birdlike talons dug into the dirt with every step it took, and in its jagged, maw it now dragged Kona by a bloodied arm across the ground.
The young, overeager elf had underestimated his foe, and now he was being dragged off to be devoured as an afternoon snack. His weapons lay several feet away, torn away and discarded by the beast, and the heat emanating from that gnarled orifice that held him so tightly burned at his skin. If it was to be his end, then he could at least claim to have died the way he desired to; free and in charge of his own fate.
On this day, perhaps... That fate had other plans for him.