Post by Linx on Dec 4, 2011 1:04:55 GMT -6
Name: Elric VIII, 428th Emperor of Melniboné
Aliases: The Soulstealer, The White Wolf, Reaver, Kin Slayer, The Eternal Warrior, or just Elric
Age: 2011
Gender: Male
Species: Melnibonéan
Alignment: Shifts with his mood
Canon or Original: Canon/Original (Final few paragraphs of history, abilities and personality)
Date of Birth: 0A.D
Place of Birth: The Dreaming City, Imrryr
Physical Appearance:
Hair: Silvery white
Eyes: Crimson
Height: 5'11''
Marks: Unnaturally pale
Race: Melnibonéan
Skin Tone: Extremely pale.
Body Type: Slim
Clothing Style: Court livery, or ceremonial armor.
Footwear: Heavy Boots
Summary:
Born into a warrior like people of what they considered to be highly refined. It was a secretive island nation that was entirely self-contained, though on occasions rumors leaked out on its existence. It was a nation of those believing themselves to be supreme beings above all the others. He was raised constantly from the day he could stand to train as a true noble of the Melnibonéan race. His livery consists of black silken breeches, a blue silk tunic, and a crimson cape. His boots are knee high and also black, cured leather, and he will occasionally be seen in just different colors of the same outfit. His breeches come in black and blue, tunic black, blue and red, and his cape is always crimson. Around his head is usually a circlet to hold back his hair, though he will forego it at times, and on his finger is the single rare, Actorious stone, the Ring of Kings of his forefathers.
However, there are occasions where he will forego his noble livery, donning his ceremonial regalia. A black breastplate of a shiny metal that was found only on the isle of Melniboné, a high collared jerkin of black velvet, black leather breeches covered to the knee by his boots that were also made of black cured leather. The Ring of Kings is on his finger, the very center of the ring seeming to shift in sentience. Upon his head was the dragon helm of his forefathers, fashioned of the same black metal as his breastplate, the face guard of it folding back, made to look like the wings of a dragon, and could be shut or opened. Closed, only his moody crimson eyes could be seen. Without it on, he wears a brilliant golden circlet that holds his hair back from his face, and on his hip rides his massive black sword Stormbringer.
Personality:
Likes:
1. Chaos
2. Reading
3. Isolation
4. Brooding
Dislikes:
1. Zealots
2. Most People
3. The Weak
Flaws:
1. Drug Dependent
2. Arrogant
3. Reckless
4. Vengeful
Summary:
Born to a race that worshipped Arioch, a greater Duke of Hell, Lord of Chaos, he's devoted his life to serving him. He's learned to revel in the massacre of others, to see the beauty in chaos and discord, and to elicit it wherever he may. He has learned to feel at home and comfortable in the chaos of war and battle, found in it often enough. He also is fond of reading. Despite the brutality of his people, they were also a very learned and intelligent race, voraciously devouring all knowledge that crossed their paths, Elric being more so than the rest. He was constantly trying to find a way to strengthen his body, to not be dependent on herbs and potions. As of yet, he had been unsuccessful, but this drive to devour knowledge has carried over into other fields, and he's become what many would consider to be an expert in a great many subjects.
His other two favourite likes would be isolation and brooding. Because he's lost everything that has been important to him at one point or another in his life, he's become very fond of brooding. He can oft be found alone in his rooms, drinking and staring out his window, reminiscing on the things he's lost, and it's slowly driven him to the dark and twisted being that he's become. The brooding has led to anger, anger has led to violence, violence has led to destruction, and destruction led to more brooding, starting his dark cycle over once more. Because of this, he's become somewhat of an isolationist, constantly alone. He grows close to no one, but isn't completely reclusive. He'll interact, share his past, and his potential future pursuits with people. He'll cavort and party, but in the end, he grows close to no one, never trusting in any but his own counsel, still a true Melnibonéan.
Of his dislikes, zealots rank foremost. He is respectful of other religions, but with his experiences, he's become somewhat jaded and cynical of the world, especially those fools that spout their religious nonsense and doom sayings to everyone within sight. Many times, he has been preached to, condemned to hell, sought for aid, and the like. He's been pursued by paladins and knights, by delusional mobs, self-righteous priests and everything in between. He has grown tired of listening to the same religious rhetoric, spouting that their god is supreme above all others. He brushes aside their prayers and speeches, though they irritate him to no end. On occasion, he will go so far as to slaughter them and re paint their place of worship with their blood and entrails, merely to make the point that their god won't protect them forever.
Second on his list of dislikes would be most people. He has met very few that he is willing to spend time around, even less that he likes. People, the young races as his own people referred to them, are whining and sniveling their way through the world, always expecting someone else to fix everything for them. And when the occasion does arrive that he's in the presence of people, they constantly irritate and annoy with their incessant questions and inane chattering. Because of his constantly growing hatred for them, many a village has been slaughtered, left in smoldering ruins. He tends to avoid gatherings of people of any type, especially the religious, but does find himself good vantage points to watch them, observing them with a detached interest, taking in their behavior, saving it, as he does every small bit of knowledge.
Third are the weak. One of the greatest annoyances to the last ruler of a proud and powerful race, those that are unable to fend for themselves. He hates them with a burning passion, and will not hesitate to slaughter if roused to full fury. The whines of the pitiful, begging for the aid of someone else to solve their issues for them, those complaining that they are unable, all these and more drive him to fury. He feels that everyone should look out for themselves, and that by being dependent on others, you are weak, and worthless. If you are weak and worthless, then you have no place in this world. If you have no place in this world, he will gladly remove you from it. His race has always demanded strength, even from an infirm such as himself. If he can force himself to overcome his natural adversity to survive, why shouldn't others have to?
His biggest flaw is that he's drug dependent. Without his alchemical potions, he's weak, and totally helpless. Because of his dependency, he is very acutely aware of time. Because of this, he is somewhat irritable if it is getting towards the time that he needs to take his next potion. He is easily agitated, and prone to violence. If it's disrupting him and what he needs to do, he removes it in the most expedient manner possible. His later explanation is that he was showing them his finely crafted blade, when they tripped and fell on it. Needless to say, it doesn't always go over so well, and many more end up dying as he flees to safety. Other than his potion, he also has herbs and the like to take for boosts in his energy and strength.
His second flaw is that he's arrogant. His entire race was a haughty one, and because of it, it's become second nature to him, to just blindly charge into a situation, and to challenge anyone that seems to be bragging. He'll also never back down from a challenge, no matter the reason for it. He's grown to believe that he can defeat any foe, no matter the odds, and refuses to acknowledge the fact that there might be others more powerful than he is. He's never met one yet, so until the time comes that he does, he never dwells on it. Because of his arrogance, he has earned many enemies. Others that felt they were top dog in their own areas, until usurped by Elric. However, despite his arrogance, he is intelligent enough to realize when he cannot best an opponent, and doesn’t mind in the least retreating to plot a trap.
His third flaw is that he is reckless. Because of the ability to regenerate his limbs almost instantly, he will charge headlong into any battle, heedless of the danger. He has a total disregard for his safety, and cares nothing for defending others. He'll fight until he's too exhausted to continue, rest for a bit, and then start again. He is not only reckless in battle, but in everyday life. Not so much in speech, but in actions. Most people tend to avoid doing things that could potentially cause them harm. Elric, however, does them anyway. He sees it as a challenge, and he just charges forth without bothering to think things through. Because of this, he has suffered nearly every injury imaginable, though he has not a mark to show for it.
His final flaw is that he is vengeful. If someone makes an attempt on his life and flees, he does not wait and bide his time, he does not plan or strategize, he charges right after them, to right their wrongs. He is quick to address any wrong or slight he is paid, as a trait of his people. Other than being a warring race, they were also quite vengeful. Any that challenged their might and fled was quickly crushed. Any that insulted or spoke badly about them quickly were whisked away to their darkest dungeons to become used for practicing their interrogation and torture techniques, or perhaps used in experiments to further their own knowledge. Their vengeance, and Elric’s, was always swift and absolute, with nothing changing their course, and it usually ended in the death of the one that had wronged them.
Special Abilities:
Pyrokinesis- The ability to control flames. However, due to his nature and history, his flames have been twisted to be black in colour.
Magicks- As the last of the Bright Emperors of Melniboné, he has all their sorcerous might at his control. Pacts with the elementals let him call upon them for aid, and he can work many powerful spells to conjure or banish allies or foes, wreak destruction and havoc, or even simpler and subtler spells. This is only restricted by his creativity.
Interrogation Techniques- His was a race that prided themselves on the master of doling out pain to their enemies. As such, his people spent life times turning torture into an elegant art. As the Emperor, it was his duty to oversee all torture sessions of enemy spies, and he learned much along his way.
Alchemy- Many long years spent gathering herbs and crafting poultices and potions have made him a master at the art, and it’s by this means he crafts the potion needed to keep his strength up when he isn’t using Stormbringer.
Regeneration- Through ancient pacts with demons, the line of Kings of Melniboné are granted the boon of regeneration, taking much more than a standard war to slay them.
Immortality- Cursed for his transgressions against Arioch in one of his ventures, Arioch made Elric immortal, that he might suffer for an eternity in his pain and self hate.
Weapons:
Stormbringer- The massive black vampiric runeblade, crafted in ages long since past. Stormbringer is sentient on its own, and grants Elric great vitality by drinking the souls of its victims, passing it along to the Albino as he fights. It grants him additional sorcerous might as well, and can be called to him from any location. The blade is hellishly sharp as well, and can cleave through nigh any substance with ease, except those specially warded against the weapons of chaos.
Armour
The Actorious Stone- The ring of kings crafted from a singular gem that seems a chunk of reality itself, scattering light in an iridescent display. It holds immense power for Elric to tap as well, boosting his magical might.
History:
Born two thousand and eleven years ago on the now sunken island of Melniboné, Elric was the crown prince to the dragon throne. A small child, an albino that was to be sacrificed, he was spared it only because his mother requested it of his father. He was spared, though their nobility's disgust was never disguised. They all had seen him as an outcast, because of his condition. As an albino, he was different from the rest of his people. He was paler, his hair a bone-white, his eyes a dark crimson. They all felt that he would bring ruin to their people as a prince, and they knew that he would be physically weak. His mother only intervened because she felt that he would bring about great change for their people, because he was unique. He was raised by his mother and private tutors, that taught him everything he needed to be the heir apparent to the throne. For the first twenty years of his life, his was raised on basic subjects, but he quickly displayed a keen mind, and advanced rapidly. His father began to take notice of the fact that he wasn't as useless as he thought, and began to have him groomed for the throne, as was custom, while making his own preparations for death.
From the ages twenty to forty, he began his advanced studies. He began studying in advanced math’s and philosophies, as well as economics and the brutal truth about his culture. He learned and witnessed firsthand the tortures and brutalities that his people could commit, and he didn't shy away in the least. He learned the arts of torture and interrogation. He learned things that even demons would quake at, though he has precious few reasons to put them to use now. He still retains the skills however, occasionally practicing them, keeping his skills honed and ready for use should it be called. After his initial introduction to the art, he practiced it bi-weekly at the palace, spending much time in the darkest areas of their cells.
From forty onwards, he began his practice with the royal guard. He quickly took to these lessons, displaying a natural talent for sword fighting, and though he was physically weaker than most of the people in the nation, he was kept strong by constant feedings of herbs from his family, the natural remedies strengthening him. He was just strong enough for a private tutor from their standing military to train him. He quickly took to the long sword more than anything, and as a tactic, he was constantly trained in increasingly heavy raiment’s of armor, to increase his own strength. The tactic worked for a while, and he continued to practice with the royal guard each day, until the age of one hundred when he was given the choice of studying under subjects that he wished to advance his studies in.
At the age of one hundred, he requested studies in alchemy, to continue practicing with the guard, and studying botany as well. Four days out of the week, he would be training with the royal guard now, two days studying alchemy, and one studying botany. The days he spent practicing with the guard he did so with his cousin, the next in line for the throne, the only one that was able to match his prodigious skills, despite his infirmities. They practiced under the general that reported directly to Elric’s father the Emperor. His study with the alchemists however proved to be far more valuable to him. With the alchemists his father had brought in, he learned from them a concoction that would allow him to overcome his infirmities. He quickly seized it, and began studying everything else that they offered him, mainly poisons and the like.
He also continued his lessons with the royal guard, practicing with them every day, though sometimes spending entire days with them were he did nothing but drill, and learn military tactics and maneuvers. He practiced with the ground soldiers as well as their navy, excelling at both forms of combat, matched only in swordplay by his cousin Yyrkoon. He spent long days running various scenarios with his captains and admirals, learning the protocol, terminology, and tactics of their soldiers, and then moving to ship-to-ship combat later on. He learned to repel boarders, quench fires, and studiously laboured to learn to think on his feet, improvising as necessary, needing to be able to vanquish any foe with minimal casualties. Though they were not a large kingdom, they were easily one of the most powerful in the world, only matched by the Neronomus kingdom.
His final lessons were botany, learning from his cousin Cymoril, of all people. With her help, he was able to learn to identify the numerous plants that grew on their homeland, and he learned to create many poultices to heal the injured. With her help, he was first able to create the potion that no longer made him so dependent on blood. In his time with her, the two became very close together, falling in love together. Though not frowned upon by his father, his cousin, Cymorils brother, was greatly angered, though he could only seethe impotently. The two were very close, being married when Elric was at the age of two hundred, and she of equal age. He continued his lessons with her more for enjoyment than any actual practice, as the two preferred to spend time together.
Another part of his teachings were or course, history. He learned of Melnibonés warring history, constantly trying to stamp out the freedom of the Young Kingdoms and bring all under their control. He was raised to learn that all lycans and half bloods were vile and tainted, needing to be put down, but for the most part, Elric rejects these teachings. He prefers to let the half bloods dig their own graves, lycans however, he slaughters without remorse. He learned of his fathers’ involvement in the Council of Thirteen, and from there, he learned of the Neronomus Kingdom. They had been the only kingdom to match the might of the Melnibonéans, and the only one of the vampire kingdoms that his father respected. He learned of the tragic downfall of the Neronomus, the disbanding of the council, and the disappearance of the only heir, Animus.
His father himself told him of the fall of the Neronomus Empire, and how they Melnibonéans were not quick enough to their aid. It was the only fall of a kingdom that his unusual father regretted. His father was somewhat like his son, having feeling unfit of a Melnibonéan, though he ruled as viciously as a Melnibonéan should rule. His father taught him that the Neronomus were true vampires, powerful, imperious, and quite cunning. His father had been proud to sit on the council with King Gale, and was saddened at his passing, and all of Melniboné mourned his passing that day. Elric was fascinated with this turn of events, and fascinated by the council. A small group of powerful nations, most likely lead by Gale and Sadric, who wanted the dominance of vampires and Melnibonéans across the earth? He was truly intrigued, and only regretted that it had disbanded some hundred years before his birth, that he did not have the chance to witness such an occurrence.
He continued these lessons until the age of two hundred, where he was taken into conference with his father one day. That day was one that very nearly ended his life. It was a day of both mourning and celebration. In the morning, he was called to his father’s private conference room, and there he learned the secret of the power of the true heirs to the dragon throne. He learned that it was the ability of everyone in his family to be able to create and control fire. His father told him that by then, it should have manifested itself within him. They talked at length, his father growing angry. Calling him a useless fool that should have been killed at birth, his father tried to kill him, and Elric barely escaped with his life, his fathers’ voice ringing out, declaring him an exile until the day that his father died. This was the second, and last, act of mercy his father had ever shown him. Elric had managed to escape his father by his uncanny speed, being faster than anyone could believe him capable of, and his father had underestimated him. Thus, he rewarded him not by death, but by exile until Sadric himself were to die, because he’d been able to evade death.
He returned to his room long enough to gather his belongings, bidding his wife and love Cymoril are tearful farewell, acutely aware that he could not remain for long. As he was leaving however, his mother stopped him. She too bid him farewell, giving him a cloth wrapped package, telling him that it was an heirloom of their family that she was passing onto him. He took the wrapped gift gracefully, bidding his mother farewell, before fleeing the capital of their land, banished until he could do honor to his family. For many years, he wandered the isle, before finally stowing away on a ship, headed for a raid on the mainland. It was tricky, but he secured passage by posing as another able-bodied warrior. The only truly identifying mark about him was his sword, which no one truly knew of as belonging to the royal family.
The sword was a blackened silver blade called Stormbringer. It was a long blade, known to the humans as a bastard sword, or hand and a half sword. The blade was wide and keenly edged, with ancient runes of his people inscribed upon it at the time of its making, though none left alive could read them. None save Elric. It was in his travels that he found an ancient manuscript of his people, left on a raid at the founding of his nation. He translated it, and decoded the inscription. It read "The cursed blade Stormbringer, bane of friend and foe alike." It was not a comforting message, and in time, Elric would learn the inscription to be prophetic enough, as it would lead him to the path of doom and despair. It would cause naught but misery and chaos in his life, though his destiny was interwoven with that of his sword, and he has never yet cast it aside.
For a century, he wandered the earth in silence, having stocked up on herbs enough to sustain him. He wandered alone, his mind ever on his lost love and country. Eventually, word reached him of his fathers’ death from a raider of his homeland. Here, upon receiving the news, he returned at once on a ship to the isle of his birth, where he claimed the throne by right of ascension. Though unhappy with his sudden return, and his claiming of the throne, his countrymen were forced to give it to him. It was after his coronation that he learned that his mother had died, having passed away some years before his return, killed by a raider. The man had been executed in the most painful way that his father could imagine, after being liberally tortured and used for practice by the newest class of jailers being trained.
He reigned over his country faithfully for many years, Cymoril having returned to his side as he ruled, and he was happy. But under it all, trouble was brewing. Many considered him unfit to rule Melniboné, not nearly so decisive and brutal as his father. He was more contemplative, thoughtful. He allowed people to speak their minds, and was lenient were custom dictated that he be strict. His cousin Yyrkoon used this to his advantage. He began to gather followers, openly criticizing Elric’s rule, and never being killed for his treason. Elric’s reasoning was that it was minor treason, of no big import to him. However, his cousin took it too far one fateful day. Raiders had come, thinking they could slip through the sea maze that defended the inner harbor of Melniboné, and Elric went out at the head of his flagship, his cousin riding with him and the admiral of their navy.
Their battle-barges waited in cleverly hidden areas along the walls of the sea maze, until the last of the raiders ships had passed. Elric, in full battle regalia of his ancestors, ordered the attack, and the bloody ship-to-ship combat ensued. Elric, after the first engagement in which the majority of ships were destroyed, retired to his cabin, his strength waning, having not taken his potion recently. His cousin reported that some of the ships were fleeing, and asked for his orders. Elric ordered that they return to Imrryr, and his cousin argued that it would be best to finish of the fleeing reavers, a demonstration of their might. Frustrated, he orders that they pursue then, and Yyrkoon left happily. He relayed the order of their king, and the fleet went off in swift pursuit.
Elric forced himself to weary feet, and stumbled onto the deck, determined to help defeat these raiders. He was faced with two of them immediately, as they recognized his attire as far more imperious than any others, marking him as the king. He was too weary to raise his sword or shield in time, and only his helmet saved him, taking the two blows that would have ended his life, knocking him back to the deck. One soldier was slain by a crewmember; the other ran himself through on Elric’s sword as fear for his life surged strength into his failing limbs. Unfortunately, he was trapped beneath his victim, and that’s where Yyrkoon found him. He ordered Yyrkoon to help him, but his cousin decided that his time had finally come.
Yyrkoon grinned evilly, placing his boot on Elric’s armoured chest, before shoving him over the side of the ship, watching him sink beneath the waves. Elric received another burst of adrenaline, born of fear and desperation, and he clawed desperately at his armor, managing to tear most of it free. His sinking slowed, and he managed to tear the last of it free, the armor of his ancestor kings sinking deeper beneath him. He struggles to rise, the current carrying him away from where he sank. By some miracle he attributed to his patron god Arioch, his mind had cast the spell for the summoning of the water elementals, and King Straasha himself answered. He rescued Elric, and set him on a beach not far from Imrryr. He received help from the local villagers of the island, and they swiftly transported him back to the capital of Imrryr, where he seated himself upon the ruby throne, and waited.
Meanwhile, Yyrkoon docked, and there he found Cymoril waiting for Elric. He took great delight in telling her that their former king had died, and he was king now. She knew that she had killed Elric, and ordered her guards to slay him. All but one hesitated, and the soldier raised his sword, and charged Yyrkoon. That would have been the end of him, entangled as he was in his cape, had not the captain of Cymorils guard cut down the soldier, declaring himself loyal to the Ruby Throne, not Cymoril. Yyrkoon congratulated him on a good choice, and ordered that the soldier be cut up, and fed to Cymorils servants, that he might continue to serve her, even in death. A prime example of classic Melnibonéan style. He continued his way to the throne room, walking, savouring every moment of his long awaited triumph, until he pushed back the doors, and the commander of their armies, Dyvim Tvar, gasped.
Yyrkoon too could not believe his eyes, as a figure wrapped in a heavy brown cloak lounged lazily in the throne. They ordered him to move, and when the man spoke, Yyrkoon trembled. Elric revealed himself then, sitting forward, casting back his hood, revealed in his entire terrible splendor. He had finally given in to what Yyrkoon wanted, and would rule as a true Melnibonéan should, just as he wanted, starting with his cousin. He questioned Dyvim Tvar on what had happened, and smiled viciously. He ordered Yyrkoon’s captain killed and cut up. Yyrkoon would be joining him for the celebratory feast that night, celebrating his new rule, and his dinner would be the meat of his servant. He did as was Melnibonéan tradition, taking his opponents perceived punishment, and cruelly twisting it to his purposes.
He called for his cousin Cymoril to join him that night, and so she did, happy to find out that Elric lived. He told her to prepare for the feast, and she went away, as did Dyvim Tvar, requesting that he have some alone time, to think. When it came time for the feast, all were present, except for Yyrkoon, Dyvim Tvar, and Cymoril. He was about to dispatch soldiers to investigate, when Dyvim Tvar stumbled in, bloody and battered. He told how Yyrkoon had managed to break free of Dyvim Tvar as he tried to bring him, with the aid of his captain, and kidnapped Cymoril, fleeing into the night. Dyvim Tvar had been unconscious until a few moments ago, where he rushed to tell his king Elric of what had happened.
In anger, Elric dispatched Dyvim Tvar with orders to mobilize all of their troops, to find his cousins no matter the odds. Over the months that they searched, not a trace was found of his cousin Yyrkoon, or his beloved Cymoril. Elric himself grew to become reclusive, and isolated, dark and brooding. After five months however, Arioch blessed him once more. His soldiers had found a hermit, living on the coast of one of the younger nations, who had recently seen his cousin Yyrkoon, and who had spied on him, observing his actions. His cousin, it seemed, had been gathering an army, with the core of it being his loyal captain Valhrain that fled with him, as well as two hundred other soldiers that had remained secretly loyal to him, opposed to the rule of an albino.
Upon this news, Elric marshaled his forces, and set forth at once, sailing on the golden battle barges of his homeland, bearing down like a wolf on his prey. It was a few horribly long weeks for Elric, before they sighted the coastal city of his cousin, the gateway to his stronghold in-land. Their magnificent vessels made short work of the cities defenses, and the troops quickly went ashore. The massive army moved with a purpose, following their emperor faithfully, surging towards the city like a wave, and in less than four hours, they surrounded the city, storming forward, overwhelming the defenses. His cousin had been unprepared for a sudden attack, not knowing that his cousin would have learned of his actions. Elric himself led the charge, the battle lust of his ancestor kings pounding in his veins, and he was like a berserker, slaughtering the soldiers that rose before him mercilessly.
When he found his cousin Yyrkoon, the captain Valhrain foolishly charged him, and Elric tore him apart, literally. He had discarded his sword, tearing the impudent traitor apart limb by limb, before stalking towards Yyrkoon. His cousin, cowering in fear of the terrible splendor of the last true emperor of the Bright Empire, submitted himself to Elric, fearing for his very soul, knowing that their god Arioch had abandoned him, and Elric was in his full favour. Elric spared his cousin then, taking him back as a prisoner, and Cymoril once more by his side, they returned to Imrryr, celebrating the return of their triumphant king. That night however, Elric was pensive, and told Cymoril of his plans. He was going amidst the kingdoms of man and other vampires, to learn about them, to better their own empire.
Cymoril herself would not accompany him, unable to comprehend why he wished to travel thus, as it was odd for their people, but she would wait for him. His choices for a regent however, failed him, knowing that none of them would, before he turned to Yyrkoon, granting his cousin his greatest wish. He could rule their nation while he was gone for one year, and once Elric returned, he would consider abdicating the throne in favour of his cousin. Elric bid is cousins farewell the next night, and set off on one of their barges, traveling to the mainland, to wander among the new kingdoms of man and vampire. His first stop was the ruins of the Neronomus empire, visiting and paying his respects to one of the greatest vampire nations, before continuing on his way. He traveled his year, learning the different governments and practices of the nations, before returning home, to a great surprise indeed.
His cousin had usurped his throne once more, and was firmly in the favour of their people. He laughed in Elrics face, revealing how their mutual love, Cymoril, was once more in a comatose sleep, before banishing Elric, a greater punishment than death, believing himself Elric’s superior at long last. Without adieu, Elric left his home once more, traveling back to the kingdoms he’d visited, calling on friends and allies that he’d gained in his travels, amassing an armada, and within two years, was ready once more to return, to burn his kingdom to the ground, to take Cymoril with him, and live finally in harmony. The armada surged forth, led by Elric with his knowledge of the sea maze, they stormed Imrryr, taking them by surprise, slaughtering them with ease, before they reorganized, and began to put up a semblance of defense. By that time, it was too late however, and the defenders were crushed in time. Elric himself slashed a bloody path through them, working his way towards the tower of kings, seeking his cousin and love Cymoril, wanting her safety.
At the base of the tower, he paused, the insane cackling of Yyrkoon echoing down, and Elric feared for his love. Up Elric went, finding his cousin with the comatose body of Cymoril. The two exchanged brief words, and began to fight. He had been interrupted in delivering his dose of drugs to her, and midway through she awoke, rushing to Elric, crying his name, begging him to end the fight. He slew her brother as he became distracted with his sisters rushing form, and turned wildly at the voice crying his name, and her rushing form impaled itself upon his sword. In this way, Cymoril died in his arms, and in this great grief, soldiers stormed the tower, to avenge the slaying of their Emperor. Elric was trapped in the tower, broken and grief stricken. He cried to his lord of chaos, the great demon Arioch to save him, promising him souls and bodies. Ever a fickle god, Arioch ignored him.
Though a masterful swordsman, Elric was unable to compete with so many trained men, and fatigue began to take its toll on him. Crying once more to Arioch, begging for his aid, Elric prepared himself to die. But this time, his god had answered him. For in that moment, the birthright of Elric’s blood blossomed, and surged through his weak veins. Fire bloomed from his fingertips, destroying the soldiers before him, and fire continued to pour, setting fire to the mighty palace itself. However, with the fall of the palace, his flames burned brightly, forming a massive dragon of black fire, which engulfed the palace, laying ruin to it and the surrounding buildings, and the last of his people fled, fearful of the dark power arrayed against them, their mighty emperor blessed by the dark lord Arioch. Amidst the rubble and chaos, as the fire slowly drained from his body, Elric wept. He was found by a leader of the reavers he had brought, and forced away to safety, as the once proud and beautiful city of Imrryr was plundered and burned to the ground around him.
He left the isle, for the final time, kin slayer and woman slayer. He became a stoic shell after that incident, empty inside as they left the burning cities behind them. When they had landed, Elric vanished, simply as light in the darkness. He was three and a half centuries old now, and he returned to wandering the earth, trying time and again for allies, though each time, his cursed blade was quenched in their blood. He continued this way for two decades, where he traveled alone, never stopping in one place for too long. He began to exercise his birthright, the first time since the incident that had destroyed his home, and saved his life. He formed it, and molded it in isolation and silence, returning to the ruined land of his home. Here, where no animals dwelled, he was truly alone.
He grew more powerful as the time passed, exerting greater and greater control over his power. At first, he could only control it sporadically, occasionally calling forth bursts of flame, never as powerful as the initial surge that he’d felt when he’d returned to his home for the last time. After awhile, about a year, he was able to create a solid flame at will, and hold it for a few minutes. After ten years, he could maintain the flame for a much longer time, and could begin to mold it, to direct it to his will. After fifteen years, he could create and maintain intricate shapes, and often recreated battles of his youth to entertain himself. And after twenty years, he had complete mastery over the flames.
He practiced this way in silence for another two decades, needing the herbs that grew there to keep him alive, before a long dormant volcano beneath the isle erupted, spraying ash and fire into the air. For as powerful as he'd become with the gift of his forefathers, he was unable to control it. He had felt the fire increasing beneath his home years ago, and luckily had begun to stockpile the herb that gave him life. He gathered his stock, and quickly descended into the small boat that had brought him to his home, rowing away, casting a final forlorn glance at what had been one of the most powerful nations in the world. After many months of the salty sea air and nothing but fish to eat, he struck land. He made camp there for one night, half dead from his journey, having only been able to travel by night, when the heavy cloth was not covering him.
After that first night, he gathered his satchel of herbs, each one creating him enough potions for a month, before setting off once more. And so, for the past thirty nine years he's been wandering this earth, his cursed blade Stormbringer riding at his hip. He has kept his existence silent until now, having tried to live the life of peace that Cymoril had wanted for him. But eventually, the cynicism and hate in his heart overcame him, and he has once again assumed the mantle of his forefathers, the Dragon Emperor. He still wears his ring of kingship, carved from a single brilliant gem that he has never seen the like of, that sparkled in a prismatic array. He has a small home now, in the ocean area of what the humans call Asia where he keeps the armor of his line when not in use, and where he retires to at times. A small uninhabited and unchartered island that is the perfect refuge for him, should he need to escape the tiring need of dealing with the lesser races.
However, as of over a millenia ago by human reckoning, he disappeared, retreating into the castle that he’d had built, leaving orders for the unseen servants to maintain and keep it clean in his absence from the world. There, he entered a state of hibernation, his blood drained, leaving him in a mummy like state, waiting as time passed. As the centuries passed, his servants have maintained the keep faithfully, keeping it modern with the funds there master left them, and killing off those that finished their work on the keep. Now, all is silent as he waits in his fugue state. No visitors had come to the island in over a decade, and all is silent as the servants move about unseen and unheard, afraid to wake their master. The time continued to pass in the silent keep, and it seems as if the world there is holding its breath, waiting for someone to stumble across the last king of Melnibonéans, and awake him from his slumber, unleashing him upon the world once more.
And in time, that very thing happened. How his location was discovered was never found out, but a lone vampire wandered into his keep, admitted entry by the guards that had long since lived there, still faithfully serving their master. The vampire was the Blood Countess, Elizabeth Bathory, also known as Amoura Ethelia. She revived the ancient king, requesting that he join her in her attempts to recreate the original Court of Thirteen Bloods in its newest incarnation, the Blood Dynasty. She had been with the last survivor of the Neronomus empire as well, and it was his death and final wishes that propelled her along this path.
Grateful at being returned to life, Elric agreed to her request, more to help familiarize himself with this world than anything. For months they had fought a covert war against a group known as the Twilight Brigade, led by the vampire Vincent, one even older than Elric. Eventually, the Blood Dynasty seemed to fall apart as its members vanished one by one. Long had Elric considered the Twilight Brigade to be the source, though proven wrong when one day he was drawn from his own fortress where he pondered the whereabouts of his friend Amoura, sensing a power tugging at him as it pulled him across reality, depositing him on the world of Genesis. Now, Elric has taken to wandering again, working in secret to recreate the Blood Dynasty, to begin to establish dominion over this world as well.
Aliases: The Soulstealer, The White Wolf, Reaver, Kin Slayer, The Eternal Warrior, or just Elric
Age: 2011
Gender: Male
Species: Melnibonéan
Alignment: Shifts with his mood
Canon or Original: Canon/Original (Final few paragraphs of history, abilities and personality)
Date of Birth: 0A.D
Place of Birth: The Dreaming City, Imrryr
Physical Appearance:
Hair: Silvery white
Eyes: Crimson
Height: 5'11''
Marks: Unnaturally pale
Race: Melnibonéan
Skin Tone: Extremely pale.
Body Type: Slim
Clothing Style: Court livery, or ceremonial armor.
Footwear: Heavy Boots
Summary:
Born into a warrior like people of what they considered to be highly refined. It was a secretive island nation that was entirely self-contained, though on occasions rumors leaked out on its existence. It was a nation of those believing themselves to be supreme beings above all the others. He was raised constantly from the day he could stand to train as a true noble of the Melnibonéan race. His livery consists of black silken breeches, a blue silk tunic, and a crimson cape. His boots are knee high and also black, cured leather, and he will occasionally be seen in just different colors of the same outfit. His breeches come in black and blue, tunic black, blue and red, and his cape is always crimson. Around his head is usually a circlet to hold back his hair, though he will forego it at times, and on his finger is the single rare, Actorious stone, the Ring of Kings of his forefathers.
However, there are occasions where he will forego his noble livery, donning his ceremonial regalia. A black breastplate of a shiny metal that was found only on the isle of Melniboné, a high collared jerkin of black velvet, black leather breeches covered to the knee by his boots that were also made of black cured leather. The Ring of Kings is on his finger, the very center of the ring seeming to shift in sentience. Upon his head was the dragon helm of his forefathers, fashioned of the same black metal as his breastplate, the face guard of it folding back, made to look like the wings of a dragon, and could be shut or opened. Closed, only his moody crimson eyes could be seen. Without it on, he wears a brilliant golden circlet that holds his hair back from his face, and on his hip rides his massive black sword Stormbringer.
Personality:
Likes:
1. Chaos
2. Reading
3. Isolation
4. Brooding
Dislikes:
1. Zealots
2. Most People
3. The Weak
Flaws:
1. Drug Dependent
2. Arrogant
3. Reckless
4. Vengeful
Summary:
Born to a race that worshipped Arioch, a greater Duke of Hell, Lord of Chaos, he's devoted his life to serving him. He's learned to revel in the massacre of others, to see the beauty in chaos and discord, and to elicit it wherever he may. He has learned to feel at home and comfortable in the chaos of war and battle, found in it often enough. He also is fond of reading. Despite the brutality of his people, they were also a very learned and intelligent race, voraciously devouring all knowledge that crossed their paths, Elric being more so than the rest. He was constantly trying to find a way to strengthen his body, to not be dependent on herbs and potions. As of yet, he had been unsuccessful, but this drive to devour knowledge has carried over into other fields, and he's become what many would consider to be an expert in a great many subjects.
His other two favourite likes would be isolation and brooding. Because he's lost everything that has been important to him at one point or another in his life, he's become very fond of brooding. He can oft be found alone in his rooms, drinking and staring out his window, reminiscing on the things he's lost, and it's slowly driven him to the dark and twisted being that he's become. The brooding has led to anger, anger has led to violence, violence has led to destruction, and destruction led to more brooding, starting his dark cycle over once more. Because of this, he's become somewhat of an isolationist, constantly alone. He grows close to no one, but isn't completely reclusive. He'll interact, share his past, and his potential future pursuits with people. He'll cavort and party, but in the end, he grows close to no one, never trusting in any but his own counsel, still a true Melnibonéan.
Of his dislikes, zealots rank foremost. He is respectful of other religions, but with his experiences, he's become somewhat jaded and cynical of the world, especially those fools that spout their religious nonsense and doom sayings to everyone within sight. Many times, he has been preached to, condemned to hell, sought for aid, and the like. He's been pursued by paladins and knights, by delusional mobs, self-righteous priests and everything in between. He has grown tired of listening to the same religious rhetoric, spouting that their god is supreme above all others. He brushes aside their prayers and speeches, though they irritate him to no end. On occasion, he will go so far as to slaughter them and re paint their place of worship with their blood and entrails, merely to make the point that their god won't protect them forever.
Second on his list of dislikes would be most people. He has met very few that he is willing to spend time around, even less that he likes. People, the young races as his own people referred to them, are whining and sniveling their way through the world, always expecting someone else to fix everything for them. And when the occasion does arrive that he's in the presence of people, they constantly irritate and annoy with their incessant questions and inane chattering. Because of his constantly growing hatred for them, many a village has been slaughtered, left in smoldering ruins. He tends to avoid gatherings of people of any type, especially the religious, but does find himself good vantage points to watch them, observing them with a detached interest, taking in their behavior, saving it, as he does every small bit of knowledge.
Third are the weak. One of the greatest annoyances to the last ruler of a proud and powerful race, those that are unable to fend for themselves. He hates them with a burning passion, and will not hesitate to slaughter if roused to full fury. The whines of the pitiful, begging for the aid of someone else to solve their issues for them, those complaining that they are unable, all these and more drive him to fury. He feels that everyone should look out for themselves, and that by being dependent on others, you are weak, and worthless. If you are weak and worthless, then you have no place in this world. If you have no place in this world, he will gladly remove you from it. His race has always demanded strength, even from an infirm such as himself. If he can force himself to overcome his natural adversity to survive, why shouldn't others have to?
His biggest flaw is that he's drug dependent. Without his alchemical potions, he's weak, and totally helpless. Because of his dependency, he is very acutely aware of time. Because of this, he is somewhat irritable if it is getting towards the time that he needs to take his next potion. He is easily agitated, and prone to violence. If it's disrupting him and what he needs to do, he removes it in the most expedient manner possible. His later explanation is that he was showing them his finely crafted blade, when they tripped and fell on it. Needless to say, it doesn't always go over so well, and many more end up dying as he flees to safety. Other than his potion, he also has herbs and the like to take for boosts in his energy and strength.
His second flaw is that he's arrogant. His entire race was a haughty one, and because of it, it's become second nature to him, to just blindly charge into a situation, and to challenge anyone that seems to be bragging. He'll also never back down from a challenge, no matter the reason for it. He's grown to believe that he can defeat any foe, no matter the odds, and refuses to acknowledge the fact that there might be others more powerful than he is. He's never met one yet, so until the time comes that he does, he never dwells on it. Because of his arrogance, he has earned many enemies. Others that felt they were top dog in their own areas, until usurped by Elric. However, despite his arrogance, he is intelligent enough to realize when he cannot best an opponent, and doesn’t mind in the least retreating to plot a trap.
His third flaw is that he is reckless. Because of the ability to regenerate his limbs almost instantly, he will charge headlong into any battle, heedless of the danger. He has a total disregard for his safety, and cares nothing for defending others. He'll fight until he's too exhausted to continue, rest for a bit, and then start again. He is not only reckless in battle, but in everyday life. Not so much in speech, but in actions. Most people tend to avoid doing things that could potentially cause them harm. Elric, however, does them anyway. He sees it as a challenge, and he just charges forth without bothering to think things through. Because of this, he has suffered nearly every injury imaginable, though he has not a mark to show for it.
His final flaw is that he is vengeful. If someone makes an attempt on his life and flees, he does not wait and bide his time, he does not plan or strategize, he charges right after them, to right their wrongs. He is quick to address any wrong or slight he is paid, as a trait of his people. Other than being a warring race, they were also quite vengeful. Any that challenged their might and fled was quickly crushed. Any that insulted or spoke badly about them quickly were whisked away to their darkest dungeons to become used for practicing their interrogation and torture techniques, or perhaps used in experiments to further their own knowledge. Their vengeance, and Elric’s, was always swift and absolute, with nothing changing their course, and it usually ended in the death of the one that had wronged them.
Special Abilities:
Pyrokinesis- The ability to control flames. However, due to his nature and history, his flames have been twisted to be black in colour.
Magicks- As the last of the Bright Emperors of Melniboné, he has all their sorcerous might at his control. Pacts with the elementals let him call upon them for aid, and he can work many powerful spells to conjure or banish allies or foes, wreak destruction and havoc, or even simpler and subtler spells. This is only restricted by his creativity.
Interrogation Techniques- His was a race that prided themselves on the master of doling out pain to their enemies. As such, his people spent life times turning torture into an elegant art. As the Emperor, it was his duty to oversee all torture sessions of enemy spies, and he learned much along his way.
Alchemy- Many long years spent gathering herbs and crafting poultices and potions have made him a master at the art, and it’s by this means he crafts the potion needed to keep his strength up when he isn’t using Stormbringer.
Regeneration- Through ancient pacts with demons, the line of Kings of Melniboné are granted the boon of regeneration, taking much more than a standard war to slay them.
Immortality- Cursed for his transgressions against Arioch in one of his ventures, Arioch made Elric immortal, that he might suffer for an eternity in his pain and self hate.
Weapons:
Stormbringer- The massive black vampiric runeblade, crafted in ages long since past. Stormbringer is sentient on its own, and grants Elric great vitality by drinking the souls of its victims, passing it along to the Albino as he fights. It grants him additional sorcerous might as well, and can be called to him from any location. The blade is hellishly sharp as well, and can cleave through nigh any substance with ease, except those specially warded against the weapons of chaos.
Armour
The Actorious Stone- The ring of kings crafted from a singular gem that seems a chunk of reality itself, scattering light in an iridescent display. It holds immense power for Elric to tap as well, boosting his magical might.
History:
Born two thousand and eleven years ago on the now sunken island of Melniboné, Elric was the crown prince to the dragon throne. A small child, an albino that was to be sacrificed, he was spared it only because his mother requested it of his father. He was spared, though their nobility's disgust was never disguised. They all had seen him as an outcast, because of his condition. As an albino, he was different from the rest of his people. He was paler, his hair a bone-white, his eyes a dark crimson. They all felt that he would bring ruin to their people as a prince, and they knew that he would be physically weak. His mother only intervened because she felt that he would bring about great change for their people, because he was unique. He was raised by his mother and private tutors, that taught him everything he needed to be the heir apparent to the throne. For the first twenty years of his life, his was raised on basic subjects, but he quickly displayed a keen mind, and advanced rapidly. His father began to take notice of the fact that he wasn't as useless as he thought, and began to have him groomed for the throne, as was custom, while making his own preparations for death.
From the ages twenty to forty, he began his advanced studies. He began studying in advanced math’s and philosophies, as well as economics and the brutal truth about his culture. He learned and witnessed firsthand the tortures and brutalities that his people could commit, and he didn't shy away in the least. He learned the arts of torture and interrogation. He learned things that even demons would quake at, though he has precious few reasons to put them to use now. He still retains the skills however, occasionally practicing them, keeping his skills honed and ready for use should it be called. After his initial introduction to the art, he practiced it bi-weekly at the palace, spending much time in the darkest areas of their cells.
From forty onwards, he began his practice with the royal guard. He quickly took to these lessons, displaying a natural talent for sword fighting, and though he was physically weaker than most of the people in the nation, he was kept strong by constant feedings of herbs from his family, the natural remedies strengthening him. He was just strong enough for a private tutor from their standing military to train him. He quickly took to the long sword more than anything, and as a tactic, he was constantly trained in increasingly heavy raiment’s of armor, to increase his own strength. The tactic worked for a while, and he continued to practice with the royal guard each day, until the age of one hundred when he was given the choice of studying under subjects that he wished to advance his studies in.
At the age of one hundred, he requested studies in alchemy, to continue practicing with the guard, and studying botany as well. Four days out of the week, he would be training with the royal guard now, two days studying alchemy, and one studying botany. The days he spent practicing with the guard he did so with his cousin, the next in line for the throne, the only one that was able to match his prodigious skills, despite his infirmities. They practiced under the general that reported directly to Elric’s father the Emperor. His study with the alchemists however proved to be far more valuable to him. With the alchemists his father had brought in, he learned from them a concoction that would allow him to overcome his infirmities. He quickly seized it, and began studying everything else that they offered him, mainly poisons and the like.
He also continued his lessons with the royal guard, practicing with them every day, though sometimes spending entire days with them were he did nothing but drill, and learn military tactics and maneuvers. He practiced with the ground soldiers as well as their navy, excelling at both forms of combat, matched only in swordplay by his cousin Yyrkoon. He spent long days running various scenarios with his captains and admirals, learning the protocol, terminology, and tactics of their soldiers, and then moving to ship-to-ship combat later on. He learned to repel boarders, quench fires, and studiously laboured to learn to think on his feet, improvising as necessary, needing to be able to vanquish any foe with minimal casualties. Though they were not a large kingdom, they were easily one of the most powerful in the world, only matched by the Neronomus kingdom.
His final lessons were botany, learning from his cousin Cymoril, of all people. With her help, he was able to learn to identify the numerous plants that grew on their homeland, and he learned to create many poultices to heal the injured. With her help, he was first able to create the potion that no longer made him so dependent on blood. In his time with her, the two became very close together, falling in love together. Though not frowned upon by his father, his cousin, Cymorils brother, was greatly angered, though he could only seethe impotently. The two were very close, being married when Elric was at the age of two hundred, and she of equal age. He continued his lessons with her more for enjoyment than any actual practice, as the two preferred to spend time together.
Another part of his teachings were or course, history. He learned of Melnibonés warring history, constantly trying to stamp out the freedom of the Young Kingdoms and bring all under their control. He was raised to learn that all lycans and half bloods were vile and tainted, needing to be put down, but for the most part, Elric rejects these teachings. He prefers to let the half bloods dig their own graves, lycans however, he slaughters without remorse. He learned of his fathers’ involvement in the Council of Thirteen, and from there, he learned of the Neronomus Kingdom. They had been the only kingdom to match the might of the Melnibonéans, and the only one of the vampire kingdoms that his father respected. He learned of the tragic downfall of the Neronomus, the disbanding of the council, and the disappearance of the only heir, Animus.
His father himself told him of the fall of the Neronomus Empire, and how they Melnibonéans were not quick enough to their aid. It was the only fall of a kingdom that his unusual father regretted. His father was somewhat like his son, having feeling unfit of a Melnibonéan, though he ruled as viciously as a Melnibonéan should rule. His father taught him that the Neronomus were true vampires, powerful, imperious, and quite cunning. His father had been proud to sit on the council with King Gale, and was saddened at his passing, and all of Melniboné mourned his passing that day. Elric was fascinated with this turn of events, and fascinated by the council. A small group of powerful nations, most likely lead by Gale and Sadric, who wanted the dominance of vampires and Melnibonéans across the earth? He was truly intrigued, and only regretted that it had disbanded some hundred years before his birth, that he did not have the chance to witness such an occurrence.
He continued these lessons until the age of two hundred, where he was taken into conference with his father one day. That day was one that very nearly ended his life. It was a day of both mourning and celebration. In the morning, he was called to his father’s private conference room, and there he learned the secret of the power of the true heirs to the dragon throne. He learned that it was the ability of everyone in his family to be able to create and control fire. His father told him that by then, it should have manifested itself within him. They talked at length, his father growing angry. Calling him a useless fool that should have been killed at birth, his father tried to kill him, and Elric barely escaped with his life, his fathers’ voice ringing out, declaring him an exile until the day that his father died. This was the second, and last, act of mercy his father had ever shown him. Elric had managed to escape his father by his uncanny speed, being faster than anyone could believe him capable of, and his father had underestimated him. Thus, he rewarded him not by death, but by exile until Sadric himself were to die, because he’d been able to evade death.
He returned to his room long enough to gather his belongings, bidding his wife and love Cymoril are tearful farewell, acutely aware that he could not remain for long. As he was leaving however, his mother stopped him. She too bid him farewell, giving him a cloth wrapped package, telling him that it was an heirloom of their family that she was passing onto him. He took the wrapped gift gracefully, bidding his mother farewell, before fleeing the capital of their land, banished until he could do honor to his family. For many years, he wandered the isle, before finally stowing away on a ship, headed for a raid on the mainland. It was tricky, but he secured passage by posing as another able-bodied warrior. The only truly identifying mark about him was his sword, which no one truly knew of as belonging to the royal family.
The sword was a blackened silver blade called Stormbringer. It was a long blade, known to the humans as a bastard sword, or hand and a half sword. The blade was wide and keenly edged, with ancient runes of his people inscribed upon it at the time of its making, though none left alive could read them. None save Elric. It was in his travels that he found an ancient manuscript of his people, left on a raid at the founding of his nation. He translated it, and decoded the inscription. It read "The cursed blade Stormbringer, bane of friend and foe alike." It was not a comforting message, and in time, Elric would learn the inscription to be prophetic enough, as it would lead him to the path of doom and despair. It would cause naught but misery and chaos in his life, though his destiny was interwoven with that of his sword, and he has never yet cast it aside.
For a century, he wandered the earth in silence, having stocked up on herbs enough to sustain him. He wandered alone, his mind ever on his lost love and country. Eventually, word reached him of his fathers’ death from a raider of his homeland. Here, upon receiving the news, he returned at once on a ship to the isle of his birth, where he claimed the throne by right of ascension. Though unhappy with his sudden return, and his claiming of the throne, his countrymen were forced to give it to him. It was after his coronation that he learned that his mother had died, having passed away some years before his return, killed by a raider. The man had been executed in the most painful way that his father could imagine, after being liberally tortured and used for practice by the newest class of jailers being trained.
He reigned over his country faithfully for many years, Cymoril having returned to his side as he ruled, and he was happy. But under it all, trouble was brewing. Many considered him unfit to rule Melniboné, not nearly so decisive and brutal as his father. He was more contemplative, thoughtful. He allowed people to speak their minds, and was lenient were custom dictated that he be strict. His cousin Yyrkoon used this to his advantage. He began to gather followers, openly criticizing Elric’s rule, and never being killed for his treason. Elric’s reasoning was that it was minor treason, of no big import to him. However, his cousin took it too far one fateful day. Raiders had come, thinking they could slip through the sea maze that defended the inner harbor of Melniboné, and Elric went out at the head of his flagship, his cousin riding with him and the admiral of their navy.
Their battle-barges waited in cleverly hidden areas along the walls of the sea maze, until the last of the raiders ships had passed. Elric, in full battle regalia of his ancestors, ordered the attack, and the bloody ship-to-ship combat ensued. Elric, after the first engagement in which the majority of ships were destroyed, retired to his cabin, his strength waning, having not taken his potion recently. His cousin reported that some of the ships were fleeing, and asked for his orders. Elric ordered that they return to Imrryr, and his cousin argued that it would be best to finish of the fleeing reavers, a demonstration of their might. Frustrated, he orders that they pursue then, and Yyrkoon left happily. He relayed the order of their king, and the fleet went off in swift pursuit.
Elric forced himself to weary feet, and stumbled onto the deck, determined to help defeat these raiders. He was faced with two of them immediately, as they recognized his attire as far more imperious than any others, marking him as the king. He was too weary to raise his sword or shield in time, and only his helmet saved him, taking the two blows that would have ended his life, knocking him back to the deck. One soldier was slain by a crewmember; the other ran himself through on Elric’s sword as fear for his life surged strength into his failing limbs. Unfortunately, he was trapped beneath his victim, and that’s where Yyrkoon found him. He ordered Yyrkoon to help him, but his cousin decided that his time had finally come.
Yyrkoon grinned evilly, placing his boot on Elric’s armoured chest, before shoving him over the side of the ship, watching him sink beneath the waves. Elric received another burst of adrenaline, born of fear and desperation, and he clawed desperately at his armor, managing to tear most of it free. His sinking slowed, and he managed to tear the last of it free, the armor of his ancestor kings sinking deeper beneath him. He struggles to rise, the current carrying him away from where he sank. By some miracle he attributed to his patron god Arioch, his mind had cast the spell for the summoning of the water elementals, and King Straasha himself answered. He rescued Elric, and set him on a beach not far from Imrryr. He received help from the local villagers of the island, and they swiftly transported him back to the capital of Imrryr, where he seated himself upon the ruby throne, and waited.
Meanwhile, Yyrkoon docked, and there he found Cymoril waiting for Elric. He took great delight in telling her that their former king had died, and he was king now. She knew that she had killed Elric, and ordered her guards to slay him. All but one hesitated, and the soldier raised his sword, and charged Yyrkoon. That would have been the end of him, entangled as he was in his cape, had not the captain of Cymorils guard cut down the soldier, declaring himself loyal to the Ruby Throne, not Cymoril. Yyrkoon congratulated him on a good choice, and ordered that the soldier be cut up, and fed to Cymorils servants, that he might continue to serve her, even in death. A prime example of classic Melnibonéan style. He continued his way to the throne room, walking, savouring every moment of his long awaited triumph, until he pushed back the doors, and the commander of their armies, Dyvim Tvar, gasped.
Yyrkoon too could not believe his eyes, as a figure wrapped in a heavy brown cloak lounged lazily in the throne. They ordered him to move, and when the man spoke, Yyrkoon trembled. Elric revealed himself then, sitting forward, casting back his hood, revealed in his entire terrible splendor. He had finally given in to what Yyrkoon wanted, and would rule as a true Melnibonéan should, just as he wanted, starting with his cousin. He questioned Dyvim Tvar on what had happened, and smiled viciously. He ordered Yyrkoon’s captain killed and cut up. Yyrkoon would be joining him for the celebratory feast that night, celebrating his new rule, and his dinner would be the meat of his servant. He did as was Melnibonéan tradition, taking his opponents perceived punishment, and cruelly twisting it to his purposes.
He called for his cousin Cymoril to join him that night, and so she did, happy to find out that Elric lived. He told her to prepare for the feast, and she went away, as did Dyvim Tvar, requesting that he have some alone time, to think. When it came time for the feast, all were present, except for Yyrkoon, Dyvim Tvar, and Cymoril. He was about to dispatch soldiers to investigate, when Dyvim Tvar stumbled in, bloody and battered. He told how Yyrkoon had managed to break free of Dyvim Tvar as he tried to bring him, with the aid of his captain, and kidnapped Cymoril, fleeing into the night. Dyvim Tvar had been unconscious until a few moments ago, where he rushed to tell his king Elric of what had happened.
In anger, Elric dispatched Dyvim Tvar with orders to mobilize all of their troops, to find his cousins no matter the odds. Over the months that they searched, not a trace was found of his cousin Yyrkoon, or his beloved Cymoril. Elric himself grew to become reclusive, and isolated, dark and brooding. After five months however, Arioch blessed him once more. His soldiers had found a hermit, living on the coast of one of the younger nations, who had recently seen his cousin Yyrkoon, and who had spied on him, observing his actions. His cousin, it seemed, had been gathering an army, with the core of it being his loyal captain Valhrain that fled with him, as well as two hundred other soldiers that had remained secretly loyal to him, opposed to the rule of an albino.
Upon this news, Elric marshaled his forces, and set forth at once, sailing on the golden battle barges of his homeland, bearing down like a wolf on his prey. It was a few horribly long weeks for Elric, before they sighted the coastal city of his cousin, the gateway to his stronghold in-land. Their magnificent vessels made short work of the cities defenses, and the troops quickly went ashore. The massive army moved with a purpose, following their emperor faithfully, surging towards the city like a wave, and in less than four hours, they surrounded the city, storming forward, overwhelming the defenses. His cousin had been unprepared for a sudden attack, not knowing that his cousin would have learned of his actions. Elric himself led the charge, the battle lust of his ancestor kings pounding in his veins, and he was like a berserker, slaughtering the soldiers that rose before him mercilessly.
When he found his cousin Yyrkoon, the captain Valhrain foolishly charged him, and Elric tore him apart, literally. He had discarded his sword, tearing the impudent traitor apart limb by limb, before stalking towards Yyrkoon. His cousin, cowering in fear of the terrible splendor of the last true emperor of the Bright Empire, submitted himself to Elric, fearing for his very soul, knowing that their god Arioch had abandoned him, and Elric was in his full favour. Elric spared his cousin then, taking him back as a prisoner, and Cymoril once more by his side, they returned to Imrryr, celebrating the return of their triumphant king. That night however, Elric was pensive, and told Cymoril of his plans. He was going amidst the kingdoms of man and other vampires, to learn about them, to better their own empire.
Cymoril herself would not accompany him, unable to comprehend why he wished to travel thus, as it was odd for their people, but she would wait for him. His choices for a regent however, failed him, knowing that none of them would, before he turned to Yyrkoon, granting his cousin his greatest wish. He could rule their nation while he was gone for one year, and once Elric returned, he would consider abdicating the throne in favour of his cousin. Elric bid is cousins farewell the next night, and set off on one of their barges, traveling to the mainland, to wander among the new kingdoms of man and vampire. His first stop was the ruins of the Neronomus empire, visiting and paying his respects to one of the greatest vampire nations, before continuing on his way. He traveled his year, learning the different governments and practices of the nations, before returning home, to a great surprise indeed.
His cousin had usurped his throne once more, and was firmly in the favour of their people. He laughed in Elrics face, revealing how their mutual love, Cymoril, was once more in a comatose sleep, before banishing Elric, a greater punishment than death, believing himself Elric’s superior at long last. Without adieu, Elric left his home once more, traveling back to the kingdoms he’d visited, calling on friends and allies that he’d gained in his travels, amassing an armada, and within two years, was ready once more to return, to burn his kingdom to the ground, to take Cymoril with him, and live finally in harmony. The armada surged forth, led by Elric with his knowledge of the sea maze, they stormed Imrryr, taking them by surprise, slaughtering them with ease, before they reorganized, and began to put up a semblance of defense. By that time, it was too late however, and the defenders were crushed in time. Elric himself slashed a bloody path through them, working his way towards the tower of kings, seeking his cousin and love Cymoril, wanting her safety.
At the base of the tower, he paused, the insane cackling of Yyrkoon echoing down, and Elric feared for his love. Up Elric went, finding his cousin with the comatose body of Cymoril. The two exchanged brief words, and began to fight. He had been interrupted in delivering his dose of drugs to her, and midway through she awoke, rushing to Elric, crying his name, begging him to end the fight. He slew her brother as he became distracted with his sisters rushing form, and turned wildly at the voice crying his name, and her rushing form impaled itself upon his sword. In this way, Cymoril died in his arms, and in this great grief, soldiers stormed the tower, to avenge the slaying of their Emperor. Elric was trapped in the tower, broken and grief stricken. He cried to his lord of chaos, the great demon Arioch to save him, promising him souls and bodies. Ever a fickle god, Arioch ignored him.
Though a masterful swordsman, Elric was unable to compete with so many trained men, and fatigue began to take its toll on him. Crying once more to Arioch, begging for his aid, Elric prepared himself to die. But this time, his god had answered him. For in that moment, the birthright of Elric’s blood blossomed, and surged through his weak veins. Fire bloomed from his fingertips, destroying the soldiers before him, and fire continued to pour, setting fire to the mighty palace itself. However, with the fall of the palace, his flames burned brightly, forming a massive dragon of black fire, which engulfed the palace, laying ruin to it and the surrounding buildings, and the last of his people fled, fearful of the dark power arrayed against them, their mighty emperor blessed by the dark lord Arioch. Amidst the rubble and chaos, as the fire slowly drained from his body, Elric wept. He was found by a leader of the reavers he had brought, and forced away to safety, as the once proud and beautiful city of Imrryr was plundered and burned to the ground around him.
He left the isle, for the final time, kin slayer and woman slayer. He became a stoic shell after that incident, empty inside as they left the burning cities behind them. When they had landed, Elric vanished, simply as light in the darkness. He was three and a half centuries old now, and he returned to wandering the earth, trying time and again for allies, though each time, his cursed blade was quenched in their blood. He continued this way for two decades, where he traveled alone, never stopping in one place for too long. He began to exercise his birthright, the first time since the incident that had destroyed his home, and saved his life. He formed it, and molded it in isolation and silence, returning to the ruined land of his home. Here, where no animals dwelled, he was truly alone.
He grew more powerful as the time passed, exerting greater and greater control over his power. At first, he could only control it sporadically, occasionally calling forth bursts of flame, never as powerful as the initial surge that he’d felt when he’d returned to his home for the last time. After awhile, about a year, he was able to create a solid flame at will, and hold it for a few minutes. After ten years, he could maintain the flame for a much longer time, and could begin to mold it, to direct it to his will. After fifteen years, he could create and maintain intricate shapes, and often recreated battles of his youth to entertain himself. And after twenty years, he had complete mastery over the flames.
He practiced this way in silence for another two decades, needing the herbs that grew there to keep him alive, before a long dormant volcano beneath the isle erupted, spraying ash and fire into the air. For as powerful as he'd become with the gift of his forefathers, he was unable to control it. He had felt the fire increasing beneath his home years ago, and luckily had begun to stockpile the herb that gave him life. He gathered his stock, and quickly descended into the small boat that had brought him to his home, rowing away, casting a final forlorn glance at what had been one of the most powerful nations in the world. After many months of the salty sea air and nothing but fish to eat, he struck land. He made camp there for one night, half dead from his journey, having only been able to travel by night, when the heavy cloth was not covering him.
After that first night, he gathered his satchel of herbs, each one creating him enough potions for a month, before setting off once more. And so, for the past thirty nine years he's been wandering this earth, his cursed blade Stormbringer riding at his hip. He has kept his existence silent until now, having tried to live the life of peace that Cymoril had wanted for him. But eventually, the cynicism and hate in his heart overcame him, and he has once again assumed the mantle of his forefathers, the Dragon Emperor. He still wears his ring of kingship, carved from a single brilliant gem that he has never seen the like of, that sparkled in a prismatic array. He has a small home now, in the ocean area of what the humans call Asia where he keeps the armor of his line when not in use, and where he retires to at times. A small uninhabited and unchartered island that is the perfect refuge for him, should he need to escape the tiring need of dealing with the lesser races.
However, as of over a millenia ago by human reckoning, he disappeared, retreating into the castle that he’d had built, leaving orders for the unseen servants to maintain and keep it clean in his absence from the world. There, he entered a state of hibernation, his blood drained, leaving him in a mummy like state, waiting as time passed. As the centuries passed, his servants have maintained the keep faithfully, keeping it modern with the funds there master left them, and killing off those that finished their work on the keep. Now, all is silent as he waits in his fugue state. No visitors had come to the island in over a decade, and all is silent as the servants move about unseen and unheard, afraid to wake their master. The time continued to pass in the silent keep, and it seems as if the world there is holding its breath, waiting for someone to stumble across the last king of Melnibonéans, and awake him from his slumber, unleashing him upon the world once more.
And in time, that very thing happened. How his location was discovered was never found out, but a lone vampire wandered into his keep, admitted entry by the guards that had long since lived there, still faithfully serving their master. The vampire was the Blood Countess, Elizabeth Bathory, also known as Amoura Ethelia. She revived the ancient king, requesting that he join her in her attempts to recreate the original Court of Thirteen Bloods in its newest incarnation, the Blood Dynasty. She had been with the last survivor of the Neronomus empire as well, and it was his death and final wishes that propelled her along this path.
Grateful at being returned to life, Elric agreed to her request, more to help familiarize himself with this world than anything. For months they had fought a covert war against a group known as the Twilight Brigade, led by the vampire Vincent, one even older than Elric. Eventually, the Blood Dynasty seemed to fall apart as its members vanished one by one. Long had Elric considered the Twilight Brigade to be the source, though proven wrong when one day he was drawn from his own fortress where he pondered the whereabouts of his friend Amoura, sensing a power tugging at him as it pulled him across reality, depositing him on the world of Genesis. Now, Elric has taken to wandering again, working in secret to recreate the Blood Dynasty, to begin to establish dominion over this world as well.
