Cyril
((Hey guys, it's me. This will be my last message as i'll be busy from here on out. I plan to get on Champions Online once I am not busy and assigned to wherever the Army needs me. This is my going away post, and I hope you all enjoy AoC as I did, You guys made it worth paying for freaking Fifteen bucks a month for a contentless game.
Born in one of Khemi's largest estates, Cyril Al-Sathek (( AKA Cyril 'Blackheart' )) was the son of a powerful necromancer named 'Lord Al-Sathek.' The wife of Lord Al-Sathek died while giving birth to Cyril, and since then Lord Al-Sathek would drink and when drunk beat his son Cyril. Growing up, Cyril was a frail and weaker Stygian boy who would often spend much of his time studying his father's black art books. It wasn't until Cyril was 7 summers old that Lord Al-Sathek began to teach his son how to sense, feel, and control Necromancy.
After having the existance ripped from his soul, Cyril had become shattered and reduced to a force of energy. Blackness consumed Cyril, and he was quickly bound to Keptah's will after Keptah had gained control over his body. When Keptah gained control, Cyril's physical features had altered a bit. His once bright blonde hair had become a dirty golden blonde, his once fair skin, had become a dusky rich ivory color, his once bright blue eyes, had turned into a hellish set of canine eyes. His once smaller body, had grown into a larger and far more mascular shape. It was the end of Cyril, now just a force of energy being used by Keptah.
The full moon rose high that night, after Julius the Old Noble left the grave site, a storm raged throughout the windy night, Within the mound where the remains of Cyril lay, a battle was about to take place. A battle of good against evil. Within the dirt mound, Cyril's remains slowly regenerated, within the depth of the abyss, Cyril's soul struggled... The abyss where Cyril's soul stood was black; Cyril looked around, and cursed under his breath. "By the gods, what is going on...?
Weeks passed by since the suicide of the crazed Necromancer. The people of Stygia moved on, and the very estate that Cyril once dwelled within was now a private residence to some wealthy cargo master who used it as a place to store various items and crates. The death worshipping cannibal Cyril was almost entirely forgotten. The various body parts that were scattered upon the rooftop where he fell that night were collected then buried somewhere in the Stygian Province's marsh.
Cyril stood upon the balcony. Below him, the great city of Stygia. He thought back to the begining... His entire life, and his life long goals... All dead and destroyed now. From the day he met a priestess named Dawn who invited him into the stygian house: 'House Black,' to now. Cyril folded his arms upon his muscular chest. Frowning as he looked down fifty or more feet below him, he stood awfully close to the edge, leaning a bit over the pristine smooth black stone balcony railing. Thoughts of suicide crossed his mind. Nothing left to do but wait for the end, wait for four mobs of soldiers to storm his tower palace and arrest him.
Submitted by Atrinark on November 5, 2008 - 12:37am Importance sat silently at his desk, his dark eyes staring idly down at the book that lay open. His mind wasn’t reading the words, his mind was farthest from his current location. It was focused upon the events that happened several days ago.
His mind flashed back when he stood in the ancient pyramid built out in the sands of Stygia. He stood there eyes fixed on Cyril. His body lay cold and motionless on the stone floors. Cyril had been put under the spell of the Yothga plant; his reign of madness was put to rest. He locked Cyril’s body far in the lowest levels of the pyramid sealing the doors with whatever magicks he could still conjure.
He had made so many mistakes in the past and those were coming back to him now; All at once it seemed. He had lost so much and for what, he asked himself. Sacrificed all that he had to protect those he cared for most and only seemed to hurt them more.
Submitted by Kara on September 15, 2008 - 11:58am Focus.
*Giggles*
I recall how often Hroth says that to Terri. But it is true.... I should focus on these stitches. Here as I wait for my love to awaken. Sitting and trying to sew the neatest of stitches for a gown I shall wear on that day Relius wishes me to be his Queen. But my talents lie with cooking and baking, distilling and the mystical properties of herbs and roots as they both transform taste and cure or protect.
Ah, protection... I wove a wedding wreath of myrtle for Hroth, with the love of a sister in it. And all the many sweet-smelling flowers in Terri's chaplet were there to enhance the love of that day and protect her.
*The hem drops to her lap as she gazes at the swallows darting beyond the window, up betimes as she is. Falling into reverie*
They needed that protection ...though Aurelius had it all well in hand, as always.
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