Starting from the very most northern tundras, to the most southern tropical seas, Asmel Mirroredequal traveled. A lone salt water crocodile man, he found rage in every moment, hating everything and wanting nothing but war, but kept his composure. Fulfilling his need for mischievous, he stole gems and clothing from stores in a town neighbouring an arctic ocean, and then tipped over a statue he saw... Unwittingly, he turned into a creature of the night! His lust for blood not sated, but increased tenfold, he began to stalk the town at night, sapping blood slowly from the lord of the town each night... Until one night, he was discovered. A guard nearby inexplicably waking up while he was fang deep in the lord, the guard took the only logical action: defend his lord. Stabbing forward, he destroyed Asmel's left eye, the spear lodging in the wound. Ripping the weapon free, Asmel used it to slay the lord, leaving the guard alone to his own devices, having to explain that a crocodile man vampire who lived in the sewers all day had slain the lord with his spear, and not him. Escaping back to his sewer, he cast aside everything but the clothes and weapons he started his journey with, leaving behind an attractive pile of gold and silver larger than a dwarf, over three hundred units of assorted wines and beers, and many masterful plump helmet roasts. Dipping into the waters, he swam, and swam, and swam even more, until he was finally freed of the town, without anyone being the wiser. Contemplating his options while strangling a giant hippo, he decided he would let unlife take him where it may, floating down the rivers.
Floating on and on, he would arise near towns and hamlets, a one eyed, towering, immortal, bestial humanoid, dripping both water and blood. If his thirsts for blood, mischief, and fighting had been sated before his rising, he would simply walk amongst those smaller than him, giving them gifts of finely crafted bone figurines, sometimes even of them, more often than not of himself. Asking about troubles and feelings, he'd swim on, fulfilling these requests where possible, but only if they followed the river, which he never strayed far from. Honing his skills on unfortunate victims and willing challengers, the river took an unexpected turn one day: it ended. This wasn't anything Asmel had expected, or prepared for... But, it wasn't something he couldn't handle. He simply dipped his feet into the next river, quite nearby, just a short climb down, and continued following it, knowing he'd never see the people behind him again.
This new river brought him into harsher areas, filled with goblins and giant animals and undead, a place he didn't care for, until he ran into a familiar face: A fellow salt water crocodile man, chasing down a goblin. Rising up from the water, punching the goblin square in the chest, he knocked him into the gaping jaw of his fellow, who ended the welps suffering in two quick shakes. Having a simple conversation with each other, they had a small argument over freedom, Asmel believing nobody is free, while the other believed everyone should fight for their freedom. Knowing from this, not even his own kind were like him anymore, Asmel continued on once more, truly adamanted against all that unlife had to offer, not able to enjoy drink and feast ever again, or the respite of sleep. All he had to look forward to was what the river gave him.
Rising up once more, he found not a town, but a single stone tower, a gaudy blue microline nail in the plains. Walking around, he enjoyed conversation with those within, and spent a while reading the books he found about, having no need for the arts he had come to master. Deciding they were too despicable of arts to let continue, he cut down every necromancer within. Leaving dissapointed once more, he floated on, coming upon a town. Walking through, he noticed several figures running for it in the distance. Goblins had come, armed with weapon and torch. Setting up a line of controlled fires, the only way to the village through him, Asmel stood guard, for reasons not even he could understand. Twice two dozen soldiers came at him, up to nine at once, but Asmel would not falter from his position. Dripping blood both foreign and familiar, he limped back to town, telling the villagers he had slain the axelord at the head of the pack. Hearing praise, he felt minor pride for the first time in weeks, before disappearing into the river once more.
Now a legendary warrior, he had achieved his lifelong dream, not that it mattered much. Nobody was his equal, even when he was just a welp of a vampire, weighed down by his lifely needs. He had but one choice, only one way to fulfill his need for a proper fight before his end: to face hell itself. Having heard rumours of beasts from hell leading goblin civilizations, he floated through several fortresses of theirs, looking for the immense spires they were said to inhabit. Nearly giving up hope, he reached the end of yet another river, but just at the edge of his vision, he spotted it: the spires of legend. With renewed vigor, he ran and ran. Charging through, he gave the demon reason to hate him, cutting down civilians and warriors alike in his single-minded fervor. Losing his shield along the way, he simply bent down and grabbed a meat cleaver off a dead goblin, and continued on. His body becoming riddled with bolts and arrows, blood trailing behind him in a path nobody could lose, he broke into the spire, to find it filled with dozens upon dozens of goblins, trolls, and beak dogs. Cutting down all in his way, he broke for the stairs, punching the heart out of a troll who got in his way. Climbing upwards, adding more and more tallies to his body count, he finally reached the top floor. His blood senses told him there was a single being here: his fated opponent. Slowing his pace, he walked up to where they were, to set eyes on the messenger of hell he was destined to fight, guided by the rivers of the world. What Asmel saw shattered his unwaveringly cold heart.
An elf. A tiny, frail, merry-making, freedom seeking, weak, elf. She wasn't a warrior, a master of any skills, or even armed with a knife, she was as helpless as a child and infinitely more useless. She was the opposite of him in every way possible. Breaking out in rage, Asmel didn't even consider his next action: he cut her in half, her upper and lower bodies separating in a single stroke. Throwing her body to either side of the room, he threw the stolen cleaver at the pikeman who came running up the stairs after him, slicing his throat open from across the room. Walking past him and ignoring the blade shoved into his lungs as he walked by, he went down to the first floor of the spire, where the most of the carnage had happened. Raising body after body, his every gesture raising a fallen enemy, Asmel declared one thing to all that were nearby: Make way for Lord Asmel Mirroredequal the Page of Hoping and the Ageless River Spirit!
Now lord of the surrounding goblin nations, Asmel was content with his dominance of the world. He truly had no equal, being the only remaining necromancer in the world, the controller of a goblin nation, being an ageless beast, and legendary in all forms of combat he had practiced, he was ready to strike down anyone who would dare call themselves his rival.
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Topic: Asmel Mirroredequal, Ageless River Spirit, Angry One-Eyed Crocodile Man (Read 672 times)