"You will side with me mortal? I only wish to beat back the enemy that has chosen this world to war and to spill the blood of my people and my enemies." "A good enough reply I suppose. And what do I really have to lose anyway?" He grins wryly, and this time he does not flinch as he shakes your hand. He carries on talking as he begins to lead you through the sewers.
"Anyway, welcome to my little city beneath the city. We like it, Surma and I. Ah, I forgot to tell you about Surma. He's one of us, see. A misfit, outcast, whatever you want to call it. And don't pretend you aren't, a bloody war chief in a sewer. But anyway, you should like Surma. He helps me, and I help him. At least he says I do, though I can't see how. Apart from that time I made him a new arm. My mind may not be up to much, but my hands have a mind of their own, and I can't stop that. But anyway, here we are. Welcome to my humble abode" Carver follows up this statement with a grand sweeping guesture, as the door in front of him swings open. the room it reveals seems as if it was rescued from a scrapyard. the tables and chairs look to be have been salvaged from individual sets, and the rugs the same. Against the back wall is a suprisingly well stocked book case, covered in transparent plastic to serve as waterproofing. but what catches your eye most of all is a figure seated in the centre of the room. A winged figure, who glows faintly.
As the figure stands, you can see him more clearly. Male and well built, he retains the characteristic flawlessness of an angel, excluding his arm. This seems to have been built out of old clockwork mechanisms, and even occasionally spouts steam from its bronzed interionr. Your inspection is interrupted by a gesture from the being to sit.
"Greetings friend. I sensed you coming here, and I trusted that it was John that led you. I trust his judgement greatly. But where are my manners. My name is Surma, once of the 2nd angelic guard, disgraced when he showed a liking for mortals, exiled, and disarmed. Apparently our lord has never heard of a metaphor. "Primal - Ancient tribal spirit - (Primal Warrior Lost)
One of the lost gods of a South American tribe long gone into extinction, he remains. He was put to rest and only awoken because of the mad commotion of the world of late. He has a mans body with a thorn through his tongue and many tattoos. He has been known, however to take the form of a reptile with feathers, sometimes still remaining humanoid, sometimes closer to a serpent. He is thin and clad in wooden and copper armor. He represents the warrior spirit of men, a son of the spirit of war. He was sealed in a mountain after consuming the blood of the spanish and slowly being put to slumber by the death of his people.
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Power:5
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Followers:
John Carver, Hobo - Mixed loyalties. (Prevents power loss below 10)
Author
Topic: Rapture: A suggestion game. (Read 18683 times)