Skinned to preserve, he holds about the mixtures. Flesh and a beautiful lining of pelt, gathered within his grasp and morphed into that of a jacket. Adorn about his shoulders and back, anew he formed and within this coldness he felt no more. Howling currents stir on the outside, not long before the mystery is solved and repetition was acquired. Cracks bloom across the canvas, it bursts through the wall with a gaping maw. Roaring to enact dominance, this beast grazes the distance and lunges with no form of sense. Each head snaps, but find themselves thrown aback passive aggressively.
ʟᴏʀᴇ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: [5] | Climb to Divinity
[Log 1] | Dragon Dance B | Psychic Grapple B | Forceful Body B | Psychic Smash A | Retaliate A
[Log 2] Gentle Strike B | Havoc Palm B | Force Annihilate A | Sultan A | Awakening A
Silence befalls, nothing arrives just after like some sick twisted stomach of a horror film. Cerulean hues gaze at the creature's corpse, heads blown clean off by power of chic. Legs grabbed and dragged he brought to the fire within the warm shack. Both skinned clean, their flesh thrown into the flames with their corpses levitated. Cooked to the ripeness of a crisp, he inhales the scent and knows how much it will flourish. Prominent canines that were once hidden bear themselves, tearing through the flesh whilst the mewing starts. A little friend that seeks to join in, on such a nice delicious delicacy.
ʟᴏʀᴇ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: [5] | Climb to Divinity
[Log 1] | Dragon Dance B | Psychic Grapple B | Forceful Body B | Psychic Smash A | Retaliate A
[Log 2] Gentle Strike B | Havoc Palm B | Force Annihilate A | Sultan A | Awakening A
Life holds many aspects, one the most precious and cherishing is time. Standing, the onyx feline feasting on its torn portions of flesh whilst he gazes outside of the damaged shack. A mess, a pity, almost a shame. Alas, never was it his estate to begin with. Turning to take off, the feline rushes to his leg. Scaling it up to the very shoulder, cuddled within the collar it burrowed throughout his attire. Hidden once more. Out into the frosting tundra, a world that never ceased its icy antics. Cuts are made, found just up the way to discover faster routes.
ʟᴏʀᴇ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: [5] | Climb to Divinity
[Log 1] | Dragon Dance B | Psychic Grapple B | Forceful Body B | Psychic Smash A | Retaliate A
[Log 2] Gentle Strike B | Havoc Palm B | Force Annihilate A | Sultan A | Awakening A
Calamities always had to explore this realm, not long after he had ventured out of the warmth; were the worlds already in action. Clashing, a howl breaks the windy tides and alerts him. Skeletal in nature, it stands and rushes on all fours. Beast of magnificent prowess. Something that was very well compared to his own. It was second to his blood, for identities were established the moment it rushed for the homicidal thrill. A hand lifts up, loose around the wrist; it collides with, yet is blown aback and off of the cliff. Into the snowy dunes below, a carcass that scatters into shambles.
ʟᴏʀᴇ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: [5] | Climb to Divinity
[Log 1] | Dragon Dance B | Psychic Grapple B | Forceful Body B | Psychic Smash A | Retaliate A
[Log 2] Gentle Strike B | Havoc Palm B | Force Annihilate A | Sultan A | Awakening A
The journey was worthwhile, having grown spiritually and physically throughout this deep endeavor; he makes his way to the top. Arise like a eagle does the horizon. Glowing eyes pierced the night, searching for the next shrubbery he could take a break under. Snow rained, light and gentle, for a place so corrupt it held one peaceful aspect to it. One that he could enjoy, nature still exists everywhere, and she still takes care of all that is around them. Onward he travels, scaling the floors before lunging forth into the air to land at what seemed to be a sparkling surface.
[/Exit]
ʟᴏʀᴇ ʟᴇᴠᴇʟ: [5] | Climb to Divinity
[Log 1] | Dragon Dance B | Psychic Grapple B | Forceful Body B | Psychic Smash A | Retaliate A
[Log 2] Gentle Strike B | Havoc Palm B | Force Annihilate A | Sultan A | Awakening A
flashback. "I'm gonna keep fighting," he said, with a somber smile painting his lips. The young man looked up to his father, the warrior that he wanted to be; the Diabolos he knew he was. His father was black of hair, and almost seven feet tall. He was a beast of a man - muscular, with a deep voice and a resounding roar. He battled like a frost troll, bashing through lines of enemies with his fists before cleaving them with his Lumirian Claymore.
His father had always been his greatest inspiration. The man was David Heliogolas, a renowned warrior in Valle. Brydent, back then, was of a different name than today: Adriel (follower of god) Heliogolas (the sun), which translated directly to, "Follower of the God of Sun," a name highly ironic for a Vaet Diabolos. Kala was the God of the Dark, the Nothing, the Shroud. The Sun? Michael . . . Solonor . . . gods that the Vaet didn't follow.
But David Heliogolas did. Perhaps that was what was so damning about his father, and perhaps that was why the people of Nocturne ostracized him despite his evident talent. There were few men today that could hold a candle to him, and back then, perhaps there were none. He had a father so terrifyingly strong that he had always battled in his mind over how he possibly died.
"You shouldnt," his father replied. "The world out there will eat you alive, Adriel. You're a prodigy. The best son I could possibly ask for. But . . . they're- they don't care about who you are, or that you're only a child, or that we have a right to our own beliefs. In this world, people look for any reason to one-up you. It's a cold, harsh, violent world. It's why I've grown so strong - I've had enemies all around me for all my life." His father was always very concerned. Despite his large and imposing appearance, he had a heart of gold. A heart Adriel always wanted to mirror, for his father had always made him feel worth it; valuable. Safe. Loved. He wished, for all his short life, that he could invoke the same glee in others by the time he was older like his dad.
"I know that the world hates us," he said, frowning. "I know that the Vangelists hate us for being demons, and I know that the Lumirians hate us for being Vangelists," he said this with a frown. "But that doesn't mean I should give up, right? You, more than anyone else, have taught me that even under persecution you can still be happy - and make a difference." His father smiled. "You're a precocious child," he said. Adriel grinned. "I get it from you."
- - -
present time.
"I wish I had known him, you know?" The Duke sat still, staring at the back of the canvas of the man who was painting his image - immortalizing the visage of the Duke of Gloria en Valle. This man was a famed artist, but also Brydent's dearest friend. His name was Wismar von Zaggsfar, and he had come to Nocturne in light of Yuran's destruction as a refugee. The Duke accepted him with open arms, as he was one of his favorite artists from long before the war.
"Did you not know him?" Wismar asked. "I did, and I didn't," Brydent replied. "I knew the man he wanted me to see - the man he wanted me to become. Strong, gallant, brave, resolute, handsome. He wanted me to know him as the sort of man that no other could live up to. And he also wanted me to believe that I alone could match the reputation he'd acquired - of being the greatest swordsman of the North." He looked to his lap for a moment, and frowned. Right. Don't change positions.
"But I will never be him. I am not a swordsman at all, but a marksman. I am not quite as muscular, or as tall, and honestly probably not as handsome. I didn't really know him enough to emulate who he was. He died young, and I was far younger. He died on that very night, when I was... what, twelve? I was powerless back then. All I could remember were the words he told me to calm me down. I couldn't recall... who he really was." He sighed. It really got to him - sometimes he could feel as if he was clawing at his brain. It was the most important thing in the world to him - trying to remember those details in the past. But they were the past, and a part of him wanted to let go.
That was why he donned the name Brydent de Valois, and vowed to segregate himself from his family's shamed past. Brydent was a proper Lumirian name, and de Valois meant "Victorious" in the common tongue. Even so, and despite his best efforts, he failed to channel the 'victorious Lumirian' persona he'd created. The cold, stoic, brooding beast. The creature who cared for glory and rank and nothing else. No - that was not him. The real Brydent, or rather the real Adriel, was a good man. He was a good man. He knew he was, somewhere. Even if he had a dark desire for power in his heart. That was fine. All Diabolos did. He, the least of all, if the most skilled at acquiring it.
He wanted to be himself again - the man he was born to be, the successor to the Heliogolads, the Lord of Valle who did not bow to any dark Demon God. The time for Kala was at an end soon. The time of Nocturne was at an end soon. Maybe it was time to stop being afraid . . . of being good. Of being different to the vicious snarling fiends that lined the gates of Lumira. He'd make Valle a better city than that slum ever was.
It all started with accepting the 'self'- the self-actualizing tendencies, the innate morals, the true desires of the man within. It was time to recover those lost artifacts . . . the echoes of his real identity.
Coolness swings in the follows of a mystic trail. Prints nonexistent with every step he takes, but a journey is undone. Having climbed the pinnacle of graciously unholy bipedal and champions, there was still desires harboring his system. Energy unsteady, he huffs the excess winds forth parting the snowy dew valley of the mountain's top. Blood still held its trail from prior engagements. Darkness swallows him whole within the bits of icy forestry left to inhabit this distasteful land. A walking furnace for his companion tucked away within his collar. Memories flash back, fluttering the scenes of what had just occurred. The oddest behavior and the silence carried from a being that followed him towards the destination. Stalker or not, he assured his trail was not under surveillance. Watching everything, witnessing the essence that lingered off of them purely by their energy alone. Where was the next destination, and why.
Passives • Three Wishes [1/3] Up to three times per fight, the Djinn may manipulate the force around an attack to redirect it and make it miss, for free. This can only be done on skills of one to two ranks higher than them. This is an extremely powerful passive of the Djinn, an intelligent Djinn capable of using it to largely make up for their vulnerability to ranged magic. It can also help to leave an enemy open in close-quarters combat.
• Mind Games The Djinn have a permanent 'force' around their skin that will reduce incoming damage by a rank. This puts them on the same level of base defensibly as a werewolf, although they can't regenerate, so... At adept rank, this force can become amplified by the djinn's mind, psycho-manually controlling the level of force in the layer of magic. They can apply energy to it to block all manner of attacks, meaning they don't really have to learn defensive abilities. It is really no more potent than any other defense of its rank, but it is considered to be a bloodline ability and thus is boosted.
• Armored Skin Passive The skin of the beast master has been trained to take punishment from both the inside and the outside. As such, the user's skin acts like their own shell of armor, rejecting any comfort of having any kind of armor equipped. The stronger the BM gets, the stronger their skin gets, even being on par with the metals of the world. As a bonus, this even allows the BM the capabilities of catching weapons that are either on their rank or even lower without body damage. Depending on the rank of the user, their arms are already weighted and even stronger than that, as such the user is capable of breaking through anything that is weaker than they are (Only B ranked and below).
- Novice: Your skin is as strong as Iron, already hard to make you even flinch if a weak foe tried to punch you with their bare hands. C rank and above will hurt you. - Adept: Your skin is as sharp and strong as steel, you can withstand stronger hits and not even flinch once. B rank and above will harm you.
• Chi Sense Rank: Passive Description: This is required for all Dim Mak techniques. It allows the user to see the flow of chi within any surrounding enemies in an area, making hiding from them quite useless as they pop up in their vision just as easily as infrared. This vision will last for five posts at a time, and requires a cool down of one post after usage. Once Stage 4 is learned, the negative effects of this technique disappear and becomes a passive ability of the user.
• Chi Sao C - Passive Chi Sao is more of a state of being than a specific attack. The user will attach a part of themselves to the opponent; leg, arm, hand, etc. From there they will be able to react almost instantly to the movements their opponent makes. For example, if they are sticking to the target with their leg and they go to kick, the user can instantly counter. If they are using their arm then the user is able to rapidly block and stop an attack before it is carried through. Breaking free of Chi Sao is very difficult for the user will constantly keep pushing themselves and mirroring the motions of the person they are sticking to. This also allows the user to keep up a constant wave of attacks which can be anything they have learned so long as they can keep contact with the opponent.
• Empty Palm B - Passive This technique is generally only ever used when the student is in danger or is harmed. They will focus all of their attention on deflecting attacks and not advancing. Whenever a strike comes in they will swat at the joint of the limb that is used. Continuous blocks in this manner can easily fracture/break bones.
• Intangible Striking A berserker always has their body charged with a bare minimal amount of energy. This doesn't add any additional damage, but it will allow you to hit things that are normally incorporeal; such as ghosts, shades, or anything of that nature.
• Deadly Force Berserkers know how to use their strength to it's fullest extent, able to smash and break non energy based barriers dependent upon their strength rating. 6-8: Able to break bones upon a solid strike; can crack stone with the first strike and break it with the second 9-11: Able to break stone upon a solid strike; can shatter bones. 12-14: Able to rend metal with a solid strike; organs in the localized area struck can rupture. 15: There aren't many known materials a berserker can't strike through at this level. Strikes will tear straight through an opponent's body from the berserker's sheer strength.
Snowcapped and dire, the mountain peak has always been a pinnacle for how drab the forsaken nation had become; why had she decided to return? Validity fractured for petty lapses of what is and what isn't rendered crude by a child's memoir-narrative bleeding like a rancid viscera left agape. Umbra threw and covered all but the smile of the master's interpretation. A whore in bedlam stands amidst old hunting grounds, red letter, red hair, red handed. Calamity a simple flick of her wrist now, and she unleashes it in violent, scarlet bolts striking the very heavens above. The ground trembles with every thunderclap, neither Heaven nor Hell could contain her. So she takes a solitary path, destined for it all along because every partner too weak, too caught up in infatuation, the sex, the insanity; pick a weakass excuse, cry a river, build a ******** bridge and jump already.
Bygones be bygones. If once ired-rival could change and truly ascend, maybe the everyday houseboy could too. She's a detached calm, saccharine sweet smirk, lowered wintry eyes. Red wasn’t so naive but she could believe all the same. Raised feral, razed like the beasts of Val'Ghast, she wants it all and nothing at all. Crowned cardinal red is a bloody mary poised with grace, youthful for she no longer ages. Gossamer, marbled pallor hums, thrives with brimming verve. She steals the hymns in throats and stitches together songs only to pull them apart at the seams. Time is a whorl, a cavort, a construct of fabled paradigm, murky with ire, ichor, and the dire spill of dichotomic salt. Yet, flip the script, rip out the chapters, burn the book on the funeral pyre and begin again. A phoenix from ashes; not invulnerable but again, and again, she would rise. Each time different but forever the same red tresses. Fingers rake through long locks, turning the vibrant color into constellations of the Gods above. Red exhales in a billowing plume accompanied by the forever haze encompassing her. Twin azure eyne flare as a stranger draws near. Not many ventures to the mountainous ridge anymore.
"You should turn back now." Haphazard musings as the storm festers above. It's a warning, threatening malice never intended from simpering lilt. Inky inscribing slithers over and around skin, ophidian cants wrote all over but it is the arcane symbols ablaze behind her that layout the very foundation of teleportation.
Vision wanders as snowy plumes land softly, even in their thickens they crackle into bits even with such light landings. The crunch of white, the irritation of this endless path that he takes. All seems slick, crimson forging about with a mystic mist that vaporizes the purity of eternal darkness. Ethereal in nature, sights shift all alert and meticulous. An environment under his scrutiny, for it made no sense why absolute coldness turned and forged sudden warmth. The melting point of the icy tundra about, vapors lift and they arise pass the rocky mounds to the skies above. Cuspids gritting away, fangs revealed just in the front sets whilst he turns to fully witness just what has appeared before him. Nothing had followed up until this point, that much he was nigh positive of. Yet somehow, someway, this sudden manifestation had came into existence almost within an instant behind him.
" Are you.. Trying to give me orders? Telling me what to do? Do you find my mind compassionate enough for your words? "
Brow of the right arises in tension before the left furrows along with it in the follow. The show of aggression building, passive or not, he anticipates biting the very throat out from her neck. Seemingly crushing the ground through, force applies itself and he compresses the numerous piles in his wake. Paving the white thickens and working his ways towards the sudden rising temperature. Eyes lock and almost as if he stared deep within a nebula, he narrows his sights in suspicion. Long hair of crimson to scarlet texture, if not exactly red. Eyes bore a violent blue close to sapphire or even his own cerulean to lapis lazuli. Epitome of troublesome, he senses the chi off of her. Massive and unfitting to that of her appearance. Ancient power invoked, she harbors the marks of untold history and through this does a sudden yank pulls him along with her.
" Those marks.. Just what is this piece of s**t. ''
Wrath settles, but still it festers within. Pride gets the best of him, and he is never one to truly step back from a challenge. Exactly harbored into the torn twists of fabricated planes, scattered and spliced back together he finds all fascinating and yet troublesome. Regardless he is to learn more, there was only a matter of time.
Passives • Three Wishes [1/3] Up to three times per fight, the Djinn may manipulate the force around an attack to redirect it and make it miss, for free. This can only be done on skills of one to two ranks higher than them. This is an extremely powerful passive of the Djinn, an intelligent Djinn capable of using it to largely make up for their vulnerability to ranged magic. It can also help to leave an enemy open in close-quarters combat.
• Mind Games The Djinn have a permanent 'force' around their skin that will reduce incoming damage by a rank. This puts them on the same level of base defensibly as a werewolf, although they can't regenerate, so... At adept rank, this force can become amplified by the djinn's mind, psycho-manually controlling the level of force in the layer of magic. They can apply energy to it to block all manner of attacks, meaning they don't really have to learn defensive abilities. It is really no more potent than any other defense of its rank, but it is considered to be a bloodline ability and thus is boosted.
• Armored Skin Passive The skin of the beast master has been trained to take punishment from both the inside and the outside. As such, the user's skin acts like their own shell of armor, rejecting any comfort of having any kind of armor equipped. The stronger the BM gets, the stronger their skin gets, even being on par with the metals of the world. As a bonus, this even allows the BM the capabilities of catching weapons that are either on their rank or even lower without body damage. Depending on the rank of the user, their arms are already weighted and even stronger than that, as such the user is capable of breaking through anything that is weaker than they are (Only B ranked and below).
- Novice: Your skin is as strong as Iron, already hard to make you even flinch if a weak foe tried to punch you with their bare hands. C rank and above will hurt you. - Adept: Your skin is as sharp and strong as steel, you can withstand stronger hits and not even flinch once. B rank and above will harm you.
• Chi Sense Rank: Passive Description: This is required for all Dim Mak techniques. It allows the user to see the flow of chi within any surrounding enemies in an area, making hiding from them quite useless as they pop up in their vision just as easily as infrared. This vision will last for five posts at a time, and requires a cool down of one post after usage. Once Stage 4 is learned, the negative effects of this technique disappear and becomes a passive ability of the user.
• Chi Sao C - Passive Chi Sao is more of a state of being than a specific attack. The user will attach a part of themselves to the opponent; leg, arm, hand, etc. From there they will be able to react almost instantly to the movements their opponent makes. For example, if they are sticking to the target with their leg and they go to kick, the user can instantly counter. If they are using their arm then the user is able to rapidly block and stop an attack before it is carried through. Breaking free of Chi Sao is very difficult for the user will constantly keep pushing themselves and mirroring the motions of the person they are sticking to. This also allows the user to keep up a constant wave of attacks which can be anything they have learned so long as they can keep contact with the opponent.
• Empty Palm B - Passive This technique is generally only ever used when the student is in danger or is harmed. They will focus all of their attention on deflecting attacks and not advancing. Whenever a strike comes in they will swat at the joint of the limb that is used. Continuous blocks in this manner can easily fracture/break bones.
• Intangible Striking A berserker always has their body charged with a bare minimal amount of energy. This doesn't add any additional damage, but it will allow you to hit things that are normally incorporeal; such as ghosts, shades, or anything of that nature.
• Deadly Force Berserkers know how to use their strength to it's fullest extent, able to smash and break non energy based barriers dependent upon their strength rating. 6-8: Able to break bones upon a solid strike; can crack stone with the first strike and break it with the second 9-11: Able to break stone upon a solid strike; can shatter bones. 12-14: Able to rend metal with a solid strike; organs in the localized area struck can rupture. 15: There aren't many known materials a berserker can't strike through at this level. Strikes will tear straight through an opponent's body from the berserker's sheer strength.
Activating Skills
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Sleepy Paci
Tipsy Cultist
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Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2016 1:16 pm
There goes around a somewhat distasteful rumor that Vampires and Fairhairs don't get along particularly well based on some sort of ingrained racism that neither side is able to ignore. In the old times, tales of beast men coming to war with pale demons ran rampant through the entire world, scary stories to keep the youth in bed and cautionary tales for the not so wary in the countryside. Almira was almost amused as she crossed her legs in her large seat, flicking the foot in the air too and fro as she listened to the gossip floating about her. The two races had less racial bassed issues and more of the kind one could expect when Elder Vampires and Alpha Wolves gather together, whatever their reasoning. There is a time, however, where Vampires leave their castles, Fairhairs take their ships from Jorsul, and all meet on the mountains. The nighttime was full of everything from grunts, the nature of which vary from friendly competitions to more passionate altercations of varying natures. Almira's nose was constantly assaulted by the sweet stinging stench of wine, of all manner of beast being prepared for meals, and of course with the scent of Fairhair blood. She could do not to silence the ever present sound of her inhibitions being torn away at from the inside. As the last child of House Herakk since her Father and Mother's passing, she'd become the leader of the Herakk Coven, and as such was obligated by Rites to attend this Meet. Therefor, she wouldn't be trying her hand at a mass culling of some of the worlds most powerful Vampires and Fairhairs. Not today. She sat in an ornate chair, adorned with a heart surrounded by thorns at the very top: this was the symbol of her house. All around her, Alpha wolves adorned with the heads of their slain prey and foes, brandishing large weapons and flanked by a particularly loyal beta stood amongst far older, and likely stronger, Elder vampires and their personal Thralls. Cups of red were in hands everywhere, including a guady, platinum goblet in Almira's. As she partook her eyes watched closely as the Vampires and werewolves partied.
She caught a few eyes on her, vampires mostly, as if she was being sized up by the other Elders, which was to be expected. She was an upstart, younger than them by decades, perhaps even more? In their eyes, she was just a fledgling even if her position of stature and power said otherwise. The corners of her lips turned up into a smirk behind the Goblet, and the tattoo burning on her neck seemed to glow with challenge. Any could try, they could challenge her for her coven whenever they wanted, in fact she implored them silently to try their hands. Red orbs locked onto those she saw sizing her up, tongue gliding over lips and fangs. For the most part, holding her ground was enough to put them off. For the few who seemed not to care, Almira was still undaunted. That was not what this day was for, at any rate, and so she just watched as the festivities were enjoyed in this clearing on the otherwise treacherous Mountain.
Before long, however, the reason for this particular meet would become clear as shadowed apparitions moved to seats and all manner of Alphas, men, women, giants, dwarfish, sat on what looked like benches across from them at the fire. Almira had been to only one of these a dog's age prior, when she was still learning of the world she would one day be beholden to. This part was particularly memorable. The oldest vampire, the same one from her last time attending with her father, and the current presiding Fairhair Alpha of Alphas, strangely also the same one as before, meet in the center of the circle created. Usually the Fairhair leader changes due to... well because they aren't immortal and tend to fight a lot more than old Vampires. The Elder Vamp, Cithicas, reached out a hand, nails long and sharp, and the the Fairhair, Jormungunder, grasped his wrist. He howled, and Cithicas let out a blood curdling screech. All of the wolves and vampires joined in tandem, and the entire moutnain was bathed in a red light, rumbling as the howling and screech shook the foundations of reality. Almira was particularly loud, drawing her followers into the fray with fervor the other Covens were surprised to hear. Her fangs extended, eyes turned into black voids and skin turned even more pale as the Cithicas drew primal power from her. Black lines marking her veins below her skin etched in as her very body seemed to take a much darker form. The other Elders, too, felt this pull. Werewolves across the fire began to morph into the shape taken during combat, ever so slowly. Cithicas looked over his shoudler at Almira as the Landsmeet was called to order and the monstrous calls came to a close. Slowly her body receded, her gaze holding his as she sat back into her chair, color returning, as little as there was, and the veins seemed to disappear. Lastly, a single blink returned her eyes to normal. There was a sort of uncomfortable Quiet with all eyes on her from her people. She looked among them with confusion, but Cithicas merely smirked at the girl, somewhat putting her at ease. "And now, let the Landsmeet commence. Today, we discuss the future, not only our own, but that of Nocturne now that King Alistair is gone." Now that was something she could really get behind...
• Regeneration This is passive meaning it does it on its own. At different ranks you may regenerate your wounds. Trainees can only deal with cuts, by novice deep cuts, Adept rank you wont bother with a broken bone, masters can deal with an entire sword going through your body, and you can deal with a removed arm or leg, as well as internal damage to the organs.
• Telepathy A skill that simply allows vampires to communicate with other vampires or those they have bitten within a week, letting them discuss strategy or simply have a discussion. The range of how far one must be from the other is vast, to be able to communicate one must be within the same country as the target. However, to be able to speak with them they must know each other. In the case of a progeny and a creator, they can talk to each other from across the world. The creator can also physically effect their progenies from anywhere, making them feel a longing to come to the one who turned them.
• The Rite of Blood Upon obtaining expert rank, you may use this ability only twice, so choose wisely. If someone has died and not yet rotted completely, you may bring them back as a vampire. The ritual is simple; shove a liter of blood down their throat, and then bring them somewhere with no light. Not even moonlight. If this is done before rotting gets too grim, after a few hours they'll rise up, as your progeny. Being a progeny has benefits and losses. The one who turned you into a vampire will always feel the desire to protect you, and will not do harm onto you. Similarly, you will feel the same protective instinct, preventing you from harming them as well. You literally can't find it within you to hurt them. The one who turned you can get you used to being a vampire; to the life of bloodlust, avoiding the sun, whatnot. However, you will always be connected to them in a way some may not like. Their words will influence you, and greatly. While they cannot simply 'command' you, they can make you want to do things that you wouldn't ordinarily do, and could almost certainly make you do things that you would ordinarily do. You want to impress them. They're like your rolemodel, and your mind can fall under the mercy of their will. This is the benefit of owning a progeny.
• Every knight has the ability to ignore pain in battle, even ignoring the pain of severed limbs for a certain amount of time.
• Vanguards are masters of single handed weaponry and shields. As such, they obtain a +1 in power to all single handed weapons (Jians, longsword, katana) and shield skills.
• Sunder: If using an attack and the opponent conjures up a barrier, the user may shatter the defense if it is two ranks below them. If the barrier is one rank below them, they can stagger the opponent with just sheer force, causing them to be so distracted with their next post that only one skill can be used.
