User:Roussai

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Demont Roussai's Description:

Race: Phoenix-Avian Hybrid

Class: Weaver/Aeromancer

Age: Unknown

Weapons:

Burning Dawn, a soul cutting/absorbing rapier crafter of black diamond.

Abilities:

He controls the strings of "magic" in the surrounding air and can conform any "thread" of magic to do as he wishes, despite having no inate control over magic.

He is also a master aeromancer, able to control wind, or air.

Demont Roussai's Biography:

The world around Roussai whirled by him. He had no body, no end, no begging, he simply was. A mass of unformed energy ebbing its way along the flow of creation. Worlds, from their conception were seen, he watched as they grew, as civilizations rose and fell, as the worlds ended , and with each death of the millions of worlds, they tore threw him. He felt the pain, heard their deaths, all in an instant, billions of lives extinguished as if they were candles and a great breath had blown them out.

These ends were enough to cause him to scream out, but he had no voice, or mouth with which he could scream with. It was agony, yet he didn’t know that word, not here. All he knew was that he felt the pain, yet with the pain came an uplifting, awesome feeling of elation as old gave way to new. New life. For as with all things, there must be balance.

Roussai wished he could have shouted with joy, cried with happiness, but such was impossible. Things continued on like this, he felt the pains of eternity, the wonder of creation. There was no time where he was, just the endless cycle. It could have been a second, or millions upon millions of years for which he endured this. Was it punishment?

It continued and all he wanted was for it to stop, for it to end. He was already dead, yet wished for death, wished for anything to stop the pain that outweighed the joy he felt. How could any being stand this? He would receive no answer, instead a voice, void of gender, of age, yet filled with knowledge and understanding echoed out across creation.

“One death, like a drop in a pond. Meager, yet can ripple across the whole. You are but the smallest, insignificant drop in the ocean of existence. They, each and every world creates waves. Do you feel the pain, detect the birth of new life, like a candle in a dark room, illuminating? Is your soul illuminated?”

It was, the voice knew his answer before he could speak it. If he could speak it.

“There is no end. It will not end.”

It had to.

“The waves will wash over you, your very being.”

Why?

Suddenly, there were stars, and a dais, yet there was no floor, no walls, it simply was. He stood upon the thing, he had a form, none like any he had ever seen, like none had ever seen, and all around him were beings of similar shape. Nebulous. Indefinite.

Their voices, all the same, yet distinct rang out.

“Your soul is scarred, torn. Blemished with evil.”

Did he dare speak? He was never one to be struck with fear, yet he was, and overwhelmed with awe and the beauty in those voices, and the bodies to which they belonged. They were beautiful, neither male or female.

“Where am I?” asked Roussai.

“No where, and everywhere.” The voices rang out in unison.

“Why am I…Here?”

Silence. Roussai’s voice hung on the air, fading. Still silence.

“What did you feel upon witnessing the cycle?” The same voices. The cycle? Did they mean the birth and destruction he saw? What did he feel? He couldn’t explain it then, but now he could.

“I felt…I could feel every one. Felt them as they died. All at once,” his voice becomes stained, and he starts sobbing. “All of them. All the animals, the plants. Their lives, all gone.”

The beings only stared on. “Yet you felt reborn yourself, as new life blossomed.”

It was not a question. They knew what he felt.


Time, if there was such a thing in this place, went on. It could have been years, seconds, weeks, months, days, he didn’t know. He didn’t grow tired, or hungry. He just stood, waiting, and they sat, staring. He wanted to say something, but what could he possibly say, even if he dared. He wanted to know where he was, why he was here, and who, or what these things were.

“You have much to pay for, Roussai,” those voices said, almost like a sentence was being passed on him. Perhaps it was. “There is darkness in your past for which you have not repented. Think that you have, but you have not.”

Fear, real and pure coursed through the body of the once living Avian. What was to become of him? Was Hell not enough, enduring those screams, those reaching hands, those eyeless faces, not enough?

Like turning the pages of a book, a new emotion swept over Roussai, guilt. It drove him to his knees.

“Intentions, no matter how good, are evil if carried out in the wrong manner. Your life if wrought with uncaring, with anger, and with hate. Any good you have done is over shadowed by the consuming void of evil that has always latched onto your soul. You have always known it. Personified as this ‘Demon’ you called it, Thabose. It was nothing but a projection of your true self, and you knew such.”

Creation shook with the voices, and if the speakers knew anger, it would be falling upon Roussai now. With his hands over his ears, trying to block out the words and stop the realization from happening, a new creature appears. Thabose, that black winged demon. By a will not his own, Roussai stared into those lifeless eyes and they stared back. For the first time, he looked upon himself, his true self.

“No!” he cried out and swung, striking the cheek of this form of himself, only to see it shimmer and ripple. Just an illusion, but then why did his cheek feel bruised and ache? Again he struck, and he felt pain in his abdomen. It was him. This hideous, evil creature was him.

He knew it, finally, and couldn’t bear to look upon it anymore and turned his head away. Daring to look again, he found the creature to be gone, but in his place were the forms of all those he had met over the long years of his existence. Friends, enemies, all of them. Dead, he saw. Due to him, he thought, and what else could he think with the many pairs of accusatory stares?

“A ripple can travel along the whole of a pond. Your actions are like the ripple. Each life you’ve touched, you have affected, each life, you have destroyed, regardless of intention. The blame is none but your own.”

They were right, and nothing he could say would prove otherwise. Roussai found himself curled upon the dais, his eyes clenched shut and his hands over his ears, sobbing.

“All my fault…I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t want this.”

“You’re actions, your promises, your words, were all selfish. You truly cared for no one but yourself. Only cared about what you could gain.”

They were right again, and let him wallow in those emotions as he lay upon the floor, one he expected to be cold, but wasn’t, not was it hot. It simply was. As was everything here. There were no reasons, no explanations, that, or they were beyond him.

Suns set, and moons dragged across the skies. Stars twinkled and flickered out of existence.

Years of turmoil passed, he aged, and died and was born again just to feel nothing but anguish. He knew no joy and in comparison, the deaths of millions of worlds seemed insignificant to what he felt now.

As quick as it had begun, it ended. He felt nothing. He stood and stared upon the faces of these beings, the gods of gods.

“Yet, despite the evils of your past, there still resides good. You are capable of such.”

Roussai could only nod. He never wanted to feel such pains again, and he knew he had no one to blame but himself for what he felt.

“Not many, if any are granted what is to be given to you. You entered this place as Roussai. We will offer you this choice. You can leave here, leave behind the name stained with evil, and leave pure. Your world is still young, still in need. You can go back, lead them in the right direction. The choice, we leave to you, to follow the path of light, yet should you stray to your old ways, you will forever be lost, creation will wipe you away into oblivion and you will be forgotten.”

Did he want to go back? He did. He missed those he left, those he hurt. Was he capable of being redeemed?

Before he had a chance to speak that he wished to return, a blinding light engulfed him, he was uplifted, transformed. His body burned with the intensity of the many suns in all of existence. It burned away to ash, and then he knew darkness.

He felt different, cleansed. Sin washed away with fire. What had happened? He couldn’t feel his arms, or his legs, at least, not in the sense that he knew them. His arms felt longer, lighter, and his mind felt expanded, his eyes sharper. He had wings. Yes. But he always had wings, didn’t he? He didn’t know, or care, for at that instant he felt a great urge to spread his wings and fly.

He sprung upwards into the ‘air’ and spread his wings, and found them to be an extension of his arms or rather, they were his arms. He tried to speak, but a musical sound came out, a cry of joy.

He was born from the ashes. The cycle started again, the rebirth. It was never something known to him, but perhaps destiny had a grand scheme, a tapestry already woven and Roussai but a thread, not ready to be cut.----

OOC Description: The essence of this character has been in existence for 9 years. I expect actions towards him to be suitable for someone who has been around for 9 years, building up a character for 9 years, and evolving over 9 years. I don't care if you don't like it, but I am going to play my character as more powerful, more skilled, more anything than a great majority of the rest of the characters, save for a few. I figure, after 9 years I reserve that right. If you don't like it, tough luck, and kudos to those who know who I am.