Szkrech the Sage of Arcane Power
Szkrech created on 16th of April 2022, and is currently 22 years old (84 hours played).

Title: the Sage of Arcane Power
Gender: Male
Level: 50
Class: quasit invoker

Background history:

  1. The Szkrech - posted at 2022-04-28 13:26:29
The Szkrech
The Szkrech, as he was called, had curled up in the fetal position after an intense and grueling day of slave work under his Masters. He did not have a true name, not one that he knew of at least, and the name given to him by his captors worked well enough to identify him. From what The Szkrech had gathered, the name was taken from the cries of anguish he would bellow when being tortured by the larger, brutish demons of the Abyss. Again, the name was simply to identify him and The Szkrech did not care if it derived from his pain. There was little he could do anyway. He was tiny, frail, weak of body and weak of mind. As far as The Szkrech knew, he was the weakest demon to have ever been spawned and it showed. He would be tortured constantly for failing to make the days quota of harvesting gems and minerals from the ground. After countless days and nights passed, something changed. The Szkrech would not, could not know what it was, but outside forces would inadvertently give The Szkrech his freedom. A group of powerful mages known as The Mystics from another plane were at work creating a portal to the Abyss to allow Zaikkra and his minions access to their world to destroy it. The Szkrech had never known magic, never heard of it, smelled it, touched it, or seen it. He had heard inklings of the invasion, but cared little for it. What could a weak demon such as he do? He was not part of the invading force, but instead would be left behind to continue to fulfill his indenture. That would not be the case for long, as it turned out. The portals opened across the Abyss, and the flood of howling demons jumped through with fervor as they sought to murder and pillage the occupants on the other side. The magics needed in order to create the portals left bits of residue behind. Not residue in the physical sense, but there nonetheless. The Szkrech had been digging around the location of one of these portals that had long been shut when he first came across the power. He didnt have any sense of revelation or anything of the sorts. Nothing called out to him beckoning him to take the power. The Szkrech simply worked day in and day out, and by simply being in the proximity of the invisible strands for long periods of time he would inadverterantly absorb them. Long periods of time would pass, and every so often his servitude led him to another location where another portal had once been open. And so this went on while the invasion of the Serin world continued. "Damn you! Get back to work!", cursed the greater demon behind The Szkreech A crack of a whip and the blossoming pain across his back and shoulders awakened The Szkrech from his fitful slumber. Howling in anguish he flitted about until he saw the source that had awakened him and immediately he began to grovel to the higher demon. Instead of placating the larger demon, it infuriated him to see one of his kin be so weak. Angered even further, he began to whip The Szkrech more and more. The tiny demon was beaten near to death, and as the beating continued his mind began to slip towards unconsciousness. As his man began to go, he would mutter incoherent words and phrases, the ramblings of a dying animal. Unknowingly, the power he had absorbed over time would alter his mind slightly, drafting the words, words unknown to The Szkrech. A loud clap boomed, the air shimmered, and The Szkrech vanished before the greater demons eyes. The Szkrech awoke to sounds. Instantly he began to grovel and shake in fear of the greater demon. Only, there wasnt a greater demon. And he wasnt in the Abyss. The sounds that woke him were the gentle runnings of a nearby river, the sounds of leaves blowing in the wind. Gentle sounds, not the harsh guttural language of the demons, or the even harsher crack of a whip across his back. And that was another thing, he wasnt in pain. The last thing he remembered was thinking he would die. Yet, here he was. He checked his body for signs of the beating. Nothing. Not even the scars of previous torture was visible on his skin. The Szkrech had NO idea what was happening, but he could not be more pleased. As he began to ponder what had happened, words flooded his senses. Words unbidden to his mind came in a rush and all of the tiny streams of power he had absorbed over time coalesced and created one vast pool of power and knowledge. Once again, The Szkrech fell unconscious. Once again, The Szkrech awoke to sounds. This time, they were the sounds of sentient beings. Soldiers, from the nearby time had heard and felt something come from this way, something powerful. They formed a hunting party and eventually came upon The Szkrech. They did not know what this tiny thing was, or if it was the source of the power they felt, but they were not going to take any chances. They cast a net over him and began to beat and prod him with spears and clubs. Screeching in pain and fear, The Szkrech reached into his mind's eye and sought the words. Thunder cracked, fire rained, and the earth itself opened up all around him. The forces of men lay strewn about him, scorched corpses still smoking, blood bathing the nearby surroundings. The Szkrech had never felt more alive, more free than he did at that moment, and he decided that from then on, he would be his own master and never would he be subjugated again.


Description:

Flitting about before you is a red-skinned winged demon. A set of blackened horns protrude out from his forehead, curling back and down and curving to stay in line with his jaw and end slightly past his pointed chin. Eyes in the shape of tiny black orbs glare hatefully outwards from beneath a set of wispy brows which curl upwards at either end. His wings flutter noisily to keep him aloft and they have the color to match the darkest nights and the texture to match boiled leather. His arms are noticeably longer than his legs and they hang limply from their sockets while his legs dangle uselessly behind him. A whip-like tail which ends in a spade carves patterns in the air to help in adjusting his speed and direction as need be.


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