Name: Ki'Andris Arnathal
Nickname(s): Dark Lord
Physical Appearance: Tall (6'3"), Lean-Heavy build, athletic. Long brown hair, falling down to the mid back, wavy. Storm gray eyes, piercing. Lithe, graceful movements, born to fight. Exudes an aura of controlled violence and mystery. Seldom speaks or smiles.
Weapons: Twin swords, curved in the style of the Jusei. Magical properties include:
Magick: no or yes?: Yes
If yes, Abilities:
History: Ki'Andris was born on a remote world of Darnathi, being born into the race of the Garnathians. The Garnathians were a race with abilities, both learned and inherent. Many of there abilities would be considered magic by the other races of people in distant worlds and universes, but to the Garnathians they were as natural as breathing. The Garnathians were also a long-lived race, similar to the elves, they lived for hundreds of years, only showing their age in their declining years.
As he was growing up, Ki'Andris' parents found that he was skilled in the inherent talents, a natural, learning to master skills that usually take years, in mere months. His parents began to teach him the more difficult abilities, knowing that he was naturally gifted in their use. Ki'Andris developed a passion for learning and seeking out knew knowledge about 'magic', but found that when magic failed, he was left with nothing to defend himself. The Garnthians prided themselves on always being ready to defend themselves in the advent of battle, a skill necessary to them because of the warlike attitude of their neighbours and enemies, the Cornans.
Therefore, after exhausting all the possibilities of magic within his race, and finding it to be not as impregnable as everyone believed, he began to train himself in the art of weaponry. Whilst playing and having mock battles with shadows, he caught the eye of an old veteran of battles, and became apprenticed to him. About this time his mother became pregnant and his brother was born. Being only 15 at the time, his brother, An'Ronath was something of a mystery to him, so Ki'Andris began to look after him and help him through his younger years, talking, teaching and training him in the ways of their race. After a while, An'Ronath would only suffer to be around his older brother Ki'Andris, and Ki'Andris was only to happy to teach him the ways and abilities of his way of life. Young though he may be, Ki'Andris wasn't young at heart of mind, being mature for his age, he was capable of teaching his younger brother the ways of his race, his father believing it best that Ki'Andris teach his younger brother, so Ki'Andris took him into his life.
As the years pass, Ki'Andris became a very proficient warrior, being trained in fighting with twin jusei, curved swords, heavier than the katana and longer. Training in there use, also with the long bladed knife, he became a fighter of note. An'Ronath being the younger, was still training in his magical inherent abilities, only beginning to train in the arts of the warrior. Ki'Andris was know about 30, and An'Ronath being 15, both were proficient in the arts of war and magic, when their races' enemies attacked out of nowhere and without so much as a warning. The brothers were both called to defend their homeland, to which they both agreed and began to fight in the war.
The war had been going for 3 years before any headway could be made, unfortunately the Garnathians were being pushed back. It was at this time that tragedy struck the brothers. Ki'Andris, because of his skills as a warrior, was leading a counter strike on one of the main forces of the Cornans,. It was to be a rudimentary hit and run attack until Ki'Andris' horse collapsed under him, leaving him without a ride and in the on-coming path of the enraged enemy. Seeing no other option, he ordered his men to retreat and to leave him behind. An'Ronath protesting wildly had to be dragged away from his brother by his comrades. The last that An'Ronath was to see of his brother was him standing alone, facing the oncoming hoard, drawing his swords and saluting his brother as he disappears from view.
Ki'Andris faced the hoard and crouching in an defensive position, determined to kill as many of them as possible before he dies. As the enemy approaches, Ki'Andris is overcome with a feeling of trepidation and misgiving, as a robed man came to the fore, raising his arms towards him. Ki'Andris is suddenly overcome with weariness, it seeping through his own defences, his own defences being strong because of his races abilities. It seems that the mans magic was getting through to him, falling to his knees Ki'Andris drops his swords from limp hands. His vision blurs and he falls to his back, staring up to the sky, the last thing he saw before he lapsed into unconsciousness, was the face of the mage who cast the spell on him, before he falls into the black void he vows to see his brother again and to seek retribution from the face above him....
When he came to, Ki'Andris found himself in a blank white room,
the only furniture was the bed he was on, and a door the only thing
breaking the relentless monotony of the stark walls. As he sits up, his
head explodes into fiery agony, crying out he falls back down to the
bed, his head feeling like it is going to burst. As he lies there
panting and his eyes close, a voice is heard.
-Sorry about that, I didn't anticipate your natural defences-
Ki'Andris jumped up and grabbed at the swords at his waist, unfortunately they weren't there, then the pain from his head hits him again and he falls to a heap on the floor, groaning in agony.
- I trust you won't do that again? -
He realises suddenly that the voice is coming from inside his head, and whispers harshly,"Who are you?"
The voice is silent for a while, seeming to ponder the question, then responds,
- I am what you are capable of becoming -
Then Ki'Andris can no longer feel the presence of the voice in his mind. He rolls onto his back pondering the voice's strange response to what he felt was a simple question. He analyses the sentence in the quiet recesses of his mind, having nothing else to do. He realises suddenly that he has been given a choice, the voice being the man who had overcome him on the battlefield. He thinks about the proposition before him and realises he could profit mightily from this strange man, but then remembers his brother An'Ronath and weighs both sides of the argument. Finally deciding that his brother is old enough to deal with his capture, thinks that he probably believes that Ki'Andris is dead. He sighs suddenly and projects his thoughts to the unknown voice,
- I accept your proposal -
Thus did Ki'Andris Arnathal begin his journey into the arts that could only be described as dark, although unknowing, he will find out soon enough as his good side is slowly overwhelmed by the wants and need for power of his dark side.
After many years of studying with the man from the attack, Ki'Andris found that he could now longer learn anything from his master in the arts and coldly murdered his mentor. Now that no-one knew of his newly learned abilities he set out to seek power and to rule those less than himself. With a wave of his hand he creates a portal to an unknown place, not caring where, just so long as it is away from this dismal place, he enters and disappears, the portal closing behind him.
On his travels, Ki'Andris met many people and visited many places, one of them being the world of Fynath. As he arrived in this world, he was immediately set upon by a group of what looked to be goblins. After he had despatched the puny monsters, he set out to find a place of residence, feeling that he could enjoy it here, after seeing the monsters and how they were garbed for war. A few years later, he descended into the underground and proceeded to lay waste to the nearest city he found. Having over the years, built up a considerable fighting force of underground creatures, some of them being dark elves, dark dwarves, and a variety of monsters and beings that to look on them was to look upon fear. Ki'Andris Arnathal, now known as Dark Lord, having told no-one his name, became the ruler of the underground races of the realm of Fynath, they being afraid of him, and him encouraging that feeling by his acts and his very presence.
Dark Lord, by this time, had sunk deep into evil, his essence shrouded by a dark cloud, impenetrable and unfeeling, sacrificing himself to evil for power. Revelling in his strength and power, his dominion over his creatures of darkness increases, and he begins to look to the surface in hunger. Years pass as he builds his forces, extending further and further into the underground of the realm of Fynath, and he studies the wars of the races above, finding their weaknesses and spreading rumour and discontent amongst the alliances. Watching and waiting for the right time to attack he plots the destruction of the surface races, finding their weaknesses until the time comes to strike.
War breaks out. Dark Lord's forces erupt from the earth in a wave of darkness and evil, and leading them is Dark Lord himself, shrouded in a cloak of shadows, no one to see his face. He forces sweep the land, taking the surface dwellers by surprise, their mistrust for one another being their downfall, for they are unable to create a solid alliance. Dark Lord's troops enclose upon the remaining resistance of the people, encircling their army and trapping them with no way of escape. Eventually the resistance's food runs out and Dark Lord's army stops attacking, knowing that they cannot form a sufficient attack with no supplies to feed their troops, Dark Lord decides to leave his troops there and to prevent them from escaping.
After a week the surface dweller's troops are starving and out numbered, the generals conferring, deciding to surrender to Dark Lord's troops. The day comes where the leaders are brought out in front of Dark Lord and his troops to discuss the terms of their surrender. As the leaders try to convince him that they should be spared, Dark Lord remains silent, no expression showing on his face. Suddenly he stands up, the leaders of the surface stop begging, to hear what he has to say. He looks around at his troops and finally rests his gaze on the leaders on the floor at his feet.
"There is to be no surrender" he says in a cold, hard and penetrating voice.
The leaders look up hopefully, as Dark Lord steps down from his elevated position, moving to them slowly and gracefully towards them, they stand as he approaches. Suddenly he draws one of his swords and summarily murders the leader. The rest look at him in shock, seeing his sword dripping with their leaders blood, he looks back at them, his eyes emotionless and walks slowly towards them, feeding their fear. He draws his other sword quickly and rushes them, slicing and cutting, blood spraying out in spurts and gushes, after a couple of moments, there is no one left standing except for him. His clothes drenched in blood, it splattered over his face, his eyes cold and dead, wipes his swords clean and re-sheaths them gracefully. Turning to his troops, calling loudly, "No quarter!"
He then disappears from the blood soaked field as his troops go wild and begin to slaughter the helpless troops. He reappears inside his underground fortress, going to an open book lying on a pedestal in the middle of the room, he begins to read once more the passage he found there. "...I have discovered a way to travel to distant galaxies safely, at will. Although untested, the theory is sound and the preliminary test prove positive, all points to a successful gate being created. And so if you be brave enough to attempt this travel, the rewards you should reap from this experiment would be plentiful..."
Dark Lord smiles slightly as he thinks of the possibilities opening up before him as he reads further. Studying the book day and night, learning the process involved to create this gate, he disregards the need for sleep, his lust for power overcoming everything barring his way. After many days of studying, at which time his troops are running riot, having no leader to stop them they begin to fight amongst themselves, he discovers the secret to opening the portal. Feeling satisfaction at his studies, he waves his hand at a mirror, it fogs over and begins to show images of his troops fighting between themselves and killing, raping and pillaging the surface dwellers remaining folk. He smiles grimly to himself as he watches, thinking of the folly of their uncontrolled ways, he shakes his head amused and the mirror clears again. Silently amused he thinks about the fate of the realm of Fynath, knowing that now the forces of evil are unleashed, they will not stop until every opposing threat has been destroyed. Meaning that they will all kill each other off, until the world is left as a barren and lifeless place. Smiling grimly, he thinks that it will serve them right.
Resting in his fortress underground for a few days, he begins his preparations for creating the gate to another galaxy. As he works he loses himself in the feel of doing something worthwhile. The days pass and finally the preparations are done and the gate is ready to be activated. Breathing slowly he begins the long and taxing movements necessary for the power needed to open the gate. As the power builds, the ground shakes and the fortress begins to rumble, and a piercing sound emanates from the bowels of the mighty structure. Dark Lord, nearing the ceremonies completion, suddenly claps his hands together sharply, as he does, the sound stops, deafening everyone listening, the silence filling the void left by the sound, intruding upon everything, making ears ring and heads split. A few seconds later, a violent explosion rocks the whole fortress, and knocks everyone inside to the floor, the whole laboratory where Dark Lord was working blowing out, leaving a smoking wreck. A shimmering could be seen on one wall of the room, and slowly, Dark Lord gets to his feet, inspecting his handy work. Staggering slightly, exhausted from his ordeal, he walks slowly towards the shimmering, after inspecting it for a while he determines that the experiment has indeed been successful. Gathering up his twin swords, his knife and wrapping his cloak about him, he stands before the shimmering portal, steeling himself, he steps through, disappearing from sight. As he disappears, the gate closes in a cataclysmic explosion, blowing out the entire area around the fortress, creating a smoking crater, where once stood a proud stone fortress.
Dark Lord was never seen again in the realm of Fynath. Travelling through the gate was a weird and frightening experience. There were flashes of light and colour, images rushing through his head whilst he was suspended in a grey void, feeling nothing, only seeing with his minds eye. A particularly sharp image comes to his mind suddenly and he frowns at the intensity and detail of the image, committing it to memory, thinking that, later, it might be useful. As he travelled, Dark Lord had a lot of time to think about his experiences and ponder the purpose of his voyage. Finally deciding that the purpose was for finding more power and glory, then a thought hit him, what if he left because he was repulsed by his behaviour? Mentally shaking himself, he kills that thought before it can take root in his mind, crushing any chance that his once good nature could resurface.
Suddenly, a bright piercing light surrounds him, and he tumbles through a tear in the void, landing into chaos. Looking around dazedly, he finds himself to be in what seems to be some sort of pitched battle, although unlike anything he had ever seen before. He saw what looked to be like men in some sort of protective armour, shooting out beams of energy from some sort of instrument in their hands. Getting woozily to his feet, staggering, still shaken from his journey through the gate, he looks around wildly. Seeing things totally unrecognisable to him and his way of life, he begins to feel daunted by it all, everything flashing by at what seemed impossible speeds, and seeing aliens that defy description, he falls to his knees. Looking around again, his vision blurring and feeling himself starting to fade, he forcefully brings himself back to consciousness, and watches without emotion as a few of the men in the strange armour approach him. Groaning, he gets slowly to his feet, determined not to face them on his knees. They approach silently raising their weapons and trained them on him. Knowing that he could not face such odds, and could not possibly react in time to their obviously advanced weapons, he raises his arms to show his peaceful intent. They approach cautiously, their weapons still pointed towards him, and they regard him curiously although silently. Suddenly a blinding burst of pain erupts behind his eyelids as he is hit over the head from behind, as he falls to the floor. Already weakened from his ordeal, the last thing he heard before he slips into unconsciousness, was the strange beings conversing in their own tongue, a harsh language he had never heard before from any of the beings he had met in his travels. As he drifts he sees the image of the strange woman again, frowning, he lets himself go and then he sees no more.