#fullblade

D&D Character Commission: Ascher - Tiefling Fullblade Warrior!  He carries his family’s sword and two fatal scars as testament to his adventures! 

She is Fullblade Incarnadine, one of the Red Supremes and the last surviving member of her rank outside of the Fullblade Remnant’s knowledge. She was a Daemoness, a powerful creature of the Conflict. She was Carrie Bryseis, now. Only Carrie. Since the fall of Fullblade, she had had no authority beyond her natural ability. Luckily for her, her natural ability was immense. An angel of Grey and Blood, she had survived in the outskirts of her territory. Her duty was not yet finished, even though her legion was.

She, as with many Supremes, had been given a specific mission, and it was hers to complete until she died. It was a mission of futility, designed to kill her. She had been exiled from Fullblade some time before their current “Fullmaster” had been elected. Incarnadine stabs her veiled blade into the stone beneath her and sits. She is atop a gargoyle, high above a shimmering metropolis in Crinyanan space. She clicks her fingers and surveys the depths before her, stretching miles below and miles above.

She was Fullmaster once. She had been the last before the one only known as Red had been elected to the position. She grits her teeth and starts forward, her toes coming to the edge of the rock beneath her. Her feet are rock and stone, the last parts of the ceremony that summoned her from the Conflict, so many years ago. Her toenails were white talons of marble. The hot summer night air waves over her, carrying the smell of intoxicants and burning fuel.

Her pupils dilate, hidden behind layers of cloth and invisible against her black sclera. Her lips part, tasting the fear of her prey. She takes the hilt of her blade and leaps.

Wings blossom out from her back, her hairless head giving no resistance to the wind that flaps her bandages and the tabard she wears. Her sword, long and heavy, shines free as its wrappings fly from it in zig-zag patterns, unravelling like a drill behind her. The thunder of the air blisters past her as she accelerates downwards faster than gravity. Terminal velocity takes her and is ripped past, scattered like the cinders of a fire, and she brings her blade down.

The transport is torn in half, a huge grey beetle of metal and mechanisms, grav-engines and passenger compartments. The front section spins away and slams into a spacescraper. The back parts slide down, succumbing to the planet’s pull, and Incarnadine pulls her way in, looking at the few passengers not vented to the upper atmosphere. Two Crinyanans, a male and a female. Innocents, but no time to save them. A huge man, he looks human. His armour is enormous, and he wears robes. Pipes extend from his back and he’s already bringing up his gun, an enormous powered claw in the place of his other hand crackling to life. She streaks forwards, cutting the mass-explosive bolts from the air, and her sword guts him. With a twist and a disembowelling turn, she wrenches it free and leaps away again, her sword hissing as its superheated surface evaporates the dark ichors covering it.

Yeah, that was an interesting time.