Nothing To Lose

[*Nerull]

Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oS6470AO3FQ


"The first requisite for immortality is death."
-Stanislaw Jerzy Lec



Basic Information
Name: Kapaneus [Last Name Unknown]
Aliases: Kap, Reaper, Dad
Gender: Male
Race: Human

Age:
37 (In Death),
297 (In Undeath),
298 (After Ressurection)

Profession: Bodyguard/Hired Mercenary, Planewalker, Ex-Member of the Planeswalkers Guild
Languages: Common, Sylvan, Elf
Accent: Flan (Ulster, Northern Ireland). Kapaneus' voice is rather rugged, almost guttural and with an obvious masculine tone to it. His accent tends to vary, as if he is slowly transitioning from whatever his original pre-death pronunciations were.

Physical Information
Height: 6'5
Weight: 240ish

Body build: Kapaneus resembles a brawny human male, standing at 6 '6 and roughly weighing in at 240 lbs. His body carries the natural swells of his barrel chest and rounded shoulders. His well-built frame is chiseled to an almost adonis-like figure, accentuating his natural strength through solid mass.

[ After his Resurrection he appears to have lost a large portion of his physiques muscle mass ]

Skin type: Rough
Hair style: Bald
Scars: Of course, the mans pale, ash-hued skin [Now filled with the vibrant warmth of life] is marred by an undetermined amount of times warfare. The wear and tear of a hard, rather ruthless or even disciplined life has crafted the males figure to be a walking rememberance of past battles burdened by the countless scars of varying degrees and size.

Tattoos: Yes, on the back of his neck and on his arms. They are old remnants of his Flan heritage.
Colouring:

[b]Hair:[/b] n/a [b]Eyes:[/b] Hazel [b]Skin:[/b] [OLD] Ash-grey, [NEW] Tanned [/li]

Mental Information
Alignment: [OLD] Neutral Evil, [NEW] Chaotic Neutral
Philosophy: No single being in the known multiverse is Immortal. Kapaneus does his best to remind them of this fact.

However... after his reappearance. He seems changed. If he has any Philosophy now, it's kept to himself.
Deity: [OLD] Nerull, [NEW] Gond

Personality:

[u]Smug:[/u] [i]believes he's clearly the best at what he does.[/i] [u]Secretive[/u] [i]Tells as little of his intentions and himself as possible.[/i] [u]Laconic[/u] [i] tries to use as few words as possible.[/i] [u]Fatalistic:[/u][i] willing to help the PCs because nothing really matters, anyway.[/i] [u]Efficient:[/u] [i]wants to cut to the heart of the matter, resolving it as quickly as possible.[/i] [/li]

Additional Information
Gear: He wears common street clothes to blend in with the bustle of the Bazaar. However, his full plate is decorated in ornate skull designs along with a grand Scythe.
Jewelry: n/a
Habbits/hobbies: Drinking
General Health: As healthy as an ex-corpse can be.
Favorite Drink: Ale

Weaknesses / Character Flaws:

[b]Ambitious[/b] [i]You crave power. Money is nice, but being in charge of other people is your favorite thing. You are likely to be brought down by attempting a risky grab for power and failing.[/i] [b]Personal Curse, Major[/b] [i]Your family (and now you) has a major curse. The curse is severe and could become life threatening. Examples would be a weakness against spells of a specific type, or be more abstract, such that any you love are destined to die, or you suffer from a wound that will not heal. Removal of such a curse is no simple task, and requires a difficult, dangerous quest or pilgrimage of some sort. A simple Remove Curse spell will not suffice. [/i] [b]Hot-headed[/b] [i]You have a chip on your shoulder. A big one. Your fuse is short, and your're ready to get into a scuffle at the slightest hint of an insult. [/i] [b]Harbinger of Ill Omen[/b] [i]You seem to be cursed to forever bump into a specific person, time and time again. And each time you do, something bad happens not long afterward. This person in no way does this purposefully, it just happens with alarming frequency. [/i] [b]Nightmares[/b] [i]You experience horrendous nightmares every time you sleep, and memories of them haunt you during your waking hours. Sometimes, the nightmares are so horrific they have you shaking and looking over your shoulder for the following day.[/i] [b]Judgemental[/b] [i]You form opinions quickly and change them very slowly. You also have a tendency to judge people on their appearance. A man dressed as a pirate, no matter how gentlemanly, is a scoundrel and a dog as far as you are concerned. A man covered in mud is a peasant, and a woman wearing revealing clothing is a prostitute. [/i] [b]No Retreat[/b] [i]You will never run from combat, no matter the odds. Driven by an unremitting sense of honor, you must always fight as long as someone challenges you. Like the wolf, you win every fight but one, and in that one you die. [/i] [b]A Dark and Solemn past[/b] [i] Kapaneus is bothered by something that plagued him long ago. This affects his general demeanor and gives the man a constant negative outlook on life.[/i] [/li]

[*Nerull]

What may come and what is to be.

He Always knew he was going to die, but to know with certainty the approximate time and situation, that was somewhat overwhelming to Kapaneus. Up until his mid-twenties heÂ’d suffered from the all too human delusion that mortality was something that affected other people.

Then heÂ’d gotten the hernia which heÂ’d eventually repaired with surgery and healing from the local temple. The procedure was elective, his intestine wasnÂ’t strangulate or anything, and he was back in his familyÂ’s home recuperating later the same day, but just the thought that his guts had broken through his abdominal wall made him realize that he too was going to die one day. He was, after all, like everyone else.

On the day heÂ’d been bitten, Kapaneus spent the early afternoon around people. He liked people, Always had. HeÂ’d never been one to seek attention, but he played well with others and his people skills had helped him a lot in life, from being a competent farmer and guardsman to meeting and marrying his Wife.
He spent what remained of his time with the people he liked in his village. He tended to the garden with his oldest son, turning the soil for the coming planting with his boy being his usual jocular self between thrusts of his shovel.

He figured he would spend his time around his family for as long as possible. He was starting to cough more and carried around a handkerchief so that no one would see the blood and sputum. He still felt relatively well, though the bouts of cramping came and went, seizing his stomach. Fortunately, they werenÂ’t too frequent as of yet and he could feel them coming and get away from his Wife and children before it gripped him.

He paused for a moment as he stared up at the clear sky on the breezy summer afternoon. Gently bringing his right hand up to his brow, the back of his palm sliding across his slick sweat covered forehead and a deep exhale flowing from his lungs. The man known as Kapaneus older now; forty decades of life under his belt, with long years of adventuring, traveling and fighting throughout his time. Before his world went to hell, that is.

The voice of his oldest son brought him out of the timid moment, his hazel hued gaze drifting over to the teenager across from him.

‘Can I ask you something, Father?’ His Son resting a barely peach fuzzed forearm against his shovel; wiping his own forehead against the material of his shirt.

‘Go Ahead. ‘

‘Through all of this, you ever done… you ever done something that you regret? Something that really bothers you?”

Kapaneus stayed silent for a moment, thinking that as long as he could put up a good front he knew heÂ’d be safe around everyone else for a little while longer. He had no intention of letting himself become one of those undead and harm any of them.

‘Yeah, we all have. Why Son, what’s bothering you?’

His son began to tell him a tale of the early days, back when the world first began to crumble from the infectious disease that spread like wildfire among civilizations populace. When it all first began in the east; word traveling over the vast oceans from immigrants fleeing their homelands. A plague had risen up, infecting all life in small remote corners of the world before spreading like locusts. Clergymen rose to the forefront of their natural orders, acting as milestones to corner and cage the spreading of disease and the death that followed in its wake. Yet through it all, it seemed that even the gods were unable to help or to even answer their feeble pleas for aid.

As the infection spread, those that did not immediately die from its symptoms rose from the dead. Most becoming mindless shambling husks of their former selves and in rarer cases some possessed an augmented intelligence with a deep cruelty to their eyes, seeking to spread the plague through their own actions. Laying traps for the living, or simply infecting those in power to disrupt the leadership of the remaining bastions of life.

The Elders that represented the fragmented leadership of his Village had uprooted and moved their populace deep into the mountains north of the lush ever flowing grassy fields that they had once dwelled in. They believed that perhaps the harsh winters would grant them a seasonal reprieve from the plague and the dead that wandered in its stead. All hope, as it was, was slowly fading with the great silence and darkness that loomed over the majority of their world.

He looked up at his Son who was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something, and Kapaneus realized he hadnÂ’t heard one word his Son had been saying.

‘Sometimes things just happen.’ Kapaneus picked up the ball effortlessly. ‘ And we don’t know if they were meant to be that way or not, they just play that way. The plays aren’t written in stone, Son, not before we have to deal with them.’

‘So you’re saying there’s no use me beating myself silly over it, then, is that it?’

‘That’s it. Now lets finish before your Mother prepares supper.’

Kapaneus squatted down to pull some weeds from between two posts, rubbing the leeching plants between his fingertips until they smeared their leaves moisture across his skin. Thinking about his life some more and what he would do before his time came.

[*Nerull]

Update

"You will find that if you look for the Light, you will always find it but if you look for the Dark, that is all you will ever see."

Fixed some Typos, added a themesong. Working out the kinks on the next bio entry, don't want him to be TOO human now, people might actually feel bad for the guy. ;)

[*Nerull]

Saṃsāra

A long time ago... The Final Day of Life



Kapaneus thought about it, the fact that last night had been it for him, his last night of sleep. Ever. It was a staggering realization and part of him felt detached as though it was not to be his fate, that he was cognizant of but that of a stranger.

The bite so small, only a few teeth impressions on his upper bicep. But the skin had broken.

All the way he'd come. Evading death on the roads, in the wilds. Alone at first. He'd manage to avoid catching any contagious disease, the things all that death and decay brought in their wake.

And here he was, hoping that maybe he'd make it through the day. He thought of all of those he'd witness die. Suffering from horrendous wounds, but lasting a night or two and into the days following. Thing was, what kind of existence was it? Things started to happen once you were infected.

He looked forward least to his body shutting down from inside, as his organs betrayed him...

The ex-Farmer changed his bandage, putting his shirt back on, then his armor. He thought about telling the others, some of them still being shaken up from what they had witnessed as their world fell apart. He didn't think they would kill him immediately. If they only knew, if they had the nerve.

He wondered if the time came would he let them kill him, could he let them. If he marched out into the middle of the village and exposed the wound and told them what happened, would he, let them draw their weapons and slay him right away? Would he pull his own and take as many of them with him as he could with no good reason?

He felt a bit nauseous already but nothing debilitating. A general sense of not feeling well plaguing him. Not feeling the way he should, the way he used to.

Maybe this wasn't anything out of the ordinary. He'd suffered from some kind of depression most of his adult life, or at least convinced himself that he had. He could never put an exact finger on it. Usually coming at the end of the month.

However he had devoted his time to working the fields. To keeping himself busy and it helped. He occupied his hours with little downtime so he wouldn't get caught up in the blues. His ability to manage time, a trait most enjoyed about him. He'd built his own home by hand. He'd erected the fence over his land and planted his own crops, never asking for help and always taking his time.

The Man shook his head and stepped out of his house, gazing at the morning glory. The sun barely peaking over the hills in the distance. Pushing his thoughts away from the Undead that were slowly destroying civilizations around them.



...



Present Time, Sigil, The Basement under the House


The memory slowly faded as the voices took over. The many stacks of Mnemur scrolls, so many, pulling and twisting around him. The Room was dark yet dimly lit by the crystals on the walls. The faint sound of the waterfalls muting out all other sound.

In front of him, would rest a small stone podium. A giant skull dwarfing the main wall with all of the Scythes he had collected mounted around it. Underneath the skull, resided a vast shelved wall of over six-hundred souls that let out faint cries of fear, repulsion and anger.

He spoke to them now and then, when Hallucinating from the Mnemur scrolls. When listening to the maddening voices encourage him to bask in carnage. The pull of the darkness a great burden upon his person. Yet he pushed it harder. Collecting more. He would need as many as he could hold, when it came time.

The man did, in fact, plan to kill a Deity. Of course. He'd been planning for months what to do. Taking many trips to the Divinity Leech and testing how much Divine essence he could absorb.

Soon... he would test to see what would happen should he feed the essence into the Scrolls of Mnemur and the hundreds of souls he possessed. Wanting to work himself like a conduit. If it only lasted for a brief moment, it would be enough to finally strike out in retaliation against the one who 'deserved' it. Souls possessed their own Divine power and he would figure out a way to harvest it. It was only a matter of time.

Killing a God... The one who had made him who he was. The one that basked in Bloodshed. He wondered if it was from his own madness, from his own hallucinations of his past life and present that plagued him. His own loneliness and isolation, his lack of goals and companionship.

Could he truly even physically touch Nerull when the time came? Would the Deity even respond when the Harbinger stepped back into Carceri, the place his soul was born and molded for its purpose. Would he simply be struck down without a whim by the Reaper and harvested like countless others? ... He came to settle on the fact that ... If he could only make the Reaper bleed, it would be worth it. Just a knick. Just enough to show that a Mortal could harm a God.

He laughed and he found he couldn't stop it. A sense of pride filling the man as he let his head fall back. Was it Joy? Happiness? The emotions far past him these days. Some dulled down echo of their former selves.

The laughing lasted far too long and he found himself glancing to the shadows that danced along the walls for even longer, daring them to challenge him.

" Yeah... go ahead. Do it. " He'd mutter to himself in a low tone, over and over.

...


The Harbinger of Nerull had been in Sigil for a long time now and much had happened. In some time, he had ... befriended a Fated named Rhistel and his Fiancee Neerepha. Moving from a suspected guardian to a genuine family member of their household.

He cared for them yet he found that perhaps it was but a memory of a memory. Wanting to fulfill himself with the ease of a healthy relationship with the living. He wondered if he was capable of giving himself fully, emotionally to them. So much of what he'd felt had been blunted by all the Death. All the carnage. Maybe this was the best he could do, given the times in which they lived, the man he now was.

He just didn't want to shortchange them, he knew they cared for him deeply. They'd shown that. Yet did they ever truly understand, that he was to invite the Reaper? To invite Death into one final duel?

That was his purpose, after all. Nerull taught his followers to murder, to kill without thought. To put a purpose to their lack of purposes.

Kapaneus thought about these things as he wrapped the Mnemur scrolls harder around his arms. Their draw almost magnetic towards one another so he found it a rather easy task.

He looked down to a particular soul in front of him, one of a child that was fearful of where it was. Having forgotten that the Soul prism was resting there. Strange...


Calmly, he reached forward and, plucking it up, he would lean down to set it on the stone floor in front of him.


"At least one of us can be free,,."

In one powerful motion, he would bring his hand down, smashing the Soul Prism. The Soul inside fading immediately when free.

[*Nerull]

He supposed that he would never know why he was selected, a burning soul of spite and want drifting through Carceri. He could say that perhaps Nerull had a more subtle plan on a grander scale for him, but he could never even begin to grasp the What of that ideal. He was, after all, still just a man.

Wouldn't it be the true irony, that when it came time to fully accept himself for what he could be, that he instead turned on his so-called "Master". The Cruel and wicked laughter, devoid of any emotion aside from that momentary glimpse of amusement beckoning false promises for his fate.

He had evolved to perhaps something a little more than being Human. To its definition.

The man could never consider himself a victim of his acceptance. That he truly was dead now and that the man he used to be was all but gone at this point. He understood that if he wanted his revenge, if he wanted that power. He would have to obtain it through any means. To grasp the power that radiated from the Gods, if even, for only a brief moment.

Over the course of his time in the cage, he had paid bookworms and scribes alike to educate him on the Powers of the Multiverse, to educate him on those who had taken everything from him and what tools he could have at his disposal.

It was a tedious task, to say the least. Yet each small bastion of knowledge he acquired motivated him a little further to keep going.

It had taken him a long time to cope with what had happened. To describe the effects his Dead State had on his psyche was impossible, yet he was fully aware. He understood that even if he was to turn Human again, much like the former-Vampire Abigail had, he would never be the same. The thought had crossed his mind, yet he knew he would just be that, Human. A weakened state without any of the benefits or strengths.

Vague now, was his past life. The memories slowly dulled down and numbed by his undead form. Washed away by the carnage of what he was capable of, the fighting spirit he possessed...

He wondered if it was why he enjoyed fighting so much. If those very moments of combat simply made him forget about what had happened. That he only had to focus on his opponents movements, as well as his own.

Yet what was a man without purpose? What could he call himself now? Murderer? Planeswalker? A friend? To what end? Where were the rewards he could reap from such a thing?

...

The man contemplates these things for a long time... So much of it he spent now, alone in the Basement. Pondering. Debating with himself in some futile effort to understand himself better.

As he was now, he was kneeling near the pools of water that surrounded his room. Staring down at the shadowed surface, inkling black waters rippling from the small waterfalls decorating the walls.

A part of him always struggled, it was basic Human instinct after all. Yet as the time passed, it seemed to fade like some dying light. Still there, yet dim and distant. Now bathed in the murmurs of Mnemur and the swirling darkness that seemed to blind him at times, or fight for control of his mind.

The Waters were the only sound in the room, dim crystals along the walls the only sources of lighting... yet at times, in the corner of his eyes it seemed as if the darkness was closing in on him. He just wasn't sure if that is what he wanted, he wasn't sure about anything anymore.

Change, as it was, was inevitable. He would just need to make sure he was prepared when it did happen.

[*Nerull]

A now very alive older man sits awkwardly on a bench in The Gallery. His gaze focusing on the wall of portraits. The Blue haired girl and the somber dark haired boy plaguing his thoughts... His eyes glancing every so often to his own painted visage on the far right. Of course He'd been watching for a very, very long time. As was his nature, afterall. ...

He takes another breath... and waits.

[*Nerull]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yNAABKD4IA

Before. Dead God Rock, The Astral Plane.


A Shadow of a man stands before the entrance to the Divine Conduit, his unblinking eyes fixated on the doors archway. To one even as him, a small sand grain in the greater vastness of time and space, that odd moment of pause feels like an eternity.

He'd been here before of course, many times in his quest to learn more. The power that the building held in that small, slim light-shaft of divinity.

Upon even thinking about the potential raised the hairs on the back of the Vampires neck, the dozens of Mnemur scrolls reflexively tightening around his arms, from wrists to shoulders; their grasp tight enough to cut off circulation if he were still bound by such practicalities.

Of course, the two parties who dwelled within would attempt to stop him. Both coveting the ideals of harnessing the divine energy. Alas, he was here to perform an experiment of his own. So to speak.

Eyes long since paranoid glance at the shadows in his peripheral, always moving. Just out of his vision. He was here to kill a god. Among other things. He'd spent so much time, collecting or reaping the souls of others. Collecting countless Grand Souls. Then harnessing the dozens of Mnemur scrolls he had collected... It was time to see what would happen, should the Divine energy of Deads God Rock were to be channeling into both sources of power simultaneously.

Now it would be Nerulls turn, so in turn the Harbinger of Death could be unbound and set free... but what was freedom to the already dead? Annihilation? What awaited his soul on the other side of the coin?

The Vampires mind begins to wander, his physical form still stagnant at the doorway. It was almost if... Reluctance... His gaze dropping down to a small object in his left hand, a simple key. Yet one that unlocked a particular Enchanters Shop in the Clerks Ward.

Gauntlet clad fingers slowly curl around the key. As if crushing the object would eliminate the memories... That still oh-so-human side that lurked as a small speckle of light in the overbearing darkness of Undeath.


He had meant what he had told the boy. If he had the power ...


Current. "Home". The Gallery of the Sun and Moon

An Older man, devoid of the grey hued skin of death, resembling nothing more than a commoner, his strength long gone, as well as all of his belongings.

No Scythe adorns his back, no dark adamantine armor protects his weakened flesh. He only wears a tan shirt and a blacksmiths apron, with a pair of tinted spectacles covering his eyes.

Drinking a cup of coffee... with just a little bit ... well shit, a lot, of Spirits added to it. His recollection of events is broken as the doorway from downstairs flies open. A rather quaint, blue haired genasi coming over to pester him. For a brief moment, his eyes would flicker back to his old portrait, the hooded visage rather forbearing.

" Perhaps later..." He would grumble to his old self before offering a smile.

[*Nerull]

Somewhere...


Kapaneus, lurking somewhere distant yet still relevant; glances up to the sky.

" Shit. I forgot Rhistels Birthday. "

[*Nerull]

Shameless Bump. Why? Because I'm Nerull. Read my edgy shit and like it.

[*Nerull]

Four Years.

Four Years past and it still feel likes Yesterday...

Oh, were you expecting a long winded post that had character development? Haha! No. That got deleted.

TL;DR Narrative:

Man comes back
Sees people he knew or knows
Feelings
Sadness
Nostalgia
Positive Vibes
New Hope
Good Feelings
Perseverance

Yeah, that's about it.