Marek Ovilion

[*Marek Ovilion]

Basic Information
Name: Marek Ovilion
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Age: 19
Profession: Artificer, Smith
Languages: Common & Infernal
Accent: A thick 'Southern States' accent...most times.

Physical Information
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 165
Body build: Skinny, and gaunt. Seemingly out of shape.
Skin type: Soft and smooth. A slight paleness to it.
Hair style: Shoulder length, appearing fine but disheveled most times.
Scars: None.
Tattoos: None.
Colouring:

[b]Hair:[/b] Light brown. [b]Eyes:[/b] Jade. [b]Skin:[/b] Semi-pale. [/li]

The young man pulled at his sweat soaked shirt, loosening the bindings at the sleeves. He stood there for a moment, wiping the moisture from his brow, looking about at the tree line just beyond the fields he worked on. His face registered nothing, the hammer he was holding in one hand dropped to smash into a small clay jug filled with water. His voice became low and other worldly, a dark rasping sound emerging from within. His eyes glinted with menacing purpose as his head tilted downward. Quickly he changed his stance digging his feet into the ground. Then a flash.

Sunset. His eyes looked upward to the sky, seeing a purplish red hue lining the horizon. As he rubbed his head, he looked over to the hammer, and with the same diligence began hammering in the post. One after the other, he continued. He dug the holes, set the post, then pounded it in with his hammer. As the night darkness arrived in full, he spoke just a few simple words and his vision attuned.

A voice sounded from the small house, just a hundred paces away now from the young man.

"Marek! Get on in 'ere boy! It's too dark to be doin' that sorta work right now." the old man called from the doorway.

"I'll be jus' a few more 'ere pa. Don' worry none, I got it cinched up right good. Jus' got one more ta go." the young man replied.

The old man simply turned from the door, shaking his head. Marek found no fault in his hard work, he felt he owed it to his father and even should he have not felt so, there would be no food on the table if he didn't do the work himself. His father had grown old, well into his eighty first year. The oldest man in Featherdale it was rumored.

As Marek finished the last of the posts he brushed the dirt from his clothes and collected up his tools. In the distance, he heard a low bleating and turned toward the noise. It was so soft he couldn't place the sound. He faced the treeline now, listening more intently. Minutes passed then it came again. He walked slowly toward the sound, checking his pace, finding that his vision was attuned only to major shapes and even those appeared in a grayish blue haze.

Once more the painful cry could be heard. Marek followed it, easing his way over, a slight fear growing in his chest. As he got closer, he finally came across the macabre scene. Infused to the ground lay a large goat, half of its body missing. Its eyes were now visible to Marek as he inched closer. The goat looked to him with pleading eyes letting out a weak cry of pain. Marek dropped to the ground, unsure of what to do.

He just sat there, a small tear rolling down his face as he looked on to the goat. Each breath the animal took became more difficult and labored, until it finally with one last breath attempted to move and collapsed in a fit of spasms.

Marek, drunk with agony for the creature, dropped his head down to the ground. He interlocked his hands over the top of his head, his forearms wrapped about closing over his ears and sobbed into the earth. Long moans of agony that seemed endless.

[*Marek Ovilion]

Ages Beyond...

The time passes through my fingers like fine sand, giving only the gaps of air to seal away the sift. This mind that binds to my own decays. The crux of his flesh gives parting way to my own, but for what intent? Curious this one. So curious...

Marek had been in Sigil for some time. He'd come to know every nook and cranny the old bloods had given word of. His speech had parted with the rough country inflection by just a bit while his every day vocabulary grew with the vernacular euphemisms of the Hive Ward "common" folk.

Few things began to surprise him any longer, despite himself. He indeed surprised himself on more than one occasion. In doing so he had also surprised many others. His introverted nature upon entering the City of Doors had been shed early on. Perhaps by the strength of friendship, or by the culling of something else.

The haunting nightmares of a torn and battered bit of cloth sweeping across his face and laughing in the distance as it called to him floating on the air like a leaf upon a summer breeze. A continuing desire for amorous perversion in all senses of the word, being confused by inexperience, or perhaps driven by greed for lack of previous encounter. The taste for the Abyss...

All of these things proved overwhelming for him, but he savored them, and lapped at the very ether of their existence as though tasting a life denied by his father.
Marek now encouraged humor, wanton women, and drink. His friends questioned him more often than not to his behavior, and to that he had no reply.

Though his kindness showed through action to those that were observed to be innocent, he was gradually showing little regard to those that sought violence actively. Marek's perception was changing. His ideals of justice and the purity of Featherdale were becoming distant memories. His concept of right and wrong were beginning to be shades of gray determined only on what might be for the "greater good". Strong friends were beginning to be listed as simple 'allies', while foes were being counted and etched onto a solid stone of an ever growing darker heart.

A callous was beginning to form over his heart for the strong, the able; those that would impute their own powers upon the world, especially those of recognized evil.

His last thoughts before pushing through the portal back into Sigil from the Abyss were guided and of sordid nature, his understanding of them well forgone.

...what it would be to live amongst men, to do as men do, to feel as men feel. What a curious endeavor indeed. Perhaps I will make an introduction in full.

[*Marek Ovilion]

Love Without Boundaries...

I wonder how many would would play martyr to the hands of unseen foes...

Marek stepped lightly onto the dirt pavers in front of the Hammer. Perfumes passing throughout the front of the tavern marked the vitiated air from nearby jinkskirts. To Marek, it was yet another scent that mixed in well with the city pollution.

He glanced both sides of the street, as though not prepared to take motion in any particular direction. His first foot made step, and then halted mid-air only to be brought down slowly. His eyes fixated on her as she drew closer down toward the Hammer.

Arvolexia, with all her charm was now tossing her tail from leg to leg as though slapping her thighs with it. She grinned coyly at Marek and simply whispered to him as she passed to the front door of the Inn, "Upstairs...".

She dipped lithely in through the partially open portal where door drifted from jamb, then stuck her head out once more with a curled finger motioning him in. He followed slowly, as he opened the door. Her form now clear across the tavern and in wait at the next door toward the second floor. She paced ahead of him several steps, ascending the stairs, finally coming to a room marked only with the word five above it's frame. She opened the door once more as he stood in the hall and with a charming grin flipped her hair toward him facing the room her back turned.

Marek followed willingly, yet a voice whispered within his mind...

You risk everything.

~***~

He shut the door softly as he made his way quietly into the room behind Arvolexia.

She stood there, long moments passing with her back turned to him.

When finally she spoke the words uttered were lightly tinged with desperation and worry, despite the cool facade.

"I have a favor to ask of you...", she stated as she turned about.

Her words were cut short, as Marek lowered his hood and looked into her eyes with jade ovals. His face was expressionless save for a bit of compassion marring his brow. His words uttered clearly, void of his familiar accent to her and no longer rift with breaks in consonants. His voice was solid, poised, almost eloquent.

"You my dear Vex have been Marked. For transgressions upon a boy that has loved without cause, given to heart without need. You scorn him, yet void of reasons foreseen. A boundary has been set. You have been placed on one side of it."

Her eyes widened, a flicker of shock and betrayal crossing over her expressions briefly. She paused, studying Marek as if in new light. Her hands moving toward her sides. She hesitated once more, then stated again "I have a favor to ask of you..."

They spoke well into the night as tempers rose and fell, revelations were made, and two hearts shattered for a time on the floor boards of an inn room so aptly nicknamed simply 'The Hammer'.

I wonder how many would would play martyr to the hands of unseen foes...
How many could I stop it from happening to?

[*Marek Ovilion]

Whispers of Hope...

Where seraph wings whisper upon the etched carvings of a corrugated soul, here shall we feast on the fear of our foe...

A haggard voice, crept through the darkness as Marek slept, seeping into the very core of him, wriggling like a worm.

"Fear of the anointed; blood not of betrayal. Crook finger pointed; tear open the veil."

Marek slept fitfully, tossing about in his bed.

Then silence...

A soft smile crept along his face as he sighed in comfort.

Where seraph wings whisper upon the etched carvings of a corrugated soul, here shall we feast on the fear of our foe...
Here shall he wonder what we're having for supper.

[*Marek Ovilion]

Fear of the Anointed...

To feel fear...to feel fear. Which of us does not feel fear within the very core of us? Which of us lies to ourselves and speaks falsehoods of such terrors...

Marek came to her, out of a wish to speak of past transgressions. To confess to her his previous sins. Or so he had said. He motioned her up to the Hammer's rooms. She followed with hesitation, peering at him, and checking his every move.

Naya'il knew far more about Marek than he'd assumed, and she was a quick student to gather information. Slightly suspect of her he still needed her this very moment. He urged her onward, pressing along the floor boards until they arrived at room number seven.

He opened the door wide for her as she crossed through its rotting and broken frame.

As they stood in the small room, she pressed her back against the shelves that stood on one corner of the room. Marek standing at the other side. The candle light was dim, and a sense of ominous darkness flashed over every nook and cranny.

She asked, "Why have you brought me to this particular place, Marek?"

They spoke in length of his past, of his childhood and of a pet he'd once owned and cared for. He went into great detail of how he'd murdered without knowing that very same creature. How memories burned within him since that time, and now corrupted his very thoughts.

She attempted to reprieve his pain, to give some flicker of hope that may stead off such attempts at what lay within him. Yet, Marek had already set his plan in motion.

He crossed over toward her, a wicked smile as words of terror crossed from his lips, threatening her very soul. As he traced a single index finger along her cheek, he whispered, "You will tell me, if you find out the name of this one, won't you?"

Her shiver was all he needed as he spoke a singular word. "Done."

She immediately reached for the door, finding it locked. He stood back and asked of her, "Miss Naya, please c'mon back o'er. I didn' mean ta rattle ya up."

With her look of fear and terror in her eyes, she held steadfast with a single demand, "Open the door. Now.

Marek did so. He watched as she left, and yet smiled to himself. The first of tasks completed.

~*~

He crossed over into the Abyss, rushing toward a destination he'd known about. Several had. Now he'd found purpose of it. With the lingering sensation still held within his index finger he cut through, purposefully avoiding any confrontation of the Blood War that raged all about and came to a cave.

He rushed inside, edging over toward the ward. He smiled as the remaining bit of fear coursed over his nails and down his finger. He simply drew a rune in the dirt, whispering in action.

With a gentle smile, he whispered softly, "Thank you, Naya'il."

To feel fear...to feel fear. Which of us does not feel fear within the very core of us? Which of us lies to ourselves and speaks falsehoods of such terrors...
How many of us truly give into it and utilize it for the better?

[*Marek Ovilion]

Blood Not of Betrayal...

Is the sacrifice of another worthy, should they be willing...

Catrina was keeping steadfast watch, as Marek and Razzuul did battle along the edge of the Lake of Fire. Each disposing of their enemies as best they were trained. Precision strikes were made by Razzuul as he aimed for the tendons of a large horned devil. Marek, throwing strands of eldritch energy within their ranks, dodging blows with uncanny agility. Both, letting loose swathes of blackened blood to fall like rain upon the equally blackened soil. As the last of the enemies fell, both of them took a knee and looked at each other. Catrina coming out from the shadows now...pacing toward Razzuul.

Razzuul was breathing heavily, the char and burn in his lungs aching for cooler air. He winced as Catrina came about to bandage him a bit. Marek gritting his teeth under his own burns and scars, now applying a salve to his neck.

Razzuul smiled faintly at Catrina as he thanked her.

Marek spoke briefly, "There's bein' a cave near by, we should be takin' a res' in 'er, hm?

Both Catrina and Razzuul simply responded with a nod.

They made their way into the cave, finding the ward that rest upon a pillar high above the chasm. The cave rumbled with the sounds of the Blood War raging on about outside of it, yet nothing showed within this sanctuary.

As they sat and took rest, Marek looked up to Razzuul, his voice clear and punctuated.

"How much trust do you have in me Razzuul, son of Kherr?, he asked of the Genasi. "How would I impart further trust within you? How would I gain further trust from you?"

Razzuul answered the question. Their whispers echoing within the cave, as Catrina listened, watching and trusting in Marek. A ritual began. The words dark in nature, then seemingly giving light to a further purpose.

A heap of what once remained of Razzuul lay within the ward. Blood coursing through the very etchings of it, to drip below into the chasm, a shadow taking form of what was once him.

The shadow dissipated as Marek dismissed the darkness from within the cave. His head held low in reverence of the sacrifice just made.

Moments passed as Marek hunched over Razzuul. He whispered his thanks, and made motion over the body with his hands, whispering to an unseen force.

As he did so, Razzuul gained new life, taking in ragged breath for just a moments time. Marek helped him to his feet and then thanked him in full, noting that an oath was made, and one not to be broken. Another thanks passed over Mareks lips as he put a hand on Razzuuls shoulder.

They continued to rest, speaking of the future, and things to come. Speaking of a dark brooding and a divide. They spoke of intentions and of themselves. Until finally there was nothing more to speak of between the two within this darkened haven.

Soon they trekked across the Abyss once more, finally finding the portal where they made their way to look over the city.

Is the sacrifice of another worthy, should they be willing...
Does it give to the conclusion that all of us have a bit to sacrifice?

[*Marek Ovilion]

Crook Finger Pointed...

Like rats to the refuse of a dumping ground; each of us takes what was given freely, yet with guilty conscience as we fight others and steal away this treasure...

The hot glow of the grounds beyond the grate beckoned a retreat from the pair,
yet they pushed through despite what fear, if any, would have existed.
Catrina sifted through what little shadow remained in the Abyss with her lithe and deadly form, stabbing a Babau with her dagger, finishing it off before it even noticed the two. She flashed a smile to both as the demon dropped before Marek.

Marek and Razzuul greeted her in return; Marek with a wide grin, Razzuul with a solemn nod. Speech was unnecessary here. Only action through steel and blistering hands of fire were needed.

Marek shed his form, muttering a dark incantation that wrought life to another.
Razzuul and Catrina merely stood there, both knowing the meaning behind his actions. They let him lead, pushing forth and charging maw first into demon and devil alike. Here, there was nothing but blood to be sought, and blood would be spilled.

Razzuul pushed to the flanks seeking any opening to connect his wicked chivs in between the ribs of any creature seen as a threat, for which there were many. He worked in between them, finding vital weaknesses. Catrina behind them both, waiting, stalking like a true Cat. She found an opening and within mere moments the Cambion seeking opportunity to attack Marek while his tail was turned to it went down into a slumped heap.

Marek continued to rage on, willing through fanged claws the essence upon which he held so easily in a frail form before this. The splash of darkness etched upon the souls of so many before him, as they attempted to stab or pierce his thick hide to no avail. In droves these hordes went down before the three, until they came across two others...

~*~

Salazar and Nastasia were in a heated battle of their own, as Nastasia worked calculated cuts through sheer will opening new wounds over the skin of these spawn. Each strand of her eldritch energy was made with deadly acumen, flaying the raging demons before them. Salazar hammered like a skilled smith, pounding the very life from their bodies with each blow, sending them back to the fire upon which they were created. His brow was singed, his gorget showing bits of enamel flaking from it as the tell tale signs of where a devil had tried to rake at his face went denied.

As the wave of twisted claw and fang crashed against the rocks of what would be the five of them, they stopped for a moment, catching their breath. Salazar looked upon Marek, readying his hammer just a moment, but recognizing the familiar glow about this particular devil spawn. He nodded to the three, Razzuul, Catrina and "Marek". Nastasia however, looked incredulously upon them as though in disbelief. A spark of eldritch energy pulsing from her palms as she readied herself. The attack she awaited did not come however. She frowned at the others as they just stood around this...creature of darkness.

Nothing was said. The silence was enough. It was short lived however, as another wave came crashing down upon them and again they danced within and around death leaving trails of blackened blood in their stead. The battle became increasingly more dangerous as they pushed on, finally coming to a halt as a declaration of peace for a time came into view. The cave so familiar to all of them that held wards deep in its core.

Marek simply growled through a maw of blackened saliva and pitch "I will hold guard." The sentiment rang on deafened ears, as he had suspected it might. Catrina gave him a knowing look, almost apologetically.

Marek stood for long moments, hearing voices from within, but unable to make out what was said. His patience began to wear thin as this conversation continued to drag on. Finally he roared down to them "I will send for a servant girl if you need one? Perhaps a bath?", attempting to make his point.

Finally, they made their way out, Nastasia setting her eyes firmly on Marek.

~*~

They continued to fight on, cutting up the mountain. They twisted up its spine, making use of the wide path that gave them berth to maneuver, finally coming to its peak. Arriving to greet a terrible sight. Marek, shedding his form in the presence of this terror, calling upon one of his own...a weaker, lesser being.

The rest of the group pausing for only a moments time, meeting this new foe with unerring force. Hammer upon brimstone, will against will, chiv finding darkness.
The terror fell with a thunderous explosion of fire and smoke, giving singed skin and hair as a parting gift to the party, the final reward of a great and terrible deed.

~*~

They made their way down the mountain, coming to rest in the cave once more.

Marek having shed his protection of his previous form, now stood to face Salazar jokingly his spirits still high as the two made jest of the wards. Marek now "hiding" within it to save himself from the "dark and terrible Salazar".

Nastasia shot Marek a look of disdain, crossing her arms and staring at this spectacle.

"Wha's wrong darlin'? Can't a couple o' cutt'rs 'ave a bit o' fun?", Marek asked of Nastasia.

"Don't call me darlin'.", she spat back at him.

Marek appeared to be wounded by the new tone, looking upon her as if the words themselves had cut him deeper than any foe outside of the cave.

"Did...did I do somethin' to offend ya ma'am?", he asked.

"Don't play games with me. You lie and wear that boy like clothing, skin thief.", she hissed.

Marek simply replied, "Tools ma'am, nothin' but tools. Sometimes ya 'ave ta be findin' the lesser evil within, ta be dealin' with the greater evil on the out."

They continued to debate for a moment, heated words as Marek appeared to look dismayed.

He muttered finally, "A witch callin' fer a witch hunt...aint tha' funny."

From under his robes with his foot he drew a symbol in the dirt of the ward before stepping from it. His thoughts in the distance, despite his veneer of showing presence around them.

Like rats to the refuse of a dumping ground; each of us takes what was given freely, yet with guilty conscience as we fight others and steal away this treasure...

Each of us only finding later that it was mere waste.

[*Marek Ovilion]

Tear Open the Veil...

Of friendship; two questions are asked in the recesses of ones mind at all times...

Kelth, Catrina and Marek broke through winding their way through the Abyss, inviting themselves as unwelcome guests to each party they came across hosted by devils and demons. Each one crashed equally as well as the last until the festivities came to a momentary halt, and rest was needed before they might RSVP themselves into yet another dark fete.

They found themselves in the warded cave, familiar to them all. Giving solace to them from the turmoil that existed several paces away.

Catrina departed, assuring both she would be safe within the continuous moving shadows of the Abyss. The dance was difficult, but if any, she would surely perform the steps with ease.

As Kelth and Marek stood there, long moments passed until finally Marek broke the silence.

"Do you seek to join the Sensates?", the alternatively lucid voice etched across the hollows with blunt force upon Kelth.

"Why dae ye ask me this lad?", Kelth returned with guilty look, answering the question not in voice or tone, but in mere body language.

"I simply wish to know of your ongoing legacy you leave with every step brother. Would it have been prudent of me not to ask? I see the answer upon your face. Why then will your voice not give way to what your body has already told?", Marek offered gently as though the bonds of their friendship might break any shackles the beast of reservation had placed upon this subject.

They spoke at length on the subject, until finally a conversational segue was reached, where upon Marek revealed the truth to his asking.

Kelth stood, astonished at these new revelations of Marek, of a future to beset the world of those he touched. Of a beast lying in wait, not inside the boy could he be called that any longer, but around him. An oath taken by this apparent young man of many guises, wearing them well within his realm of choice. A madness that touched the world about, as Marek stood unscathed by it, yet inflicting it with a judicious yet unwilling hand. A choice to be made.

The glint of death upon his eyes as Marek looked over the chasm and simply uttered, "It is all I can do, but to hope that I choose the right path...if it is indeed my choice, you know I will stand with you brother.

Kelth spoke of his loves, his desires, and his very longings. He spoke of his past, and of his present. His bond to Marek, and the friendship that they would sew upon the very fabric of time. He gave an oath of his own; one that gave new hope to a haggard performer ready to take his final curtain call.

As the final piece of the formula was reached. Marek finally drew a single symbol within the ward of the cave. He whispered the words carried along by a hot wind, "Fear of the anointed; blood not of betrayal. Crook finger pointed; tear open the veil."

"What is it ye're doin' then lad?", Kelth asked.

"Sealing away the past. Opening up the future. Thank you brother.", Marek smiled gently upon Kelth with a renewed vigor. A look of hope glinting within his jade eyes.

Kelth smiled upon the boy as Marek explained further, the conversation finally reaching its coda.

"Seek the Sensates brother.", Marek stated flatly, as if not request nor order. A simple testament to a known and made decision, already apparent within the brave warrior's mind, yet needing fruition.

Kelth returned the statement with a nod, "I believe yer right lad, thank ye.

They departed from the cave, side by side as they looked outward to a land of brimstone and fire. Both grinned widely as they drew back their arms from each others shoulders and onto the hilt of their blades. An orgy of blackened blood teeming with devil and demon alike played a tune both knew well. Their grins spoke of only one thing; it was time to crash another party.

Of friendship; two questions are asked in the recesses of ones mind at all times...

"Of what use am I to them? Of what use are they to me?"