==========
0.2
==========
As you died and felt your soul shunted into a humanoid-container of some sort — an armor you soon realized — you felt a reserve of energy spring forth from the core of your soul. You knew not what it did or how to control it but instinct came to you naturally.
As your soul became both imprisoned and empowered into the suit-of-armor, you felt the growing limitations placed upon you. It was utterly stifling. Before the ritual was completed, you kneaded purpose into the mystical energy and loosen some of your restraints that confined you.
You could feel the thousands of lines of broken-souls connected to your own; minions to your will. But the state of your soul was barely better than theirs. Though they were yours to command, you were but a puppeteer leading puppets with strings. That will not do. You strengthened the ethereal-solidity of soul, while exerting further dominance over your weaker-willed minions. Though you were not their master, they became more responsive to your being as they succumbed to your command.
The armor once had an owner, who had shed blood and sweat that belonged to both themselves and others, staining the suit with their hard-earned experience. Like many spiritual existence, the essence of what could be called the 'soul' still remained within this armor. As your soul fused with the armor, the remnant memories contained within became your own; the armor, which had felt alien and strange, became more familiar and comforting.
Once an armor had left the hot forge, it was never meant to be as flexible as it once was, for armor of the heavy-kind were especially created to be hardened and sturdy. That felt impractical and you wanted something more malleable. You were somehow able to shift the meta-physical paradigm of the armor, allowing the suit to become more than it once was — not entirely like a living organism but a method of advancing nonetheless. Not an immediate change but one that required further progress to develop.
More energy surfaced from your core but were immediately dimmed by the ritual's completion.
==========
"I have a feeling..."
You awoke in a body not of your own with memories vague and distorted. You died, that was for certain, but the circumstances and events were as hazy as an obscuring fog.
"...That's you're going to be very special..."
Before you was the Necromancer, your killer and now master, with an unknown smile upon her face. Emerald-charged eyes examined your state and she seemed pleased with what she saw.
"...Won't you die for me..."
If there was one color that could be attributed to her then that color would be Black. Her wardrobe nearly nothing but black, blending in with the dark so well that it could practically melt out of sight, were it not for the peeks of her tantalizingly pale flesh that broke-up the singularity into monotony.
"...And become mines?"
She tilted her head, a finger to her lips, as she hummed in consideration, "I've decided," she spoke in a cheery and eager voice, "Your name shall be..."
[ ]
Shadowblade Accelerator
[ ]
Moonlight Zero
[ ]
Nightfall Silence
[ ]
Write-In
Nodding to herself, pleased with the name given to you, she ordered her undead troops to move along. You could not disobey as you followed after her; the vaguely familiar village — that showed signs of pillaging of destruction — was soon left behind, utterly empty of corpses and as quiet as the dead.
and know how to fight a little more fluidly. Thank the previous owners for all the hard-work, sweat, tears, and blood that have been shed! Especially the blood. (-1 RP)
Can we have a real name or do we have to sound like a pony?
