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 Posted: Mon May 19, 2008 8:42 pm
 Welcome to the Knights of Internal Darkness faction.
In this faction there is no forgiveness, no rest and no mercy. When your in this group you are either at the top giving orders or at the bottom following orders. Failure to obey your commander will result in a very painful experience that your feeble mind could barely comprehend. We fight to the very end to destroy our foes that get in the way of our plans with every ounce of our power. Here are the guidelines to follow if you want to survive here....
Victory-This is the only way you will be acknowledged by others is proving your strength by defeating those in the ring. Losing may cost you dearly if their isn't a change by your 3rd try, so practice hard and be ready for what is to come in the battle. On the battlefield, we fight together to bring our foes to their knees with our great and terrible power. We no not the meaning of a loss and will continue to fight until we have no breath left in our bodies.
Authority-Showing your respect to the leader is a good thing to always remember if your in this group. As for the warriors in this place, you will treat them like your brothers and sisters and not look down upon them or get an unpleasant visit from me.
Loyalties-If there is any sign of a traitor among our faction, they are to be captured and brought to the leader for their rightful punishment. To turn your back to this faction member on the battlefield is to face death from all it's warriors so think about it before making an attempt to run, fly or just hide. One of us may just come by and kill you right on the battlefield if you are to attempt this.
Failure-Acknowledging your failure to me may just save you from punishment. I expect to see no cowardly acts in battle against the enemies to be encountered like saving your own hide. Refusing to follow your given orders results in a punishing torture befitting your failure. So don't come back until your task is complete unless you want to pay for it by the torture awaiting your return.
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Posted: Wed Jun 25, 2008 10:11 pm
"A new event has come into play that demands the dark knights attention. An event that could tip the balance of power in our scale. If your interested in taking ahold of this task, then please PM me so we can have a list by this friday."
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Posted: Mon Aug 18, 2008 9:56 pm
He walked slowly into the room in which the decree had been writen and noticed none to be found. He thought to himself how convinient for him but knew that this could easily become a matter of difficulty quite easily thus he decided to make haste along with keeping a variation of procaution as he walked forward. The Knight now stood in front of the decree and began to look it over, absorbing its teachingas with a slightly ill look upon his face. "So then...these are the teachings in which darkness follows. Under these teachings perhaps the scale of power may tip, I can only hope that my own are measuring the scales" Jin spoke to himself then slowly turned to leave as he looked over the room.
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Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2008 5:47 pm
He seemed to seep through the shadows as he walked towards towards the decree. "Hmmmm" He thought to himself as he looked it over then folded his arms. "Victory I have tasted.....Loyalty I have granted....Failure is what I have yet to gain but it seems authority will not be for me to have in this life"
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Posted: Thu Feb 04, 2010 3:33 am
She was no knight, and even she was painfully aware of that. She had only stumbled onto such a position by chance. She was not strong, not by her standards, and more than anything, her childish face and almost awkward height brought her to the foreground of ridiculing eyes. Silver and gold threads glittered against the dark, heavy fabrics of her garb to outline a shy, needlessly feminine creature. A bird of paradise among jackdaws, if one must say. She didn't look like she could fight... not with that dress, at least. Her feet didn't show when she walked at her snail-slow speed.
... And not with hair so long it fell to her knees and calves shamelessly. An enemy always grabbed hair. the fact hers stayed so long and neatly trimmed was either a sign of her apalling lack of field experience or testament to her inner monstrosity... proof of her prowess. However, favor leaned away from her. From her face alone, she did not seem someone who could stomach war. Blood-amber eyes, hidden behind her silver lashes almost 80% of the time, seemed to afraid of even people.
Her slender fingers were long, delicate, and bony-thin. They looked like pale twigs, easily snapped. However, if someone were to go up to her and shake her hand, they would find the weight of her sleeves heavier than armor. She would not return a strong grip -- it was not her nature to be so amiable and full of camaraderie -- but perhaps they might think differently about her strength.
There is a saying in a far away land that stated thus: "Beware of the women of the Noble Class, for all they touch are both beautiful and deadly."
The butterfly robes that trademarked her weighed over 160 lbs.
She carried that burden effortlessly from one end of the chamber to another. No weapon could be seen on her person though glittering bangles and chains of golden crescents and garnets rained from lace and silk to spill down her body. A most curious insignia was pinned against her hair... an almost kite-like thing centering a single, large garnet. A demonologist/cryptologist... or even an avid maniac of the subjects... would be able to discern the blatant sign -- Asmodeus' Fang.
As she ran her fingers through her french-gray hair, a half-circle of chainlinks concluded her origin assuredly. It was tattooed upon her red, either end of the chains attached to her shoulder blades. A keyhole was tattooed against her spine. She was a Servant of Wrath, a wraith... a precious and rare product of necromancy -- an exquisite undead in service to whoever held the key that identified the magical signature of her keyhole tattoo.
Oddly enough, few Servants of Wrath would wear a scribe's bandoleer. Seven ornate calligraphy brushes over varied sizes sat comfortably in a neat row against her left. Each had a shaft of sleek, ebony wood with iron core. Each bore gold caps and ferrules. Each had fine hairs.
Human baby down brushes.
With each step she took, the less condescension she felt around her. Did they have their closer look? She would much prefer that they kept their eyes off of her. She, who was originally a Servant of Lust, had a particularly well-constructed face and figure that was kept upon her modification. There was no way to discern her, physically, from a human without ripping out her organs for a closer look. Was so she fascinating to males?
It wasn't her place to like or dislike. Despite that she reminded herself that often, having a mind of her own made it particularly difficult to keep to the place of a proper Servant. She could only bear the feeling of eyes against her skin and be grateful that she was no longer a Servant of Lust. They were often destroyed so easily and so painfully... she reasoned that a fight for her life with her own strength was a far better way to live.
Or die.
Victory, it said. It seemed that dying, perhaps, would not always be an option here. Her eyes ran along the inscribed texts that decreed her future without deviation. Deviation of the future or deviation of her eyes? It could only be neither.
Obeying authority was a given. She was no leader... she was but a Servant. Her purpose for existence was to play the pawn. Within her lay not an ounce of leadership.
As for loyalty... The key to her keyhole had been lost with the death of her former Master. When the Dollmaker repossessed her and modified her for combat, he created a new key for her and sent it to the highest bidder. The person possessing her current key was among the members. She did not know yet who that person was but it was her obligation to obey that person. Painful, and maybe fatal, consequences awaited a disobedient Servant.
Failure.
Her gaze lingered there for a long time as she pondered its meaning. She had yet to taste failure... or as a wraith of her former Master, failure meant deconstruction. She had outlived that Master. Times change, she understood... so if she had her first taste of failure, would that change her as well? Would she see the world differently? Would she have no chance to experience any change for she would be deconstructed immediately?
Unlike humans, wraiths are able to pursue the concept of 'Perfection' in some way, shape, or form. For that reason, they are less easily forgiven. They, who are Servants, are disposable toys. 'Perfection' existed as long as she was allowed to live.
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