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#12385008 May 17, 2016 at 12:41 AM · Edited over 3 years ago
592 Posts
Many of the professions that our characters have call for tough choices with lasting consequences. Adventurers especially have to kill for food, for protection, or for a bounty. Accidents can also be an occurrence with repercussions.

Has your character ever directly or indirectly caused the death of another living being? Was the creature they killed sentient or not? Did they have a reason for killing, or how did they rationalize it? Were they affected by killing another living being or no?

What situations would lead your character to kill another, and would they regret it?
#12401226 May 22, 2016 at 08:01 PM · Edited over 3 years ago
"Good Enough"
25 Posts
Azrexil sighs and closes his heavy tome, letting it fall to his side, the chain attached to it clanging loudly. His out stretched hand glows a sickly green, thick black smoke coils up from his palm.

A massive felguard stands slightly behind him, blood on its axe. An imp sits on his shoulder, smoke rising from its clawed hands. A succubus leans against the smoldering ruin of a building, her whip cracking playfully. An imposing voidwalker stands protectively in front of him, tendrils of light being absorbed into its being.

But Azrexil's focus is on his felhunter. His felhunter, far out infront of his pack, blood on its claws and fangs. Barely a scratch on it as it stands over its prey. It's magic seeking tentacles firmly attached to its helpless victim.

"Most mages die instantly. You held on longer than I thought you would, but then again, you always were the more powerful mage." Azrexil calls back his pet and banishes his menagerie back to the twisting nether. "You spoke so often of 'showing me up' and proving you were my better every chance you got. What say you now?"

He walks over to the dead mage, the husk of their body shriveled and sapped. "Pathetic. I do regret having to do this, but we both knew it would come to this. After all, our father only ever did notice one of us."

As Azrexil walks away from the body of his sister, a small and twisted smile creeps onto his face, "Well, that was much easier than I thought." He looks down at his shadow and the smile fades.
#12425260 May 31, 2016 at 04:16 PM
15 Posts
This was something I wrote awhile back to give some backstory for Deneroki Tunuroki, my Lalafellin Black Mage from FFXIV. I think it fits well, despite not being WoW related. The story is called "Manipulations".))

"There are others like us, Deneroki," he could recall his master saying, the elder lalafell's expression no less stern than usual. He took several long seconds to stare at Deneroki, a child then, before replacing the hat on his head; a wide-brimmed, black conal hat with a mask attached that, when paired with the high collar of his robes, obscured all but a single gleaming eye. He turned his gaze to the sunset, and even without being able to see it, Deneroki could tell that Zozorona's stern expression had faded into a softer, perhaps even tired, stare. Deneroki shuffled silently toward his teacher and adoptive father, head bowed as he waited for the rest of this particular lesson. It was one that he had heard many times before, when Deneroki had finished his other lessons early, or Zozorona was willing to speak during meals. Today was different, though. Before his lesson had even begun, Zozorona simply stated "we are going for a walk", nodded, and left. During their walk out into the desert, Deneroki could not help but notice that his teacher moved like someone sentenced to death, and knew full well of their guilt. Zozorona would occasionally glance back toward Deneroki, nod as if to confirm that he was still present, then continue on, his gaze placed somewhere beyond the shimmering sands of Thanalan.

"There are others like us, Deneroki." This time it was stated with more purpose, Zozorona's voice tinged with what almost sounded like anger. "Others who seek power, who possess power like that which you will." Deneroki could feel his chest tighten, the thought of others like his master both exciting and terrifying. "How many others?" he asked without thinking, and shrunk back as Zozorona turned to face him, silencing the younger lalafell with hardly a glance. "They are not powerful for any reason other than their lust for it, which makes those successful unpredictable, and very dangerous to cross." He paused for a moment, his small frame rising and falling in a sigh. "Very few are left, but more than I would assume." Deneroki could feel his face fall into a frown, a similar expression to the one his master now wore, judging by the now-visible brown eyebrow peeking out from under his mask. "The reasons I instruct you in the Black Art are many, Deneroki Tunuroki; most for selfish reasons that I would be shamed to speak aloud, but at least one I can state now: to prepare you for whatever the future may hold." The elder lalafell chuckled, a light, happy sound that Deneroki had only heard once before. "It's time to open your eyes."

The explosion had been much smaller than anticipated, though that meant little given the crater that had been created a handful of yalms from where Deneroki had been thrown. He opened his eyes with a start and scrambled to his feet, his ears ringing and footing feeling off no matter how he shifted his weight. The evening La Noscean sun in his eyes told him that he had lost his hat and a quick scan found it a fulm away, part of the brim torn and the mask connected hanging by a thread. He struggled to gain control of his breathing, feeling himself drawing aether from his surroundings effortlessly, but with minimal control. Finally, as the world began to settle back into place, he realized that he still possessed his staff, gripping it tightly in both hands; the force of the explosion or him impacting the ground had chipped the top off of one of the horns that curled around the orb set into the head of the weapon.
"I have no idea how you avoided that, but bravo, Denny."
The voice caused him to jump and pull his staff close to his chest as he rotated to face the source: a hyur man, Midlander, with tan skin and blonde hair, and a scar running down the left side of his faintly-grinning face. "Rethan," Deneroki said as loud as his shaking voice allowed, "I don't want to fight. Please." He could feel the tightness in his chest as he spoke, then the tears beginning to well up in his eyes as the Hyur laughed. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Power isn't something one simply stumbles across, Denny." Each time Rethan called him by his nickname, Deneroki could feel the trust he placed in this man used against him, striking him in the chest like hammer blows. "When one of us attains it, competition is only natural, right?" Rethan stepped forward as he spoke, amethyst wisps of aether coalescing around the focus on his staff. Deneroki's lower lip began to quaver despite the voice in his head that screamed at him to prepare for what was to come. "We don't have to fight. Please, Rethan... please let me go and I'll disappear. You won't have to--" his plea was cut short by a spell cast, a bolt of lightning bursting forth from Rethan's staff and barely missing Deneroki, the forks gouging lines into the soil around him. The midlander grunted and began preparing another spell, this one drawing swirls of bright orange aether to his staff. "I dont want you to just disappear." Deneroki managed to grasp the aether in and around him, his mind racing for a solution. "I don't want there to be others like you, half-learning the Black Art and traipsing about like fools, making us appear weak." Realization dawned upon him as Rethan took a single step forward. "I refuse to allow you and others like you to exist!" He threw the head of his staff forward, hurling a malm-wide fireball directly at his target as Deneroki raised his own staff and braced for impact.

"What I don't understand," he could hear Rethan saying as the smoke cleared around the dome of aether Deneroki had surrounded himself with to deflect the blast, "is that you speak of giving up, yet defend yourself against my attacks. You are confused, my friend. I'm just trying to help you make a decision." Deneroki maintained the aetheric barrier, large grey eyes locked on the shimmering image of the hyur that he had not so long ago considered a friend. Whatever the future may hold. Zozorona's words echoed in his mind, followed closely by a wave of equal parts dread and determination. Another, smaller blast of fire impacted the barrier, charring the earth around him. Rethan began walking forward, casting his staff toward the barrier and throwing a volley of aetheric fire in what was a futile attempt to weaken it. Deneroki could feel the flow of aether channel through his body, drawing from the immense stores within the earth as effortlessly as breathing. The dread washed away along the current of energy, along with Rethan's words, the hurt, and his own fear. "Thank you Rethan," Deneroki said, his voice no longer strained. The hyur ceased his assault, now only a few small fulms away, but never lowered his staff. Before he could respond, Deneroki's eyes narrowed. "Thank you for helping me make a decision." As soon as the words left his mouth, the barrier dropped and the lalafell disappeared in a puff of white energy.

Aetheric Manipulation, his master had called it. Something only the more willful practitioners of the Black Art were taught, as it was found to be exceedingly easy to lose one's self within the raging river of aether that the caster set themselves upon to facilitate transportation. Deneroki had learned to wield it some time ago, though had only truly experimented with it during a short period of incarceration in Ul'dah wherein he found himself accused of practicing forbidden magic. He was acquitted shortly after. He had transported himself behind a large rock several yalms away from Rethan, though less to hide than to provide enough cover to safely charge a single spell. "Why are you running now? I can sense you, Denny. No matter where you go, I will find you. You squander your gift, and such a mistake must be corrected." Rethan approached the boulder, casting spell after spell at the rock that, bit by bit, began to whittle away at the face. Blasts of fire splashed against the rock, followed by bolts of aetheric lightning that cut grooves into the charred surface, sizzling the air around Deneroki and making the hair on his neck rise. He knew when to strike, and had already finished gathering the necessary aether for this particular spell, waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

He did not have to wait long. Soon after, Rethan's spells ceased and he narrowed his eyes, watching the blasted rock face for signs of motion. "I know you're scared, Denny, but you're a Black Mage. Act like one. If I were in your--" he stopped as Deneroki rounded the side of the boulder, the head of his staff humming loudly with a tightly-packed orb of multi-colored energy. As Deneroki had expected, Rethan was entirely unprepared, even having lowered his staff slightly, and was only able to widen his eyes and cry out desperately as Deneroki cast his staff forward, transferring the energy to a point directly above Rethan which detonated instantly, expanding into a massive orb of completely unhindered elemental aether that engulfed the hyur and everything around him for yalms on each side. Deneroki shielded his eyes against the blast, waves of energy washing over him and bringing with them a terrible sinking feeling. Shortly after, the energy had dispersed and he was left facing a blackened crater where Rethan once stood, alone save for the cool coastal breeze that ruffled his blue-gray hair and the distant cry of ocean-dwelling cloudkin. The tears began before he was aware enough to stop them.

"Why did you make me do that?" He asked the crater, dropping his staff and feeling his lower lip quaver again. "We were supposed to be friends! Friends don't hurt each other and you made me kill you!" The last words left his mouth in a hard sob, which quickly deteriorated into loud bawling that made his knees weak and his stomach hurt. He dropped to the ground, his back to the rock and his knees pulled tight against his chest; he cried until the sun began to set and exhaustion carried him mercifully to sleep, where he dreamed of a world where he was safe, and warm, and surrounded by friends. And he didn't have to kill any of them.
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