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Author Topic: Jorumn Fargazer (Epic Battle)  (Read 3013 times)

Offline Archdemon Stu

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Jorumn Fargazer (Epic Battle)
« on: May 20, 2011, 11:27:25 PM »
Alright, I think it's finished.  Let me know if I missed anything. XD

Jorumn Fargazer
The Madman, The Defiler

Battle:  Epic
Race:  Human
Age:  24
Origin:  Planet Lorian, City of Abdeel


Jorumn stands at a fair height of 6'1", but weighs only 150lbs.  His skin is pale where it isn't scarred, but it can sometimes be hard to tell past his bandages.  Nearly his entire body is covered in bandages, except his fingers, his eyes, his mouth, and messy patches of his golden blond hair.  They are wrapped sloppily, and sometimes reveal a slight image of his scarred flesh from numerous experiments utilizing his own body as a conduit for intense magical energies; these experiments are likely the cause of his somewhat raspy voice as well.  He has slightly long blond hair, some strands (mostly in front) reach slightly past his chin.  His eyes are, typically, a deep shade of blue.  While in his spell casting state, the energy flowing through his body illuminates his eyes brightly as it courses within him.

He wears a dark blue baggy coat that drapes to his ankles.  The robe's edges are lined with black feathers from ravens, the largest feathers being around the collar of the coat.  Underneath it, he wears a typical white sleeveless tunic, and baggy black pants that are tightened around the lower half of his shins by leather binding.  He wears dress shoes that seem to stand out from the rest of his sloppy outfit, accenting his already mad appearance.  A mysterious-- but simple-- pendant adorns his neck.


Almost always cheerful (even in somewhat inappropriate situations), Jorumn typically keeps a wide grin on his face.  He enjoys a good laugh (raspy cackle), and is very laid back and/or calm in most situations.  While he is a good, caring person in nature, it's sometimes difficult to see on the surface.  He's a man who believes that the end justifies the means, and his way of doing "good" is often times controversial, but typically effective.  Consequences mean little to him, and he tends to care little about his physical health, as long as he overcomes his obstacles and experiments in order to achieve immortality (ironically).  While his chase for immortality seems madness and greed driven, it is for the sole purpose of extending his lifespan enough to defeat those that oppress the people he seeks to protect.  After all, a mortal's life span is nowhere near long enough to learn the magics hidden throughout the realms.



While Jorumn has mastered both basic and elemental magics, making him capable of bending fire, water, wind and earth to his will... he almost always will select lightning over any other spell.  It is instant, destructive, and above all, effective.  Those close to him that know of his past, however, suspect it may be his way of facing his ghosts of the past.  The very thing that destroyed his home... is his favorite weapon.


Jorumn's foster father, considered one of the most powerful wizards to ever live created a spell called "Bliss."  The caster of Bliss can make the target of the spell unnoticeable to the senses.  The target remains visible in every way, but it surrounds them with an enchantment that hazes the mind of anyone who sees them.  It's something akin to a crowd of people walking in the streets.  Somebody might see another person, but pay them no heed or not even acknowledge they exist since they have nothing to do with them.  This can be cast on objects, people, and can be turned into a ritual in order to generate enough power to enchant large objects or creatures with this haze.  However, if somebody is looking specifically for the person or item that Bliss is cast on, the spell is ineffective on them.  In order for the spell to be counteracted in this manner however, one must first already have seen what they are looking for prior to the spell being cast upon it.  Contact of any sort will also cancel the effects of Bliss.

The first lesson Jorumn remembers hearing from his foster father regarding this spell was: "It may not turn mountains to craters, or men to rodents, but you will understand one day... it may be the most powerful spell in your arsenal."


Jorumn, through extensive experimentation on his own being, has discovered a way to rid himself of casting delays for small spells (lightning bolts, fireballs, hail storms), and greatly reduce the time required for larger spells (rituals, raising the dead on a large scale), as well as increasing destructive power.  Spell casters of his realm utilize magic by gathering energy at an outside focus point:  a staff, a wand, a sword, or if they're particularly advanced, their fingertips.  Jorumn cuts out the middle man of spell casting by imbuing his own body with magic, turning his self into a conduit of destruction.  Upon becoming a conduit, a shock wave throws anyone standing near him (friend or foe) away from him with a jolt of force (unless they happen to be particularly heavy).  As a conduit, attacks of magical nature can be easily absorbed and dispersed with little effort (i.e. a fireball of magical nature thrown at him, but not an outside fire that was an indirect cause of said fireball).  If he absorbs more than he can disperse however, it is dangerous to his body.  Doing this will cause a fever and nausea, and if pushed farther, Jorumn's flesh will begin to burn.  Anything past that will likely cause internal burns, and kill him.

Many witch hunters and pawns of the inquisition have tried to end Jorumn's reign as The Defiler, relying on their speed or stealth to destroy him-- giving him but a single moment to react-- as they did with their other prey.  With this spell, they never stood a fleeting chance.  Their blades could never travel faster than a thought.


The source of Jorumn's vast knowledge, and what truly makes him so terrifying as a wizard.  After reuniting his self with The Grand Archive, the library from which his master credited his knowledge to, the young wizard knew from just looking at it that one man could never possibly obtain all the knowledge within alone.  He would need some... "assistance."  While his experiments in the past to place his soul into an inanimate body to make himself immortal had shown too much risk--even for Jorumn-- it did give some insight on another spell completely.  The young mage found a way to share his very flow of thoughts with puppets:  inanimate objects that resemble human form, and can constantly relay info telepathically between the puppets and the master body.  One cohesive mind that was not limited by a single host.  Typically, Jorumn won't create more than a handful, as the stress on the mind is overbearing if the power is abused.


While inexperienced spell casters can use rituals to achieve specific means, Jorumn knows the formulas that make up these spells, allowing him to create a ritual to amplify any spell's power to colossal proportions.  While it takes time proportional to the size of the spell, Jorumn can cast Conduit at any time during the ritual to exponentially increase its progress, and do so further by first using Ventriloquism.  The fatal flaw to this is that Jorumn must be standing still in order to case a ritual.


Despite the protests of his mentor, Jorumn studied into necromancy.  This particular art comes easily to Jorumn's ethically barren mind.  His attitude toward raising dead bodies is simply, "Well, they're not using it!" Given an appropriate amount of bodies, he can raise an army of undead thralls quickly.  He can also take many bodies to create a single, powerful abomination.  Should Jorumn overuse these spells, his skin will begin to peel and rot.  Should he take further still, he will become undead himself, an alternative for immortality that he considers a "last resort."


Jorumn was once a street urchin that had to steal to survive, and to survive in the Holy City of Veresaad's slums, one needed to have a few tricks up his sleeve.  His trouble-making habits never did fully fade from him, and he even influenced his friend Sethir into such feats.  Jumping from building to building, scaling scaffolding, swinging from clotheslines... they did it all to avoid the city's inquisition.  Now, after Jorumn's magical experiments on his own being, his body has been given unusual strength.  While he doesn't typically apply it in combat, he is extremely agile, and uses these abilities to escape should he become unable to fight with magic for one reason or another.


Carrion Robe - A dark blue robe made of the finest materials available on Jorumn's home world, adorned with long black feathers.  It was once used by his foster father to train Jorumn's mind to differentiate between reality and illusion, and to build his mental strength in the hopes he would stay sane through all terrors a wizard might encounter.  However, he never anticipated that it would become Jorumn's favorite piece of clothing.  Upon touching it (by blade or otherwise)--and for some weaker minds, being near it-- one will have hallucinations of being torn apart bit by bit by hundreds of twisted black birds.  Though, in most casual settings, he has learned to stifle its terrible power so that lesser men and children are not driven to madness in his presence.  However, this control over the robe's powers goes both ways... he may also feed power into it.

There are many mysteries as to where the robe came from, but one thing is certain... untapped power lies within.

Nostalgia - The night before the Destruction of Abdeel, this pendant was given to Jorumn.  Its enchantment allows the user to gaze back through their own memories as if they were there once again, and relive the emotions they did in that time.  His foster father warned him, "To overindulge in it may be more dangerous than even the Carrion Robe." yet, he was insistent that Jorumn keep it with him always, his reasoning unknown.


The massive Bliss enchantment had been let down three days ago, and it seemed Jorumn had drawn outside attention for the first time in over a year.  Clouds above the ruined city of Abdeel twisted and churned unnaturally, the thunder clapping loud enough to shake the highest spire in the castle, where Jorumn Fargazer was preparing the ritual he knew may be his last. The circular room was dark, save the markings that illuminated the ground with an ominous blue hue.  Various books and trinkets and cloths were scattered about messily, and three staffs were standing upright in a triangle around the young sorcerer.  It had been silent for hours as he looked out the window at the oncoming storm.  He looked on, wondering when the last time was that he'd seen a storm of this magnitude... one that wasn't his own doing.  The silence broke.

"Jorumn!" a female voice cried out.  It was the voice of Ferana Illmaw; a powerful druid of pure forest elf descent, a beautiful woman, and a close comrade of Jorumn’s.  She was angry.  "What have you done?!  Where is your mind?!  Where are your ethics?!"
He chuckled. "...Ethics?" he answered with a smirk.
"You think this is a joke?!" she slapped him, the sound echoing lightly in the small room.  Her eyes welled up with tears.  Jorumn's smirk ceased.

"Stop it, Ferana." another familiar voice chimed in.  "I'll talk to him." Sethir Skybrand, Jorumn's longest standing and closest friend was in the doorway, aiming an arrow at Jorumn's skull.
"But look at all he's-"
"Ferana.  Get out." he interrupted.  The druid had never heard Sethir so serious.  She obeyed, and left the old friends alone.

Jorumn turned toward his best friend.  "Sethir... if only Bliss could have prevented you from seeing this.  How long has it been?"
"Jorumn, why are you doing this?" the string on Sethir's bow tightened as his arm drew back further.
"I will let the citizens of this city rest soon my friend.  I swear it." his reply rung true to Sethir, but the bow remained cocked.
"You're dodging the question.  Answer me."
"I believe I asked a question first."
"Over a year.  Your turn."
"A whole year already?  My, does time fly!" an arrow flew by Jorumn, grazing his temple, leaving a scratch so light that it barely bled, and burying itself between the bricks in the wall.  A shot only Sethir could manage.
"Answer the question Jorumn.  Why are you doing this?  I've seen many driven mad by the magics you toy with, and so have you.  Tell me you are not among them!" another arrow was cocked and ready.
"...Nostalgic, isn't it?  The roaring thunder, the dark clouds above... it's just like back then, when he destroyed this beautiful city." to this, Sethir said nothing.  Jorumn continued, "I've done some research.  It wasn't just Abdeel, Sethir.  Any civilizations that begin to advance in technology... their cities are swallowed by a 'tempest,' and their written history all but vanishes." his friend's bow lowered, if only for a moment.  "I only needed their strength for a time.  To build... to prepare."
Sethir looked at him in realization. "The undead, the strange constructs, the large scale rituals... Jorumn... you're trying to provoke him, aren't you?"
Jorumn grinned.  "You know me too well."
"Jorumn, even if you defeat Azurigal, do you think Hassad will just- ugh!" the adventurer's words stopped short as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.  A suit of armor-- one of Jorumn's puppets-- stood behind Sethir, electricity fizzling out from its fingertips.  The puppet scooped him up under his left arm, the other arm already occupied by Ferana, also passed out.
"Hopefully, that's the last time I'll have to put you out in such a manner." Jorumn laughed quietly. "It was good to see you one more time...  you've slain many in the name of our vengeance." he smiled, "Allow me to handle the rest... old friend.  I hope to see you again... someday." having said his "good-bye," the mage began the ritual.  The armored puppet walked quickly down the flights of stairs surrounding the spire toward the cellar prison.  There, Ferana and Sethir would awaken shortly, and the twisting hidden passages below the castle would guide them to safety.

Markings on the brick floor beneath Jorumn shined brightly, and the room around him exploded violently outward, leaving him open to the elements of the unnatural storm.  The staffs that were once stationary were swirling around him slowly, and the trinkets on the ground began to hover, slowly taking shape along with the bits of cloth that once laid there.  They began to take human form, creating four more puppets.  They surrounded the mage, and facing outward, they began to concentrate on the ritual as well.

The clouds above began to split as the Bliss spell was released, and followed by a blinding light, claws peered out from the clouds, and shortly after, two massive and scaled arms.  The head of the creature pierced through the thick nimbus, powerful electricity running the length of its neck.  There was no doubt that this beast was the source of the storm.  Jorumn had successfully provoked the God of Storms, Azurigal; a blue dragon of massive proportions, more ancient than many of the existing races of Lorian.  His mystifying eyes were shining white, endlessly pouring the raw power of lightning from his sockets.  His form was elegant and graceful.  Slim horns adorned his crown, electricity jumping from one to another frantically.  More of his serpent-like body began to slowly reveal itself as his claws hovered weightlessly just above the outer city.  He was wingless, but his massive form floated easily as his tail swayed lightly through the air.

A voice echoed in Jorumn’s head, “You’ve gone too far this time, child.” The dragon’s voice was like that of an elderly wise man, a befitting representation being portrayed only by the thought processes of the serpent.
“Too far?  What can I do to Abdeel that you haven’t already?” Jorumn asked, spreading out his hands as if to signal the old wyrm to look upon the ruins.
“Until now, I have ignored your small victories against me, Fargazer.   I have stood by, and watched you slay my followers.  In years past, you and the Skybrand child had grown overly ambitious.  Your presence seemed to have vanished from the world, however, and Skybrand had his hands tied with Hassad’s cults. Now, you take advantage of my mercy, and in the name of vengeance, you defile the graves of those you once called your countrymen simply to raise a legion against me.  As I witness your sacrileges here… I feel have been merciful long enough.”
“Not to worry, dragon.  The dead sleep once again.” Jorumn said with a smile as the mindless thralls in the streets began to fall against the cobblestones, limp and lifeless.  Arcane symbols began to disappear from the ritual circle which the sorcerer stood over.
“It is far too late for forgiveness, child.” Azurigal’s maw opened for the first time as light poured out of from between his long teeth.
“You speak of forgiveness and mercy…” Jorumn began…

Azurigal’s mouth widened further, and a flash of light illuminated the dimmed skies.  From the maw of certain death came a thunderbolt of such magnitude, the bricks and stone of the castle were torn asunder with ease.  Moments later, the light ceased as the dragon god closed his colossal jaws, certain of the young wizard’s doom.

“…Such luxuries, I will not grant you.” The sorcerer cackled mockingly at the dragon god.  Jorumn and his puppets remained, standing on a previously hidden metal surface—etched with black runic markings.  Electric energy flowed vehemently through every inch of Jorumn’s being, which then branched out to his puppets, their eyes shining white with magical power.  The markings on the metal platform they stood upon began to glow a faint blue, and it started to rotate beneath them without Jorumn or the puppets rotating along with it.  As more dust cleared from the destruction, strange gears, cogs, wheels and pistons began to reveal themselves where the castle once was.  The barbed metal constructs the undead citizens were building began to shift and churn unnaturally, glowing with a similar shade of blue to the platform that the sorcerer stood on.  The wheels and cogs began to turn, hissing as they roared to life…

Azurigal’s eyes narrowed.  “I’m not certain how you survived, Fargazer, but if my breath will not end your blasphemy, then my claws shall.” The dragon god’s tail whipped across the sky, propelling him forward as his mighty arm tore through the sky toward the wizard’s ritual circle.

The God of Storms shrieked in pain. 

It was a cry that could be heard for acres, louder than the thundering storm.  The magical constructs had wrapped around the largest stones of the castle, forming what resembled a hand—larger than that of the dragon god’s.  The massive barbs on the metal constructs that wrapped around the stone “hand” pierced through Azurigal’s clutches, crushing the bones and forcing his gleaming ocean-blue blood out of his thick skin.  The magical markings shined brightly as the dragon god’s power over lightning was drained from him in order to fuel Jorumn’s machine.  The sounds of cogs turning and engines flaring to life began a constant hum, as the rest of the castle began to rise.

Jorumn laughed maniacally at the dragon’s screams.  “How does it feel, serpent?!  To be crushed by the very city you destroyed?!” he jeered victoriously.  The other hand rose even more swiftly than the first, loose bricks and rock scattering across the sky as it grabbed hold of Azurigal’s throat.  “I was so busy creating this that I suppose I never properly named it… what did you call it?  Blasphemy?” Jorumn chuckled, “I like it.  Blasphemy it is.”
The voice in Jorumn’s head seemed panicked now.  It seemed to cut in and out as the dragon would lose focus, attempting to fight off the barbed hand slowly crushing its throat with his spare claw.  “You know not… the events you are setting into place, Fargazer!  To protect mortal life… I did what I must to keep… the races of Lorian… from destroying each other...!” Azurigal lost his composure, “I am the God of Storms, protector of mortals!  I am your guardian!”

“You justify genocide with a noble cause, but I see it in your eyes now dragon.  I see the fear in your heart; the fear of mortals surpassing the gods of this world!”  Blasphemy continued to take a form more and more resembling a man, the spire at which Jorumn stood being the neck.  The hand which constrained Azurigal’s claw, pulled away violently, tearing scales and flesh from the appendage, rendering it useless and numb.  The serpent whipped its tail at Jorumn as it writhed in pain, only to meet Blasphemy’s shoulder— the buttresses of the former castle, wrapped in the barbed constructs.   The now-free hand of the moving castle clutched onto the dragon god’s sternum, and dug its digits through flesh and bone, steam and smoke roaring from the joints as the mage demanded more of his arcane machine.  More writhing and jerking came, the powerful tail of the God of Storms testing the constitution of the shoulder armor the mage had cleverly placed.  It began to crack as the dragon’s bloodied tail slammed into it, and his claw began to regenerate quickly.  The fingers moved deeper still into the serpent’s chest.   Stone and brick fell on the platform that the young wizard stood upon, one of his puppets being crushed.  The sorcerer had to put an end to this, and swiftly if he was to survive.  With a drawn out grunt, Jorumn wrenched back Blasphemy’s arm with all his magical focus, causing the puppets to fall lifeless, and tearing asunder the ribcage of the God of Storms, exposing his illuminated and still-beating heart.  Jorumn roared with laughter as Azurigal’s blood drenched the landscape below, “Now, dragon, tell me:  do I look like I need your protection?!”

The hand drove itself once again into the serpent’s chest, and with one final agonized shriek, Azurigal relayed one last message to Jorumn. 

“So this… is death…” there was a pause.  “What… have I done…?”

 The heart of the dragon god was finally pulled free of the chest cavity, as one final rain of blood fell to the ruined city of Abdeel.  Magical energies escaped Azurigal’s body as his eyes dimmed, and the once weightlessly flying dragon god fell to the earth.

Jorumn fell to his knees, and Blasphemy followed.  He laughed quietly to his self as he took it all in.  It was all so surreal, staring in awe at the lifeless body of Azurigal that lay below.  A massive weight was lifted from his shoulders, but it was not the fact that he had avenged his loved ones and neighbors.  It was not the feeling of defeating the very definition of his deep seeded fears.  There was a strange feeling of transcendence as the sun peered from between the clouds, and warmed his back.  He had shattered the chains that bind men; the stigma of mortals, unable to alter fate.  He knew now, as he already had done this day… he could change the course of worlds forever.

Having made up his mind to follow through with his original plans, he summoned his puppets, and started one more ritual— the dragon god’s heart in Blasphemy’s grasp. 

Hours passed, and the clouds cleared just as the sun had almost completely set.  A ritual circle was hastily drawn in dragon’s blood across the landscape, sparkling brightly still even as the sun went down.  Blasphemy’s arm was extended in front of it, with the heart of Azurigal emitting a strange aura.  The very spectrum of light began to distort and twist, Jorumn watching in fascination as the show began.  The resting site of a dead god seemed to be the perfect place to tear reality apart; perfect for opening The Warp.

Soon, the air began to reek of death.  Jorumn looked to the sky.  The clouds returned faster than they had dissipated, blacker than pitch.  Patches of sky shone through, but it was of an unusually red color for that of a sunset; the color of blood.  The grass and trees below began to burn, and the earth cracked as flame escaped the crags.  One would swear they could hear the faint screams of a thousand mortals beneath the charred earth; the screams of men, women, and children.

Whether Jorumn was sweating due to the heat, or mortal fear, even he wasn’t certain.  “I see you wasted no time.” He chuckled quietly himself.

The ground began to turn to molten lava, which then cascaded from a massive and twisted towering structure; it was the Archdemon's arm.  It clutched the ground, as it began to drag the rest of the massive body upward.  There were spire-like horns reaching toward the skies, then fiery eyes that burned with all the furies of the Hells, then infinite jagged teeth that looked at the very vision of death and chaos. There were wings... they were torn and nightmarish.  There were claws... they were long, sharp, and shredded through the rocks and trees on the ground as if it was raw flesh.  Finally, its tailed lashed across the landscape, whipping down the mountains unfortunate enough to come across its path.  Each and every one of its scales had the faces of those that had died at its hands.  This creature was known well throughout the world as the purest force of destruction.  It was Hassad, The Legion.

A "voice" entered Jorumn's head in a similar manner to Azurigal's... but it was far different.  It sounded as though thousands upon thousands of tormented souls were writhing in unison in order to make communicable sounds Jorumn would recognize as language. "Well done, wizard." the voices began to laugh. "Azurigal lies dead.  The balance of power for this world... gone, forever." the voices turned to a whisper. "How is it?  Revenge?  Is it as sweet as you dreamed?"

Jorumn paid him no heed, and focused on the ritual.  He had little time to spare, as Blasphemy was designed specifically to stand against electricity... not fire.  He had to hurry.

"Ah, The Warp." the dragon's maw cracked open, smiling with its countless teeth.  "So you anticipated my arrival, then?  While I am grateful for your work here..." the voices became erratic and chaotic, barely legible.  "I'm afraid now that you've shown your potential to slay the children of the Creator, I cannot allow you to escape so easily." A claw grabbed hold to the back of Blasphemy, the entire construct shaking from the impact.  The stones and brick began to turn red with heat. "Is this the fragile vessel you intended to sail The Warp with?"

The bending spectrum of light began to tear open to reveal The Warp, enough so that it could finally fit something as large as Blasphemy.  It was like nothing Jorumn had ever seen.  It was confusing to the senses.  There was no doubt that there were colors he could not sense, sounds he could not hear, and things about that were entirely outside of the senses of the human body about.  A lesser mind would break simply looking upon it. 

Jorumn chortled under his breath. "I warn you only once, dragon:  let me go now, and your life in this world will be much simpler upon my leave."
The voices roared with mocking laughter in Jorumn's head, and then ceased. "Good-bye, wizard." Hassad's grip on the colossal structure tightened...

Jorumn cackled maniacally.

The hands of Blasphemy crushed the heart of Azurigal, lightning coursing through the metal barbs adorning Blasphemy, sending intense lightning through Hassad's arm as the dragon screeched in pain as the faces in his body began to twist in agony.  Jorumn conjured his puppets once more, and the dragon god's blood circle that covered the landscape glowed more brightly than ever before as Jorumn focused on the ritual.  The Archdemon was stunned by the godly power of his former rival's heart, momentarily releasing Blasphemy from his grip.

Hassad snarled between his vicious teeth, "Such weak ploys will not save you, child."

"Not a fan, are we?  Perhaps the finale will keep you more... entertained." Jorumn replied snidely as the clouds began to swirl above, and the sound of thunder emanated from the sky.  Hassad looked to the storm... appalled.  The twisted form of a serpent was above, with his chest cavity wide open, revealing a bright light where its heart once was.  Jorumn had resurrected Azurigal, and bent the guardian's mind to his will.

"Hassad," the risen Azurigal glared at his adversary as he echoed his thoughts, "it would appear this child has given me one last opportunity to destroy you."

"...Impressive, hatchling." The voices were angered.  Hassad's maw opened.  It was as though the gates of the Hells had opened, and the fiery souls within were trying to escape through the infernal blaze.  Flames twirled as he began to exhale... but he was too slow to react.  The undead dragon god was already coiled about his body, and sunk his teeth into the legions of souls that made up Hassad's throat.  Fire and electricity began to tear the landscape apart further with reckless abandon.  Roars that shook trees from their roots took place as the dragons' claws tore each other apart, only to regenerate the gaping wounds moments later.

This was Jorumn's chance.  He ran forward with Blasphemy, and hoped the portal was large enough.  A stray lightning bolt tore off one of Blasphemy's arms, and the ground beneath the structure began to give way as the gods battled.  The puppets clung to Jorumn to prevent him from falling, and with one last leap...


The Legion's voices fell silent as Jorumn passed into The Warp.  The wizard collapsed to his knees, and his puppets fell limp and lifeless upon Blasphemy's highest platform.  Hassad's last cries of fury shook and exhausted the young mage's mind, and The Warp itself was even harder to take in.  Enchantments he'd placed on Blasphemy kept him physically protected in a small barrier atop the structure... but the rest of his creation began to slowly fall apart on a molecular level.  The protective enchantment was weakening, and Jorumn's consciousness began to wane...

The wizard fell to the floor, and quietly sailed the unreality that is The Warp, with only the slimmest hope of ever seeing his home world ever again....

Offline Cameron

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Re: Jorumn Fargazer
« Reply #1 on: May 25, 2011, 09:19:10 AM »
This character has been APPROVED for use in the Epic Battle.

Offline Cameron

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Re: Jorumn Fargazer
« Reply #2 on: September 30, 2016, 03:12:12 AM »
This character has been RETIRED from the Epic Battle storyline. This character can be reinstated at any time with Battle Master approval.