Post by Bixir on Dec 8, 2023 4:46:23 GMT
General Information
Full Name:
The Siege Perilous.
Codename or Alias:
The enigma known as the Siege Perilous is one of Otherworld’s greater mysteries. As a matter of fact, the Siege Perilous is but one of many monikers that has been attributed to it over the eons. Its “identity”, if such a thing has any meaning, is unclear even to Merlin. Contemporary accounts on Earth-832 most frequently refer to this entity as The Crucible, a title that it has seen fit to recognize.
Anonymity
The Crucible is a known legend within Avalon and greater Otherworld, a terrible specter that looms over all who aspire to greatness. In the mortal realm, he is little more than a forgotten tale, less remembered than the fleeting travails of Camelot and its sordid knights as something as abstract as the siblings Endless.
Gender:
Male pronouns.
Race:
Omniversal Entity.
Age:
Endless.
Place Of Birth:
Otherworld.
Occupation/Status:
The constant in this entity’s ethereal legend is that of pride and trial, for heroes, villains, and even the world itself. The Crucible is an enterprising force that comes to blows with whomever it may cross paths with, for reasons that it has never shared with anyone. More than that, the Crucible is an omniversal phenomenon, existing across every universe simultaneously. It is one of the only strangers capable of such a feat. It wanders throughout the realms - mundane, lost, even cosmic - fulfilling a duty that was set in place ere time itself: the duty of a Crucible.
Alignment:
Villain.
Factions:
Canon Or Original?:
Original.
Powers/Abilities:
Ethereal Might
The Crucible is defined by strength and sacrifice. As these cosmic aspects made manifest, he has staggering physical prowess and endurance that stands shoulder to shoulder with modern-day superhumans. Breaking through concrete is nothing to him, nor is hurling vehicles through the air or sending a human flying with a single punch. The Crucible does not possess the powers of flight, though he can exert his strength to leap great distances.
Endlessness
The Crucible is not a proper Endless, though he shares many of their characteristics. He does not age, and will continue to exist in one form or another for as long as his embodiment - that of triumph and defeat - exists in the hearts of mortals across the multiverse. He is not a living thing, and as such does not require oxygen nor sustenance to function. He cannot tire, either, as he does not experience fatigue as most living creatures do. He may even walk on water, a twisted imitation of one of the legends that most closely resembled his being. However, the physical form of the Crucible may be destroyed, at which point he must retreat to Otherworld to recompose himself, a process that can take as little as days or as long as centuries, depending on the severity of his wounds.
Unto the Abyss
The nature of the Crucible is not something readily faced, no matter how noble or vicious you may be. To confront the Crucible for prolonged periods, multiple times, is to gaze into the abyss of one’s soul, so tied is this entity to conflict and strife. Unrestrained exposure to the Crucible may eventually induce hallucinogenic episodes involving their greatest fears and doubts. These episodes intensify with increased frequency of exposure to the Crucible, which can ultimately lead to insanity and the death of the mind. The Crucible is careful to avoid exuding this effect recklessly (or at all), as he has no interest in doing battle with enfeebled wills.
The Perilous Trial
This specter is called the Crucible for good reason. When the Crucible has imprinted his intent upon a target, he may invoke the ancient rite of battle: a one-on-one duel, on terms dictated by the subject. No force in the multiverse can undo the decree once it has been spoken, and especially not once the challenge has been accepted. The terms are eternally binding, as are the consequences if the Crucible is not defeated. Death is the least of one’s concerns when staring into the abyss - and failing to meet it.
Weapons/Items:
The Midnight Blade
Otherworld is a realm done and undone by its swords. The Midnight Blade is one such weapon, more foul than it is fair. The Midnight Blade is a massive weapon, one that ought to be wielded with two hands; given the Crucible’s strength, however, he may use it with only one hand if he so chooses. Its metal is made from an unknown cosmic alloy, strong enough to cross blows with Uru and Nth Metal with nary a scratch. Unlike Arondight and Excalibur, it has no sister blade, nor is its origin known. The Midnight Blade is an orphaned soul, forged in the same mystery that created its sole bearer. The Midnight Blade is tied intrinsically to the Crucible, and it may not be separated from him. While the Crucible may temporarily lose his weapon through battle or trickery, it will inevitably return to the Crucible’s hand by any means necessary.
Appearance
Image:
Physical Appearance:
In its original state, the Crucible is a formless void, endlessly shifting and twisting in whatever space it deems fit to occupy. As a being of ethereal mist, it is exceedingly difficult to define, though that in itself is often enough to mark it as something one would do well to avoid.
The Crucible’s sapient form is that of a tall humanoid figure, with dark skin and toned physique. His eyes are dark, stern pools, ostensibly appearing as a human male. His hair is cut short and tight to his scalp, including a finely trimmed beard. In all, the human appearance of the Crucible is a striking man - for those who live to see it.
Clothing and Armor:
Rare is it that the Crucible takes a form without his iconic armor, though it may happen from time to time. He dresses no less impressively or practically, often sporting a regal doublet that, while not exceedingly regal, belies a station of a similar manner so as to leave no room to misunderstand the persona that he is presenting. A tunic, leggings, even boots, all of the same caliber, complete the Crucible’s mortal guise. Question to this figure’s sense of pomp is dismissed further by the ornate - if simple - crown that fits snugly about his head. If there is any intent to the design of this clothing, it is mere happenstance… mostly.
The Crucible’s ideal form is knightly armor come alive, enveloped in purples, golds, and blacks. Though it appears traditional, it is not made thus - the armor is donned magically, instantaneously manifesting over the Crucible’s form. Once “donned”, the armor cannot be removed, even by force. The armor may only be forcibly removed if it is somehow destroyed, though such a feat is extraordinary. The armor is made of Otherworld metals forged in cosmic errata, akin to mythic uru. It is impervious to assailment, not only physically, but magically as well. The armor of the Crucible is an Otherworld wonder, known only to the Crucible himself.
Personality
Sexual Orientation:
Asexual
General Personality:
The Crucible is as inscrutable as they come. He is an enigma given form, seldom capable of understanding human behavior, let alone mimicking it. The Crucible may possess the capacity for emotional and social intelligence, though it is easy to discern that such things hold no value to him. He is an entity driven by his purpose and little else, sworn solely to the fateful abstraction that gave him existence in the first place. The Crucible does not necessarily subscribe to conventional morality, though the fact that he will cut down people with no remorse or hesitation speaks to a ruthless spirit.
At best, the Crucible speaks cryptically. He embodies the Arthurian roots of Otherworld to an extreme, from framing his intent through riddles to speaking with an antiquated dialect. A straight answer from the Crucible is rare, as is offering his aid without due recompense. He cares not for material things, however. Instead, his interests are feylike, preferring instead to barter with secrets and promises often unclear to others. When the Crucible is acting in a straightforward manner, it is an indication that he has no further need to lead others towards the path that he wishes them to walk upon. More than anything, the Siege Perilous is an agent of Destiny.
Face/Voice:
Denzel Washington
Anything Else
Gallery
Character's History
Siblings:
N/A.
Mother:
Otherworld.
Father:
N/A.
Other Family:
As a creation of Otherworld, the Crucible is intrinsically bound to Opal Luna Saturnyne. However, unlike the rest of Otherworld’s residents, he is strangely immune to Her omniversal influence.
History:
The Siege Perilous is an omniversal concept, strained through countless interpretations and manifestations. While the preeminent iteration of it is known to Arthurian scholars, it goes deeper, stranger than that curious tale. And yet, it is from that very string of tales in Britain’s imagined history that this “Siege Perilous” most closely resembles. The knights’ table at Camelot was legendary for as many reasons as there were men seated at it, and more. There was a story behind every chair and its occupant. The greatest of them all was not the place of Arthur Pendragon, but rather the perilous seat, so named for Merlyn’s prophecy: he who sits there and is deemed worthy shall one day discover the Holy Grail.
It is said that all but one of the knights of Camelot who sat upon the Siege Perilous would be met with a ghastly demise - save one. But this is not his story, nor any of the knights. Indeed, this ominous throne that was not a throne had its own part to play in the making of things. It was far more than a mere chair, though none of them, not even Merlyn, was aware of its nature until they were in the throes of tragedy. The Siege Perilous was the part of Destiny of the Endless that was rooted in struggle and sacrifice, things that the legends of Camelot and greater Avalon had in spades. Standing by as an arbiter of fate, it was keenly aware of the goings-on of these men and women, constantly drowning in triumph and despair that ensnared them time and time again. It was inevitably drawn into these things, bearing witness to the glorious and unspeakable acts that mythic succor drove Camelot’s nobility to indulge.
This melancholy stage was not a one-way street. The looking glass went both ways. As Camelot fell further and further into decay, so too did the Siege Perilous lose its grasp upon itself. It had become quite synonymous with these flawed knights and wicked sorceresses that it had been tasked to record. Perhaps this had always been as it was meant to be; Destiny’s flock are perhaps those most bound by his Book. What began as observation became a bitter mural that could but look onward as the ideals it had been brought into came to ruin… worst of all, by their own making. This paradox festered at Arthur’s table, brooding and twisting until it could no longer remain a passive agent. What followed was inexplicable, though it is understood all the same: the end of Camelot.
Yet, the end of Arthur’s court and the realm beyond was not entirely so. Otherworld’s encapsulation was created in the image of it, and thus, everything that had come to define it, including that Siege Perilous. In becoming an omniversal thing, that entity of fate was changed, now resembling a grim judge who would judge the weight of things. A Crucible through which all champions would one day be judged. It was not at all like that “Siege Perilous” elsewhere, that cosmic errata which had nothing at all to do with the providence of kings. For once, Opal Luna Saturnyne was more disturbed than amused by the existence of this Crucible. It was the one thing in her domain that would not adhere to her will. She quickly cast it off, assured in her authority as the Omniversal Majestrix that such an anomaly would never blemish her Otherworld with its presence ever again.
Her arrogance was no different from the last witch who denounced the Crucible. It - he - had transgressed its former existence and what that entailed. He did not care about what that meant for him as an “individual”, for he continued to not identify as one. What mattered was that his will to be came no longer from Otherworld, but from the inherent constant of mortal ambitions. One could no more stamp out the Crucible than one could eliminate the concept of good or evil. The Crucible has since wandered throughout history, establishing himself as judge errant in a world in sore need of trials. Only now, as Otherworld’s pale majesty rears its head once more, has the Crucible renewed his interest in his roots of arcane hypocrisy and chivalric chaos.
Role Play Sample:
The effect was instantaneous. One moment, the elderly man was sitting at his desk, idly working on the papers before him, with only four guards standing at attention for company. Then, there was a fifth.
He appeared in the center of the round room. The only warning was a sudden shimmer of light, roughly at the chest level of the stranger coming through. Blues, purples, pinks rippled through the air for a second before his physical form materialized, like one moving through curtains. The regal, shining armor he wore, not to mention the massive sword held with one hand, quickly put him at odds with the modern sensibilities of his surroundings. He raised his sword arm, his golden eyes set on the man at the desk. His intention was crystal clear.
"Sir, get down!" Nearly all of the guards shouted out the same warning as guns were drawn. In an instant, heavy gunfire peppered the armored assailant from all sides. The high-caliber bullets bounced off of him with no effect. Many of the stray projectiles struck other objects in the room, including one of the gunmen, ending him. Undeterred, he continued to walk toward his target, who had abandoned his desk. His back was to the wall now, his hands pressed against the plexiglass window in a panic.
The remaining guards threw their guns aside and charged the attacker. The first one lost his balance after ramming into him and crumpled to the floor with several crunches throughout his body. The second and third guard tried to push, pull, anything he could to restrain him. The intruder remained unmoved. Without turning his body, the knight’s sword arm reached behind him and thrust his weapon into the crumpled form. Then, with a jerk, his body moved in such a way that both of the remaining guards on him were launched. On either side of the elderly man they slammed into the plexiglass with shuddering impacts. Their necks made a dull crack, and they fell limp.
The old man could only look on as this metal monster continued his march towards him. The imposing desk was naught before him - with a single stroke of his blade, it was split in twain, enough that there was space for him to march through. They were face to face now. He had been afraid before… but that was replaced with a knowing smile now. He sized up this intruder, his mind racing.
”Now that we’re alone… are you one of the new guys? This is one hell of a job application. Stupid, though. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to spin this?”
This knightly mystery stared back at this man with a cold gaze. Beneath his armored visage, his golden eyes narrowed, faintly. ”False face hides what the false heart doth know.” He raised his sword, placing its flat end next to the man’s neck, as if to dub - or to slay. ”Is that not so, serpent as man?” There was no fear in this subject’s eyes. Confusion, certainly, indignation, and spent wroth, but no weakness nor righteousness. Amusing.
The sword vanished from the man’s neck, gone like the wind. The knight started stepping backwards. He held his arms out in some old gesture of farewell. ”Take heed, puppet. Savor this scheme, else you will mourn the absence of its honeyed succor on the morrow.”
Just as quickly as this stranger had made his way in here, he left through the same way. Gossamer colors enveloped him, spiriting him away to parts unknown, least of all by the man he had come to visit. The man in question gawked about the room, now more ruin than office. He rubbed the part of his neck where that sword had been.
”What the fuck?”
