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"Moritat would prefer that you cherish it until you find something better," the half-orc would say to Kekkle, a slight hint of a wry smile coming to her face as she picked up her scythe again. "But yes, it would be good to move up, and find this friend. If nothing else, it will be a brief respite." However, it didn't take long for her smile to fade as the sound of the rush of flames echoed down the hall. The annoyance on Moritat's face was clearly visible as she began to rush towards the sound of combat. Again.
Moritat gave a grunt of approval as the life flowed from their assailant, her hunger lessening slightly. She would pick up the Rapier and armor, awkwardly juggling them between her scythe as she moved towards Kekkle and Ulrich. "You two got the honor of injuring him," the half-orc said. She set down her scythe to have a better grip on the loot. "Moritat will honor your abilities." Moritat would look at Keckle, and offered the rapier hilt-first to him. If he accepted, she would then give the armor to Ulrich. If nothing else, having these two have some better equipment would be helpful in the long term for keeping her alive.
Bah! That damn scarecrow had gotten the honor of killing this ingrate, whoever he was. Wait, scratch that. He had gotten the honor of defeating him. It seemed he was still clinging to life. A faint ghost of a smile would come to the half-orcs face. She may not have been a healer, but she could at least help wounds in another way. After all, revenge was its own reward, and would at least go part of the way towards easing the pain of the clerics loss for the others should he die. "Moritat lacks talent in tending wounds," the Half-Orc would say as she walked up next to the unconscious man, lining up her scythe with his neck. However, before she could swing, she saw Elyna begin to move away out of the corner of her eye. "Do none of you people learn?! Stay together!" Whether or not Elyna followed that sage advice, Moritat would swing he scythe down in a style reminiscent of a executioner swinging an axe.
Hrm. It appeared there was nothing of interest down that hallway. Oh well, no skin off of Moritat's nose. However, judging from the sound of that scream, it was skin off of someone else's nose. Moritat would instantly begin to hustle towards the racket, a part of her grateful that she had never put away her scythe while another part of her cursing the others for wandering off alone. Obviously they had learned nothing from the other man falling down from the ladder. Thanks to her exemplary speed, the Half-Orc would soon arrive to where the combat was, and wasted no time in closing into combat distance of the man. Of course, there was the small matter of the cleric being underfoot now, but she still had plenty of room to maneuver. Besides, a few bruises from being stepped on probably wouldn't make his situation worse.
Moritat simply would watch and wait as the others continued, simply falling into the back of the group. It seemed the best place for her to take. However, her curiosity and impatience would win out after a moment, and she would step forward next to Rilian. Most of the others may have had issues with the darkness, but Moritat did not.
I apologize both for my absence the last couple of days and Moritat's lack of patience.
Moritat had mostly confined herself to listening. She was going to volunteer for putting the man out of his misery, but her fellow half-orc had beaten her to the punch. It was no skin off of her nose, however. He did a clean enough job of seeing the man off, even if her blade would have done it faster and easier. However, that had to take a backseat to the sudden commotion in the other room. The half-orc would sigh at that before walking back. She would let the others discuss for a moment, quiet all the while. It appeared that all of them were talkers. It was starting to get old, as far as Moritat was concerned. However, one them thankfully stumbled upon a good idea. "They are attracted to living things, are they not? Maybe we could 'coerce it to fall as I did. There wasn't a railing to keep me from falling so maybe..." Moritat would give a glance to Goramar before simply walking over to the ladder with scythe in hand. When there, the former bodyguard would simply tap loudly on the metal ladder with the metal part of her blade, and then simply waited.
So it occurs to me that it might not be a bad idea for our characters to share what they remember before coming to the Labyrinth. But, you know, Moritat's probably not going to think of suggesting that herself. If one of you better-minded people could start that ball rolling, I'd very much appreciate it.
Moritat gave no more than a snort to the responses she received, and put her attention back onto Goramar. Another individual in this place, hmmm? Well, that was something that was going to have to be dealt with. Who knew, perhaps he actually had some information about this place. She would go up next to her fellow half-orc, scythe in hands. She could have probably said something, but actions had more weight than words.
Moritat would eye the others with obvious suspicion as they all spoke, her hands not leaving her scythe once she stopped using the wall to support herself. However, as the other half-orc spoke, all of her attention would go to him. She snorted at his question, shaking her head in derision. "Moritat has no need for prisoners. It is best to treat opponents with the honor they deserve, and give them a death by your hands. Such is the fate that Moritat will give the one who sent Moritat here." However, despite her apparent hostility, Moritat would still follow the half-orc and one-eyed man towards the hallway, if only to keep an eye on them. The scarecrow (admittedly an oddity, or possibly not seeing as she couldn't remember either way) seemed to have the same idea. She would sneer at the scarecrow's statement to the other two, pausing momentarily. "Moritat sees no sunlight here, nor any friends."
I fully intend to enjoy myself. Yay for this finally coming into being!
The indistinct figure of a woman was staring down Moritat, surrounded by unspeakable nightmares. The contempt on her face was obvious, and there was the sound of the laughter the creatures were emitting. "Vermin like you doesn't deserve to be in my presence. Take her away, darlings. And do whatever you want with her while you're at it. I think you've earned the reward." As soon as the woman said the words, the nightmares leaped forward, a hellish cacophony of joy surging forth with them. Moritat tightened her grip upon her weapon, feeling her rage grasp at her very soul, an icy grip that was as close to purity as she had ever come. Charging forward towards the fiends, meeting the sound that they made with a roar of her own.... "MYZARAPHISTON!!!!!" This was the first word that Moritat uttered as she awoke, a thunderous bellow that those not of orcish blood could never truly hope to match. In an instant, the woman had surged up, scythe in hand as she turned back and forth in the room. Her eyes moved from person to person, a cold fury burning within them as she looked at the others. But look as she might, she just knew that who or what she was looking for was not there. Slowly, the rage would fade out of her eyes as she saw the others stir. But in its place were other feelings, ones even more primal than her hate: Hunger. Loss. And a crushing weight that she couldn't quite identify.... She would stumble for a moment, eventually bracing herself upon a nearby wall. She would stand there for a moment, panting as she did so. Where was she? Who was she? What was this place? She waited for the answers to come, but only one did. It stirred only as one of her companions finally awakened and began to ask a question, the only one that she knew the answer to. "I... I am Moritat," she said, her tone uncertain. "I am Death."
Congrats to those who made it in, and condolences to those who did not. To my fellow Mazerunners, remember: Hit hard, hit fast, and PRAISE THE SUN!!!!
And now for Moritat's Backstory. Here goes! Backstory: Before the Maze, there is only darkness for Moritat. She doesn't know who she really is, where she came from, anyone she knows, anything. All she has is her scythe, a shard of a mirror, and a sense of utter hatred for one name: Myzaraphiston Synderfell.
Unbeknownst to her, there is a reason for her lack of a memory. She once worked for a Synderfells, a noble family who dabbled in the art of diabolism. In particular, she was the sworn guard of the potential heir, a young man by the name of Tobias. Originally, it was nothing more than a professional relationship, one that stemmed from Moritat's desire to repay the family for taking her off of the streets, away from her solitary existence in the slums of the city they ruled. However, as time passed, the two slowly started to become closer to each other. Eventually, a relationship developed between them, which quickly escalated to a torrid affair. Things persisted like this for quite some time, with both parties perfectly happy. However, one day, Tobias' sister discovered the affair between the Half-Orc and the noble. Disdainful of such an impure relationship, and more than a little insane, Myzaraphiston decided to help her brother break things off by having some of her daemons murder the girl. They were quite successful with their job, all but annhilating her on the spot. However, rather than truly die, Moritat has somehow wound up in a place known only as the Labyrinth, with most of her memories missing. Now she seeks a way to escape, to find out more about herself, and to kill Myzaraphiston. |