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Keraph last won the day on September 3 2016

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About Keraph

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    I'm Cerryan!
  • Birthday 01/16/1987

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  1. Keraph


    Keraph Xalascent shook the blood from his blade as the portal before him closed. The elf had escaped, albeit with a mortal wound, but she was not the target of the operation and her life, whether it persisted or ended shortly in miserable pain, was inconsequential. The Warlord of Infection turned his attention to his party's prey, pressing a plated boot on the rogue Forsaken's back to keep him in place while he silently gestured for one of the other Forsaken to approach. "Resistance only heightens the charges against you, Mister Steinburg. Charges that include treason, aiding and abetting a subversive organization, and of course heresy against the Dark Lady." To punctuate the final remark, he presses his boot harder against the mage's back, pinning him helplessly to the ground. "And now, attacking loyal agents of the Queen. Of the Warchief. You understand of course the severity of such crimes." His voice was dry, hollow, lacking even mockery in his tone. There was an irony here to those learned in the history of Infection, who had themselves been put to the axe in the face of treasonous charges levied by Hellscream's Kor'kron Overwatch following a string of suspicious murders in the Undercity. Few understood the penalties of opposing the Warchief more than Keraph, or rather more than the less-than-worthy Forsaken under his command who the Warlord had seen executed in an attempt to appease the fragile ego of Garrosh Hellscream. It was a necessary price to pay to ensure the survival of Infection's elite, a price paid without hesitation so that the Dark Lady's will could continue to be carried out by those most loyal to Her. Now the tables had turned, and despite all of their prior experiences Keraph had risen gladly to execute the same methods to suppress and silence those who would act against His own Warchief. Silently, the hooded Forsaken who Keraph had summoned to his side approached. She whispered something to him in a sparse, gravelly voice. He nods to her, plunging his blade into the ground next to Steinburg's face so that he gets a clear view of the blood running down it. "Bind him. Tightly." A whispered word, and shackles of holy energy wrapped around Steinburg's body and seared his decaying flesh. The priestess did not flinch as she quietly channeled the Light through herself and into the prisoner, and perhaps in a gesture of irony she directed the chains to cover and burn Steinburg's mouth, leaving him as silent as she. A portal was soon opened, leading back to the dark catacombs of the Undercity, and Warlord Xalascent wordlessly guided his flock home, prisoner in tow.
  2. Cerryan Vyel is a devout Sin'dorei Paladin of the Holy Light. In the time since the Scourge's assault on Quel'thalas and the slow rebuilding of Silvermoon, Cerryan has played the role of Blood Knight, freedom fighter, anarchist, exile, crusader, hero, and more. Above all things he is dedicated to the pursuit of peace, not for any faction but for the whole of Azeroth, and to standing for those who cannot fight for themselves. This is not his story. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Another wave! Form up and brace for impact!” Cerrian Vayelle hadn’t heard the order. The Kal’dorei’s glowing eyes scanned the black, felscarred landscape for the wounded amongst the corpses of heroes and demons in the miserable little corner of the Broken Shore that he and his allies found themselves defending. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the healing light of Elune above to lift the fallen to their feet and continue the fight against the surging ranks of demons marching relentlessly towards the Temple of Elune, the once resplendent center of worship to the priest’s beloved Goddess. The structure was twisted and warped now, a corrupted mockery serving as the great enemy’s seat of power on Azeroth and an affront to Elune, neither of which could stand while Cerrian drew breath. His breaths were weary and ragged, as it happened. The day had turned quickly for the priest and his company; a mission of suppression amongst the ancient ruins of his ancestors to prevent the summoning of demonic reinforcements had become a bitter defense of those ruins. The wicked agents of the Legion that his group had come to stop were defeated with minimal injury, as the Alliance heroes had been operating on the shore for many weeks now. Unanticipated was arrival of scores of demons not from a summoner’s spell but by foot, in droves, from encampments much further off from where they now fought. The demonic forces seemed to be rushing towards the Tomb from all paths leading out from it, and Cerrian’s allies were unfortunate enough to be on one such pathway. He could feel holy energy surge through him as his ritual neared completion, only a few seconds left in the delicate blend of spell and prayer before those who had fallen would be blessed with another chance to fight for their world. His face was caressed by warm light that sent rogue strands of moonlight-silver hair aloft and made his purple robes billow gently, and his soft eyes opened slowly just in time to focus on the burning green meteor hurtling straight at his unblemished face. Moments before his fiery demise, a wrenching pull on his shoulder drags him behind a wall of shields, and a dour looking Night Elf wielding a finely wrought Mithril greatsword stares down at him as an explosion of green fire illuminates the warrior’s silhouette. Another wrenching jerk brings Cerrian to his feet, followed quickly by a cuff on the shoulder. “Your eagerness to aid others is admirable, but maybe keep an eye open to look after yourself with? We’re pressed hard enough as it is, the last thing I need is-” A heavy impact and panicked shouts interrupted the warrior as the shield wall behind them broke against the onslaught of a new wave of demons. The warrior moved with swift grace, filling in the space made open by the two knights that had been thrown back. His blade sang out as it slashed and pierced demon after demon, its bearer holding back the tide long enough for one of the soldiers to return to his place. The other laid on the ground, moaning weakly at his injuries until pain suddenly numbed and faded. Cerrian smiled at the Human, helping him to his feet and pressing the soldier’s sword back in his hand. A curt nod was returned as the knight hefted his shield and traded places with the Kal’dorei warrior, dumbfounded for a moment at the number of bodies their commander had left before he withdrew. “I’m sorry, Anteris.” Cerrian immediately went to work closing what wounds his commander had sustained in the last attack. “We’ve lost so many that we need up and fighting, and I can’t maintain that kind of ritual when combat surrounds us.” “Focus on those who are still fighting. Keep them fighting. We’ll do what we can for the fallen after the battle is won, but first we need to get there. Keep yourself alive until then, or their souls may be lost to us forever.” The warrior didn’t wait for a response, leaping heroically back into the fray the second his wounds were healed. Shrieking screams could soon be heard across the shieldwall, and no small number of severed demonic limbs could be spotted in the air. “Yes, Commander...” The silver-haired priest turned his attention on the line of defenders keeping the Legion forces from their destination. He wove arcs of healing light across the battlefield in an intricate web of channeled prayer, his will a conduit for that of his goddess. His allies struck back with renewed vigor, and before long the tide of enemies seemed to ebb before them. Cerrian allowed a small, thankful smile to cross his face as he prepared his mind to again reach out to the fallen. Before he could begin, a shadow was cast over the already dark, fel-warped sky, and a chorus of gasps and shouts was soon drowned out by countless piercing shrieks as the air above them filled with slavering felbats flocked more tightly than the priest had seen since the doomed first assault on the shores. “Cover! Shields up, stay low! Archers!” Commander Anteris’ orders could barely be heard over the panicked screams and bestial cries. Soldiers attempted to flee in all directions as the mass of winged demons descended upon them. Cerrian grouped closely with the knights he had been fighting beside, their shields held to the sky as they worked their way towards their commander. He saw the fruitless attempts of a few archers and mages to thin the horde, a mere handful of the attacking number falling from the sky before there were no more heroes to resist. It was all Cerrian could do to keep those nearest to him shielded, and every few seconds he’d hear the gravely harrowing last gasp of one more soldier plucked into the sky by the relentless demons. They’d not made it halfway to Anteris, and Cerrian couldn’t even see him through the flurry of skyborne attackers. The silver-haired priest’s heart was beating out of his chest as he desperately searched, before he and those around him were slammed into the ground as a felbat sweeping overhead slammed into the shields above them. He was pinned under at least two of his own allies, face down in the black dirt and unable to hear anything but the rapid impact of blows against the shields and bodies that kept him immobile and the frantic pace of his own breath. Incapable of anything else, Cerrian whispered a prayer to Elune and prepared for his own horrific death. This went on for countless, eternal minutes; the young elf lay trapped and traumatized as he waited to die as he’d seen so many of his friends and allies die before him. Still he prayed, his faith the only thing keeping him sane in those dire moments, until a low, humming shockwave seemed to cascade over everything around him. A new wave of monstrous shrieks and flapping wings echoed across the battlefield, and soon all was quiet once more. In that silence Cerrian knew that none of those piled above him still lived, and it was another many minutes before the weakened night elf was able to pull himself up between the battered corpses and shattered armor to reach the open air. In a shocked daze the priest took gulping breaths and stared blankly at the scene, looking with subdued hope for signs of life he couldn’t find in the haze. As his gaze travelled across the broken battleground and up into the sky, he felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach as he regarded the bleeding, burning world that now hung balefully above the horizon. He stared awestruck at the growing tear in the sky and the planet hanging sickly at its center, terror and realization building as he contemplated what this might mean. An end to the war, with the full might of the Legion a stone’s throw from Azeroth. The world he held so dear would be ravaged and picked apart as swiftly as those around them had been killed. Cerrian tore his gaze from the skyline as the moans and cries of wounded soldiers began to fill the silence. Instincts bred from years of warfare accompanied by an unending stream of whispered prayer focused the priest as he dragged himself to his feet and mustered what energy he could to bring the first soldier he could find back to her feet, and then the next, and the next again until a small, ragged group was huddled together amidst the chaos and bodies. Cerrian helped a few others search for their commander, but Anteris could not be found alive or otherwise. The priest's heart sank further when the warrior’s sword was found half-buried in a pile of dead, none of which its owner. He stared at the blade in despair, but the last words of his dear friend echoed in his head. Focus on those who are still fighting. Keep them fighting. We’ll do what we can for the fallen after the battle is won, but first we need to get there. Cerrian fixated on those words, and a sort of anger grew within him. A righteous anger, directed at the wicked forces that had brought him to this point, that had brought his allies to their doom, that had wrapped the entire world in fear for the end. Divine energy surged around him, cascading the elven priest in silver as glowing wings of golden light unfurled behind him. He gripped Anteris’ sword tightly as he and his comrades watched a new pack of beasts come into view. An end to the war, perhaps. But he couldn’t stop fighting. None of them could, not while there was still a fight left.
  3. The Shadowblade tore through the darkness towards her prey, but her poisoned blades never found their mark. Through the murky shadows outside of the room they were in came a searing ray of energy, illuminating the keep's derelict stones as it arced a path directly towards the Forsaken attacker. The beam pierced Syreena, slowing her momentum as Cerryan spun on his heel in anticipation, swinging his glowing golden greatsword at the off-guard rogue. It pressed into her flesh, further pressing her at the wall away from him, and while the cut was not deep the wound burned with brilliant holy energy. The magical whir of a hulking and very much active arcane golem sent heavy steps toward the chamber, but the sentry was unable to clear the entrance through the corridor. A miscalculation on the part of the incensed paladin? Syreena hissed in pain as the Light from both the beam and Cerryan's sword burned her flesh. Much to her surprise, and disappointment, she had lost the advantage of surprise, but she still gripped her daggers as she regained her footing and began pacing around the room. When she got too close to the doorway, however, the golem's eyes glowed red a second before laser beams shot from them toward the rogue. Syreena rolled away and came up to her feet again. Her movements were stiff though, pained by the Light burns. She got to her feet, glaring at Cerryan. "New pet, little purple elf?" Without waiting for an answer, she lunged at him, one blade poised to deflect his sword and the other aiming for his face. Cerryan grinned wickedly, but did not respond as he met her blades with his. Her intuitions were right, and as his blade locked with one of hers, her other was free to slice, cutting a gash across the paladin's face and leaving stinging poison clinging to the wound. He hissed as the pain bit into him, taking a swing at the rogue which she deftly parried, and another which she dodged handily. In turn, she rewarded his hasty attacks with a series of stabs running up his side, each leaving more debilitating poison in his veins. He slowed, his guard less strictly maintained and his motions growing sluggish, but still he came at her, golden blade slicing at her once, then again, and over, providing the rogue with dangerous but potentially fruitful opportunities to counterattack. Syreena's golden eyes gleamed cruelly, even though her body still burned with the Light from his first strikes. "What's the matter, pretty elf? Getting tired already?" The little rogue grinned, her gaze traveling, briefly but meaningfully, to his single ear, and ran her tongue over her lips. "Then let's end it!" She launched herself at him, both blades aimed at his throat. Cerryan finished uttering a prayer under his breath and the toxins plaguing his wounds at once fell away. As the rogue rushed him with her vicious blades he stood to unleash an aura of blinding light that filled every corner of the room with a burning golden glow. When the stinging incandescence had faded, the paladin had launched his own rush at Syreena, low to the ground with his blade aimed for her midsection. Angered shock filled the Shadowblade's glowing eyes as his burning holy weapon pierced her, and they were both propelled towards the far wall as golden wings of holy light unfurled from Cerryan and aided his surge forward to drive his blade deep into the wall, pinning Syreena against it as searing holy energy coursed through her withered undead form. He drove the weapon as far into the stone as he was able, channeling every ounce of divine wrath into the vile assassin before releasing his sword and launching himself backwards. Even after his hand left the weapon, arcs of golden light continued to wrack her body. The Shadowblade gasped hoarsely, her daggers clattering to the floor as she reached to grasp the sword that held her to the wall. She tried in vain to pull it out, but she lacked the strength to pull the blade from the stone wall behind her. The Light from the paladin had scorched her skin, and the Light from his sword burned her from the inside. Her mouth gaped soundlessly, and when she looked at the Sanctuary elf, her eyes were wide with shock. Her squirming only made the pain worse, but her struggles were already beginning to slow. Cerryan stared coldly for a long moment as the source of so much suffering and conflict in his and Sanctuary's life writhed in agony against the righteous vengeance that kept her pinned, then casually brushed aside a few rogue strands of golden hair behind his intact ear as he caught his breath. He stood tall, bloodied and a little wobbly, but he looked at her finally, wearing a well-practiced and abundantly warm smile. "Light keep you, Syreena." A shimmering shell of protective holy power surrounded the paladin as he ran his thumb across a small glowing stone. At the doorway to the chamber the large arcane golem, resplendent and marked with the ornate heraldry of House Visca, pivoted to face the room beyond and returned to an inactive state, blocking the door behind it. "May it keep you here forever, in the name of Peace." He was gone, and the Shadowblade was left alone in divine misery. ((Written by Syreena and Cerryan))
  4. Cerryan was himself on the way back from aiding Orgrimmar's latest defense against the Burning Legion. The golden-haired paladin was weary from hours uninterrupted on the front lines, keeping as many fighters as he could alive and able to keep swinging. The constant fighting was wearing the defenders down, and it was all Cerryan could do to keep morale high and casualties low. He was increasingly struggling to succeed at either, and it was having a frustrating effect on his already strained psyche. Finally, he acquiesced to withdraw from the battle lines long enough to recover himself, physically and spiritually. He was on his way through the rough, rocky streets of the capital city of the Horde, riding somewhat aimlessly on his armored talbuk just to remind himself of what he was helping to keep safe. He rode through the Valley of Honor, his eyes lingering on the Wyvern's Tail where he planned on ending his trip. He moved past it for now, into the Drag and en route to the Valley of Wisdom, where the sound of rushing water and the company of perhaps the Horde's wisest and most sensible members would help ease his tense anxiety. This was not to be, as while he was heading through the Drag he heard the weak call for help on Sanctuary's channel of communication. “…attacked…Cleft of Shad-….” The Cleft of Shadow, it had to be. Fortunate that he was so close already... “Cerryan.....mate’s…..ear…. Need….heal….” He pulled hard on his reigns, bringing the noble talbuk to a quick turn as he coursed as fast as he could down the darkened passage that lead to Orgimmar's most shadowy district. It took Cerryan a few moments to find the injured Orcess. It was a small gathering of onlookers that drew him to the wounded warrior, and he pressed through them hastily to find Kanda on the ground, gripping her freely bleeding stomach unconsciously. He knelt beside her, coursing healing light into her wounded form. His free hand fumbled for his communicator, finally gripping it and speaking hastily. "Sanctuary, Kanda has been gravely injured in Orgrimmar. Send guards and medical staff from the guild hall immediately." His brow furrowed as he whispered a fevered prayer to the Light. These injuries are severe...another demon attack in the city itself? He struggled to keep up with the bleeding, his healing not accomplishing as much as it should to close her wounds. He flinched slightly as he realized why this was. Poison...not usually a part of the Legion's usual arsenal. Something isn't right... The paladin uttered a different prayer, expunging the toxins from Kanda's body. The warm, healing light seemed to work more quickly now that it was not opposed by further damage. Cerryan just needed to move her hands to get a better angle on the worst of the damage, but they were gripped tightly against her. He applied gentle pressure to move them, one hanging on a bit tighter. Something was clenched in the hand, something that slid out along with the arm as the paladin finally cleared the area and began surging shocks of holy light to stop the bleeding as fast as possible. He used his free hand to pry at the orc's clenched one, and as the sliced appendage slipped free from her hand and into his, he was at once overcome with sickening nausea and trembling emotion. His eyes welled as they narrowed, his blood pressure rising sharply. Quickly, the mending wound was wrapped tight for compression, and Cerryan let out a cry of anguish as he laid his hands on the downed fighter, coursing a massive surge of holy light into her. He stood up, drained and weary, his face blank and unfocused, and he coldly pressed through the crowd without saying a word. He was gone by the time Sanctuary's responders had arrived. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A short time later, a bloodstained note is delivered to the Shadowblade's hands with the speed and precision that could not have come cheaply. The writing was rough and hasty, with an anger-filled tone that betrayed the writer's possible instability. You little murderous shit This is over, Syreena. I will kill you I swear I will. No more hiding behind oaths or behaving for the commander, I will kill you myself and on my own. Come find me in the Ghostlands. Your rotting corpse will fit right in among the dead that your kind brought to our lands. Come find me. -Cerryan
  5. A heavy blade sinks with a thunk into the wall, far from the first embedded in the dark stone of Infection's derelict hall. A skeletal hand sheathed in black plate wrenches it free, only to throw it forcefully against the opposite wall, shattering a weathered bookshelf as it sinks deeply into solid stone. The hand curls into a fist and slams into a desk of darkened wood, the battered but sturdy piece of furniture weathering the blow impressively well. A dour, raspy voice fills the room, first in a growl but escalating quickly into a full-on tirade. "How DARE those wretches presume to lay claim to what is rightfully ours! They say they want a war but refuse to sanction Her finest war-bringers, insisting instead on vain attempts to consolidate their personal power and vaunting their indirect and disappointingly underhanded means. They bark like Blighthounds but have yet to commit to a damned thing save for standing in our way. And now, instead of supporting the return of Her elite, when the time is finally right to pull ourselves from the shadows, they dare to instead rebuke and decry our continued purpose, and seek to leverage our assets as their own! The List, the arsenal, the Northrend laboratory, this very hall for the sake of expanding Council quarters...the vanity! The arrogance!" The undead warrior punctuates his frustration with another violent slam of the desk, which stubbornly resists its inevitable destruction. Figures wrapped in shadow simply nod or remain silent, while others listened from remote and indeterminate locations. All were accustomed to such outbursts from the Warlord of Infection, the erstwhile Elite of the Dark Lady. Though the fold fell into public disbandment years ago following treasonous suspicious and a wave of executions, there were those who knew that all was not as it seemed, that in shadowy passageways and under cover of darkness a force still worked in the Banshee Queen's favor, split to the farthest reaches of Forsaken infrastructure and buried under layers of political facade. In secret, over the course of years the deck was slowly stacked to warrant an empowered return, but the shifting landscape of the Horde and an infuriatingly placid lack of action from the bureaucratic council of Forsaken government had as of yet prevented any significant progress. The Warlord's ire had been building slowly, but recent events had stoked it into a burning flame. The frustrating conditions within the ruling body of the Forsaken had finally seemed to be shifting to a more favorable state, marked by an influx in new officials over the last many months as existing functionaries turned up dead, or worse. These new bureaucrats seemed united by a fresh drive for war against the enemies of Lordaeron, which seemed to pave the way for Infection's return. However, instead of support they advocated for a full disbandment and seizure of assets in order to suit their own selfish goals, and while their talk of war and a new rise of Forsaken power played well to the people and Infection's agenda, there was no indication of any real action forthcoming to support such demagoguery. Worse, the ascension of these new ministers seemed all too convenient to be borne purely of unfortunate coincidence. Conspiracy and skulduggery was not uncommon in the Undercity, but for the network still under Keraph's command to be incapable of deducing any connecting ties among the deaths and degradations was troubling. Some conservative council members turned up dead, but far more of those replaced had slipped into that feral, Scourgelike state that any upstanding Forsaken dreaded returning to. The effects of brain rot and other contributing factors that could lead to such a decline were not yet completely cured by the good work of the Royal Apothecary Society, but the rate of incident was at a historic low, in great part due to the fact that by this point most who had advanced symptoms had already fallen, and preventative measures helped keep many more in safer boundaries. If there was some sort of engineered method to circumvent those measures, or otherwise accelerate undead degeneration, that would be a problem for all of the Forsaken, and a weapon to kept tightly in check. The darkly armored warrior stalked through the derelict hall, forcefully dislodging a different large, wicked blade from a sundered table that suffered his wrath earlier in the day. He approaches a separate platform near the middle of the room, an ornate pedestal marked with a number of small purple crystals and centered by a much larger, less-refined gem of the same source. As he was speaking, the larger crystal had pulsed with a dim glow, his words traveling to the agents of Infection spread across the dark corners of Azeroth and beyond. Presently he ran his skeletal fingers across some of the smaller gems, and in a moment all were aglow with the same sickly light as the largest. "Infection, the time has come to once again take action in defense of Queen and Kingdom. Secure our foreign assets, and ensure that in the worst case there is little that can be pried from us. Report to our quarters in Undercity as quickly as you are able, and remain discrete. I am going to have some words with the dear bureaucrats who would presume to stand in our way." He did not wait to hear a confirmation from the other Forsaken before the heavy doors of the guild hall slammed shut behind him.
  6. I've been pretty close to this as a vested interest, so I can kinda speak to it. In World PvP, Honor Talents will immediately activate so you'll never be without those in PvP situations. However, the gear scaling / stat templates thing that normalizes classes is for INSTANCED PVP ONLY, as is all of the "trinkets disabled, enchants suppressed" etcetera stuff. So gear level and stats will matter in world pvp, and players with higher item levels will have an advantage. EDIT: As Rik says above, the gear advantage is still less than it has been in previous expansions, and differences in item level will play a role, but definitely a smaller one than we might be used to historically. Legion Legendary items, which are very much like Diablo legendaries in that they're normally dropped pieces of gear with higher stats and a special class passive, will also work in World PvP, though not in any instanced PvP zones. And artifact traits and abilities work everywhere all the time.
  7. I got really mad at first because the first picture is BC Nagrand and I thought you were trolling, but then I remembered things like "reading" and "establishing context" and I actually really like this!
  8. We chatted a bit in-game, but welcome back! Always psyched to see old community members returning!
  9. I haven't seen the sun in years! I make The Pale look....less pale!
  10. I am on the very definitely down list, as has been discussed. Whenever this is and wherever we land for a hotel, Keraph will be there in force ready to MODERATE ANY UNTOWARD BEHAVIOR. No JK go crazy, that's what Vegas is about.
  11. Jamaryste! Welcome back! And what timing too, we're just beginning to pull a lot of old Infection faces together for a reunion in light of some story advances coming into Legion. We'll have to conspire to get you back in the guild (If you aren't for any reason) and get you back up to speed! For the Dark Lady!
  12. For reasons, hearing this song made me think of Ayther/Hy.
  13. I legiterally care about this community like a second family, and will always do whatever I can to support its members. I'm so heartened to see that this is the case for so many people here.
  14. Keraph


    "Ugh, Neroxian is such an asshole!" The golden-haired paladin pouts, his face reddening a bit in anger at the thought of the black drake. "I know that I made a grave mistake in foolishly aligning myself with that wretched dragon, Serinar, and have since tried to do whatever I could to make amends for that terrible decision. But this Light-blasted whelpling will not let the matter go, and takes any opportunity to call me names and bully me. I don't know what I can do to get him off my back and I don't know that I'd even want to." Cerryan turns on his heel and storms off in a huff, but not before muttering something about it not being HIS fault that the damned drake has daddy issues.
  15. You didn't actually join the Sanctuary group scrub