Narkin13

 Alistair swung his sword at Murder's face only to be blocked by the strange scythe the angel used. The immortal side stepped but couldn't find away around the long weapon. Abandoning normal attacks he gathered flame into his weapon. The blast covered his foe in blue fire. Before the flames parted Alistair was knocked to the ground from behind. "You little worm," Murder said as he pressed the pole of his scythe into Alistair's throat. "You think you can fool me like that?"  The angel turned and blocked the real Alistair's blade and countered by burying the tip of his own into the immortals forearm. When he did the illusion beneath his feet

Name: Alistair (a.k.a. The First Immortal) Age: 117 (Appears to be in his early twenties) Species: Human (more or less) Height: 6' 3" (190 cm) Appearance: Alistair is a Scandinavian man of medium build. Golden locks of hair hang behind him in a long golden braid. His dull green eyes seem to look without seeing, his gaze constantly drifting from one thing to another. Personality: Few carry themselves in quite the same way as the immoral Alistair. Some have assumed his stranger traits, which include the habit of talking to himself and mood swings, to the possibility that his sanity faded along with his mortality. Others blame it on the dec

April Seventh, Year Fifty-eight Alistair slowly gathered magic as he prepared to cast a rather large spell. His target was a small demon that the raven had summoned. The imp gathered up its courage before leaping at Alistair, claws out stretched. "Lighting!" Alistair yelled. A blast of electricity shot threw the air and killed the creature instantly. "Well done, Alistair," the raven commented from his usual perch. The clearing they had been using for a practice ground the last few years bore many scars from the extreme training regiment. "but you've forgotten something." "What would that be?" Alistair asked. "Always watch your bac

January Sixth, Year Fifty-seven Alistair poured water on the strange tree the raven had grown As he did every day. Some of the members of the village had come to respect the ravens work because they had had the most successful harvest in years. Alistair only cared about what the strange creature had been teaching him. He wanted to lean more about magic, but in his mind the magic he was using wasn't his. His instructor insisted that such gilt was needless as the magic was intended for his kin and he had given Alistair permission to use it. The young hunter's task was interrupted when a young girl walked up behind him catching him off guard.

January Fourth, Year Fifty-seven  Alistair drilled his cousin with a hard punch that left him shaken. The boy tried to capitalize on the brief opening he had created, but made foolish error by allowing his opponent a chance to trip him. "That's enough for today," Mordred said as he pulled his son off of Alistair's chest. "We'll do more tomorrow." "I would have to disagree," interjected the large raven that had been tutoring Alistair for the past few months. "I'll take Alistair of your hands for a little while." "Very well," the weapon master muttered as he walked away. Most of the villagers had grown to despise the raven out of fear.

September Twelve, Year Fifty-six "I don't like it," Mordred proclaimed, while scratching a scar near the spot that his right ear used to occupy. "Not right for a bird to talk." "He's nice though,' Alistair argued. "He taught me a really neat trick for making string traps." "That doesn't make him trust worthy," the man told his nephew. "You can't put your faith in everyone who knows a few neat tricks." "Father! Alistair!" Dirk shouted from the door of their small house. "Come see!" The pair followed the excited boy out the street where a strange tree had grown seemingly over night. It was gray, held no leaves but was covered in thorn

September Tenth. Year Fifty-six Alistair turned towards the northeast. He had been out checking traps all day long. So far he found only a few that had triggered falsely. There were only two left, and while he was already tired of the tedious chore, he hurried to the next pit. The young boy was distracted by a strange sight beside him. A large raven stood on top of a rock with long strips of paper wrapped around it. The strips of paper were covered in runes and attached to the rock and the trees around it like the web of some great spider. Alistair looked at the helpless creature. A feeling of pity rose in his stomach. He tried to tear at t