Name: Christopher Frost, known as bonehead by his friends as a term of affection.
Teacher or student: Teacher of martial arts and fighting skills, also enjoys helping out with other physical activities around the school.
Weapons: FISTS OF STEEL, nah I kid. Lemme think…Spiked knuckle dusters, shuriken, razor wire, steel staff, two knives and a sword
, just replace the red with a bright electric blue.
Class/Race: Death + Martial Artist.
Gender/Sexuality: Male/straight, not that it matters anymore except to annoy him.
Personality: He enjoys wise-cracks and likes nothing more then to see a classroom of people talking to each-other. Despite his skills as a fighter, he disapproves of seeing it used over trivial things and tries to make sure it doesn't get out of hand, of course, he is highly hypocritical and will happily begin a fight if words fail him. He gets along with people and enjoys reading and music, he used to play the viola but even since his lack of skin has started up the piano and is thoroughly enjoying it.
Exactly like this, dark black jacket, light black shirt, normal black scarf and tie, dark black hat, light black gloves and normal black trousers with light black stripes. His shoes have spiked bottoms and a metal toe-cap, his gloves have metal plates to cover the back of his hands meaning it's helpful for blocking, adding weight and he now has one hell of a backhand and his hat is structurally reinforced, he tries to take care of it because he loves it. All his clothes are magically strengthened and fire-retardant, and can be easily packed up into a small ball if necessary and not crease as well as repel filth. They're also quite thick, tough and are good at spreading out force and have the last, very helpful and unique
effect of being able to be washed with colours, no matter what's gotten on the clothes.
He emits a slighty aura, which leads to the appearence of the light around him always seeming a little darker and sometimes he appears to blur slightly as he moves quickly. One interesting side-effect of his transformation is normally an immediate sense of decay around his immediate person so that anyone touching him may feel slightly sickish and plants will clearly begin to wilt around him as well as animals generally hating his guts which does quite upset him, apart from some magical animals which only tolerate him.
History: He used to be your ordinary run-of-the-mill fighter extraodinaire. dedicating his life to mastering his body and becoming the best of the best, y'know, the standard stuff. After he'd become a pretty decent fighter in his own right, having studied under other masters of their unique styles, he'd travel the land, looking for a worthy fight to keep his skills sharp. So he'd do bounties, join mercenaries, fight duels and take a small part in the odd war. Back in those days he loved his fighting and loved nothing more then defeating a good opponent, though he tried not to kill them the more talented ones unless he had too, no point in wasting good fighters and he could travel back some day.
One day, he walked into a small town looking for work, along with booze, food and pleasurable company, so he travelled to the local lord of the area and asked if there was any disputes that needed settling. The lord mentioned that he had been having some trouble with his citizens lately due to a "Edward Linkin" rousing them up with stuff about lowering taxes, equal rights and giving power to the common people. Christopher agreed that this was a serious problem, as the son of a nobleman himself, he understood that peasants needed to know where they stood in the world, mainly at the bottom. Afterall, if they actually got all the stuff people like Edward preached about that would mean the nobles would be on the same level as peasants and that certainly wasn't right. Noblemen were clearly a better class of people, they ruled over vast expanses of land, lived in great mansions and knew music and art while peasants lived in filthy hovels, lived on pennies and only knew how to do simple things like farm or cook or make clothes and the like.
So after training his fighting skills against some of the ruder citizens, informing the others of the high probablility that their families will die before them and mentioning how flammable some of the buildings in the town looked, the people of the town were amazingly helpful and quickly informed him of Edward's whereabouts which were on the outskirts of the lord's land. After that it was just a simple matter of waiting til nightfall, going to his house, climbing through a window, killing everyone inside as quickly and quietly and possible and burning the house down. After that he walked back to the town and spent the money he'd found in the house on booze and wenches before picking up his payment from the baron in the morning and moving onwards, whistling cheerfully as he jingled the silver in his pockets.
A few years later, on another continent, there was a charming little war over some girl who'd gone and left her husband for a younger model. He'd just particularily enjoyed setting a giant wooden dog alight full of enemy troops and then setting his team's town on fire and opening the gate for the remainder of his opponents army to create a huge giant chaotic free-for-all in the burning megalopolis. It had been very enjoyable right up to Edward's, now grown-up and very pissed off, son, who'd been staying at his grandfather's when Chris had visited, popped up, threw sand in his eyes, kicked Chris in the shins, pushed him down a flight of stairs and chopped Chris's head off as he tried to get up, and then everything went dark.
Chris awoke to blackness, a slight pain around his neck and a face full of sand. “Ack” he coughed and retched and tried to get the sand out of his mouth. He stood up slowly and cricked his neck and blinked as his adapted to the darkness. “That was lucky, thought that little bastard had got me there.” he muttered as he rubbed his neck “Coulda sworn I saw that sword come right do-“ He stopped as he noticed his surroundings. All around him, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing, and sand. Black sand. No rocks, no trees, no movement at all and Chris had always prided himself on his amazing eyesight so if he wasn’t seeing anything moving, there wasn’t anything moving. “What the hell?” He asked himself quietly as he stared open-mouthed at the black desert. NOT EXACTLY.
“HOLY FUCKING CHRIST ALMIGHTY” Chris swore violently as he spun round, doubled over, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. ALSO INCORRECT, I'M AFRAID.
The tone of the voice managed to hammer through to Chris’s brain, causing puzzlement and nervousness to swiftly take over the anger.
“Eerr…” Chris slowly looked up, and then straightened up, and then looked up some more until he managed to look the newcomer in the eye, or at least where the eye should be. “um…” All his cockiness and bravado started to leak away as he stared into the empty eye-sockets of the permanently grinning skull of death, at least, almost empty, apart from two tiny blue lights, like small bright supernovas that would go on forever. Hello Christopher frost, how’s death treating you so far? Chris’s mouth opened and closed a few times as he grasped for words“…So…he got me then?” YES, QUITE A CLEAN CUT ACTUALLY, I GATHER HE SPENT A LOT OF TIME SHARPENING IT.
“Really?...Well, at least he was dedicated about it then.” UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOU.
They stood there for a while as Death waited patiently for Chris to get to terms with things, he had plenty of time anyway. “So…what now?” THAT DEPENDS.
“On what?” NORMALLY, I'LD TELL YOU TO BE ON YOUR PATH BUT THAT DOESN'T SEEM TO BE THE ONLY OPTION HERE.
“My path? Where?” AT THE END OF THE DESERT.
“What’s at the end of the desert?” I DON'T KNOW. THAT IS FOR YOU TO FIND OUT.
Chris thought about this, he knew a enough about religion to know that his life hadn’t been exactly…good and that lives that weren’t good seemed to end up somewhere bad. He thought that he could handle that, he’d been in lots of bad situations, but then he remembered why exactly his life hadn’t been good. “So…everyone who dies, goes to the end of the desert?” THAT IS INDEED WHAT NORMALLY HAPPENS.
“So, everyone I’ve ever known…is at the end of the desert?”PERHAPS, YES, AND I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE THINKING OF AND I'LL TELL YOU THIS. A LOF OF THE PEOPLE YOU HAVE MET WERE VERY ANGRY WHEN I COME FOR THEM, AND SOME OF THEM WERE VERY VALM, AND THE OTHERS SEEMED TO BE LOOKING VERY FORWARD TO MEETING YOU AGAIN.
“ah” Chris’s face went dark as he tried to remember the people he had met, he knew he couldn’t remember all of them but he did remember some of them. Some of them had been right bastards, and a few had been monsters, and a handful had been human, but had been far, far worse than the demons and monster’s he’d faced down.
“You mentioned….that the desert wasn’t the only option?” He asked hopefully, as he tried, and failed, to put his old friends out of his mind. THAT IS CORRECT.
“Could I please hear it?” I SEE YOU ARE NOT USED TO THAT WORD YET, PERHAPS IF YOU WERE, WE WOULDN'T BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION.
Chris growled under his breath as he tried to hold back an insult. “I know, I know, would you please tell me now?” VERY WELL
said Death. He flicked out his robes and shrunk until he was just one foot above Chris’s height of 6 foot 4. He held out a bony hand and took a scythe out of the air, it was only slightly shorter then death and the blade jutted out and curved over the top of Chris’s head. Chris gulped as he stared up at the blade just above his head. A blue glow slowly travelled from the hilt along each edge of the blade and when they met at the point, it flared once before flowing back along the hilt, strengthening itself.IN SOME RARE CASES, MORTALS ARE GIVEN THE OPPURTUNITY TO CHALLENGE ME.
“For what?” FOR THE ABILITY TO FLY AND THE RIGHT TO CALL YOURSELF THE QUEEN OF KITTENS, FOR YOUR LIFE, YOU STUPID CHILD.
“Sorry.” ANYWAY, YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CHOOSE THREE WAYS TO CHALLENGE ME. IF I WIN, YOU DIE, AND IF YOU WIN, YOU GET TO LIVE, IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.
“So I just have to pick a way to beat you, yeah?” asked Chris excitedly, completely missing the last bit of Death’s answer. THAT IS WHAT I SAID.
“Great” Chris grinned widely and drew his sword.
It wasn’t any sword, it was a sword that killed for people and people killed for, the first owner of the sword had had to chop off the blacksmith’s limbs to get it off him, and the second owner had killed the first owner to get it before being immediately attacked and killed by the third owner who had been hiding in the bushes, planning to kill the first owner to become the second owner, and this had gone on until Chris had gotten his hands on it, and had then fought off fifteen other people who’d planned on being the 356th owner, eight others planned ahead on being the 357th owner and one who was aiming for 358th.
He rushed at death, his sword flicking from side to side, up and down, in a complicated flurry of movements making it almost impossible to see where he was aiming and what angle he was coming from. He grinned at death as time appeared to slow down as he rushed at him, who grinned right back, now despite the fact that death is always grinning, Chris got a small naggling liitle feeling in the back of his head that his grin was a bit too cheerful. Death slowly lowered his scythe and twisted the handle so the blade was resting horizontally in front of him. A small part of Chris’s mind told him that because of the way death was holding the scythe, it should be easy to simply bring his sword down, knock the blade to the ground, leaving death open for an upward sweep, but another tinier part quietly suggested that possibly, just maybe, there was a slight chance that death knew this.
Chris swung the blade up from the ground and began to swing it down again as he closed in on death. “Prepare to lose bone-face” he said gleefully as he thought of the fact that’s he’d have beat death and how easy it was going to be, and then in one movement Death moved forward and pushed the scythe upwards towards Chris’s sword and moved his hand towards Chris. As the scythe met the sword, without the slightest hint of friction, Chris’s sword cut itself in half, with the scythe continuing upwards and Death’s hand reaching up and stopping right in front of Chris’s neck causing him to run right into Death’s bony death grip which immediately locked around and closed off his windpipe and lifted him right off the ground. YOU’VE LOST BOY
. Said death smugly as Chris desperately kicked out and tried to pull Death’s fingers off his neck. “….”Chris breathed out, his eyes bulging as the desert around him started to blur, before he suddenly dropped to the ground. NEXT CHOICE BOY