My Story

[Sir Typhis Black]

I was informed that this is the best place to post one's stories of yesteryear. At first I was against what I am about to do, but maybe it is for the best.

Does anyone care to hear my life story. I only see it fair that one knows the origins of one's allies. Since I am the "new meat" hear at Lazlo, I only see it fitting that I devulge myself, and my dark secret once and for all.

That is, if you desire me to.

[concrete_Angel]

I'll get the popcorn. I think it's storytime.

[KonThaak]

If you're interested in sharing, I'm interested in listening...

[Michael T]

Please share sir and my apologies for not welcoming you sooner. I have been out of pocket till now.

Michael T.

[Sir Typhis Black]

Well, where to begin. At the beginning I suppose. I will have to inform you though now, what you are about to read may shock some of you, it may even disgust some of you, but it is truth and truth is not always beautiful.

My story begins 33 years ago in the village Killian Falls in the northern region of Scotland. That is where I was born, but my existance here in this world was not to be one of joy or even a welcomed one at that. You see my family was not what you would consider normal. Not by any means. Oh no, my father was a man called Cylius Black, a warlock. My mother was a member of his cult and a devoted follower.

What of my role you ask? You see my mother gave me live so that my father could sacrifice me upon my birth to the dark god that they worshipped; Azmodeus.

So from my first breath, I was doomed from the very start.

[kalle]

Mm cults.
You make the escape and he hunt you now?

[Sir Typhis Black]

On the contrary. I was laid out upon the altar and ready to be sacrificed when a group of witch hunters showed up and raided the temple. I was rescued by my grandfather {my mother's father} who had been conerned about his daughters unholy activities. The group rescued me in the nick of time.

The cult was dispanded with many of its members preferring death over surrender. My father included, though they never did recover his body.

So I was raised by my grandparents as if I was their own child.

Many years had passed since the cult was vanquished. In my seventh year they returned for revenge against those who broke up the original cult. My grandparents were slain and the farm was put to the torch. My grandmother hid me in the fruit cellar just as the cultists broke in and slit her throat as I watched from my hiding place.

I never even had the chance to say good bye to them. When the fire was over, I was again an orphan. The cultists never found me, but I swore upon the ahses of my grandparents that I would bring them justice, no matter what the cost.

That is when I found him, or he found me. An old man by the name of Abraham Van Ricthen. He was the one who lead the assualt against my father's cult seven years earlier. He returned back to my grandparents farm to warn them the cult had returned, but alas, he was too late. I was all that was left, so he took me in and made me his apprentice.

[kalle]

And now the cult hunt you or they not know you the survivor?

[KonThaak]

You're from the homeland? I didn't realize that... o.o We'll have to chat, sometime...

My parents are getting to visit there in the next few weeks, but for me, it'll be at least several more years before I get a chance to take a trip and see the ancestral lands...

[Sir Typhis Black]

In response to your question Kalle, if they did or did not, I do not know if it mattered to them. They came for revenge and they got it. Soon it would my turn to return they favor.

Please know that I am not a violent man by any means. I show mercy of those deserving it; those I know who would recipricate the notion. I however have no pitty or remorse for those who are ruthless; those void of guilt over their actions and misdeeds. I just know that when I go to sleep at night, I am able to do just that.

I digress, where was I? Ah yes, Abraham. He was a hunter from the old country. He was quite the role model for an impressionable young boy such as myself. Many of you could have learned alot from him. He taught me everything he knew about the occult and the supernatural. He also taught me shoot a gun, wield a sword, and harness the arcane energy that flowed through my very being. He was like a father to me.

I studied under him for the next ten years, studying all I could, absorbing his teachings, knowledge, and skill. Soon I was ready for my first inevitable task; to find the ones responsible for my grandparents' deaths and end their wretched lives once and for all.

On the eve of my departure, Abraham gave me his journal, his weapons, and one final piece of advise that to this day I hold lose to my very soul.
He said to me, " What seperates us from them young one, is that we have a conscience and they do not. Never forget the reasons why we do what we do. "

To this day, all these many years later, I still remember those word as though I heard just today for the frst time.

[Hannah]

Hi Sir Black,

I was a lot older when they rescued me from the cult. You should read the story my father and the others wrote about it.

Hannah

PS: "Sir" means you are a knight, right?

[Sir Typhis Black]

You are quite astute my young lady. Yes the title of "Sir" does in fact make me a knight. But I assure you the title was bestowed upon me by no mere soveriegn.

Allow me to explain. In the year before I left my teacher Abraham, he was summoned to Rome to speak with an old friend of his from The Vatican. I did not get to listen to the conversation first hand, but it seemed rather important.

When we arrived in Rome, we both somehow sensed a presure. An evil chill in the air. After arriving at The Vatican Abraham quickly sought out his friend which to my surprise was a Cardinal named Egan. They spoke for almost an hour, yet to my dismay, another conversation I was not prvilaged to hear. However, what ever was said somehow had a grave effect upon my teacher. For no sooner than we had arrived, we were off again.

The only words he said to me were, " Tyranis DeLamagra".

[Ethan Skinner]

Tyranis DeLamagra.

That's a name I haven't come across in a while.

[Sir Typhis Black]

Ah, so I am not the only who has heard of this fiend. Maybe one day we shall compare notes.

[Sir Typhis Black]

Truly bad form of me to neglect this post for so long. So if I may continue...

Ah yes...Rome. We had left the Vatican in quite a hurry, heading north to the border nearest The Alps.

We arrived that night at a small lodge. It seemed deserted to me, but my teacher knew differently. We made our way up the snow covered stone steps and approached the stout wooden door...

{In Italian} " Who goes there said a gruff old voice from behind the door? "

{Response also in Italian} " It is I, Abraham my old friend, open the door or lest me and my companion will surely freeze."

The door opened into the lodge, and there stood a hunchbacked old Italian man with a scarred face and an eyepatch over his left eye.

My teacher introduced to to the man, his old friend Belog.

[Sophoroto]

Sir Black, are you going to finish telling us about how you got started?

[Hannah]

Hi Sir Black.

If we meet, should I curtsey or bow or kiss your hand or what?

Anyway, that is great that you went to Rome. My other father used to say the Pope was the Antichrist, but he also said about Mohammed and Judas and Lenin and Bill Clinton so I figure he can't be right about all of them. 'sides, he seemed like such a nice guy according to my history books.

Hannah

PS: Is it true he's got goat's feet?

[KonThaak]

Hannah, your "other father" probably hated Pope John Paul II because he was Catholic for starters, and because of his liberal leanings for a close second reason. No, the Pope doesn't have, and never had, goat's feet...

[Hannah]

Hi KT

Are you sure? Have you ever met one?

Hannah

PS: Sir Black, what happened next?

[KonThaak]

Personally? No. The Papacy, however, is very closely scrutinized by the entire world... If he had cloven hooves, we would know about it.

[Sir Typhis Black]

I was not aware my tale had such a following. Very well I shall continue. Ah yes, Belog.

It yurned out that this Belog and my teacher served together for a long time in a secret scoiety much like Lazlo. Traveling across Europe, Asia, even Africa, searching for the occult and battling the forces of darkness. They sat for hours recounting old tales of their youth and their exploits against supernatural fiends.

Particularly one that they called Tyranis Delamagra; The Tyrant of Blood.

I listened intently as they spoke. The name of this fiend alone seemed to chill the room and send shivers down my young spine. I could easily tell it was a name that my eacher did not want to hear, nor Belog desire to speak.

I finally got up the courage to ask whom this Blood Tyrant was. They told me a tale that happened during the latter part of World War I, in a small village near by named Bazel. Evil things had been occuring in this village, unholy things.

My teacher, Belog, and three others with stout courage proceeded to enter the village in an effort to rid it of the evil scourge that preyed on the innocent villagers every night. The names Nosfarateu, Ghould, and Undead resonated throughout the village. Since Europe was at war, many villagers were wary of strangers, especially those with alledged " good intentions ".

[Sophoroto]

[Sir Typhis Black]

Am I boring you young one?

[Sophoroto]

No sir, it's just that it is another cliff hanger.