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Offline Araith

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Aeteria
« on: April 16, 2005, 11:11:01 PM »
Indifferent stars stared down upon a world stained by the blood of slaves. Several Zael, their graceful wings marking them clearly, hauled another of their race along a walkway. While they bore the livery of the Palace Guard, with their somewhat ceremonial long blades and magnificent armor, he was clothed in ragged formal pants, pitted and scarred by heavy abuse. The remains of a shirt hung limply off his shoulders, but it had been gnawed like the teeth of an angry beast had savaged it. Several small wounds dotted his face, torso, and arms, but he bore a great bastard sword, even though he was currently reduced to using the mighty weapon in the more ignoble role of crutch. The two guards supported his own staggering steps, but the looks they directed between each other were those of contempt as they hauled him along the walkway to a waiting drake.
They none-to-gently sat him in the saddle and climbed on. As the creature took off, a female shriek of agony erupted from the building they had just left. The wounded royal Zael gave a start and a small gasp of frustration. He tried to fight his way out of the skimmer, but they securely bound him in it, and, weakened by his own sufferings, he could do little but sob in his seat.
The journey was a silent one. Neither of the guards tried to engage in conversation. The royal Zael, a prince, soon ceased his sobs and looked at both the guards with barely contained fury, but his eyes were black with hopeless despair. He bore the expression of the d**ned, for which life becomes an agony, not a pleasure. He wanted to die, to flee back to the torturer’s room and join his lover in whatever awaited him after life. Whatever it must be for them, he wanted to face it with her wanted to hold her hand and promise he’d be with her forever. Death, whatever waited, had to be better then a life without hope.
When they arrived at the palace, a massive, sprawling affair, and landed at the top tower, he did not resist as the guards pulled him from his seat. He was, in fact, so passive that they forgot to take his weaponry from him, assuming that he was docile and broken. However, they could not meet his eyes, for they could not bare the vicious accusation inherent in their darkening gaze.
This was wrong, they said. This was murder.

The throne room of the Zael Imperium was an imposing place, a place where technology and magic was given full sway to create a vista worthy of a dream. Now, however, it was mostly empty, filled merely by guards and members of the royal family itself. On the massive throne of the Imperium sat Emperor Diral S'Zae, steepling his fingers and waiting for his apostate son.
From the shadows, Veylana S'zae, a kind, graceful slip of an Zael girl, watched and waited. Sirel had gotten himself into trouble this time-serious trouble. She dreaded what their vindictive father would dream up as his punishment. She prayed it wouldn't be too bad.
Two elite guardsmen entered, dragging the injured Prince in. Without his shirt, his torso marked by many small wounds inflicted by sadistic hands, his long blonde hair bloody and his eyes filled with pain, he was a piteous sight. Although he was allowed to keep his sword, he could hardly be called threatening. The two guards pulled him to his feet, and he slowly lifted his head to regard the man who had sired him. "Father," he said in a quiet rasp of pain, the tone betraying neither warmth nor affection. His eyes accused the man in front of him.
"Sirel," Diral noted in just as distant and impassive a tone. There was a long pause. Members of the royal family held their breath as they looked at the prodigal Prince. He had betrayed them, lowered himself and their entire race, by daring to love a slave woman, a mere Nehzaria. Hardly higher then the pathetic humans! The royal family had always been a somewhat cold body to begin with, constantly out for the main chance.
Sirel knew he was in an unfriendly environment. What was more, he no longer cared. The pain of his experiences, and the knowledge that the woman he loved was now being tortured to death, seared his thoughts, dwarfing the physical pain of his injuries. His eyes watered, but he would not let them see tears. Not now, or ever.
The older Zael rose from his throne and walked towards Sirel, enveloping him in a mocking hug, then sending the two guards away. "You have dishonored us, my son," Diral sneered, finally ending the silence. "Your slumming with that Nehzaria filth will bring shame upon the royal house. I thought I had taught you your responsibilities better." Sirel was silent. He would not waste words with the scum who he was ashamed to acknowledge as his father.
"You have to understand, son," Diral tried again. Sirel had always been an idealist and the silence, so unlike him, was a bit unnerving. "You can not show affection for lesser races. Doing so makes them elevate themselves, places them on a pedestal they do not deserve. It makes them uppity, makes them difficult to maintain. It's for their own good. They are happy in their current state. It's all they deserve."
"They are people, father. People deserve love." Sirel found it hard to contain himself. "They feel emotions as keenly as any of us. They are just as smart and just as capable. Your claims make no sense."
"I am hardly denying the fact that they are people, Sirel. But being people, and being worthy of respect, is hardly the same thing.� Diral sighed. “A man who does not have ambition is no better than a beast of burden. They do not dream, Sirel, or reason. They know only base emotions-fear, pain, lust, and greed. If they were allowed equal standing with us, they would destroy themselves. They know no discipline unless it is forced upon them. That’s the existence of peasants. The existing order gives them an illusion of freedom, and that is really all they need, or deserve.�
Sirel's fists clenched. "Deli and I loved each other, father! She knew-knew- that she could never be accorded anything but scorn or hatred, that we could never marry. She chose to suffer for me! She forced me to take your paltry offer of life! What's your offer of life? A pathetic shadow! I would rather have died back there in the hands of your torturers, the same way she's doing now!"
Diral leered at him. "So maybe she saw-just for a moment- that your life was worth more then hers. She was willing to sacrifice her life for a few moments of lust. I am not impressed by your evidence of 'love'."
"It was more love then I have ever seen you exhibit for my mother," Sirel growled. "More love then I have seen among any of the spoiled wenches you would have me marry. Simpering, spineless girls who've never done a day's work in their life." He gritted his teeth. “You might call them inferior, and in pathetic monetary terms, you might be right! But I’d rather have a poor girl I can treat as an equal that a whining noble strumpet whose only reason for marrying me is some political point!�
Diral's expression became almost sympathetic, but to Sirel, it showed its true features: patronizing, arrogant, heartless. His blood simmered in his veins until he wanted nothing more than to smash that face.
"Sirel, you don't understand.� He shook his head pityingly. “You know enough of history, so you should. Remember the Great War, Sirel? We gave our lives , most of our RACE’S lives, to defend their pathetic nation. And what did we get in return? Nothing! We’re merely taking our fair due.�
Sirel growled. “So you’re telling me that you’ve taken over most of the known world, trapped most of the known races of the world in a series of protectorate states, extort more riches from them than I can count, and run practically every aspect of their societies, because we feel sorry for ourselves getting hammered in a war that is so old that most of the races of the world don’t even have accurate records for it.� With bitter humor, he lifted one blonde eyebrow eloquently. “I’d hate to imagine a more serious offense.�
Diral sneered. “Not a lot of respect for the throne you’re going to inherit, Sirel. The fact is, our laws are kept, order is maintained, and trade is kept going. That is something to be proud of-something that not one of those so-called protectorates could manage on their own.�
“Laws are kept? Order is maintained?� The young Zel snarled suddenly. “Do you think me stupid, father? I’ve seen Ba’krel. I’ve seen the homes of countless noblemen and noblewoman obviously rutting with half their slave stock. If these are your results, I’m not impressed.�
Diral's expression was cold. “They learned a lesson you obviously have not. Don’t get caught. Take the pleasures where you find them, but nothing more than that. There’s always a better one somewhere. Slave wenches are a dime a dozen." He shrugged.
There was a sudden silence. Sirel's fists clenched until the blood fled from them, the knuckles turning dead white. The leather of his gloves creaked with stress. You could have heard a pin drop. His teeth ground silently, and his eyes narrowed with hatred. Suddenly, and with a disturbing calm, his hand began to slink towards the handle of his bastard sword.
Diral must have noticed something in the dead quiet, perhaps the sound of the sword being gripped, for he stopped in place. "Is something wrong, Sirel? I said your punishment would be small."
"No, father," he heard the voice of his son, all the emotion of the previous statement eerily gone, but the tone growing sharp. "My punishment will not be small. Neither will yours."
It was impossible to prevent what happened. Before anyone could react, Sirel had drawn the sword, wrenched it across, crossed five feet in the space of a heartbeat, and thrust the mighty blade directly into his father just as the older Zael turned to face him. Blood spurted from the awful stroke, and Diral's mouth opened in a silent O of surprise, turning disbelieving eyes on his traitorous son.
Guards about the room cried out in one great shout, raising their hands and hurtling fireballs and threads of flame at the traitorous scion of S’zae. Sirel didn't even look at them, but turned his eyes-eyes now stained an unnatural red with sheer wrath- directly into those of his cruel father and flung out his free hand in the direction of the shots. Absolute darkness surrounded them both in a black cloud, swallowing fireballs, but the murderous prince’s voice was frighteningly audible. Hollow tones had entered into it, making it sound as if it came from a deep cavern.
"I will pay, father, until I have hunted down every foul seed of your loins and slaughtered them. My coinage will be Zael blood, of your sons, your daughters, your wife, my cousins, and your pathetic nobility." A harsh laugh rippled out of the sudden shocked silence. “I’ll erase everything you ever stood for. Die with that knowledge.�
An explosion of scarlet arterial blood erupted out of the sphere of swirling darkness, spattering the floor and ceiling. A guard grabbed his weapon tighter and charged into the swirling cloud, instantly disappearing from view. There was a quick clash of blades, and then the guard flew out of the cloud, nearly cut in two and very obviously dead. With a wave of a gloved hand, Sirel dispelled the black sphere, revealing the horrible light in his eyes anew, standing over the crumpled body of Diral S’zae. Guards charged him and died with horrifying suddenness in sprays of blood. A prince of S’zae, perhaps hoping for a little recognition if he brought Sirel down, ran at his brother with weapons out. The clash was a little longer, more savage, but the prince’s eventual defeat was no less lethal than the guards’ had been.
Veylana S'zae's eyes widened in terror. She had no weapons and little skill in their use. She understood fully the emotions that had just driven her brother to madness, but one look at him, methodically and brutally slaughtering foe after foe, assured her that there was absolutely no attachment to anything anymore in the Zael. He was fey, and consumed by his own wrath, he would turn it upon any member of his family or any guard in his way. Only blood would sate his hunger for retribution. She looked pleadingly at his flaming eyes, begging him silently to come back to sanity, but there was no recognition in that demonic gaze.
The vengeful Zael brutally hacked his next opponent to pieces while she watched, and his remaining adversaries took a panicked step backwards out of pure instinct. Those eyes! The inferno in them sizzled with a terrible life of its own, hungry and paralyzing. Death, it promised. Death will come to all of you. An insane, furious half-grin twisted Sirel's face and he experimentally swung the sword once more, testing its weight. Leather gloves creaked in the sudden silence, as streaks of darkness trickled from his fingers, seeping into the steel of the elegant weapon, and it began to give off an eerie purple glow.
More screams jolted the terrified girl into action. She took a deep breath, mentally cursed herself for her cowardice and inaction again, and bolted for a window. Every second, she expected Sirel's terrible blade to sink into her back. Glass shattered as she threw herself out the window, plunging down into the darkness of the night before extending her wings and turning the dive into a swoop.
Behind her, more and more blasts of magic and clashes of steel exploded in the tower. Smoke began to rise, and flames to flicker in the windows. She hated herself for a craven heart, but she did not look back.

Khard S’zae and his consort Keldra ran down the hall, trusting in the guards to slow Sirel down. The fact that they were probably dead didn’t matter to either of them as much as simply getting away from the spectral avenger currently turning all who resisted him into bloody corpses. Already Khard’s mind was racing as to how he would have to assume the reins of command.
He let a faint smile flash across his face. As third in the line of succession he had been planning to eliminate several of his troublesome siblings. Sirel was really doing him a favor. The trick, of course, would have to be living long enough to claim the throne. Luckily for him, however, Khard was no fool. Running per se was no good. The door was an obvious exit. However, he did know of one place where he could easily hold the maddened prince off, especially if he really cared about his mortal friends as much as he seemed to.
There was a scream from one of the balconies and a guard, dying, fell from it, his body lacerated from hip to the opposite shoulder with a wound from which blackness seeped as well as blood. Khard winced, then quickened his pace. Behind him, Keldra, not really dressed for running, plucked the dying man’s sword from his hand and hurred after him.
“You think you can run, Khard?� came the mad prince’s rasping, harsh voice from the passageway behind him. “You’re as guilty as the rest of them.� A half-crazed, harsh laugh sounded. “You can’t escape justice.�
“Justice is for those who get caught,� Khard called over his shoulder. He came to a highly ornamented wall, pressed his fingers on a specific place to open a stone hidden door, waited for Keldra, then slammed it after him. He grinned. Breaking that one down might be difficult, and this room wasn’t revealed to even the Crown Prince. Khard had only learned of it by accident. The door was enchanted with several traps, a couple strengthening spells, and had the simple power of hundreds of pounds of weight. And, of course, opening it was very, very difficult. “Break through this!� he called as the door slammed shut with a whoosh of air.
When the pair were most of the way down the dark passageway they heard the sound of shattering stone and stone shards flew past them. “Broken,� Sirel’s hideous voice countered.
Khard cursed. Would nothing slow the fool? Sweat began to roll down his forehead. He wasn’t going to let his aspirations fail just because of a psychotic sibling. He gripped his sword tighter. Think. Think.
They came to a room with more intricate carvings and a single, clearly marked door with no apparent means to open it. Khard studied the wall, then realized he wasn’t exactly sure which one to press. “Hold on a moment,� he muttered to Keldra. “I need to remember.� The courtesan nodded. She knew which of them was more important, and which was expendable. Pulling out the guard’s sword, she watched the passageway while Khard fumbled with the carvings.
“A dead end, Khard,� Sirel hissed softly, the sound of his voice a dark whisper from the shadows. “You would be best advised to just accept your fate.� Footsteps sounded from the darkness, slow, deliberate.
“Buzz off, Sirel,� Khard mumbled distractedly. “I don’t have time for your pseudo-morality.� He tried another carving. No good!
The homicidal Prince emerged from the shadows. His bloodstained body seemed a thing from a nightmare, and the terrible eyes focused on Khard. The hair was no longer blonde, but a strange, unnatural bloody red, and his features seemed hardened. The glowing, unnaturally shadowy sword lifted up. He did not speak.
In response, Khard beckoned to Keldra, who flicked out her blade and charged the prince. Swords clashed and spun, but it was the courtesan who was forced back, gasping for air as she slammed into the wall on a carving Khard had touched before. The door suddenly opened, and the upstart prince understood. He dashed for the opening door and dived under it, just as Keldra pushed herself off the wall and the door began to shut.
The courtesan charged Sirel again. A swat from the bastard sword snapped her weapon to the floor, and a ram from his shoulder threw her back against the wall. “Don’t,� he warned her in a quiet voice, as the courtesan extended a hand and began channeling a large fireball.
The courtesan continued, the fireball growing larger. She lifted it to throw. “I’ll let you go. Don’t do it,� the Zael prince said again, his raspy voice warning.
Keldra threw the fireball. At the exact same moment, Sirel threw up his free hand, creating a shield of utter blackness. The fury of the fireball shattered the shield, dissipated partially, and then its fiery wake washed over the Zael. Ignoring-hardly even feeling- the pain, the mad prince kicked Keldra’s discarded sword up from the ground, caught it, and threw it as straight as any spear.
The courtesan screamed as the sword drove itself through her chest and embedded her dying body on the switch. With a final look to the twitching woman, the traitorous Prince stalked through the door.

Inside was a chamber of crystalline surfaces. Light was everywhere, exuding from the walls or the ceiling or floor. The architecture was bleak, sharp points everywhere. At the far side of the room, backlit by windows, Khard was staring at a glowing sphere of crystal, floating in the center of the chamber, within which purple, black, and green energy flickered in a dark prism. He gasped when Sirel entered the room, but did not seem particularly frightened.
“Your consort is dying outside,� Sirel informed his sibling in his horrible voice. He made to step forward, but his younger brother held out a hand in warning.
Khard shrugged indifferently. “A pity, but she’s replaceable.� Sirel growled and took another step forward, but Khard laughed. “Come, come, Brother, you seem to place little value on Zael lives yourself.�
Sirel growled. “I spill Zael blood only to bring justice and freedom to those they oppress.� He raised his sword and charged at the sneering Zael, his voice a terrible hiss. Khard waggled his finger threateningly and Sirel stopped, noting the younger Zael’s blade hovering threatening over the crystal.
“I don’t think so, brother.� Khard snickered. “I’m sure you remember the Great Wars from your history?� Sirel nodded slowly, eyes regarding Khard burning with murder. “Well, then, you will recall then that in the end, the evil ones were sealed away into a limbo space, and the seal entrusted with the Zael, who had given so much to defend it.� His voice turned mocking. “Well, this is the seal, brother mine. You’ll drop your weapons now.�
The traitorous prince laughed. “You’re bluffing.�
“Am I?�
The tortured Zael growled and studied the crystal closer. After a few anxious minutes, he laid his sword gently on the ground, His voice became a raspy hiss. “And if I don’t?�
“I’ll break this.� Khard laughed mockingly. “I’m sure your beloved mortal friends will do so well if I unleash the creatures in here, which breaking the crystal or moving it will do.� Sirel stopped slowly, and gently dropped the sword on the ground. “Very good.� Khard spread his arms. “Now, step towards the crystal.�
Sirel did so, finally coming within sword reach of his brother. “What good will that do you?� he asked, keeping the hatred in his voice barely under control.
“You don’t understand politics, my dear brother. First I’ll smash the crystal. Destabilized, the ward shall slowly fail. Then I’ll blame it on you. The outside threat will be an excellent straw man to consolidate my power. No one makes a threat of civil war when they’re on the verge of annihilation.� Khard’s smile widened. “I’m sorry, dear brother, for having to kill you as a scapegoat.�
Sirel laughed bitterly. “The treacherous prince and the heroic savior, eh?�
“Exactly. I really ought to thank you. You’ve brought me the throne-and no one can even question the succession. All others who are eligible are dead.�
Sirel didn’t answer. Instead, he simply snapped out a hand as Khard brought his sword up over him, catching his brother in the throat. As Khard staggered back, struggling for breath, he tackled the younger Zael, throwing them both towards his discard weapon. As they rolled, he snatched it from the crystalline floors, whipped it across, and slashed hard.
Blood spurted as Khard staggered back, staring at the slash in his torso with disbelief. He slashed out feebly with his own sword, but a backhanded stroke of the bastard sword sent the weapon clattering to the ground. Sirel looked the dying man over carefully, and finally noted, “You’re dead,� as Khard’s eyes slid shut and he toppled over
Without a backwards glance, he strode out of the warding chamber.

When the room was beginning to fill with smoke, and the smell of flames was everywhere, the fallen Zael prince stirred. His face set into a grimace of hatred, and his eyes filled with the fervid light of insanity, Khard pulled himself along the floor, leaving a long trail of blood. As he crawled, he clawed for his sword, finally grasping the dropped weapon and using it to aid his crawling.
Khard pulled himself up onto the banister before the warding crystal and gave a long, bitter laugh. Blood spattered from his mouth and dripped onto the floor. He could feel the death beckoning for him, but was beyond caring. So the fool thought he was just going to go on with his private little crusade?
The laugh died into a blood-filled gurgle. It wasn’t going to be that easy. He was dead, but he wasn’t about to go into the darkness alone. Did the fool think it would really be that easy? Well, he’d show him.
Another crazed laugh rippled from his rent lungs and died again in a gurgle as aching muscles slowly losing their strength raised the sword over the crystal. A blow came down, driving a deep crack into the warding orb’s surface. Laughing despite the blood pouring out his mouth and his torso, Khard smashed it down harder. Crystal shattered, and a storm of multicolored energy exploded outward, drowning out the world as Khard’s last, mad, triumphant giggles faded into silence.
19:43:31 [Shadoweagle] Heya - your not moderator anymore, Araith?

19:43:40 [Araith] Nope

19:43:50 [Araith] I 'accidentaly' Deleted the site.

19:43:56 [Araith] So I got demoted.

Offline Araith

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Aeteria
« Reply #1 on: April 17, 2005, 11:01:53 PM »
Races:
Immortals: These races are ‘immortal’, meaning that they are not subject to death by age. All tend to be extremely powerful in both mind and body, though not insurmountable for a skilled mortal warrior. Their inability to age beyond physical fitness in most cases makes them deadly warriors since they can unite long experience with the reflexes and skills of a mortal in their youth.
Immortality can be as much a curse as a blessing, however. Because death is much more rare than among mortals, the endless centuries can wear down their will to live, and all three cultures have their own unique ways to deal with it. It tends, however, to be long periods of almost catatonic sleep, though the exact natures of the rituals can vary greatly.

Zael: The Zael are an ancient people native to the world of Aeteria. Although they once were closely allied with the mortal races of the world, their crushing sacrifice in the ancient war against the demonic races of Aeteria embittered them, especially after the mortal races didn’t give them what they believed to be their fair due. As a result, they eventually embarked on a campaign of conquest, and for millennia have ruled most of the known world, with mortal races being held in protectorate puppet states. Since the slaughter of the Zael royal family, they have been primarily devoted to protecting their own people against vengeful rebels, since they themselves are not necessarily evil per se.
Zael are almost angelic in appearance, being generally around six feet tall. They are slender and beautiful humanoids that nonetheless pack a great deal of physical strength and endurance into their delicate frames. They have generally pale skin that gives off a very faint golden light, and tend to have light-colored hair as well, the darkest shade usually being a flaring red. Zael usually possess two large, angelic wings sprouting from their backs, avian in form and generally light-feathered. These wings are only semi-physical and as such don’t actually get in the way of movement or rolls, despite being able to provide flight. They have finely formed features and bodies and are thus generally greeted with awe or disbelief at their almost unearthly beauty.
Zael demonstrate a number of formidable powers. Their racial talents revolve around the manipulation of light and heat, allowing them to project beams or even fireballs with relative ease, form tangible materials out of them, or otherwise utilize these elements in any of a number of ways, whether beneficial or baneful to the recipient. Their strong wings grant them the ability to fly, giving them a formidable mobility and speed. They are somewhat resistant to flame and heat, especially their own, and their power over flame even extends to using it to mend their own wounds. Finally, by temporarily transmuting their own forms to flame and light, they can enhance their own strength and powers and reduce damage they receive from most sources.
Zael society is aristocratic, though even the poorest Zael have become accustomed to living in relative luxury. Their lords command intense loyalty from Zael commoners, with bonds of honor and blood ensuring fealty. Zael worship the Sun Goddess, and while religious, are not doctrinaire beyond a generalized belief, ingrained as propaganda by their leaders, that other races are naturally beneath them somewhat. Nonetheless, most Zael believe that the other races have lived lives of relative freedom-the actual near-slavery/imperialism of the Imperium has long been kept a secret. This has been aided by making most forms of intimate contact with non-Zael, such as love or overly close friendship, punishable by death.
Zael prefer to work with material formed of hardened flame and light into a peculiar metal that mortals have unimaginatively called firesteel. Although, like magnesium, it can be ignited, it does not burn up, but remains aflame for a long period without being consumed. Zael often ignite their armor and weapons in battle to ensure that the heat will sear those who get too close to them, and the roaring strength of the flames has passed into the material to make it unnaturally sharp and strong. In battle they prefer long, straight slashing or piercing weapons such as two-handed blades, bastard swords, halberds, polearms, and long swords. Their racial strength allows them to carry heavy loads of armor and weapons with relative ease.
19:43:31 [Shadoweagle] Heya - your not moderator anymore, Araith?

19:43:40 [Araith] Nope

19:43:50 [Araith] I 'accidentaly' Deleted the site.

19:43:56 [Araith] So I got demoted.

Offline Araith

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Aeteria
« Reply #2 on: April 18, 2005, 09:06:27 PM »
Nehzaria: The Nehzaria are not native to Aeteria; for ages uncounted they roamed the Outer Voids as nomads, looking for a home of their own. Upon arriving, they had hardly settled in when they were assaulted by the Zael, and many of their people were enslaved. A good part of the race, however, have always fought the Zael Imperium, from hiding and ambush, and such rebels became the original core of the current rebellion. Hospitable and kindly, with a mystic connection to the night and stars, they have long welcomed any and all refugees from the Imperium, and even treat Zael captives with respect.
Nehzaria are slender humanoids at usually 5’6� to 6’, with skin such a deep, glossy blue that it seems to mirror the night sky, and that gives off a faint, silver-white glow. The tiny points of light visible in their skin, almost starlike, enhance the impression. Their features are fey, beautiful, and angular, with pointed chins, noses and ears, high cheekbones, and large eyes, and their hair is either an almost blue tone or a pale silver-white. Like Zael and all other immortals, they are deceptively strong and tough, despite their graceful builds, and quite dexterous and graceful in their movements.
Nehzaria possess a number of powerful innate talents derived from their connection to the stars. Like Zael, they have power of a sort over light, though their light is the cool, white light of the stars and moon and as such is different from the harsh beams of sunlight, and they also possess a power over cold, being able to create projectiles, beams, and other forms of cerulean or pure white cold-light. This power can be wielded offensively or defensively. Like Zael, they are resistant to their own powers. They are capable of ‘blinking’ over short distances, and at any time can assume an alternate form of crystalline light and cold for a limited time that reduces the harm they incur from most sources and enhances their own powers.
Nehzarian society remains somewhat nomadic, free-spirited and roaming. While there are indeed hidden Nehzarian cities, a large portion of its free population are free-roaming, moving from place to place in the wilds and occasionally shifting back to the cities. They have a strong connection with nature as a whole and as a result seem to enjoy this nomadic lifestyle. Nehzaria worship their own pantheon of gods. They have a nobility, but it is based more on merit than birth per se, and as a result new members of the community who prove deserving can always become nobles in turn, while nobles who do not act appropriately can lose their noble status. They have no tolerance of slavery or wickedness of any kind and fiercely battle those would use others for their own gain.
Nehzaria do not often work with conventional materials for making personal gear. They construct most of their metalwork from an alloy of magically condensed starlight and silver. The resulting material, known among mortals as celestate, is stronger than steel, and can be faintly translucent as well as giving off a deep blue-white glow. When properly polished and regularly laid out at night to absorb the energy of the stars, it can be astonishingly beautiful. Nehzarian celestate is cool to the touch, and is an excellent conduit for cold or prism for light. Nehzaria prefer graceful weapons in battle, such as katana, no-dachi, naginata, kodachi, wakizashi, as well as bo, swallow, and other exotic weapons. Their star-granted strength means that Nehzarian weapons do not have to be as thick as mortal ones to deliver the same slashing or piercing damage. They enjoy beauty, even in the manufacture of weapons of war, making a Nehzarian warrior quite the sight to behold.
19:43:31 [Shadoweagle] Heya - your not moderator anymore, Araith?

19:43:40 [Araith] Nope

19:43:50 [Araith] I 'accidentaly' Deleted the site.

19:43:56 [Araith] So I got demoted.