James Tervah


Gender: Male

Kit: Eldritch

Location: Santa Rose, New Mexico


Alignment: Hero

Team: Solo Hero


Strength: weak (rank 0)

Agility: standard (rank 1)

Mind: superior (rank 2)

Body: weak (rank 0)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Fame Points: 360

Personal Wins: 31

Personal Losses: 14

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Disabled


The constant stomp-clack of boots on the sand dusted pavement was an auditory nusicance to say the least. The sound resonated across the fort, circulated back in on itself before finally smashing into the young boy's skull, over and over again. Of course, he could no longer cling to the sentiment of inexperience for his woes, as the humdrum aspects of being a military brat were firmly rooted.

James' family never stayed long in one place, always moving for one reason or another, for money, for notoriety and sometimes for war. Still, there was a common factor manipulating their trek around the globe; that sentiment was ironically, time. That endless, uniform and ever lasting notion was also the tool in which so much change cultivated itself. Though he did not understand this in its entirety, that feeling of not being in control; of merely being a leaf blowing in the wind as time ticked on, hurt the most.

Struggling to rub the faint traces of sleep from his rebellious eyes, James stumbled out of his makeshift bedroom and out into the world, which he hated so much. The sun was at its zenith casting long shadows throughout the base but at the same time scorching the reddish sand. It was, in essence, a perfect unity of both beginning and end. James walked through it all without purpose nor reflection. The universe was too busy to notice him anyway. Though he had no destination in mind, his legs nevertheless carried him to the tracks.

The train tracks seemed to stretch out endlessly from one end to the other; created from an abyss and succumbing to nothingness. All things considered, the train tracks were more, much more than a simple purpose of transportation. They spoke bizarre notions, emulated life, and whispered of death. No train ran along its tracks, and some doubt that there ever had been, they were simply getting lost just as soon as they were found.

By the time James found the tracks, the sun was already beginning its descent and slowly plunging into the horizon. The sky was still the passionate blue of midday but a faint glimmer of orange and red painted itself across the azure canvas. It was a beautiful spectacle to say the least, but its reverence was lost on the cold hateful eyes of James. It was simply another way in which reality laughed in his face and denied him the notoriety he deserved. So, James walked parallel to the tracks, oblivious to the world around him. There was nothing for him, just the tracks. The tracks provided a sense of control for the fourteen-year-old boy; they were his in a sense. Each day they walked together not knowing when or if they'd come back.

Time passed, but no one knew. The golden sun had completed its inclination, and crashed within the crevices of space once more. In its place, the heavenly glow of the moon cast its own superiority across the earth and with it came the illusions. His mind plummeted down the abyss and with each step his grasp on reality withered away.

Forever falling. A silent scream lost in the wind.


The darkness was his only friend, whispering in his ear telling him all sorts of delightful things. Oh, how he laughed at the keen humor of the black. The revelries of impossible notions danced across his mind, as he surrendered all rational thought. Yet, out of the darkness a faint bluish glow floated through the blackened canvas. It may have been just another trick on his already delusional mind, but manifesting itself before him was an aspiration of an old chief, beckoning him to follow. The elderly chief wore an extravagant headdress with an equally brilliant garment. The man's face was solemn, yet strangely calm. With a warm gesture, the chief held out his ghostly hand and motioned for James to follow. As they moved through the murky darkness, formations begin to appear all around him, going from basic geometric shapes and gradually becoming more and more complex. Before long, the darkness had all but dissipated and in its place was a intricate labyrinth. Sandstone walls flowed this way and that all around them and engravings covered the floor below, meaning little, and yet representing everything.

Forever alone. A tame mind whisked away by the serrations of the night.


Waters of Life

     Emotion Control: standard (rank 1)


The wise elder led James through the labyrinth, and during their travels they came across various emblems and statues. Sometimes the figures were easily distinguishable, other times they seemed to be as contorted and bizarre as his own mind. Still they walked on, carving their path through the delusional sanctuary.

After a time they came upon an opening in the labyrinth. Silver and green crystals dripped down from the high ceiling casting intricate illuminations of light courtesy of the dozens of flaming orange torches dotting the walls. At the center of it all was an altar, waiting for them. The altar was strangely simplistic compared to the rest of the eccentric archetecture of the labryinth; square, grey, and rigid. The chief pointed towards the altar, and without a second thought, James walked toward it and laid down. The wise chieftain, tugged at the boy s shirt, and mouthed the word, "Off." Feeling no sense of restraint at this rather odd request, James did as he was bid. Slowly, methodically he peeled off each piece of clothing until he was lying upon the altar completely naked. Oh how far he had fallen.

Beside him were three jars each holding the sanctity of life. They were simple chambers, all of them simple in design and maroon in color. The ghost Chief revealed a golden horsehair brush with a reddish handle and dipped it into the first jar of water. The chieftain painted the water over James body, each stroke tranquil and free and as he did the water transformed into a vibrant blue. Oddly enough, James felt an inner calm flowing through him.

Forever Calm. A rabid soul soothed by the waters of life.



     Ally: standard (rank 1)


Next, the elder brought the horsehair brush to his face and begin chanting under his breath. His ghostly eyes rolled into the back of his head, and his hands began to tremble. Yet, there was a strange sense of dictation to these otherwise sporadic movements. As the chanting continued, the brush began to bend slightly in his hands, and then it dripped. With each drop, the brush gradually liquefied, until the chieftain was allowing a thick maroon and gold liquid slip through his fingers and fall to the altar. The aspiration lifted an old bony hand above the liquid and with a shout; he brought his hand down onto the concoction, splattering it all over.

When he lifted his hands two identical horsehair brushes lay where the liquid once was. With that the chief grabbed a brush in each hand, and with a twirl of the fingers he plunged the brushes into the second chamber. The chamber was filled with murky greenish water filled with various bits of foliage, and as he swabbed the brushes into this natural mixture, it transformed into an intense emerald green.

The chief lifted the brushes and proceeded to paint over James once more. This time the chief's strokes seemed to have a definite order to them, each one accenting the next. His strokes mirrored one another, creating a perfect geometrical harmony. For the first time in his life, James felt like he wasn't alone on this earth, that there was finally someone out there waiting for him, waiting to take him by the hand. They would walk together with all the earth singing their chorus behind them.

Forever accompanied. A lonely song ended by the breath of earth.


Winds of the Great Spirit

     Reaction Speed: standard (rank 1)


When this was finished Tervah even in his delusional state noticed that there was no longer two brushes but only one. The chief wasted no time in moving on to the third jar, which interestingly had nothing in it. James gave the ailing chieftain a quizzical look, but the aspiration merely smiled at him, circled his brush inside the pot and raised it high above his head. However, no color erupted from its bristles. Nevertheless, the chief began to paint over the boy once more. His strokes were long and flowing, but at times, they had a peculiar aggressive nature to them. One moment, he would move slowly, passionately across his skin and the next he would make a quick sharp stroke across his James body. It was as if the voice of the Great Spirit was whispering through the brush.

Then almost prematurely, the ghost chief halted his visual symphony. James was surprised to see a series of white patterns twisting over his body. He struggled to lift his head, and his eyes widened at the wonderful array of the lines, curves, and the uncontrolled chaotic beauty of it all. A light wind swept through the temple, and he could feel the fingers of the Great Spirit rippling over him, giving him new life.

Forever free. A chained child, liberated by the winds of the Great Spirit.


Blood of Combat

     Martial Arts: standard (rank 1)


Next, with an aggressive gesture that betrayed his usual calm demeanor, the chieftain pulled a sharpened onyx stone from within his garment. The stone shimmered as it danced with the glow of the fires surrounding it. For the first time, James felt a trickle of fear etching its way through his conscience. The chieftain seemed to pay no mind, and snatched the young boys wrist. James marveled at the ghost s fierce strength, which rivaled that of a python rather than a frailing old man.

Methodically, the cheif made a long cut along James arm, allowing thin streams of blood to seep through the wound. James cringed as the crimson blood flowed onto the stone. He felt his stomach turn to snakes, and he struggled to keep himself from being sick. The chief swabbed up the blood with his horsehair brush and proceeded to splatter the blood over James' body. With each aggessive flick of the wrist, blood droplets formed all around the boy s bony frame. The blood steamed, and hissed as it made contact with James icy skin. As the blood burned, bubbled and festered, James muscles pulsated and contracted in formations he never thought possible. His limbs wrangled about wildly, contracting and relaxing with a violent fervor. Then, without warning his entire body went impossibly limp.

Forever fighting. A frightened boy transformed by the blood of combat.



     Fire: standard (rank 1)

  • Area Affect


Finally, the ghost floated away from the altar allowing his transparent form to be swept across the dusty stone of the labyrinth. It appeared that the bizarre ritual was over, and James breathed a sighed of relief. Instead, the ailing aspiration began to shake his body to some unheard rhythmic pulse. He stomped his feet, waved his arms and chanted in his native tongue. James couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle, but his laughter was soon silenced as a spark of fire ignited and created a ring of towering embers around him. The orange and red embers licked at the sandstone, and thrashed about madly, tangling themselves together and cackling wildly.

The paint over James body began to soak into his skin until the colorful explosion of symphonic visual chaos was no more. The flames began to turn a smoky sapphire and raged violently, towering alll around James and bombarding him with their searing heat. James felt the blistering heat twisting through his veins, and the fire danced in his heart.



Horsehair Brush

     Illusion Control: standard (rank 1)

  • Multi-Attack


James woke with a startle in his own bed, in his own room, painting heavily. A dream, he thought. A silly dream and nothing more. Yet, how alive he had felt deep within the cavern. A small part of him longed to return to his time with the elder chief. For some odd reason, he had felt a sense of control amidst the chaos of life. For once, James was the planter and not merely the seed.

A foreign object on his cluttered dresser interrupted James' reflections. An elegant horsehair brush, with a redwood handle was placed neatly amongst his possessions.