Anax Rho


Gender: Male

Kit: Eldritch

Location: Boston


Alignment: Hero

Team: Solo Hero


Strength: standard (rank 1)

Agility: standard (rank 1)

Mind: standard (rank 1)

Body: standard (rank 1)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Fame Points: 103

Personal Wins: 5

Personal Losses: 3

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Active


What a face to wake up to.

He awakened abruptly, after thousands of years in a dust covered coma. He had been sleeping patiently like a spider in wait of it's prey. Under the thickly wrapped layers of bandage and preservative, his dry fig of a heart sprang back to it's beating. The long dead eyes of a lost king flickered open to the first light in millenia as the heavy limestone lid was lifted away, exposing his shriveled corpse.

As his eyes fixed to the gloomy torchlight her figure grew clearer. Looking upon her face his newly sparked heart dropped like a stone. Her beauty was timeless, thick locks of auburn hair ran from her head to her shoulders. The lines of her face were gentle and young, and those eyes were like golden-brown fireworks, so full of life. She was vibrant and lively, her dirt-speckled sleeves rolled up to her elbows, perspiration dotted her forehead as she gestured excitedly.

She knelt over curiously, studying his body. Her soft fingers grazed his arm as she fervently brushed back the dust and decay. He held back a sigh lying perfectly still, and he pretended to be dead as she examined the thick stone that he laid on. His head began humming as the sounds of the world rushed back into life. He had forgotten hearing, the sensation of words and noises. They sounded so loud now, so precise and sharp, and lucid. As his ears adjusted to the harmony of breathing, and mumbles, crackling torches and scuffling shoes. She said a few words alien and strange, and the men she was with slid back the cover of his sarcophagus, leaving him once again in darkness.


There are ancient secrets the world has long forgotten, shrouded in mystery they have fallen into myth and legend. Man has ignored the miraculous, the extraordinary, letting it recede into their daytime fantasies, and neglecting the power they once wielded. Every once in a while these secrets are uncovered, calling into question all that man has striven to understand about the world around him and the principles upon which it operates.

For most Death is an ending, an eternal sleep from which one does not awaken. The laws of nature dictate that what is lost cannot be regained and what is dead cannot be reanimated. These principles and laws are not easily broken. When confronted with such an egregious breach of natural law, a human has a limited number of ways to react. Some refuse to accept that which transpires, some believe they have gone mad, and still others find vindication in their belief of the supernatural.

Remarkably her reaction was much more subtle. It was a stormy night, he had passed his time in the pitch black of his dank sarcophagus envisioning her dancing through the damp moldy air. Her imaginary smile lit the shadowy confines of the cold stone and passed the hours quickly. He felt himself growing stronger, slowly the energy within him gathering in strength, waxing as hours passed. He lay there in the cargo hold of a huge ocean liner, encased in the ornate burial case, his heart calling out for her.

Her preoccupation with him matched his with her. She spent hours in her room writing about her newfound discovery in faded brown journals and notebooks. She found herself allured to this mysterious corpse, her curiosity drawn as if by an invisible hand. This night as the waves crashed hard at the portholes and lightning lit up the sky like a burning white fire, she crept across the the empty corridors and slunk up to the cargo hold doors. They were locked. She caught her breath, realizing just how fast her heart was pounding.

She leaned against the heavy steel door, her breath condensing lightly against the cold metal. She stood there for a few minutes her heartbeat slowing, the feeling of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Suddenly the sound of heavy footfalls echoes down the tight corridor. With no time to hide she put on her prettiest smile and turns to face the unknown stranger.

“Ma'am are you alright? You really shouldn't be down here right now you know?”

She looked into the sailor's eyes and did her best impression of what she assumed a seductress would act like. She slowly unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and then brushed back a lock of auburn hair. She leaned into him and grabbed his ear as if commanding his attention, she then whispered something into it. The sailor turned red as a beet, but he quickly reached into his pocket, his shaking hands grabbing a jingling ring of keys. She winked and whispered a thank you giving him a peck on the cheek. Before he could say anything she had the door open and was through it leaving the keys sitting in the keyhole.

The heavy steel door clanked shut behind her and she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The distant flashes of lightning provided a flickering light as she crawled cautiously over crates and barrels. She could almost feel something drawing her through the semi-black room to the far corner. There the heavy stone sarcophagus lay strapped down with heavy rope. She felt compelled to open it, struggling with the heavy knots she suddenly felt a rush of strength as if pure adrenaline were coursing through her veins.

She strained as she slid the heavy cover off and her eyes beheld the bandaged cadaver. He seemed somehow fuller than before. She couldn't take her eyes off him. She saw a strange glimmer from where his eyes should have been. But that's impossible she thought, organic tissue would have decayed away hundreds and hundreds of years ago. She leaned in closely asking herself out loud if she could be going crazy. A soft voice answered her weakly from what seemed the mouth of the mummy. She startled, then touched him and his voiced resounded stronger. She didn't scream, or pinch herself, she didn't herself if she was dreaming, instead she asked something far more simple and elegant.

“How do you speak English?”

He spent the rest of the night explaining magic and how he came back to life, the of his reanimation, and the memories he could recall. She told him of cities and, electricity, and internal combustion engines. He countered with stories of chariot races, The Nile, and the young palace girls. She sat there late, till the morning sun rose and returned every night like clockwork to carry on their late night talks. He loved making her laugh, the fire in her eyes, and the gentle smile she'd beam at him each night time he would touch her. She grew more and more tired with each passing visit, and though he could see it he pretended he didn't. She slept through the days as the ship crossed the ocean, her naps began growing longer, and longer. She soon began to not see the sun at all for days, she grew paler, and weaker, but her obsession only grew in strength.


The Curse

     Bio Vampire: superior (rank 2)


She could not force herself to skip any visits, even when the young sailor questioned her health, she gathered her strength to convince him to let her through. Each night she'd take her diaries and notebooks, journals and pens. She took a gaslight lamp to see and she would write down his stories, and when she got too tired and could no longer force her eyes to remain open he found the strength to get up and write them down for her. She would lay her head down among the sacks of old laundry and he'd stay up and read and stroke her hair gently. With each passing day he found himself falling for her, and night after night he felt stronger and fuller. This continued as the weeks passed until one night she said it would be their last.

The voyage was over and he was already committed to be on display in a museum in Boston. She of course worked at the museum, but she could not tell them that the mummy she had found was actually alive. They would ridicule her, she'd be declared insane, it would be the end of her career. Even if he were to come forward in her defense, they would want him to be a lab rat, to run tests and experiments on, and she just couldn't do that to him.


Ethereal Mist

     Phasing: superior (rank 2)


So on the final night she explained everything and she kissed him on the forehead. He smelled like stale bandage and dust, but she couldn't say no. She looked into his kindly eyes and she kissed him again. He stood up suddenly asking her to sit down and be still. His eyes flashed a luminous green and his body turned into an ethereal smoke. The mist swept through the cargo hold slinking and slipping through boxes and barrels. It formed rings and tall spires of thin wisping steam and then it drifted slowly back to the cold stone coffin. There it set for a second before materializing back into corporeal form.

The next day his body was laid in new coffin, this one was clear made of glass shined to perfection. It was put on display in a big open room, and each day he laid there completely unmoving. He pretended to be dead as he was all those years and as school kids crowded round he thought of her fondly. At night he would escape the bounds of his new tomb, and wander the hallways as a gentle white mist. He'd head to her office where she'd softly be sleeping on an old leather couch and he'd wake her ever so gently. They'd sit and they'd talk over cups of warm tea and he'd tell her new stories, this time about the future. How they'd leave all of this and get a nice little place in the country. How he could shed the disguise of his moldy bandages. She'd listen intently as he outlined their futures and gilded these tales with I Love You's and promises.


Weather Wizardry

     Weather Control: superior (rank 2)


But with each passing day she grew sicker and sicker. Try as he might there was no way to save her. The liveliness he'd seen on that first night in the Pyramid, it was fading away from her and the lines of her face grew tighter and wearier. Her once auburn hair was streaked with white-gray and though only months had passed since that day she looked as if Eighty was her true age. She stopped leaving home, he'd sneak out to see her. Though each visit he knew drew her quicker to the end. She'd lie there in bed her eyes softly closed, and she'd ask him to tell her again of their lives together. He'd sit there and start off each night with these things he would tell her, but as she folded her hands and fell into slumber he'd stop with the stories and hang his head crying. Each night it would rain as his tear dops fell heavy like diamonds on her stained hardwood floors.



     Teleportation: standard (rank 1)


Then one night he visited and she seemed older than ever. Her frail body laid there, lungs gently wheezing in her dusty old bed. She asked for a story like each night before, but when she folded her hands and shut her eyes this time it was for good. The heart in her chest, once so full of life was shriveled and dusty and drained of all spark.

He sat in her rocking chair, his mind set in motion, remembering their nights and all their long conversations. One in particular kept grabbing his attention and giving in to the urges he thought about it once again. It was a dark night in the cargo hold with the flickering glow of the gas lamp to warm them. As she laid down in the bags of dirty old laundry she asked a question and he answered accordingly. She asked him “Why pyramids?”, and he answered her honestly. He told her to see them as an immense invitation. “You wanted to be found?” She had questioned him weakly. “Yes, I did” he replied and he kissed her cheek gently.

He returned to reality, and got up out of the chair. He finally shed his cocoon of decay and dust and he leaned in to kiss her. He tucked her body in, a frail dusty corpse, and then he was gone in a cloud of fine dust and a loud crack of thunder.