Post by Tau on Jun 9, 2014 22:48:04 GMT -5
Tau
theme song:;
Description:;
Tau is but a golden marriage band, which seems to conform to most sizes. The ring itself has a grain that almost seems to wind about it's length, and long forgotten vows have been etched under it's surface. The middle of the band is inlaid with a polished blue stone, all around it's length. As a living entity, Tau has a messy head of dirty blond hair, dull green eyes, and his skin is a pale olive color. His chest and limbs are adorned with countless scars of varying sizes from his experiences.
playby:;
Herbert West(Fanart)
age:;
sweet 1201
gender:;
Male
race:
born a Hito'Radeu
should we put bricks on your head?:;
5'11
no place like home:;
The blackened remains of a long forgotten castle somewhere in Germany, or France.
getting lucky with ~someone~:;
Heterosexual
babies coming?:;
Dead.
abilities:;
Innate
Rotting Touch
Acquired
Synchronize
Illusion
Rotting Touch
Acquired
Synchronize
Illusion
weapon(s):;
The short sword that was used to impale his wife, a steel blade about a meter long, and his hands.
whatcha~wearin?:;
As a dormant Vampyric ring, nothing. Otherwise he would wear what he has been wearing for the past twelve-hundred years or so.
transportation:;
Other people.
anything.else.you'd.like.to.share?:;
Nothing.
disposition to the law:;
Neutral
alignment:;
Not entirely sure, but we'll go with Chaotic Good for now.(neutral)
likes:;
He liked his wife,
He liked his children,
He's partial to alcohol,
Also partial to whores,
He enjoys hunting as well.
He liked his children,
He's partial to alcohol,
Also partial to whores,
He enjoys hunting as well.
dislikes:;
Royal estates and families,
Sunlight and silver obviously,
Any mention of The Church.
Sunlight and silver obviously,
Any mention of The Church.
phobias:;
Being forced to re-live through his past
obsessions:;
Utterly obliterating the lineages of the people who killed his own, and then some.
background:;
“Once upon a time, long before your own birth, a little boy was born to a Serf’s household.The boy grew up poor and hungry, though he learned the values of labor and the tenants of the that day’s society. His mother raised him to be modest and accepting of others above their own class, and to be, above all, a god fearing man. The mother taught her child the basics of herbalism and farming, and the father taught him the values of hard work. Soon enough, when the boy turned eight, he was sent away to be a Knight’s page, where he learned chivalry, and how to better serve his Knight master as he grew older. By the time the boy was 15 he had been promoted to the Knight’s squire, and then when he was seventeen the boy had graduated and was serving as the assistant to a physician, who had brought him in after the young man’s Knight had lost his life in a jousting accident. The boy learned many things from his master, the physician, and the lord of the region had deemed it necessary to allow the wise physician to use whatever means he could to learn about the human body, and how to fix it should the need arise. The physician was given the cadavers of recently slain heretics and witches to dissect and study, as gruesome as it was, but both he and his apprentice learned much from the experiences. It was only a few years before the old physician passed away and left his business to the budding man, and the reputation of the clinic died with him. Fortunately for the boy, there came a time one day when the Lord had been passing by in a carriage, and his son thwarted an attempt on his father’s life by taking the arrow into himself. The assassin fled before the lord’s guards could find him, but the damage had already been done. The physician’s proud apprentice saw the commotion from his inherited clinic, and managed to remove the arrow from the Lord’s son before he lost too much blood. Though he was weak from the trouble and would remain so until he recovered, the royal son would live. As a reward for his devotion to the throne, the young man received freedom from the lord, and was offered the position of Royal Physician. And that, dear boy, is how your father came to live in the castle here. Now run along and tell your mother that I’ll be late coming home again. I have some pressing matters to attend to later this evening, and to prepare supper for me would be a waste of food.” said a bespectacled Greagory. His son eagerly hopped out of his lap to run and find his mother on one of the lower levels of the castle. Greagory chuckled to himself as he watched the small boy scamper off, but his smile soon faded as he watched the slight gleam of an armored pauldron peek around the corner of his door. Greagory knew that he had been lagging behind slightly with his delivery of the guardsman’s tonic, but for Markus to come and take the tonic in person was unheard of. Something must have happened to one of the other guardsmen for the captain to come and get his own hands dirty, and it did not bode well for Greagory.
The physician waited somewhat nervously while the Captain took his time wandering around between the tables and alchemical contraptions set up in the lab. The captain made the mistake of “accidentally” knocking over a beaker or two of sensitive chemicals while he was in the room as he circled his way to Greagory, who remained silent as he waited. By the time Markus had made his way over to the chain in which the Physician sat, the Alchemist already had a small pouch of powdered Hemlock un-drawn and ready to release. Greagory had done his fair share of influencing the outcomes of certain situations in the past, but outright murdering someone was new. The victim being the captain of the guard made the crime no less severe, castle alchemist or not. When Markus leaned over and that snide toothy smile of his stretched over his lips, Greagory took a deep breath and threw the leather pouch of Hemlock into the bastard’s face. The guardsman stumbled backwards in surprise, and before he could call out for help the Physician had already grabbed a half-spilled flask, and was in the process of shoving it’s contents down the Captain’s throat. He watched with satisfaction as Markus’ eyes turned red, and his lips started to turn a sickly black color as the blood congealed. The corners of the Guard’s eyes start to bleed as the potent combination of poisons catalyzed in his blood, the vessels in and around his eyes burst, and he started to foam at the mouth. Greagory stepped back with flask and hemlock pouch in hand as the Captain fell to the ground with a clatter. The severity of his situation only dawned on him once he had carefully placed the flask back where it had fallen. He rushed to make the incident look like an accident, and then started screaming for the guards hysterically. With any luck, they would believe his sob story about how Markus had come in drunk, knocked a few things over, and had knocked an unfinished mixture into his mouth as he tripped and fell to where he was.
By the time the day was over, and by the time the guards had stopped harassing him about Markus’ death, Greagory was truly ready to make true on his word to not go home that night. He wasn't going to go home anyways, but before he was just going to miss dinner for his whores. Now it was the whole night, and possibly the morning after. While Greagory followed his usual routine of drunkenly stumbling through the late-night market looking for any potential whores to hire, his eyes caught on a particularly young and spritely looking lass, definitely younger than his haggard old wife back home… She would do nicely for the night. And for the morning. The drunken physician leaned and fawned over the girl the entire way back to the house he had purchased in secret, where clothes were tor-FADE TO BLACK HERE.
Greagory awoke with a head-splitting headache an honest 24 hours after he had met the young woman, only to find that she was longer in his company, and he was ravenous for the pleasures of the flesh. The hungover-Physician called for a nearby urchin to go out and collect as many whores as he could muster, and that he would be well-paid if he did as he was asked, with no questions asked. Once the boy returned with a small crowd of scantily cla-FADE TO BLACK! Once again… Greagory found himself waking as the sun went down. This time however, he felt completely refreshed, and there was a mountain of non-responsive whores lying about his room, all in states of undress, and all too motionless to be comforting. The best choice, the Alchemist decided, would be to return to his lab to work for the night. Which he did promptly.
The next few days were full of chaos, and utter confusion within the castle. There were whisperings among the guards that they had captured a Witch, and then a Vampire, and then that the rumors were just that. Greagory, in the meantime, had developed a strange sensitivity to the sunlight that occasionally shown into his laboratory, and to a few of the silver components that he worked with on a daily basis. Such was his sensitivity, that he could no longer stand to be in their presence. He order his windows to be boarded up with drapes hung over the insides, and his silver instruments were replaced with delicately crafted glass. He was in the midst of a very delicate operation when the guards had barged in with the new captain, and dragged him off kicking and screaming to the dungeons below the castle. They threw him unceremoniously down the stairs they came across, and then beat him into a pulp before they threw him into a pair of shackles chained to the wall. There he was left to rot for a day or two with no sustenance, while a member of The Church took his time getting prepared for interrogating the upturned Alchemist.
The priest was no stranger to the interrogation of a ‘vampire’ or so it seemed. He had a full arsenal of tools and instruments, most of which were constructed of silver. Once he was fully equipped, the priest took no time in flaying the skin off of Greagory’s arms and chest. He used a small silver hook to dig into the exposed flesh to extract various odds and ends, like the defeated Alchemist was being mummified. Greagory, not knowing why he had suddenly been forced into such a morbid and somber existence, cried out in agony through the entire process. He slung curses and swears at the priest who was ripping the muscles out of his arms slowly, and he called out his God’s name to smite down the guards who held him down. When the priest was satisfied that they would get nothing more out of the broken man by torturing him, he ordered a contingent of gods to raze the vampire’s homestead, for it had been tainted, and was unholy. He offered any who chose to follow a full pardon of all of their sins.
Greagory could do nothing but watch as the priest continued his needless torture. He was unable to even lift his head anymore, he had been so defeated. When the priest was done doing all he could possibly think of doing, he merely hung Greagory from the wall. He explained that the guard had captured a vampire posing as a whore in the lower districts, and that they had put her through a very similar process. In the end, she couldn't resist the light of God, confessed to her crimes of conspiring with the Devil, and that she had turned a man of Greagory’s description into a vampire before she had been captured. The priest finished his work of hanging Greagory just as the guards returned from their labor, and informed the man of God that they had need for evacuation.
Greagory was left to rot in his cell while the castle walls shook to the very foundations they had been built on. He could hear the screaming outside, smell the fires, taste the coppery hint of blood in the air. The wounds that had been inflicted by the priest had only just begun to heal themselves when he could hear things start to pick up outside, though they would only truly heal much later, after he became dormant. He assumed that the castle was under siege, and that the guards had uncovered a scout or a small staging force on their way to his estate and back. The cogs turned in Greagory’s head until he could hear the castle gates splinter and fall, he could hear the screaming of the servants above and the guardsmen making their last stand. He could hear the frail voice of the priest screaming for mercy from The Lord. The chaos above went on for hours upon hours, but eventually it quieted. Soon afterward, what felt like an hour at least, Greagory heard the tramping boots of an armored soldier clanking down the stone steps nearby.
Through some miracle, Greagory managed to convince the soldier to let him out. He had told him that he was another soldier, only he had been captured early in the siege. The fool had taken off the helmet that covered the last remaining bits of his bare skin after he had let Greagory out, which the jaded Alchemist took great advantage of. Within a split-second of turning around to put his helm on the table, Greagory had crossed the room and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck. It was so incredibly satisfying to feel the bones in his neck crunch, and to watch the man’s face as he slowly gasped out for air that would not come. Amazingly, the longer Greagory held on to the man’s skin, the more pale the man became. When he had ceased to move in entirety, the man seemed to just collapse in on himself, and turn into a wispy ash-like substance.
As much as Greagory was fascinated by the way the man had died, and by the strength that he evidently possessed now, he knew that it would be a much more complicated affair to escape when the sun rose. He donned the ashy equipment that his benefactor had left behind, and started out. The man had been wearing an underlay of simple 4x8 copper chain mail with padded clothing underneath it, a layered black leather jerkin over the chain, a set of steel splint mail bracers over hardened leather, some fingerless leather gloves, and padded leather greaves with matching chain. The leather boots the man had been wearing were nothing special, but they seemed to have a great deal of padding inside of them. There was also a well-crafted belt that the man had been using to cinch the waistline of his equipment with. Thin steel guards hung from the belt to protect the four vulnerable sides only covered with leather and chain.
The man clearly had come from a wealthy family, as his sword was also in marvelous condition. The sword was about a meter long by modern comparisons, and it was made of what seemed to be Damascus steel. The handle on the sword was just long enough for Greagory to fit both of his hands onto it if he squeezed, and the blade itself started off at maybe four and a half centimeters wide. The accompanying shield the man was using was a sort of short tower shield, which consisted of wood, leather, and riveted iron. What must have been his clan emblem was chiseled into the face of the shield, and it was adorned with his colors. To top off the equipment, Greagory slid the steel neck and shoulder guards over his head and into place, and then retrieved the visored sallet the man had placed onto the table far too soon. The equipment was all a little loose on Greagory, but he found that by concentrating hard enough, he seemed to be able to fill it out comfortably. After donning and securing the set tightly, he checked the dungeon shelves and chests to make sure there wasn't any remaining equipment he could use to help him and his family start a new life away from this specific area.
Once Greagory was certain that nothing could be gained from searching through the dungeons anymore, he marched upwards and did what he could to make his way outside of the castle. It would take him a while to make his way to his estate, but he could make it there before sunrise. It was a simple affair to move through the camps that the rest of the invasion force was stationed in, and upon reaching it’s outskirts, Greagory found that he had gained a large boost to his endurance and stamina. Large enough that he could run, even fully geared as he was, almost continuously until he reached his estate.
Greagory reached the carnage that the guardsmen had left his homestead in just as the moon reached it’s zenith in the cold night sky. He had no trouble making out the waving smoke from a great distance away, but by the time Greagory had reached his razed house the flames had reduced everything that was flammable into a smoldering pit in the ground. The defeated man walked slowly through his now-unfamiliar estate in the vain hope that the men that had come through had missed any of his family or a servant, but they had not. Greagory found the battered and burned bodies of his boys hanging limply from the trees that once stood proudly in the courtyard of his fallen estate, and a little further up he found the drawn and quartered remains of what seemed to be his daughter. Almost not able to bear the weight of his loss, Greagory found himself dragging his feet over the hot cobblestone that once adorned the entryway into his home. It was there that he found what little remained of his wife. The upper-half of her torso was impaled on a support for the entryway with a short sword, which protruded viciously from her rib cage. The short sword was eerily similar to the one which the previous captain of the guard, Markus, had used in his service. The blade still had the insignia marking it as his on the pommel. Greagory sank to his knees and gripped the exposed handle of the sword weakly pulled it out of his wife. There was a folded up note tied to the neck of his lover with a piece of ragged cloth, which explained that the blade did in fact belong to Markus. It also detailed the events that had occurred at the estate in great detail, and by the time Greagory had finished reading it, he was curled up around the deformed and charred body of his wife, the only thing able to keep his attention being the ring still glimmering dully on her bloated hand.
After a time, Greagory felt himself being lifted gently from the ground. To his surprise, it was a man clad in dark robes and wear. He was held up to an eye and inspected, and then slipped into a pocket at the man’s side. There he rested, the living remains of his entire legacy carried in a ring. When he was hungry, he merely leached away a portion of his possessor’s life. When he was in danger, he used his evident skills at manipulating someone’s eyes to help himself. If that failed, he would concentrate on shifting into something that would help prevent discovery or harm. Otherwise he has remained dormant for the vast majority of the time leading up to the modern date, though he was aware of his surroundings. The things he has witnessed and learned have done nothing to help his rage cool, and when awakened, he fully intends on utterly obliterating the lineages of the people who he holds accountable for destroying his own.
The physician waited somewhat nervously while the Captain took his time wandering around between the tables and alchemical contraptions set up in the lab. The captain made the mistake of “accidentally” knocking over a beaker or two of sensitive chemicals while he was in the room as he circled his way to Greagory, who remained silent as he waited. By the time Markus had made his way over to the chain in which the Physician sat, the Alchemist already had a small pouch of powdered Hemlock un-drawn and ready to release. Greagory had done his fair share of influencing the outcomes of certain situations in the past, but outright murdering someone was new. The victim being the captain of the guard made the crime no less severe, castle alchemist or not. When Markus leaned over and that snide toothy smile of his stretched over his lips, Greagory took a deep breath and threw the leather pouch of Hemlock into the bastard’s face. The guardsman stumbled backwards in surprise, and before he could call out for help the Physician had already grabbed a half-spilled flask, and was in the process of shoving it’s contents down the Captain’s throat. He watched with satisfaction as Markus’ eyes turned red, and his lips started to turn a sickly black color as the blood congealed. The corners of the Guard’s eyes start to bleed as the potent combination of poisons catalyzed in his blood, the vessels in and around his eyes burst, and he started to foam at the mouth. Greagory stepped back with flask and hemlock pouch in hand as the Captain fell to the ground with a clatter. The severity of his situation only dawned on him once he had carefully placed the flask back where it had fallen. He rushed to make the incident look like an accident, and then started screaming for the guards hysterically. With any luck, they would believe his sob story about how Markus had come in drunk, knocked a few things over, and had knocked an unfinished mixture into his mouth as he tripped and fell to where he was.
By the time the day was over, and by the time the guards had stopped harassing him about Markus’ death, Greagory was truly ready to make true on his word to not go home that night. He wasn't going to go home anyways, but before he was just going to miss dinner for his whores. Now it was the whole night, and possibly the morning after. While Greagory followed his usual routine of drunkenly stumbling through the late-night market looking for any potential whores to hire, his eyes caught on a particularly young and spritely looking lass, definitely younger than his haggard old wife back home… She would do nicely for the night. And for the morning. The drunken physician leaned and fawned over the girl the entire way back to the house he had purchased in secret, where clothes were tor-FADE TO BLACK HERE.
Greagory awoke with a head-splitting headache an honest 24 hours after he had met the young woman, only to find that she was longer in his company, and he was ravenous for the pleasures of the flesh. The hungover-Physician called for a nearby urchin to go out and collect as many whores as he could muster, and that he would be well-paid if he did as he was asked, with no questions asked. Once the boy returned with a small crowd of scantily cla-FADE TO BLACK! Once again… Greagory found himself waking as the sun went down. This time however, he felt completely refreshed, and there was a mountain of non-responsive whores lying about his room, all in states of undress, and all too motionless to be comforting. The best choice, the Alchemist decided, would be to return to his lab to work for the night. Which he did promptly.
The next few days were full of chaos, and utter confusion within the castle. There were whisperings among the guards that they had captured a Witch, and then a Vampire, and then that the rumors were just that. Greagory, in the meantime, had developed a strange sensitivity to the sunlight that occasionally shown into his laboratory, and to a few of the silver components that he worked with on a daily basis. Such was his sensitivity, that he could no longer stand to be in their presence. He order his windows to be boarded up with drapes hung over the insides, and his silver instruments were replaced with delicately crafted glass. He was in the midst of a very delicate operation when the guards had barged in with the new captain, and dragged him off kicking and screaming to the dungeons below the castle. They threw him unceremoniously down the stairs they came across, and then beat him into a pulp before they threw him into a pair of shackles chained to the wall. There he was left to rot for a day or two with no sustenance, while a member of The Church took his time getting prepared for interrogating the upturned Alchemist.
The priest was no stranger to the interrogation of a ‘vampire’ or so it seemed. He had a full arsenal of tools and instruments, most of which were constructed of silver. Once he was fully equipped, the priest took no time in flaying the skin off of Greagory’s arms and chest. He used a small silver hook to dig into the exposed flesh to extract various odds and ends, like the defeated Alchemist was being mummified. Greagory, not knowing why he had suddenly been forced into such a morbid and somber existence, cried out in agony through the entire process. He slung curses and swears at the priest who was ripping the muscles out of his arms slowly, and he called out his God’s name to smite down the guards who held him down. When the priest was satisfied that they would get nothing more out of the broken man by torturing him, he ordered a contingent of gods to raze the vampire’s homestead, for it had been tainted, and was unholy. He offered any who chose to follow a full pardon of all of their sins.
Greagory could do nothing but watch as the priest continued his needless torture. He was unable to even lift his head anymore, he had been so defeated. When the priest was done doing all he could possibly think of doing, he merely hung Greagory from the wall. He explained that the guard had captured a vampire posing as a whore in the lower districts, and that they had put her through a very similar process. In the end, she couldn't resist the light of God, confessed to her crimes of conspiring with the Devil, and that she had turned a man of Greagory’s description into a vampire before she had been captured. The priest finished his work of hanging Greagory just as the guards returned from their labor, and informed the man of God that they had need for evacuation.
Greagory was left to rot in his cell while the castle walls shook to the very foundations they had been built on. He could hear the screaming outside, smell the fires, taste the coppery hint of blood in the air. The wounds that had been inflicted by the priest had only just begun to heal themselves when he could hear things start to pick up outside, though they would only truly heal much later, after he became dormant. He assumed that the castle was under siege, and that the guards had uncovered a scout or a small staging force on their way to his estate and back. The cogs turned in Greagory’s head until he could hear the castle gates splinter and fall, he could hear the screaming of the servants above and the guardsmen making their last stand. He could hear the frail voice of the priest screaming for mercy from The Lord. The chaos above went on for hours upon hours, but eventually it quieted. Soon afterward, what felt like an hour at least, Greagory heard the tramping boots of an armored soldier clanking down the stone steps nearby.
Through some miracle, Greagory managed to convince the soldier to let him out. He had told him that he was another soldier, only he had been captured early in the siege. The fool had taken off the helmet that covered the last remaining bits of his bare skin after he had let Greagory out, which the jaded Alchemist took great advantage of. Within a split-second of turning around to put his helm on the table, Greagory had crossed the room and wrapped his hands around the man’s neck. It was so incredibly satisfying to feel the bones in his neck crunch, and to watch the man’s face as he slowly gasped out for air that would not come. Amazingly, the longer Greagory held on to the man’s skin, the more pale the man became. When he had ceased to move in entirety, the man seemed to just collapse in on himself, and turn into a wispy ash-like substance.
As much as Greagory was fascinated by the way the man had died, and by the strength that he evidently possessed now, he knew that it would be a much more complicated affair to escape when the sun rose. He donned the ashy equipment that his benefactor had left behind, and started out. The man had been wearing an underlay of simple 4x8 copper chain mail with padded clothing underneath it, a layered black leather jerkin over the chain, a set of steel splint mail bracers over hardened leather, some fingerless leather gloves, and padded leather greaves with matching chain. The leather boots the man had been wearing were nothing special, but they seemed to have a great deal of padding inside of them. There was also a well-crafted belt that the man had been using to cinch the waistline of his equipment with. Thin steel guards hung from the belt to protect the four vulnerable sides only covered with leather and chain.
The man clearly had come from a wealthy family, as his sword was also in marvelous condition. The sword was about a meter long by modern comparisons, and it was made of what seemed to be Damascus steel. The handle on the sword was just long enough for Greagory to fit both of his hands onto it if he squeezed, and the blade itself started off at maybe four and a half centimeters wide. The accompanying shield the man was using was a sort of short tower shield, which consisted of wood, leather, and riveted iron. What must have been his clan emblem was chiseled into the face of the shield, and it was adorned with his colors. To top off the equipment, Greagory slid the steel neck and shoulder guards over his head and into place, and then retrieved the visored sallet the man had placed onto the table far too soon. The equipment was all a little loose on Greagory, but he found that by concentrating hard enough, he seemed to be able to fill it out comfortably. After donning and securing the set tightly, he checked the dungeon shelves and chests to make sure there wasn't any remaining equipment he could use to help him and his family start a new life away from this specific area.
Once Greagory was certain that nothing could be gained from searching through the dungeons anymore, he marched upwards and did what he could to make his way outside of the castle. It would take him a while to make his way to his estate, but he could make it there before sunrise. It was a simple affair to move through the camps that the rest of the invasion force was stationed in, and upon reaching it’s outskirts, Greagory found that he had gained a large boost to his endurance and stamina. Large enough that he could run, even fully geared as he was, almost continuously until he reached his estate.
Greagory reached the carnage that the guardsmen had left his homestead in just as the moon reached it’s zenith in the cold night sky. He had no trouble making out the waving smoke from a great distance away, but by the time Greagory had reached his razed house the flames had reduced everything that was flammable into a smoldering pit in the ground. The defeated man walked slowly through his now-unfamiliar estate in the vain hope that the men that had come through had missed any of his family or a servant, but they had not. Greagory found the battered and burned bodies of his boys hanging limply from the trees that once stood proudly in the courtyard of his fallen estate, and a little further up he found the drawn and quartered remains of what seemed to be his daughter. Almost not able to bear the weight of his loss, Greagory found himself dragging his feet over the hot cobblestone that once adorned the entryway into his home. It was there that he found what little remained of his wife. The upper-half of her torso was impaled on a support for the entryway with a short sword, which protruded viciously from her rib cage. The short sword was eerily similar to the one which the previous captain of the guard, Markus, had used in his service. The blade still had the insignia marking it as his on the pommel. Greagory sank to his knees and gripped the exposed handle of the sword weakly pulled it out of his wife. There was a folded up note tied to the neck of his lover with a piece of ragged cloth, which explained that the blade did in fact belong to Markus. It also detailed the events that had occurred at the estate in great detail, and by the time Greagory had finished reading it, he was curled up around the deformed and charred body of his wife, the only thing able to keep his attention being the ring still glimmering dully on her bloated hand.
After a time, Greagory felt himself being lifted gently from the ground. To his surprise, it was a man clad in dark robes and wear. He was held up to an eye and inspected, and then slipped into a pocket at the man’s side. There he rested, the living remains of his entire legacy carried in a ring. When he was hungry, he merely leached away a portion of his possessor’s life. When he was in danger, he used his evident skills at manipulating someone’s eyes to help himself. If that failed, he would concentrate on shifting into something that would help prevent discovery or harm. Otherwise he has remained dormant for the vast majority of the time leading up to the modern date, though he was aware of his surroundings. The things he has witnessed and learned have done nothing to help his rage cool, and when awakened, he fully intends on utterly obliterating the lineages of the people who he holds accountable for destroying his own.
Tau's "Fatal wood" would be Redwood, which was plentiful in the area in which he was turned.
