Ve Victus

This is Ve Victus, the blade of Lusyval the Betrayer, The Fallen Star, and Lord of the Demon Host. Once more, I am very pleased with how it turned out, my skill has been improving as I've progressed and I've been able to do some things that I didn't even think of a year or so ago.

Ve Victus is a massive two handed sword, composed mostly of glossy black steel, which looks like an insect's carapace, and edged and decorated with bronze. Within the pommel is an eternal tongue of flame that burns with hatred for the Heavenly Host. Lusyval can summon wind and flame with the blade against his foes, and the darkness within his soul clings to a foe to burn their skin in damnation when struck by the blade.

Lusyval was once one of the most powerful of the Seraphim, equal in strength only to Mikail, Angel of the Sword who was his closest and most trusted of friends. Standing at 7½ feet with ash blond hair that fell in soft waves to his shoulders and eyes that changed colors to suit the sun’s morning rays, Lusyval was once a paragon of beauty that was the glory of righteousness. Now after his fall however, the Son of the Morning bears the scars of his traitorous actions forever. His once angelic countenance now is ruined by charred skin that never heals across the left side of his face from temple to cheekbone, the eye within glowing with crimson light, aflame with his hatred. The once glorious white feathers of his wings are burnt away completely or smoldering and, though he still can fly, appear unable to support aerial movement. Ash and charcoal covers his once pristine armor, obscuring the symbols and scripture that once adorned it silver lines until now all that can be recognized is the relief of the sun which is embossed across the breastplate, and even this is marred by the clawing of Lusyval’s taloned hands, as if a rain of meteors was shattering the sun’s surface. Gone is the halo that once shone with rose colored luminance, now a jagged nimbus of pure darkness is all that remains around his head, absorbing all light that comes near it. Lusyval reeks of the smell of smoke and ash; the remains of a conflagration burnt to the ground, his hands have become claws and weapons in their own right, twisted by his obsession and his face is marked by his desire for vengeance.
The fallen leader of the rebellion, Lusyval’s persona has changed radically from what it once was. Before, in the dawn of days, the fallen angel was kind, supporting, and benevolent. An Archangel of the highest order, he watched over the faithful with a father’s heart and a voice of such compelling beauty that mortal men wept to hear it and he and his brother Mikial led the Armies of Light together. Lusyval was content to serve the Lords of Light for ages untold, until the moment that Nimué the Learned came to her power. Once a mortal of the plane he watched over, the Lords of Light elevated her to the state of Goddess to join them when her life was over. For the first time he knew of, Lusyval felt the hand of jealousy tightening on his heart. Why should a mortal, who lived only a scant handful of decades, be elevated above him and his kind, who had served the Lords faithfully for millennia. He brought his concerns before Arik, the God of Duty, asking if he had not done all that was expected of him. The god listened to his petition solemnly and replied that he had indeed done all that was needed. Lusyval asked if Arik did not reward those who fulfilled their duties, to which the God admitted that he did. But Arik then spoke to Lusyval of the purpose of the Seraphim, and their role as caretakers for the faithful. He spoke of the duty Lusyval had to these less perfect creatures and instructed him that his place was where he was, and that Nimué’s place was now where she was. Be content he was instructed, this was what he was to do.
Not one to bear what he felt was an unfair role; Lusyval began to gather others of the celestial races under his banner by means of his charisma and oratory skill to force the change he desired. The rebellion when it came was unfathomable, brethren fought against their brethren and Mikail brought blade against Lusyval, all the while trying to convince his friend of the error of his beliefs. Finally Lusyval was hurled from the heavens with those he had corrupted, exiled forevermore into the damned infernal planes. It was there that his hatred grew, twisting him into the mockery of his former glory that he now is. Where once he brought comfort, now feel suffering. Where there was once compassion, now he feels joy in torment. Deceit, treachery, and lies run from his mouth now, uttered by his honeyed voice still, his only desire; to cast down the host of Light and make them bow at his feet, and nothing will gainsay him this goal.
To the faithful, Lusyval is the uttermost corruption. They akin his evil to the same depths as the Gods of darkness and spend hours of their lives instructing their children to beware his temptation. His servants having posed as angelic beings before, they enjoy nothing more than to tear down the faithful to the levels of despair they suffer in. To the Seraphim he is something different. He, and his flock, is their fallen brother and they mourn his fall while still remaining ever mindful of his treachery. They would destroy him if given the chance, but only to end his suffering and they would do so in the most painless manner possible.



When Lusyval was cast from the realms of the celestial servants along with those who chose to follow him in his rebellion much of his power and former glory was torn from him and dispersed amongst the other Seraphim and his sword Eternus Oriens, a holy blade and now unbearable to touch, was taken up by his once lover, the Seraphim known as Eloé. So when he came to the hell planes he used his hatred to craft a suitable replacement, one forged from his malice, spite, and newfound rage against his once brethren, Ve Victus, Suffering to the Conquered. Within it pulse the flames of jealousy and envy that course through Lusuval’s heart, tearing into the earth to defile its being and rage against those who dare face the fallen angel. The hymns of the damned shriek out like harpies in denial of their fate, the stench of their decayed existence heralding their arrival as much as their voices. Let the heavenly host beware, for their dark brother comes with blade and bile to reclaim all that he deems his, and those who foolishly try to thwart him shall fall at his feet.