F.Necroticans
12-27-07, 11:49 AM
Name: Damien Alucius Avetritus
Age: Physically, in his twenties, though only in his early teens.
Race: Materialized Spirit (Bodach)
Sex: Male
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Omnichromatic - everyone sees a different color in Damien's eyes when they look into them, usually changing with each look.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 160 lbs.
Skin: Pale
Hand Preference: Strong right
Personality
In general, Damien embodies many of the worst traits of humanity; greedy, vain, arrogant, insensitive, and ruthless, the outlaw tends to warrant the insult of "bastard". He is, however, quite ambitious, robust, and self confident, and maintains many of the qualities of a natural leader. Damien refuses to sugar coat things, preferring to speak plainly, which tends to offend many a person, and what structured bit of morals he may have had as a newly formed being has henceforth been destroyed. Honor is a thing of the past, he believes, and he has no trouble fighting dirty, lying, manipulating, stabbing allies in the back, or outright stealing to get what he wants.
Appearance
Damien is pale, slender, with strange eyes, long black hair parted in the middle, and exotic looks. His cheekbones are high, giving his eyes an almond-like shape, and his fingers are all an even length. For the most part, he maintains a look of professionalism, in black slacks, patent leather shoes, a white shirt and black tie under a black and white striped vest, and once and a while a black suit jacket.
History
He never really had a name. Or an identity, for that matter. No lungs with which to fog the morning winter air, no hands to feel the blood spilt across the carpet. He was only a spirit, a watcher standing between the veils of worlds, drawn always to the scenes of brutal violence or grisly murder. Those of earth, particularly in the European countryside, would have referred to him as a bodach, a thin dark wisp of a thing that craved the darkest meat of man's heart. He had always been there.
Since the neanderthals had cracked the skull of their ancient tribal enemy to begin the vicious cycle, to the day when the first man had been shot through with an Alerian matchlock.
He'd watched silently and emotionless as, when a man, hard at work in the coal mines of a nameless town close to Radasanth came home to find his wife in the arms of another man. The walls had run red that day, but still, the spirit didn't care.
He bore witness to almost every murder that fell on this soil, some still unsolved, the descriptions written on paper yellowing with age. Wars passed and the bodachs gathered to feed on the pain and the death of the soldiers, the miseries of the families. They gathered at the first hospitals, where corpses where buried mass graves because of a doctor with fake, expensive treatments. The spirit saw the greed mankind could bring and all the pain that would fill their existence.
But there was light.
By accident, the spirit saw the kindness of man as well. He saw what wounds love could heal, the charity of orphanages, the good deeds of heroes. It thoroughly surprised him. The bodach had believed that man as nothing but a miserable existence, but he was soon proved wrong. Without the knowledge of others, but always beneath the eyes of deities, he began to watch everything that mankind did, or at least, as much of it as he could, taking in the good as well as bad. It was something he couldn't understand, this concept of balance; its world was gray and barren, and there was no...emotion.
While it is rare, a supernatural spirit can, at times, take the shape of a human ghost. Soon, the bodach began to take features, began to be seen by the more perceptive of people. It became evident to one of the universe's more fickle of beings, Fate, that this spirit would not rest until it understood. And the only way it would understand, would be to become human itself. So Fate crafted for the bodach a body for its spirit to inhabit, and set it upon Althanas soil. Confused and disoriented, it felt so many new things, had senses it couldn't understand, legs that could never seem to work correctly. He couldn't fly anymore. He couldn't pass through walls, and could only see the shell of man, instead of the workings of his heart.
An old wizard found him and took the nameless boy in. He understood only vaguely what he told him, of what he was. However, he accepted him, and set to teaching him of this new world. Of diverse and vast Corone, of mysterious and mythical Raiaera, of logical and mechanical Alerar, of cold and barren Salvar, of dry and burning Fallien. He taught the boy everything he needed to know, and even gave him a name; Damien Alucius Avetritus.
However, despite the wizard's precautions, Damien soon began to see the world as he first had as a bodach. He liked to sneak out and watch the people and their behavior. More than once he saw a man caught down in a petty duel. In taverns he saw brief, boozy camaraderie broken up by foolish arguments. More than once the naive bodach was robbed blindly by thieves, and here and then, he was beaten and wounded by cruel thugs. After a time, with the burden of the memories of the centuries of bloodshed and hatred weighing on his mind, and looking in the face of petty humanity, Damien became bitter and angry and began to think of life not as something soft and light like snow, but heavy and black like a stone.
And when finally the last of the wizard's precautions fell away, and Damien found a summoning circle in the basement of the old man's dwellings, the bodach knew that Fate had been directed by force to craft flesh and put him onto the soil of the earth. Hate welled up in his chest. As a bodach, he had not suffered the barbs of life, and he missed the lack of emotion. Picking up a dagger, he slew the wizard in his sleep, and fled to Corone.
Despite his new found viciousness, the bodach was still naive and confused and often found himself fleeping on newspapers, robbed in the night of what money he'd managed to make. In time, his anger built up until one night in a pub, Damien ripped a man's eyes out and crushed them. Two thugs of a local crime family happened to be drinking that night, and brought him the next morning to one of the higher ups. Impressed with the bodach's answers in an interview (as well as his possessions; pockets bare save for knives and lint), he was taken in and clothed, and paid for his work. After spending so long watching the brutality of mankind, Damien turned out to be a spectacular enforcer...
Skills
Weaponform: Damien has an average skill with his scythe and most other polearms, but is most familiar with the Dealbreaker. However, he has an above average skill with his wristblade and is quick and brutal with it in close combat.
Anatomy: Damien has an average understanding of what makes the body tick, regardless of race; where to cut, where to burn, and has expressed a certain interest in understanding what causes intense emotional distress in order to fortify his practice.
Equipment
Dealbreaker: A steel scythe whose blade hangs over his head when he wields it. It has been customized to his liking, with a crook in the middle of the pole at a forty five degree angle and light steel plates to keep damage to the oak of it minimal.
Bloodtongue: A broad steel wristblade in the shape of an arrowhead, it is the product of Alerian ingenuity. It rests in a track under his right bracer, and with a flip of a lever, it springs forward, and the side blades snap out and lock.
Bracers: Two steel bracers worn at nearly all times, they are his primary source of defense and only current armor.
Leather Gloves: Self explanatory. Fine black leather gloves tailored for his unique hands, worn in combat or interrogation.
Goodie Bag: A frosted aluminum suitcase containing a syringe of sodium pentathol, a number of surgical steel double ended and single ended hooks, barbed and plain, a surgical steel scalpel, a small length of razor wire, a small container of rock salt, a fish scaler, surgical scissors, a corkscrew, and a waxpaper container of sulfur.
"It is an intravenous ultra-short-acting barbiturate. Sodium thiopental is a depressant and is sometimes used during interrogations - not to cause pain (in fact, it may have just the opposite effect), but to weaken the resolve of the subject and make him or her more compliant to pressure."
Injected and interrogated, such as asking "Where is the gold?" will eventually make the victim bow under pressure and spill the location of said gold.
While it doesn't force a person to tell the truth, it may cause a person to tell the truth. Thus it's better known name, "Truth Serum". Of course, that depends on a person's will against it, or if they just don't know; though if they don't know, you're less likely to waste time trying to figure out if they're lying or not.
Link. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_pentathol)
Cigarettes: a pack of Red Hare cigarettes and a book of matches.
Age: Physically, in his twenties, though only in his early teens.
Race: Materialized Spirit (Bodach)
Sex: Male
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Omnichromatic - everyone sees a different color in Damien's eyes when they look into them, usually changing with each look.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 160 lbs.
Skin: Pale
Hand Preference: Strong right
Personality
In general, Damien embodies many of the worst traits of humanity; greedy, vain, arrogant, insensitive, and ruthless, the outlaw tends to warrant the insult of "bastard". He is, however, quite ambitious, robust, and self confident, and maintains many of the qualities of a natural leader. Damien refuses to sugar coat things, preferring to speak plainly, which tends to offend many a person, and what structured bit of morals he may have had as a newly formed being has henceforth been destroyed. Honor is a thing of the past, he believes, and he has no trouble fighting dirty, lying, manipulating, stabbing allies in the back, or outright stealing to get what he wants.
Appearance
Damien is pale, slender, with strange eyes, long black hair parted in the middle, and exotic looks. His cheekbones are high, giving his eyes an almond-like shape, and his fingers are all an even length. For the most part, he maintains a look of professionalism, in black slacks, patent leather shoes, a white shirt and black tie under a black and white striped vest, and once and a while a black suit jacket.
History
He never really had a name. Or an identity, for that matter. No lungs with which to fog the morning winter air, no hands to feel the blood spilt across the carpet. He was only a spirit, a watcher standing between the veils of worlds, drawn always to the scenes of brutal violence or grisly murder. Those of earth, particularly in the European countryside, would have referred to him as a bodach, a thin dark wisp of a thing that craved the darkest meat of man's heart. He had always been there.
Since the neanderthals had cracked the skull of their ancient tribal enemy to begin the vicious cycle, to the day when the first man had been shot through with an Alerian matchlock.
He'd watched silently and emotionless as, when a man, hard at work in the coal mines of a nameless town close to Radasanth came home to find his wife in the arms of another man. The walls had run red that day, but still, the spirit didn't care.
He bore witness to almost every murder that fell on this soil, some still unsolved, the descriptions written on paper yellowing with age. Wars passed and the bodachs gathered to feed on the pain and the death of the soldiers, the miseries of the families. They gathered at the first hospitals, where corpses where buried mass graves because of a doctor with fake, expensive treatments. The spirit saw the greed mankind could bring and all the pain that would fill their existence.
But there was light.
By accident, the spirit saw the kindness of man as well. He saw what wounds love could heal, the charity of orphanages, the good deeds of heroes. It thoroughly surprised him. The bodach had believed that man as nothing but a miserable existence, but he was soon proved wrong. Without the knowledge of others, but always beneath the eyes of deities, he began to watch everything that mankind did, or at least, as much of it as he could, taking in the good as well as bad. It was something he couldn't understand, this concept of balance; its world was gray and barren, and there was no...emotion.
While it is rare, a supernatural spirit can, at times, take the shape of a human ghost. Soon, the bodach began to take features, began to be seen by the more perceptive of people. It became evident to one of the universe's more fickle of beings, Fate, that this spirit would not rest until it understood. And the only way it would understand, would be to become human itself. So Fate crafted for the bodach a body for its spirit to inhabit, and set it upon Althanas soil. Confused and disoriented, it felt so many new things, had senses it couldn't understand, legs that could never seem to work correctly. He couldn't fly anymore. He couldn't pass through walls, and could only see the shell of man, instead of the workings of his heart.
An old wizard found him and took the nameless boy in. He understood only vaguely what he told him, of what he was. However, he accepted him, and set to teaching him of this new world. Of diverse and vast Corone, of mysterious and mythical Raiaera, of logical and mechanical Alerar, of cold and barren Salvar, of dry and burning Fallien. He taught the boy everything he needed to know, and even gave him a name; Damien Alucius Avetritus.
However, despite the wizard's precautions, Damien soon began to see the world as he first had as a bodach. He liked to sneak out and watch the people and their behavior. More than once he saw a man caught down in a petty duel. In taverns he saw brief, boozy camaraderie broken up by foolish arguments. More than once the naive bodach was robbed blindly by thieves, and here and then, he was beaten and wounded by cruel thugs. After a time, with the burden of the memories of the centuries of bloodshed and hatred weighing on his mind, and looking in the face of petty humanity, Damien became bitter and angry and began to think of life not as something soft and light like snow, but heavy and black like a stone.
And when finally the last of the wizard's precautions fell away, and Damien found a summoning circle in the basement of the old man's dwellings, the bodach knew that Fate had been directed by force to craft flesh and put him onto the soil of the earth. Hate welled up in his chest. As a bodach, he had not suffered the barbs of life, and he missed the lack of emotion. Picking up a dagger, he slew the wizard in his sleep, and fled to Corone.
Despite his new found viciousness, the bodach was still naive and confused and often found himself fleeping on newspapers, robbed in the night of what money he'd managed to make. In time, his anger built up until one night in a pub, Damien ripped a man's eyes out and crushed them. Two thugs of a local crime family happened to be drinking that night, and brought him the next morning to one of the higher ups. Impressed with the bodach's answers in an interview (as well as his possessions; pockets bare save for knives and lint), he was taken in and clothed, and paid for his work. After spending so long watching the brutality of mankind, Damien turned out to be a spectacular enforcer...
Skills
Weaponform: Damien has an average skill with his scythe and most other polearms, but is most familiar with the Dealbreaker. However, he has an above average skill with his wristblade and is quick and brutal with it in close combat.
Anatomy: Damien has an average understanding of what makes the body tick, regardless of race; where to cut, where to burn, and has expressed a certain interest in understanding what causes intense emotional distress in order to fortify his practice.
Equipment
Dealbreaker: A steel scythe whose blade hangs over his head when he wields it. It has been customized to his liking, with a crook in the middle of the pole at a forty five degree angle and light steel plates to keep damage to the oak of it minimal.
Bloodtongue: A broad steel wristblade in the shape of an arrowhead, it is the product of Alerian ingenuity. It rests in a track under his right bracer, and with a flip of a lever, it springs forward, and the side blades snap out and lock.
Bracers: Two steel bracers worn at nearly all times, they are his primary source of defense and only current armor.
Leather Gloves: Self explanatory. Fine black leather gloves tailored for his unique hands, worn in combat or interrogation.
Goodie Bag: A frosted aluminum suitcase containing a syringe of sodium pentathol, a number of surgical steel double ended and single ended hooks, barbed and plain, a surgical steel scalpel, a small length of razor wire, a small container of rock salt, a fish scaler, surgical scissors, a corkscrew, and a waxpaper container of sulfur.
"It is an intravenous ultra-short-acting barbiturate. Sodium thiopental is a depressant and is sometimes used during interrogations - not to cause pain (in fact, it may have just the opposite effect), but to weaken the resolve of the subject and make him or her more compliant to pressure."
Injected and interrogated, such as asking "Where is the gold?" will eventually make the victim bow under pressure and spill the location of said gold.
While it doesn't force a person to tell the truth, it may cause a person to tell the truth. Thus it's better known name, "Truth Serum". Of course, that depends on a person's will against it, or if they just don't know; though if they don't know, you're less likely to waste time trying to figure out if they're lying or not.
Link. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sodium_pentathol)
Cigarettes: a pack of Red Hare cigarettes and a book of matches.