J.M. Vallix
10-31-13, 11:38 AM
It had seemed that few men even knew of the ones who ever knew of the demons that lurk within the minds of some men in this world. The evil, the dreadful, horrid ones who know no bounds in their tortures, one to witness this will be as enlightened as one who has lived a thousand years.
Name-Jonathan Markus Vallix
Age-29
Race-Human
Gender-Male
It had all started fourteen years ago, with that horrid night on his way back from the University of Radasanth. An alley near the exotic food shop, “Dekor’s Food and Drink” A man lurked in the shadows that were ever-present, , as the buildings, were on a slight slant, which, even at high noon, took on light. Fifteen year old J. M. Vallix was walking home, his satchel light, as the semester at the small school of magic ended. The small, brazen looking old man shed the disguise that had been lurking upon his person for many weeks and months. He walked out of it, and his powerful, tanned form, black hair, and piercing blue eyes. Slowly, he drew up a hand, which tingled with gray mist, which stiffened into a slab attached to his arm. He walked up and grabbed Jonathan's arm, mumbling into his ear as he walked.
"Resist, and you'll be number than a cold night. In the mountains. "
As all men would, he struggled, which, of course, got him nowhere but mist snaking up his nose, and his vision went blurry, and his arms and torso went limp, and he just lost the will to even try to move his legs, when another pressure, barely sensed, tightened around his legs, forcing him to walk. They descended a small incline, went into a house, and somehow, into a basement. There were no doors.
"This is your new home. You will not escape, you will not try to. You will be my slave, and you will have nothing, beyond your own skin, and the clothes on your back."
And so, begun a pain beyond pains. He was beaten, flogged, whipped, paddled, anything that cruel fiend could get his hands on. Between this was the horrid, horrid thing. Just, a treatment, cutting of his flesh, tattooing, mental abuse. Anything possible. After months, he had nothing that had not been ripped out of his head, tossed about, chewed, and spat back in.
"All that is known about one, is only to be stripped" his tormentor said one day, as his invasions battered the tiny mental wall that he had slowly erected. In a slow advance, it took years, with countless horrid tortures, before he was simply ridden of his shirt, his chest cut open, and his heart ripped out. Yet he still lived. And breathed. The Tormentor looked on in awe as he simply got up, and walked over to the door, smiled, and left. Fourteen years. In that hell, and he walked out.
------
Dr. Pyre had seen nothing in his life, as the sight of Jonathan. He walked in like he didnt even have a gaping hole in his chest. And the blood that should've been pouring out? It just sorta, kept moving, as if the heart were still there. He walked up to the small desk in the brick building, a center of healing magic, and spoke, in a rather meek voice for a man of his height and stature.
"A bit of help here, at least see up the cavity. "
So, it had seemed all was lost, yet by some stroke of fate, or magic, something by damned horror. He lived. No heart. Nothing. Just. Skin, bones, and a cavity in his chest.
Appearance-A formal suit adorns his frame, which is muscular, but he looks rather thin compared to most. His back, chest, and arms are adorned with scars, and on his left wrist, a brand glows in red fire, a ball and chain, marking him a slave of his Tormentor.
Personality-As a result of years in torture, silence, and horror, Jon has developed a severe personality split. In his original personality, he maintains a pained look upon his face. His eyes, downcast, echo an eternity of pain, and his body reflects it.
Slowly, the world faded to a dull ache in the back of his mind, which had expanded slowly, adjusting to change, the world had morphed. Like a caterpillar maybe. Things had changed. With a breath into his lungs of the air that drifted in from the plains. A slow second later, two swords appeared in his hands, and the steely tone of metal in on metal rang out, as the clash, destined for years before. A sorcerer versus a psycho. Easy. A misty smoke peeled off the swords, remnants of the impromptu summons from the nether. The swords of the enemies clashed again, yet the one slowly cracked, the metal straining. He fell. The man, the insanity, horror, hatred, anything despicable, bound into a shell, and then put on Althanas. The steel shattered, and Jon's eyes closed slowly, the blade slid into his chest, and the Tormentor died. A sword faded to mist, and a mind, shattered. A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the plains. Jon walked away from the body.
A will as if a wall. Known to few. Slowly he dove into the water of the ocean beyond the island, enjoying the caress of it on his skin. He settled to the bottom, and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He relished this moment, the serenity in the bottom of a sea. Yet he had to climb to the surface to live.
And I ran out of time here so, here's my third ability and the other two in proper form.
1-Sword Summoning-Jon can summon swords of average strength of steel, and power of steel, he can alter the appearance of them at will, but at the core they are two steel swords. So, anything added on will dissipate into mist if something passes through it. Indefinite, as its about the same as sheathing and unsheathing swords. Just. Out of thin air. Maximum of two active at a time.
2-Water-breathing-Simple as the title states. Can breathe underwater for 1 hour. Can be divided into segments.
3-Language-Has an innate ability to understand and speak most languages fairly well, to the point where he could have a decent conversation in that language. Indefinite.
Inventory
A formal, black suit, red tie, silver tie clip, and white shirt.
Leather shoes, self cleaning.
A folding knife, blade 3" long, handle is oak, blade, steel.
Vallix Family Pocketwatch-Handed down from father to son at age 13, Jon re-obtained this somehow.
Satchel bag, cattle leather. Resistant to dirt and water.
Done.
Name-Jonathan Markus Vallix
Age-29
Race-Human
Gender-Male
It had all started fourteen years ago, with that horrid night on his way back from the University of Radasanth. An alley near the exotic food shop, “Dekor’s Food and Drink” A man lurked in the shadows that were ever-present, , as the buildings, were on a slight slant, which, even at high noon, took on light. Fifteen year old J. M. Vallix was walking home, his satchel light, as the semester at the small school of magic ended. The small, brazen looking old man shed the disguise that had been lurking upon his person for many weeks and months. He walked out of it, and his powerful, tanned form, black hair, and piercing blue eyes. Slowly, he drew up a hand, which tingled with gray mist, which stiffened into a slab attached to his arm. He walked up and grabbed Jonathan's arm, mumbling into his ear as he walked.
"Resist, and you'll be number than a cold night. In the mountains. "
As all men would, he struggled, which, of course, got him nowhere but mist snaking up his nose, and his vision went blurry, and his arms and torso went limp, and he just lost the will to even try to move his legs, when another pressure, barely sensed, tightened around his legs, forcing him to walk. They descended a small incline, went into a house, and somehow, into a basement. There were no doors.
"This is your new home. You will not escape, you will not try to. You will be my slave, and you will have nothing, beyond your own skin, and the clothes on your back."
And so, begun a pain beyond pains. He was beaten, flogged, whipped, paddled, anything that cruel fiend could get his hands on. Between this was the horrid, horrid thing. Just, a treatment, cutting of his flesh, tattooing, mental abuse. Anything possible. After months, he had nothing that had not been ripped out of his head, tossed about, chewed, and spat back in.
"All that is known about one, is only to be stripped" his tormentor said one day, as his invasions battered the tiny mental wall that he had slowly erected. In a slow advance, it took years, with countless horrid tortures, before he was simply ridden of his shirt, his chest cut open, and his heart ripped out. Yet he still lived. And breathed. The Tormentor looked on in awe as he simply got up, and walked over to the door, smiled, and left. Fourteen years. In that hell, and he walked out.
------
Dr. Pyre had seen nothing in his life, as the sight of Jonathan. He walked in like he didnt even have a gaping hole in his chest. And the blood that should've been pouring out? It just sorta, kept moving, as if the heart were still there. He walked up to the small desk in the brick building, a center of healing magic, and spoke, in a rather meek voice for a man of his height and stature.
"A bit of help here, at least see up the cavity. "
So, it had seemed all was lost, yet by some stroke of fate, or magic, something by damned horror. He lived. No heart. Nothing. Just. Skin, bones, and a cavity in his chest.
Appearance-A formal suit adorns his frame, which is muscular, but he looks rather thin compared to most. His back, chest, and arms are adorned with scars, and on his left wrist, a brand glows in red fire, a ball and chain, marking him a slave of his Tormentor.
Personality-As a result of years in torture, silence, and horror, Jon has developed a severe personality split. In his original personality, he maintains a pained look upon his face. His eyes, downcast, echo an eternity of pain, and his body reflects it.
Slowly, the world faded to a dull ache in the back of his mind, which had expanded slowly, adjusting to change, the world had morphed. Like a caterpillar maybe. Things had changed. With a breath into his lungs of the air that drifted in from the plains. A slow second later, two swords appeared in his hands, and the steely tone of metal in on metal rang out, as the clash, destined for years before. A sorcerer versus a psycho. Easy. A misty smoke peeled off the swords, remnants of the impromptu summons from the nether. The swords of the enemies clashed again, yet the one slowly cracked, the metal straining. He fell. The man, the insanity, horror, hatred, anything despicable, bound into a shell, and then put on Althanas. The steel shattered, and Jon's eyes closed slowly, the blade slid into his chest, and the Tormentor died. A sword faded to mist, and a mind, shattered. A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the plains. Jon walked away from the body.
A will as if a wall. Known to few. Slowly he dove into the water of the ocean beyond the island, enjoying the caress of it on his skin. He settled to the bottom, and closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. He relished this moment, the serenity in the bottom of a sea. Yet he had to climb to the surface to live.
And I ran out of time here so, here's my third ability and the other two in proper form.
1-Sword Summoning-Jon can summon swords of average strength of steel, and power of steel, he can alter the appearance of them at will, but at the core they are two steel swords. So, anything added on will dissipate into mist if something passes through it. Indefinite, as its about the same as sheathing and unsheathing swords. Just. Out of thin air. Maximum of two active at a time.
2-Water-breathing-Simple as the title states. Can breathe underwater for 1 hour. Can be divided into segments.
3-Language-Has an innate ability to understand and speak most languages fairly well, to the point where he could have a decent conversation in that language. Indefinite.
Inventory
A formal, black suit, red tie, silver tie clip, and white shirt.
Leather shoes, self cleaning.
A folding knife, blade 3" long, handle is oak, blade, steel.
Vallix Family Pocketwatch-Handed down from father to son at age 13, Jon re-obtained this somehow.
Satchel bag, cattle leather. Resistant to dirt and water.
Done.