Mist
04-11-06, 05:22 PM
Name: Masema Infus Salius Tanori: Mist
Race: of Men
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Height: 6 ft. 6 in.
Weight: 248 lbs.
Eyes: Pools of obsidian. Death in essence. Inplacable by emotion. Very few things can cause them to become alive, and when they do that, they are all the more terrifying.
Hair: Jet black, with streaks of shimmering silver that play with the moon’s light.
Appearance: Dark and Powerful. He towers over his opponents, even if they are only one or two inches shorter than him. His presence is frightening, for he had always been bulky, and his cat-like movement screamed a great contradiction to his size. His face is and always was an emotionless mask, seemingly wrought from the very stone of the earth. Even when it did crack into a snarl or malicious grin, it looked despairingly unreal. His eyes are often downcast, and despite their lack of emotion, they show that he carries a great unbearable burden. A thick, black, curly beard, nearly fist-length has been adopted on his person. And although it is unruly, some might see it as beauty. A trademark of his former self, although it cannot be remembered from his old days.
He dresses in black over black, so that even when he is not hooded and cowled by the churning of his power, he seems wrapped in a cloak of shadow.
Weapons: His black blade wrought of a powerful steel, that has been at his side for a very long time. Long sword that tasted much blood. The many steely throwing knives hidden on his person, appearing and vanishing between his calloused fingers with a dangerous grace. He once had a sword spear, but it hasn’t been touched by his hands in years, as he was not superiorly skilled in its use. But he never lost it.
Skills: Unlike other warriors, who spread their skills in archery, swordplay, spear fighting, hand to hand combat, the dark warrior Mist never left his love for the sword. And it has been his weapon from day one. He moves with it as if were another limb on his body, and it flows and cuts like it was placed in his lap when he was born. Perhaps that isn’t too far from the truth. In short, he is a blade-master. Also, he can use the knives hidden within the depths of his person as if they are second nature.
Another skill he has possessed from the beginning is his stealth and speed. His years of living in the forest by himself, back when he was still sane, and before his disappearance, taught him how to survive. And his sure-footedness and light, stealthy steps and movements, cat-like agility seems to be at contradiction to his weight and size. Even when he walks, he seems as if he is ready to pounce upon his prey.
Another skill he possessed from day one, was his yearning and love for the darkness and shadows. He could mix with them and hide, use them to his advantage and sink in and out of them with an unnatural ease. For a long time, it seemed only that. But as he became more and more powerful, he began to realize that the aura of darkness, an overset shadow that hung on his being constantly was more than just regular shadows. As he grew in his power, they began to overwhelm him, and then one day they completely took him, tendrils of black smoke like shadows ravaging at his form, churning and destroying everything that lay in their path. And he was the heart of it.
With this power of controlling darkness, a darkness that he could feed from and one that needed no outward source, but stemmed from his black tattered soul, he learned how to form his own cloak. One that was inky black, like oil, impenetrable by light, and boundless in its size and depth. He has found that he can do so many things with it, explode with it towards his opponents attempting to take them in the darkness and have it snap and rip at them while he worked his blade into their flesh. His latest achievement was even forming his own black weapon, a huge scythe from his hand. And now, even though he has somewhat learned to control the shadows that plague him, he can never be too sure when they will take his mind again. They bid him to kill, and feed from the death and destruction he causes, and thus, he feeds from them. He is dangerous.
History: When he was a child, his father and mother were killed by a man with no eyes, one who spared him in his arrogance and scarred him on the ribs. Swearing to avenge his parents’ death, he trained for many years in the dark forests of his time, and when he emerged a warrior he battled many and slew many, dying himself many times inside the famed citadel. Many things happened, and he changed. Again and again. Losing his sanity, and then gaining it back. Then again and again. He changed many times. And on his journeys, he met many warriors, some that he loved to hate, and then those that became his companions. Or rather, that one that became his companion, Sorjax Narzack, the last of the Ki-Naris. One who searched for the same man that he did. One who’s desire and will rivaled his own.
They entered a tournament known as the Lornius Corporate Challenge as a team dubbed Steel Duo, and they became its champions. That was when the Eyeless One came out into the open, and they set chase. That was when the real madness took him, and the darkness and fire were mixed and they overwhelmed all that he remembered and knew for himself.
All was black death and chaos.
And then, he emerged once again, with his companion as they re-entered the current year’s same tournament, his mind and soul tattered, in its second round, he remembered his name. Masema. Mist. The second tournament was not as merciful as the first. The Plague were not victorious, but it did not matter. For when it was over the duo vanished once again.
Mist became legend once more.
And now as the third LCC approaches, the world is speaking again.
Mist has returned.
((If someone can get me my EXP. Please? I don't know what it was.))
Race: of Men
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Height: 6 ft. 6 in.
Weight: 248 lbs.
Eyes: Pools of obsidian. Death in essence. Inplacable by emotion. Very few things can cause them to become alive, and when they do that, they are all the more terrifying.
Hair: Jet black, with streaks of shimmering silver that play with the moon’s light.
Appearance: Dark and Powerful. He towers over his opponents, even if they are only one or two inches shorter than him. His presence is frightening, for he had always been bulky, and his cat-like movement screamed a great contradiction to his size. His face is and always was an emotionless mask, seemingly wrought from the very stone of the earth. Even when it did crack into a snarl or malicious grin, it looked despairingly unreal. His eyes are often downcast, and despite their lack of emotion, they show that he carries a great unbearable burden. A thick, black, curly beard, nearly fist-length has been adopted on his person. And although it is unruly, some might see it as beauty. A trademark of his former self, although it cannot be remembered from his old days.
He dresses in black over black, so that even when he is not hooded and cowled by the churning of his power, he seems wrapped in a cloak of shadow.
Weapons: His black blade wrought of a powerful steel, that has been at his side for a very long time. Long sword that tasted much blood. The many steely throwing knives hidden on his person, appearing and vanishing between his calloused fingers with a dangerous grace. He once had a sword spear, but it hasn’t been touched by his hands in years, as he was not superiorly skilled in its use. But he never lost it.
Skills: Unlike other warriors, who spread their skills in archery, swordplay, spear fighting, hand to hand combat, the dark warrior Mist never left his love for the sword. And it has been his weapon from day one. He moves with it as if were another limb on his body, and it flows and cuts like it was placed in his lap when he was born. Perhaps that isn’t too far from the truth. In short, he is a blade-master. Also, he can use the knives hidden within the depths of his person as if they are second nature.
Another skill he has possessed from the beginning is his stealth and speed. His years of living in the forest by himself, back when he was still sane, and before his disappearance, taught him how to survive. And his sure-footedness and light, stealthy steps and movements, cat-like agility seems to be at contradiction to his weight and size. Even when he walks, he seems as if he is ready to pounce upon his prey.
Another skill he possessed from day one, was his yearning and love for the darkness and shadows. He could mix with them and hide, use them to his advantage and sink in and out of them with an unnatural ease. For a long time, it seemed only that. But as he became more and more powerful, he began to realize that the aura of darkness, an overset shadow that hung on his being constantly was more than just regular shadows. As he grew in his power, they began to overwhelm him, and then one day they completely took him, tendrils of black smoke like shadows ravaging at his form, churning and destroying everything that lay in their path. And he was the heart of it.
With this power of controlling darkness, a darkness that he could feed from and one that needed no outward source, but stemmed from his black tattered soul, he learned how to form his own cloak. One that was inky black, like oil, impenetrable by light, and boundless in its size and depth. He has found that he can do so many things with it, explode with it towards his opponents attempting to take them in the darkness and have it snap and rip at them while he worked his blade into their flesh. His latest achievement was even forming his own black weapon, a huge scythe from his hand. And now, even though he has somewhat learned to control the shadows that plague him, he can never be too sure when they will take his mind again. They bid him to kill, and feed from the death and destruction he causes, and thus, he feeds from them. He is dangerous.
History: When he was a child, his father and mother were killed by a man with no eyes, one who spared him in his arrogance and scarred him on the ribs. Swearing to avenge his parents’ death, he trained for many years in the dark forests of his time, and when he emerged a warrior he battled many and slew many, dying himself many times inside the famed citadel. Many things happened, and he changed. Again and again. Losing his sanity, and then gaining it back. Then again and again. He changed many times. And on his journeys, he met many warriors, some that he loved to hate, and then those that became his companions. Or rather, that one that became his companion, Sorjax Narzack, the last of the Ki-Naris. One who searched for the same man that he did. One who’s desire and will rivaled his own.
They entered a tournament known as the Lornius Corporate Challenge as a team dubbed Steel Duo, and they became its champions. That was when the Eyeless One came out into the open, and they set chase. That was when the real madness took him, and the darkness and fire were mixed and they overwhelmed all that he remembered and knew for himself.
All was black death and chaos.
And then, he emerged once again, with his companion as they re-entered the current year’s same tournament, his mind and soul tattered, in its second round, he remembered his name. Masema. Mist. The second tournament was not as merciful as the first. The Plague were not victorious, but it did not matter. For when it was over the duo vanished once again.
Mist became legend once more.
And now as the third LCC approaches, the world is speaking again.
Mist has returned.
((If someone can get me my EXP. Please? I don't know what it was.))