~ If you'll have me, here's my CS XD ~ [hider] [centre] [img]http://i1196.photobucket.com/albums/aa404/Erokhi/KnightHuman.jpg[/img] [h1][color=a187be]Azmodin Iblis Sanenteur[/color][/h1] [h2] [color=662d91]"Nobody ever cares. Nobody did, nobody will. Nobody is going to grant us deliverance, but ourselves."[/color] [/h2] [hr] [color=a187be][h3]Age[/h3] [/color] [color=8882be][b]22[/b][/color] [color=92278f][I]"I do not remember much about before, but I do know one thing. I was never wanted."[/I] [/color] [h3][b][color=a187be]Gender [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]Male [/color] [color=92278f][I]"What makes a monster? What makes a man? I think I know."[/I] [/color] [h3][b][color=a187be]Race [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]Human[/color] [color=92278f][I]"Humanity is not about preserving the world. The real essence of being human is fighting for change to run its course."[/I] [/color] [hr] [h3][b][color=a187be]Personality [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]Vindictive and headstrong, Azmodin's faith in the Destroyer is nigh on unbreakable yet its foundations are quite unstable. The swordsman believes that the problem with the world is the reluctance of its spineless denizens to accept change; to change at all is to accept the inevitability of death. Still, Azmodin is a remarkably calm and cool-headed individual who never rushes to violence unless his deity is slandered or, otherwise, his faith is grossly insulted. He is the type of fighter who tries to convert his enemies, trying to understand their points of views before trying to apply his own beliefs. However, his docile personality should not be underestimated because once Azmodin is hell-bent on ending the life of a heretic, he is just as powerful as any foe in and out of the aether. [/color] [h3][b][color=a187be]Bio [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]As the world reeled from the mass destruction of the cosmic clash between the two primordial deities, there would always be two sides to progress: those who reaped the results of progress, and those who bit the bad end of it. Unfortunately, in the Ordan Empire, a the Sanenteur family, originally from Lyrem, were not able to fend quite well in the city of swords and arms. While the swordsmith clan were famous in Lyrem for their finest weapons, the coming of technology shook them out of business almost instantly, forcing them to depart for a city where swords and shields and traditional weapons were still favored. Then again, if one wanted to survive in a city of warriors, one needed to be able to fight for themselves, and, in this case, the Sanenteurs were not the best of fighters. In a few weeks' time, the father was slain by robbers, the mother and sister were sold into slavery into some god-forsaken territory, and the youngest son was left to fend for himself. Hungry, battered, and scorned, Azmodin, fifteen, wandered about the brutal streets of the Ordan. The lad was about to accept his demise when, suddenly, a group of hooded men and women intervened and swept him away from the merciless needles of rain. They took care of him, bathed him, and gave him new purpose. They were known as the Heralds of Change, cultists of the Destroyer-- the so-called villain in the tapestries of history. While the Destroyer was painted as a tyrant by the books of history, the heralds saw him as the Seeker of Change, the God of Natural Order. The Destroyer's goal was not to end lives, but to renew it through a mass purification-- something that the heralds look forward to. Then and there, Azmodin was taught the most valuable philosophy of the heralds: the sufferings we experience now is due to the resistance of people to the purification. If the world wanted peace, if the world wanted true liberation, then, they needed to accept the coming of the purification, known in the cult as the Exodus; out with the evil, and in with the good. The world was ignorant to this simple truth, and thus, it was the heralds' responsibility to awaken the consciousness of the people who were drowning in the mundane pleasures of this sinful existence. Violence to end the violence. Thus, Azmodin took up the mantle of the herald, and made it his mission to awaken the world's consciousness, and to pave the arrival of the Destroyer. All in the name of the Exodus so that everyone will be spared of the sufferings of this world; so that no one else would suffer the same way he did. As he took up the artifact blades of the cult, he had become one of the flag bearers of the Herald. The young lad was extensively trained in combat, and although he lacked the magical prowess of most cultists, he was still as skillful as any warrior. As Azmodin grew in age, he became known as the Holy Sword, bringing the teachings of the Destroyer to the violent heretics who make others suffer. Though young and, as he believed, unworthy of the holy quest, Azmodin vowed that he would liberate the world, and end its suffering. For him, for his parents, for his siblings, and for everyone who couldn't defend themselves against the horrors that are much darker than them. [/color] [hr] [h3][b][color=a187be]Weapons [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]Heretic's Cleaver[/color] [hider][img]http://ep.yimg.com/ay/yhst-91791456840515/dragon-claw-fantasy-sword-2.jpg[/img][/hider] [color=92278f][I]A sword that is hung on the right side of Azmodin's waist. This artifact blade of his cult converts the user's energy into a volatile purple energy which is emitted from the sharp edge of the blade. The user can choose to launch these purple energies into bolts that can be harmful to opponents. While seemingly powerful and useful, this blade, in extended use, can fatigue the swordsman quite quickly as compared to normal use (without evoking the purple energy).[/I] [/color] [color=8882be]Prophecy's Caress[/color] [hider][img]http://webzoom.freewebs.com/norstar1/393-EWaz1.jpg[/img][/hider] [color=92278f][I]A sword that is hung on Azmodin's back. This artifact blade of his cult converts the user's energy into a healing essence that will rejuvenate the wounds inflicted upon the victim. In order to do this, Azmodin needs to touch the blade on the person's wound which will allow it to heal. For graver injuries, Azmodin needs to stab the sword into the wound, and there is a greater price: since the sword cannot completely heal the major injury by itself, part of the wound will transfer to the user. Again, this will exhaust the swordsman if used extensively.[/I] [/color] [color=8882be]Plain Longsword[/color] [hider][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/52/85/ed/5285eda3a7c7f62e74e9c141563412e7.jpg[/img][/hider] [color=92278f][I]A sword that is hung on the left side of Azmodin's waist. This artifact blade of his cult converts the user's energy into a healing essence that will rejuvenate the wounds inflicted upon the victim. This is a simple longsword which is used for normal combat purposes.[/I] [/color] [hr] [h3][b][color=a187be]Other [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be]Due to the weight of the three swords, Azmodin is slower compared to some other swordsmen. However, he is extensively skilled in swordsmanship and is his primary style of combat. Furthermore, the swordsman has a weakness for spicy food as well as cute things. Also, as much as he tries to hide it, the sheltered cultist is terribly bad with the opposite gender and would often tense up when talking with one.[/color] [hr] [h3][b][color=a187be]Post Example [/color][/b][/h3] [color=8882be] There are only three rules in the Heralds: one, protect those who cannot protect themselves; two, forgive the heretics who lash out; and three, inculcate the teachings of the Destroyer in everything you do. Thus, Azmodin tried his earnest to discipline himself, and to always keep the golden rules in his life. Discipline. Yes, such a word was needed when it came to the Ordan environment. Everything was organized; everyone had a job to do in the empire. As was in Azmodin's case, he was one of the people who would grow and transport the crops from the mainland of Ordan to the rural areas in the distances. It wasn't a hard thing to do, but it did become monotonous from time to time. The cult of the heralds were especially dedicated to such a practice of growing and moving crops, but, sometimes, the hand of fate was always tested. In an empire of warriors, people always tend to overstep their boundaries; they try to prove that the lives of others were lesser than their own. This was the kind of mentality that even the pious and docile Azmodin had grown tired of. As the harvest came upon them, Azmodin was tasked to deliver the reaped crops to the mainland. He immediately carried out the task, trudging for days as his eyes caught sight of the silhouette of the bridge that connected the fortress to the rest of Ordan. However, as fate would put it, Azmodin's discipline would be tested. Along the road, he spotted a group of bandits converging upon a lone traveler who was apparently also tasked with bringing the crops to the fortress. Like a raging inferno, a righteous anger flared within Azmodin as he calmly walked over to the scums that made the Destroyer's vision all too plausible of a solution. As he approached, the bandits shifted their gaze from the traveler to the warrior who had made his silent appearance. "As is Herald Tradition, I shall invoke the Destroyer's blessings upon us all." Azmodin bowed his head as he muttered a few incoherent litanies before smiling at the bandits who were all too confused. "Now, then, I would like to request that you leave this chap alone, and return his crops so that we can all go home happy." The bandits, astonished at such a confident loser who, apparently, had a death wish, merely laughed. "You must have lost your marbles, swordie. Now, run on home before we gut you and send your innards to your mother." he heard them say. "If you would find my mother for me, that would also be splendid." Azmodin replied as he placed his right palm on his chest, bowing to the bandits for a moment. "I implore you. Please, let us not spill blood on this day." The bandits had enough of this nonsense. They immediately ran at him with a flurry of daggers and knives, prompting a defeated sigh from the swordsman before he gripped the cleaver's handle with his left hand. "Forgive me... for I will sin." Immediately, the sword was slashed horizontally, producing a wave of violet flames that incinerated the poor-quality weapons of his would-be slayers. The shock in their eyes was evident, causing the bandits to slowly back away as they slowly traced Azmodin's hand that was gliding over the blade to his left side. "May you be safe from evil in the afterlife." The swordsman lunged, feigning to the side as he swung the longsword diagonally, causing crimson ink to fly into the air, and paint the ground with red. Then, the other bandit tried to tackle him to the floor, but, instantly, Azmodin slashed the cleaver in the fool's direction, causing his torso to be sliced open with a blast of purple energy. The last of the trio, realizing his folly, made a run for it as he dashed back into the shadows from whence he came. His teachings had been made. Thus, Azmodin sheathed his blades back as he turned to the hooded man who had been a victim of cruelty. "My good sir, are you hurt?" he smiled, extending his hand to the person who carefully grabbed his hand as well. Then, a rush of wind blew off the hood as the person was revealed. "A-a w-woman?" "I'd like to--" she began, but the only thing she saw was how the valiant swordsman toppled backwards with his eyes rolling to the back of his head, and his lips twisting in overlapping odes. "C-curse b-be t-the day that... I... w-was... uhhh~" Azmodin fell to the floor as a furious scarlet began to tint his pale cheeks. [/color] [hr] [/centre] [/hider]