[hider=Arminel Blavier]
[center][img]https://images.cooltext.com/5076911.png[/img]
[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/bd/01/41/bd01413b481677dbcb215ca90790c9df--white-hair-dark-hair.jpg[/img]
[color=7bcdc8][b]"If one doesn't live justly, one doesn't deserve to live."[/b][/color] [/center]

[color=7bcdc8][b]Name[/b][/color]: Arminel Blavier
[color=7bcdc8][b]Age[/b][/color]: 29
[color=7bcdc8][b]Allegiance[/b][/color]: Church of the White (default allegiance)
[color=7bcdc8][b]Position[/b][/color]: Holy Knight 
[color=7bcdc8][b]Height[/b][/color]: 185cm
[color=7bcdc8][b]Weight[/b][/color]: 74.6kg
[color=7bcdc8][b]Hair Color[/b][/color]: Platinum blonde
[color=7bcdc8][b]Eye Color[/b][/color]: Teal
[color=7bcdc8][b]Gender[/b][/color]: Male

[color=7bcdc8][b]Written Appearance[/b][/color]: Arminel is of taller than average height but gifted with a good, lithely-muscled build, the product of intensive training in the use of his spear and stamina-building exercises. Like most of the people from his family, his hair is solid platinum blonde, eye-catching in the dark and shining silver under sunlight. His long, straight hair hangs freely, the ends sitting just above his ribs. His fringe is parted to the left, covering his thin, slanting eyebrows. His teal eyes are heavy-lidded, giving him an apathetic and bored look, never ceasing in their darting movements, as though there is a constant need to be alert. There is a light crease between his brows due to frowning too much. His thin, pale lips, straight nose and sharp jawline are directly inherited from his mother. The pale skin and light colouring is all his father, though.

Clothes are the least of Arminel's concerns. As long as they are a comfortable fit and are able to cover all they are designed to, he would gladly wear them. However, his daily outfits changes depending on his current situation. If he is on duty - which seems to be most of the time - he is clad in his silver and dark blue armour, complete save for the helm he rarely wears. If he has to travel across the land on his own or is off-duty, he prefers dark coloured tunic, trousers and brown leather boots, with a long cloak to complete the outfit. 

[color=7bcdc8][b]Personality[/b][/color]: Arminel is mild-mannered and a hard person to offend, waving off insults and jokes in an equally offhanded manner, as long as it is directed at him only, of course. Quick to banter with people he has been acquainted with before or anyone he is comfortable around, he is the sort of man that is easy to befriend, work alongside and open up to as long as he is not being his typical lazy self, which usually rubs some people the wrong way. He works best when sufficiently motivated and/or under pressure. If not, he is pretty lax and uninitiative until a superior gives him a command. Beneath the unmotivated and seemingly dead-to-the-world look, he is rather perceptive when he wants to be. His observational skills are mostly used to avoid having more work heaped on him and escape from superiors.

Arminel believes that the law set down by the Holy Knights and the White God is right, and rules are placed there for a reason. He hates it when people try to find a way around it, twisting it so they will come off as innocent when they are clearly not. He will not hesitate to use his authority to do what he thinks is right. 

[color=7bcdc8][b]Background[/b][/color]: The Blavier House, once wealthy merchants, has transitioned into a Family that produced Holy Knights every generation ever since Grandfather Ewald became the Head. Ewald had always been a pious man, loudly proclaiming to all who bothered to listen about the wonder that is the White God and the glory He stands for. Tales of Ewald's exploits and those of his sons and daughters - both living and dead - would be recounted around the dinner table now and then, painting the Church as righteous and any who oppose the White God's will as foul, tainted being in need of rescue. Redemption granted only by death. It came as no surprise that from Ewald's generation onwards, members of the House slowly became pious.

Born as the middle child and only son to the youngest of Ewald's sons, Arminel's path in life was already determined by his parents and grandfather even before he was a year old. His older sister, while sharp of mind, was too sickly to be considered for the position of heir. Arminel had no say in it, not that he ever tried arguing. It took too much effort and frankly wasn't worth it. In addition, he was trained since childhood the arts of being a Holy Knight. Scriptures, polearm-training, history of the Church, ramifications of evil...all these subjects were heaped upon him the moment he could read and write. There wasn't any other path he thought he could take should he refuse to be a Knight of the Church. He could teach, he suppose, become a priest instead of a soldier, but Arminel made a horrible preacher. 

Like every Blavier offspring in the latest generation, the sixteen-year-old Arminel who walked in to join the ranks of the Holy Knights was a brainwashed youth, brought up filled with views that those serving the White God could do no wrong, and the Black God's followers were blights to be terminated. His perception of the world was split clearly into black and white. There were no greys in between. This unquestioning obedience was an asset to the Church, one they didn't hesitate to exploit. Arminel managed to make a friend in a younger teen within his unit named Allerion Zephra.

At one point in the year he turned twenty-one, an incident during the eradication of a village deemed corrupted nearly broke his unwavering faith in the Church and his carefully constructed view on what was right and wrong. Fortunately, circumstances worked in a way that he remained, although there exists a small crack in his firm belief - so small even he isn't aware of. It still remained a traumatising memory, a worry he divulged to Rion. Holy Knights weren't meant to have traumas, but he did. Did that make him a failure?

Over the years, Arminel was an observer as the relationship between Allerion and a woman by the name of Mana progressed. He came to view her as another sister when the two got married, but refused to listen to her stories about Holy Knight doing unjust deeds. To him, they were rumours spread by evildoers in an attempt to slander the Church of White and unless he witnessed it with his own eyes, it will stay that way. Knowing it wasn't his place to interfere in matters between a married couple, Arminel could only sit back and watch as doubt begin to cloud Rion's view of the Church. There were times he reached out to his friend with subtle warnings, reminding him of his duties as a Holy Knight and what the Church stood for. 

Clearly, it wasn't enough. For when the unit returned from a mission, Mana laid dead and Rion became obsessed with investigating the case behind his wife's death. He tried to dissuade his friend, distracting him from grief and sorrowful memories. It worked for a while, then Rion's temper snapped. He was suspended, leaving Arminel within the unit and feeling rather useless. This sense of not being able to help made him recall events in the past and the crack he didn't know was there is slowly being clipped at. Sure, obedience was enforced amongst the Church, but only one occasion of talking back to a superior overturned years of devotion. A suspend? Why? Did Rion say something offensive enough to warrant such punishment? 

[color=7bcdc8][b]Current Story[/b][/color]: Rion had left, without even saying a goodbye. Arminel had to learn of what happened from his comrades-in-arms and by the time he went to hunt down the younger Knight, he was gone. He would have gotten on his horse and left right away if not for his superior enforcing the rule that a Knight should not indulge in selfish reasons. So here he stays, couped up in headquarters and waiting to be sent on a mission, anxious on behalf of his friend but unwilling to defy the Church. Thus the only hope he holds is that his path would cross the younger Knight's in the near future.

[color=7bcdc8][b]Weapon[/b][/color]: [url=http://orig11.deviantart.net/d525/f/2015/218/2/e/gae_bolg_by_madnessabe-d94i8o0.jpg]Ansgar[/url], Arminel's Arc, is a blood-red spear with vine-like carvings running along the shaft. The magic imbued into this weapon allows razor winds to be generated from the blade at will. These razor winds only cut in a straight line, and direction is determined from the angle of the blade. Power behind the razor wind is determined by force behind the swing or stab. For example, razor wind from a weak swing will only scratch the surface of a typical stone wall while a swing with all his power behind it can severe it in two.

[color=7bcdc8][b]Ability[/b][/color]: Earth's Fury: Using where he is currently standing as the epicenter, Arminel can direct seismic waves through the ground, causing the earth at a radius of up to 100m to tremble (meaning a diameter of 200m). Intensity of the tremors increases gradually by the minute, with the first minute being only the ground shaking, the second minute the earth starts to break apart. By the third minute, cracks and minor faults have formed on the ground and the fourth minute is when deeper faults start to appear and parts of the land may crumble beneath one's feet. However, the drawbacks are Arminel cannot move from where he is standing least he will risk being harmed by the damage caused by the quake, and if he cease causing the tremors, when he wants to continue, he will need to start from the very beginning again. His ability unfortunately does not discriminate between allies and enemies. 

[color=7bcdc8][b]Writing Prompt[/b][/color]:
[hider=The Village of Zentide]
The thundering of hooves caused his heart to beat in tandem. All around him, his comrades-in-arms rode majestically upon their respective mounts, eyes ahead and faces stern. A grim atmosphere accompanied the fast-moving unit, a sense of urgency exuding from every being. Hands tightening around reins, brows furrowed, tempers on short fuse. Up ahead, the Great Holy Knight leading the unit was accompanied by two priests wielding elegant staffs of the purest white wood. So bright they seemed to radiate their own light, shining a path ahead of the riders. 

Dusk was passing, and night soon fell. Beneath the stars and full moon, the Knights continued unerringly towards their destination. The seemingly endless green plain finally came to an end, the scape of a village breaking the flat horizon as they cleared the final hill. 

Zentide Village, once a proud supporter of the Church of White. Those days were far gone. Now the once prosperous village became a shadow of its former glory. Houses in need of repair, thin, starving bodies shuffling aimlessly along the mud-caked streets. Its majestic wooden gates were rotten and broken, parts falling off and worms wriggling on its surface. It truly looked like a place infested and overran by evil. 

At an unspoken command, the horses were reined in to a halt. A perfectly uniform square of armoured Knights stayed a few meters away from the closed gates, motionless save for the few head-tosses and shuffling of the mounts. Watching the Great Holy Knight and the priests flanking her, Arminel’s breath came out in low hisses, tension locking his spine straight. His head felt stuffy beneath his helm, Ansgar a heavier weight on his back. His palms were sweaty due to nerves, and he couldn’t help the small twitch when the gates creaked open to admit the three riders. A small group of villagers approached, but he was too far to hear the exchange, and positioned in a way lip-reading wasn’t an option. 

“Easy, Blavier. Don’t let your nerves get to you.” Flynn’s husky voice whispered from his right, succeeding in dispersing some anxiety. “This’ll be a simple one. Just do what needs to be done, yeah?”

Managing a jerky nod in gratitude, Arminel’s gaze snapped to the returning party, noting the dark expression on his superior’s face. The priests on either side were openly sneering. [i]So that’s how tonight will go.[/i] Although this wasn’t his first extermination mission ever since he joined the Church, this was his first time eradicating an entire village on the crime of harbouring wanted evildoers. From the looks of things, the villagers had either denied their actions or openly defied the Church. Despite the anxiety curling in the pits of his stomach, a rush of pity welled up. The poor ignorant masses. If only they would listen to reason. Now, they could only seek salvation through death. Beneath the visor of his helm, he closed his eyes and murmured a prayer of forgiveness and mercy.

A sharp gesture and the unit fanned out to completely surround the village, hands on respective weapons, ready to draw at moment’s notice. The horses, sensing their rider’s shift in emotions, began pawing the ground, nostrils flared in aggression. Calming his stallion down with a light click of the tongue and a soothing touch, Arminel kept track of the flurry of activities unfolding in the village behind the pathetic wooden fence. Torches were lit, crude arms passing from men to men, children secreted away and even a few women were amongst the growing crowd rallying to oppose the Knights.  

“Today, you are truly blessed!” The older priest lifted his staff and boomed, words meant for the Church’s warriors. “Today, you fight for the White God himself! Today, you will assist in cleansing this earth of unholy heathens!” The man’s eyes were wild with fervour, orange light from torches flickering through his dark eyes. “Let the grass turn red with the blood of these heretics! They have sinned against Him and all He stands for! They have colluded with evil and revered in their depravity!  Their mortal bodies must be punished and their souls redeemed! Strike down with His justice! Let none survive!”

Even before the last ringing word echoed in the night, the soldiers moved as one, horses leaping over or barrelling through the fence and gate, falling upon the poorly armed villagers like vengeful demons out for blood. Just like that chaos erupted. Arminel couldn’t quite remember the details of this night, but the memories that stuck were the rise and fall of his own spear, blade cleaving through and piercing body after body, the shock and hatred etched on every face melding into one. He was numb to it all, the words duty and heretics flashing repeatedly in his mind. They all deserved to die. There was no place for hesitation.

When he eventually stopped moving, he was still seated upon his horse, its white body stained with specks or crimson. Bodies littered the ground. Young and old. Trampled, impaled, decapitated. The stench of death was suffocating and seared his eyes, burned into his mind. Blood. He could smell it everywhere. On him, on the burning buildings around him, on his fellow Knights. He could even smell it wafting up from the mud and grass beneath his feet. The light rain pattering around them – searing, acidic, soul-sucking in its iciness – did nothing to help block the stench. If anything, the water droplets themselves carried a heavy scent of iron, as if the heavens itself was crying blood. He could smell the fire too. The acrid stench of wood slowly being reduced to ash, a hint of sulfur being carried in the smoke as houses, walls, people of Zentide burning all around. Their screams echoed into the night, creating a haunting chorus of dying wails. And still, the sickening squelch of weapons running through bones and muscles sounded, overlapping with the occasional clash of steel on steel. 

“Another glorious day for the Church.” A light airy voice belonging to his unit’s commander came from behind him. 

The Great Holy Knight nudged her still pristine mount forward, a satisfied smile on her face, eyes gleaming in triumph. Pushing his visor up, Arminel’s dead gaze locked onto hers for a second before dropping to the ground. A sight caught his attention and he dismounted, walking forward a few paces before dropping to one knee and brushed mud away with the hand not clutching his weapon. His fingers stilled abruptly as they encountered cold, dead flesh. His eyes prickled, a choking cry stuck in his throat. 

[color=7bcdc8]“Glorious? You call this glorious?”[/color] He asked in a whisper, voice harsh and raspy even as he addressed his superior, gaze not moving from the dead infant laying on the ground, pinned beneath the corpses of its parents. [color=7bcdc8]“Is the slaughter of innocent children glorious?”[/color]

“[i]Watch your tongue, Knight.[/i]” The woman’s voice whipped out, tone frosty. “Anyone associated with infidels must be erased. Children are no different. They become tainted the moment their parents embraced evil. We saved their souls from eternal damnation.”

Screwing his eyes shut, he bowed lower as though it would help block the myriad of emotions warring within him. Those words were a familiar one, preached in various scriptures and from the mouths of many believers. It was engraved within him since childhood. But witnessing it happen right before his eyes was different. So very different. Was what he did the right thing? He was putting an end to wickedness, wasn’t he? All he had experienced in his twenty-one years of life told him so but a small part of him still baulked at the idea of ending a child’s life. It hit too close to home, as though he personally held a blade towards his younger sibling’s neck.

His frame trembled at the thought. In his earlier frenzy, had he mindlessly skewered a child? [i]Oh Lord above. He couldn’t remember![/i] 

Before his mind could descend more into chaos, a startled yelp and clang of a blade hitting the ground caused his head to snap up. What he saw surprised him. A young child standing over a fallen Knight, whose helm was off and weapon out of reach. The young man was spotting a nasty leg injury and Arminel was the closest Knight to the scene. The boy lifted a rusty shortsword with both hand, thin arms trembling from exertion but face contorted into an expression of pure loathing. Tears and snot ran down the gaunt face even as he gave a piercing shriek and stabbed the sword forward at the downed knight. The rusty blade never met its mark.

Arminel moved on instinct. The entire scenario took a scant few seconds to play out, and all he registered was someone was going to kill a brother. 

Ansgar swung through the air in a horizontal motion, urgency causing Arminel to inject every bit of strength he could muster behind the movement. The boy’s head flew from his shoulder, remaining airborne for a second, then dropped back onto the earth with a dull smack. 

“Now you see, Knight Blavier, the things wickedness can incite even an innocent child to do.” The Great Holy Knight’s voice was back, this time gentle and warm. Soothing, as though that of a caring mother educating her child the ways of the world. “It is our duty to save. A dark and strenuous task at times, especially when evil takes advantage of the goodness of your heart. But you must never forget…[i]those that don’t live justly don’t deserve to live.[/i]”

As his superior moved away, a soft chuckle slipped pass his lips. Yes, how did he forget that creed? His duty as a Knight was to ensure the White God’s justice prevailed in this world. Everything and anything that opposed His will should be eliminated. Or else, it would be the Church that falls. 
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