[hider=Kyros, Herald of Hiathas]

[color=gold][center]"Aww ain't you two cute?  Relax I'm here to help you.  
Happily ever after is right past those guys.  Stay close behind me." [/center][/color]

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(No Spikes)
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[b]Name:[/b] Kyros Sirvaki, Herald of the Ebony Dawn
[b]Race:[/b] Night Person
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Kyros champions love, if its pure and without compromise, he will defend it.  He himself is heterosexual.

[b]Weapons:[/b] None.  While Kyros is born to be the barbarian and has weilded many weapons in the past, he has since adopted a more 'peaceful' way of life and shuns the use of weapons for the favor of his own war forged form.  Kyros fights exclusively with his bare hands and feet, which can be augmented by metal boots, cestus, and other brawling aids.  The study and mastery of Body Magic has tempered him even more, and he will engage armed combatants without fear.  Flesh now beats steel in his devoted eyes.

[b]Shaping:[/b] [u]Body Magic[/u] - Kyros is an acolyte of Hiathas, Lord of the Dawn, Hope, the Eternal Dance, and Beauty.  He has trained his body to become a practitioner of [i]The Dance[/i] and utilizes its teaching to enhance himself via Body Magic.  The Dance requires discipline without equal and training to the peak of physical limitations and beyond.  There are many variants when one takes up the Dance, and Kyros has followed the lead and steps of the Rising Phoenix under the tutelage of his Sifu.  The Phoenix personifies Hiathas and the sun, its burning passions always bright and ablaze.  This variant emulates the glory and perfection that is the sun, and how it remains higher than all others.  There is no grace, no subtlty.  Passions and conviction strike like the sun of high noon, the speed of a flashfire, and the devastation of an avalanche.  Its steps are slow and deliberate, rooting the practioner to the earth.  Its sways, turns, and motions are torqued with the shoulders and hips to allow the whole body into the move, making each strike equal to ten lesser ones.  The grips upon his partner are boulder shattering and meant to leave him standing above with them flattened the earth, like the sun over head to everything else.  

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[*] [u]Golden Fists of Battle[/u] - The form of the Rising Phoenix channels the excellence and power of the Sun to smite the wicked and unjust.  Channeling his magic, he shapens his body, strengthing him so that he strike with the might of the Dawn and the hope it brings.  His strength is enhanced to near super mortal levels.  Hitting, lifting, jumping all are enhanced whilst his body shines with the light of the sun, a paragon of hope and light.
[*] [u]Iron Skin Concentration[/u] - To suggest to mar the beauty of Hiathas, and to tarnish the hope in his heart, some things are just not possible.  Focusing inward, the shape of bodily perfect, his form hardens to that of armor, turning aside an attack as if Kyros himself was awash in impenetrable shield of hope.
[*] [u]Hurl to the Horizon[/u] - The sun casts its rays over all, reaching out to touch the lands across the world.  Like hope or love, distance does not matter.  Kyros follows this teaching, knowing his strength sees that lesser things like distance will not keep his enemies safe.  Any item that Kyros can lift, can be thrown.  Anything that Kyros can see, can be hit.  The physics involved make sure the item remains intact during its travel.  Thus a wagon can be thrown by its wheel with the wagon sent flying, or an ally thrown on a castle wall without harm.
[*] [u]Foe Clearing Shockwave[/u] - Hiathas as the God of Beauty, is always swarmed by the rabble of his admirers.  Sometimes he must cast his hand to sweep aside the small, in order to find the partners that catch his eye and are worthy of his attention.  Kyros emulates this with a powerful punch to foe or ground, the force of such a blast knocks all those nearby off their feet becoming easy targets, or determining who in the army is the strongest, and thus the one whom he must do battle.
[*] [u]Sledgehammer Fist Punch[/u] - Many a lover has been seperated by walls and gates from their fated one.  Hiathas tears down such barriers and so does his herald.  Kyros strike causes much more damage to inanimate objects than even his prestiguous strength is capable of.  Instead of punching through a stone wall, a section of wall crumbles away to allow him passage.
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[b]Companions:[/b] 

The orc, though blessed in might and beauty has rarely known personal love himself.  He has put himself in mortal danger so that others may get their happy endings, but his battles remain without end.  Kyros serves a rather jealous master who demands a world purged of hate and fear and while his priests teach the people of Aldin how to love, how to dance, and to remain hopeful, his herald is the one counted on to get things done. Still he's had lovers of multiple races and many many more friends, all of whom had their own responsibilities and tasks to complete so Kyros has not yet been able to place down roots, something he has considered on more than one occasion.  He keeps those willing to come with him quite small in number as he tends to attract alot of attention and danger.
 
[u]Sun'win[/u] 
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A Badger Rhydan. Sun'Win was considered a sage in his village of other woodland Rhydan who attempted to build their own village among the trees, to better find and trade the various artifacts of the sorcerors war that was lost to the wilderness.  Sun'Win had personally hired the orc as a guardian whilst he explored the fae ridden reaches of the deep woods.  Having found more interesting trinkets on Kyros' person, the badger decided to travel the lands with him.  Since he beckoned and hired Kyros, he calls the orc his familiar.  Sun'Win is a shaper of Mind and Earth, and takes pride in knowledge of the spells and history of the lands.  He provides the simple Orc with information in return for protection.  The Badger will commonly rides on Kyros' back and scamper off to a safe location when things get dangerous.  Only rarely does he get involved more than shouting strategy or encouragment.

[b]Since the War:[/b] 

Walking as the (Self Proclaimed) mortal right hand of the Sun God, Hiathas Kyros stands as a defender of hope, beauty, justice, love, and all that as good.  He is the guardian of star crossed lovers evading the blind cruelty of kings and despots.  He is the fist that knocks down the walls so that the rebels may end tyranny.  He is the hunter of Silent Men, Criminals, and Monsters that pray upon the virtues of the good and just.  Sadly, duty falls short of physical compensation.  For every rich princcess that dreams of her prince charming, willing to shower the hero in gold, there are a dozen more without strength and without coin.  Hiathas cares not for the gold his subjects possesses, only the love in their hearts, and through Kyros, his will be done. Kyros is known for his heroics and can count on many across the land for various favors and kindnesses, but in the Kingdom of Aldis, he has as many enemies as he does friends, lords and criminals brought to justice or slighted by the mad orc or serves the god of Love.  Regardless, he has been beckoned to the capital for divine purpose as well as for coin.  

[b]Audition:[/b] 

So this was it.  

The battle had reached the gates of Aldis.  The Hordes of the dead so thick and so numerous that there was an everpresent moan that seemed to echo on the wind, audible to everyone, everywhere in the city.  Maybe that's what did it.  Not the sound of war, not the crack of lightening, not the roar of cannons, or the thrum of explosions as spell lanced against spell, it was that constant reminder that the dead were so close, scratching and biting at the thick walls, getting closer inch by mad inch.  Maybe that is what scared everyone the most.  It was a fear you couldn't run from, couldn't hide.  Maybe thats why the knights and lords became desperate.  Maybe thats why the boy who would be Kyros, standing shoulder to shoulder with the others from the gladiator pit stood at the middle of one of the districts in a line as if to charge enemy formations.  The dead had breeched the gates of iron seperating the lower ward from the lake ward.  They were pouring in, one of a handful that if left unchecked would spell the death of the city.

The night person, the orc was still a boy to most.  Barely seen his twelth winter, yet flanked right and left by the battle hardened and war weary slave fighters of the pits.  He stood with them, his tenacity and savagery needed as much as it was reviled now, his hands given only a chipped chopping sword and a leather bound small sheild.  With it, he was given a promise.  A promise of freedom from the pits should he survive.  It was a gift he didn't want.  All he knew was fighting, all he knew was the cold dark of his cell, the pain and the blood and the stained steel in his hand.  That was his world.  What would freedom give him?  Looks of pity and fear?  An empty belly?  He knew not of the world, but he knew how to survive.  The pits meant survival.  He didn't want freedom, but he did want to fight, just like he always did.  Its all he knew, what he was alive to do.  There was nothing else.  And so while standing side by side on a dark street, surrounded by the remains of frightened panicking civilians, the cries of children, the wails of women, and the screams of men to try to maintain order behind him, he felt nothing.  It was just another day, its just that the scenery changed.  He felt fear, but it was a fear that win or lose, his life was over.  He'd die on this street, either eaten by the dead, or having his own body eat itself from starvation.

And then the dawn came.

For a night person, a boy, knowing chains and stone, the sun always seemed to invigorate him.  There was something about it.  When he felt it's touch, it warmed him, when he stood out in it he felt stronger.  When he fought under its scorching rays, he felt stronger.  The sun, that beautiful golden flame was his only source of beauty and light in his world.  When he felt its rays on his face, and stared into the light that would blind others, he felt purpose in his movements, he felt life in his veins, he felt love in his heart.  He fought as if all the world watched him.  He fought with passion and conviction as if trying to impress the ball of radiant glorious light.  Little did he know, he was.

And so on this day, where the sun was beginning to shine over the bleeding and dying city that was Aldin, a boy felt its heat on his back.  He felt the touch of warmth fill him.  Kyros held out his arms, his head rolled back and he closed his eyes.  He felt its eyes upon him.  He felt the thrill of battle in his heart, but there was more to it now.  He felt the love, the hope, the beauty of the world awakening from the darkness.  There was light behind him, but shadowed in the wall, in the street, came the shambling horde of the lich king.  In front of him, there was ugliness, despair, hatred.  The Orc stood at the threshold of light and dark.  A guardian of all that was good and all that was evil.  He knew his place, he knew what the sun told him.  It carressed his cheek and whispered in his ear.

It sounded like music.  Like the beckoning of a lover's call.  [color=gold][i]"Fight for me.  Kyros."[/i][/color]  The sun said.

The boy smiled, gripping his weapons and charging forward.  He eagerly accepted the offer.  Where he felt only despair, the light had given him hope.  Hope for victory, hope for Aldin, hope for life.  The light had given him his name.  His purpose.  He would never stop fighting for the light.

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