[hider=Orsender the Oni][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/EEux1pZ.jpg[/img]

[b][u]Name[/u]:[/b] [s]Oli-[/s] Orsender
[b][u]Race[/u]:[/b] Oni
[b][u]Gender[/u]:[/b] Male

[b][u]Personality[/u]:[/b] 
"Orsen" is rough, a little rude, and wants nothing more to test the limits of his body in all things. Eating, fighting, sex - it may as well all be new to him. He doesn't trust easily and tends to keep to himself - or at least, that's what he [i]was[/i] like. Now, having been reborn, he has grown a little haughty and believes he was personally given a second life by God, Satan, or whatever. He could go anywhere, do anything, [i]be himself[/i]... sort of. He definitely wasn't an oni in his prior life. Still, he feels free and wants to revel in his new freedom. The rebirth has made him ecstatic about being alive again, when once he could barely stand it. Although he is still mostly rough around the edges when it comes to social interaction and trust in others, he may yet learn something of it during this journey.  

[b][u]Appearance[/u]:[/b] 
Standing at an imposing 6 foot 8 inches (210 cm), Orsender is a a mass of muscle with a fluffy, über-soft mop of silver hair on his head. He is an oni, and he does have a single horn that matches his grayish skin color on his forehead where his hairline begins - but it is tiny and usually well covered by his hair. He won't tell you his weight, because that is apparently rude. His shoe size is beyond human [s]you know what that means[/s]. He usually wears loose fitting clothes, making it hard to tell how ripped his new body is. It is very ripped. His voice is a deep baritone and his eyes are bright and alive with youthful hope, despite his menacing appearance. When he smiles, sharp fangs can be seen. Actually, he's kind of handsome...?

[b][u]Backstory[/u]:[/b]
[hider][b][color=9966CC]"Ha! Wouldn't you like to know?"[/color][/b][/hider]
[b][u]Blessings[/u]:[/b] 
[h3]「[b]D[/b]emonic [b]O[/b]vercoat」[/h3]
The power bestowed upon Orsender when he was reborn, operating under the assumption that some dark God willed him back to life. The [b]O[/b]vercoat takes the form of a black magic aura that enshrouds Orsen completely in a psuedo-cocoon. It takes a few moments to activate once the cocoon is formed, and the shell can be broken by a particularly strong magical attack, but if left alone then Orsen will come bursting out with an extreme power boost. The dark magic puffs his body up even larger than it already is, mana courses through his bulging veins and powering up his physical strength to titanic heights. His speed is much improved due to the pure leg muscles enhanced with magic. Even his thinking process speeds up as his brain is wrapped in a demonic aura. Physically, he doesn't change much at first. The longer he 'wears' the [b]O[/b]vercoat, the better chance there is for it to change his body. All the changes are temporary, but are very physical while the coat is active. If he needs to reach a flying enemy, he will grow wings. If he needs to dive beneath the water, he'll grow gills. He can grow tails, extra arms, larger fangs, spikes, magic-resistant scales, etc. His small oni horn also grows in length the longer the coat is active, and serves as a timer. Since the dark aura wraps around his brain, prolonged use of the blessing can lead to permanent damage. At a certain point of prolonged use, Orsen will be unable to deactivate the [b]O[/b]vercoat himself - in that case, knocking him out will end it's effects immediately.

[b][u]Abilities[/u]:[/b]
Orsender is a man with little besides the merits of his body. His arms and legs are adorned with sturdy armor, as they are his main weapons. He does have a sword - or at least, he came to with a sword nearby - but he doesn't seem to be trained to use it all that well. He uses it more like an axe or club, just wildly swinging. Still, the force of one of his swings is enough to cleave right through most mortals' bodies. His strength is devastating. He prefers using his arms to swat, punch and grapple opponents. Particularly, he has a mighty choke hold he loves to employ. Despite his titan like strength and physique, he can be a little squeamish around gore - another reason he mostly prefers hand-to-hand combat. 

[b][u]Magic[/u]:[/b] 
Orsen is not very skilled in the ways of magic, despite his blessing being entirely magic-based. The most he can do is conjure a dark flame with the snap of his fingers - and it offers less light than a normal torch so it doesn't have much uses besides lighting a quick camp fire. 

[b][u]Equipment[/u]:[/b] 
[b]+[/b] Steel bracers, grieves and boots. Intricately carved with an unknown language. Decipherable? Perhaps. Not by Orsen though.
[b]+[/b] A steel sword of similar make, also similarly inscribed. It is extremely heavy, but Orsen can wield it with ease.
[b]+[/b] Standard, loose fitting traveling clothes and scarf.
[/center]

[hider=Bonus Info//memory]- Orsender has an understanding of his tribe's dialect. While the dialects of the Oni are similar, they are nonetheless fragmented enough to cause difficulties. Still, enough remains to hold a conversation with most Oni. He is also able to speak and understand most of the common human tongue.
- Despite being unable to recall any specifics, the means of which to survive in the woods are second nature to Orsender. Even if he can't recall the names, he is still able to identify the usage of woodland plants and survivalism comes second nature to him.
- Orsender can only understand a single symbol on his blade: return.

A Shattered Tribe

The rustling of summer grass. The cool hymn of night winds punctuated by steps crushing the underbrush. The sounds of nature were corrupted by that indelible cracking. It wasn't like the breaking of wood or bone. The only way to describe it was different. No one was meant to hear this sound.

"[Mother,]" you whispered from behind a fallen tree, your childish voice quivering. The steps stopped. Quickly, you hushed yourself with your small hands covering your mouth. Your eyes shut as hard as you could force them. That brutal cracking increased, rushing towards your small figure. Silence. You could only hear the sounds of a summer night. Was it safe now? Was it fine? You slowly opened one eye. Both quickly shot open. All of the color of the figure before you had been drained out. Its eyes had been gouged out, only to be replaced by an oozing black. Its neck stretched across the trunk to stare at you. Deep cracks penetrated its skin as though it was a shattered clay pot. It was mother.

Quickly, you shot up from your slumber. The fur blankets that had covered you had been thrown across the yurt. Frigid air washed over your skin as your hands reached to hold your head. You struggled to catch your breath. It was that dream again. It felt like it appeared every other day. Not a week went by that you could enjoy sleep because of it. A familiar womanly voice interrupted the night's silence.

"D▊d ▊ou s▊ee▊ w▊ll?" She said. A tall figure wearing thick furs entered your tent. She wasn't like you. She was hornless. Her face was sympathetic towards your night terrors, as usual. It was ▊▊▊▊▊▊. Her sword was still safely sheathed on her hip. Really, why did she still carry that sword around with her? There wasn't anything up there with you, save for goats, bears, and evergreens. Ah... But wasn't it ceremonial? She taught you those words inscribed on her blade. ▊▊▊▊▊▊ ▊▊▊ ▊▊▊▊▊ ▊▊ ▊▊▊▊▊▊▊ return. With a chuckle, she opened the flap of your tent.

"▊ea▊▊iful, i▊ it no▊?"

Bright green lights danced in the air, concealing the stars that they covered. Like a river in the sky, it gently flowed high above the mountains. This was her home, but she didn't think about it that way.

She always called it "our home".[/hider][/hider]