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[center][h1][color=#ff8c00]Cadmon Demet[/color][/h1][/center]
[list][*][u][b]Name[/b][/u]: Cadmon Edricsson Demet
[*][u][b]Age[/b][/u]: 19
[*][u][b]Gender[/b][/u]: Male
[*][u][b]Race[/b][/u]: Human
[*][u][b]Appearance[/b][/u]: Nearly two meters tall and twelve stone in weight, Cadmon stands well above most of the populace, with an almost-perpetual frown that, even on his youthful face, helps to contribute to what is—at first look—an imposing figure. First appearances can be deceiving, however. Even as tall as he is, he trends more towards the thin and soft sort of build, rather than the statuesque appearance that many seem to expect. He has some few scars to show for his years, but they're clearly more the result of play and training than any actual fighting for his life. His red hair falls messily to his shoulders, looking perpetually as though he only rolled out of bed moments ago, and it's clear to anybody who looks for more than the briefest glance that he is far overdue for a shave; even his eyes seem dull, but for the brief spark of life in them whenever something moves him to roll them in exasperation at whatever is occurring.

More than anything, beneath the dress, beneath the general noble bearing, Cadmon looks [i]tired,[/i] as though some great burden is constantly sapping away his energy and will to live, no matter how stubbornly he continues along.
[*][u][b]Personality[/b][/u]: While he often gives off the sense of being a taciturn and detached indiviual, this sort of impression only lasts until you get to know Cadmon beyond the basic level. Rather, he is better described as sullen and melancholy. He feels, perhaps all too keenly, the weight of life's unfairness upon his shoulders, and raher than rise above it he seems to have let it drag him down and it often finds some way to pierce through into his words, often in the form of some sort snark or biting sarcasm. Not that it's all hopeless for him—he has his own hopes and dreams that he wants to pursue, if he ever gets the chance, and he's far too committed to his sense of duties and obligations (and, though he isn't likely to admit it, far too committed just to the people around him) to shirk them entirely in favour of pursuing his own interests and leaving everything else high and dry.

His interests, perhaps, are the best way to bring some light back into his face. While he's put quite a bit of study into tactics, managing people, and the like, at heart he's more a patron of the arts than a general of the battlefield or a machine of politicking. He greatly enjoys literature and the sciences above most other things, though he has, perhaps, read a few too many popular novels, given how much he secretly wishes he could leave his noble life behind and go off to live as a free burgess within a city or have some small manor out in the countryside.
[*][u][b]Brief Backstory[/b][/u]: Cadmon Edricsson Demet was born to Edric and Amelie Demet, his father being the earl of one of the northern border fiefs of Velt. As such, he grew up away from the city, more familiar with the hamlets and villages that surrounded the town that sprung up around his family's keep than with the amenities more centralized nobles could call upon. He was not, however, lacking in education; whether general, artistic, or especially necessary given his family's place and fief, military. The duties and obligations of his status were made quite clear to him even from a very young age.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this rapidly weighed down on him, and he regularly took to the family library after his lessons and exercises as a way to escape into a more comfortable, idealized world. With the constant news of infighting between the nobles of various countries, the omnipresent border skirmishes with Ithillin, and similar, he also found himself growing more and more dissatisfied with the ruling class in general, even as his father and tutors hammered home the concept of [i]noblesse oblige[/i] in his learning—a concept that it seemed many had utterly missed. Rather than take it as an opportunity to be better and show a better way, though, it seemed Cadmon only took it as more reason to escape into his books and dream of leaving his life behind.

A dream that could never come to pass—while they were off as guests of another family along the coast, Cadmon's parents perished at sea shortly before his seventeenth birthday. Without even time to grieve, Cadmon found himself crushed under the weight of managing his new fief and demesne. Other than hastily squirrelling himself out from a proposed arranged marriage, there was little [i]good[/i] that seemed to come to him out of it; however, while that may have been the perfect opportunity to cut and run, leaving the inheritance to one of his cousins, he was far too committed to his father's memory and the sense of obligation instilled in him to leave, even were it for his own benefit.

After the passage of a couple of years of this, with the border disputes between Velt and Ithillin growing ever closer to outright war, a summons came—one evidently lacking in information, as it was the Lord Hraesleg summoning Edric to fulfill older bonds between their families and support the effort along the border.

Imagine the surprise when Cadmon arrived with his kit and what supplemental force he could levy without leaving his own fief undefended, answering a summons that wasn't even addressed to him for little more than it being a matter of honour. With Lord Hraesleg unsure of what to do with the young man—barely more than a boy—Cadmon found himself assigned under Steel Princess Velvetica's command, finding himself worn down more and more through the regular battles, politicking, and general strain of what leadership was expected out of [i]him,[/i] let alone awaiting whatever news came from the cousin he'd appointed to manage his lands while he was absent.
[*][u][b]Equipment[/b][/u]: Barring his choice of brigandine rather than a more normal cuirass and a cabasset rather than sallet for a helmet, Cadmon wears a [url=https://armstreet.com/catalogue/full/halberdiers-armor-kit-hound-of-war-6.jpg]fairly standard full harness[/url] into battle. He also carries a falchion, rondel dagger, and a small buckler as sidearms. His primary weapon, however, is a curious sort of short polearm, roughly the same size as an average knightly poleaxe, though with a head design that appears like the cross between an ox-tongue spear and a halberd—useful to cut and thrust with, though lacking in a hook with which to pull riders off their horses, should he be dismounted and forced to fight with it.

More noteworthy even than its odd design, however, is the enchantment placed upon it. Most recognizable is that it seems to require almost no maintenance—the blade itself accrues damage very slowly, and even then mostly minor barring certain extreme use, and even the haft gains some extreme resistance to wear and tear. More than that, however, is the primary effect which led to one of Cadmon's ancestors earning the family's fief for his young son and all descendants thereafter.

If the wielder of the blade should feel the odds are utterly against them, they need to speak the blade's true name and anoint it with their own blood. In return, the blade shall empower them to hold the line against nearly any resistance for a time, their reactions heightened, their strength increased, and their constitution such that they continue to persist even through otherwise deadly wounds, short of being decapitated or utterly destroyed in a single stroke.

This act denies any possibility of retreat or survival, however; the effect, channelled through the blade, is powered by the consumption of any and all energy and life the wielder has, rapidly burning away the tether that binds their soul and their mortal body. In the physical sense, this is shown by the wielder's blood itself being burned away, consumed as fuel for the fire that the blade grants its wielder—and which is also used by the enchantment to repair the weapon from the very slow accrual of damage it sustains over the years, in the most active showing of such occurring, though a willing offering of blood at any time can effect at least partial repair if needed.

The enchantment is a guaranteed self-sacrifice in the pursuit of any goal, and is thus only used in the most desperate of defences or assaults. It also does not grant one person the capacity to annihilate an army; even were they unable to end the assault, the one making use of this enchantment would still tire and fall after the passage of eight hours' time.

Moreover—should the blade be stolen, it is not specifically bound to Cadmon's bloodline. For this reason, the true name of the weapon is a closely-guarded secret, to prevent it from falling into hostile hands, though there is little telling what sort of information a truly determined enemy could gain, through whatever means they were willing to undertake, be they mundane or utterly damning for their soul.
[*][u][b]Skills[/b][/u]: While he did not shirk his training, Cadmon is no great artist upon the field of battle—for any art from him, you'd be better off giving him paper and charcoal. He is, however, competent with it; but his true skill in battle lies in his understanding of tactics and placement, advising the one giving the actual commands to their forces.[/list]
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