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[CHAR] [♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

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T H E S O L D I E R S

The greatest of evils lies not in the heart of a Beast; but within the soul of a Man.



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Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Rockette
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【howl. & paint it black.】
&
ᴄ. . ᴀ. . ʀ. . ᴍ. . ᴇ. . ɴ. . ᴀ. . ᴜ. . s. . ᴇ. . ᴛ. .

Twenty-nine. ◆ 16th of November. ◆ Five-seven [170 cm.] ◆ Commander.

A P P E A R A N C E.
Impressed as the alternative aesthetic, and the nontraditional beauty of innocence and complexions of wavering purity, Carmen is afforded little impression and delicacy despite all fairer bequeaths. Fed persistent fluidity of mindless grace and poise, and compounded with virulence that bears kinship to feline rituals, she is all alluring and manipulatively sensual in debut. Carmen is garnished in a underling, golden complexion of dusted pearl and opal with a shy beige that lightens to alabaster tones along every grace of limb, compacted in a lean stature of a would be queen; heralded and regaled. Her extremities allude to temptress wiles, the seductive creature that looms and preys behind eyes of gleaning ashen blue, the sort that flesh and reflect to obsidian cores, sharpening and cutting much like volcanic glass and gleaming with a deeply seeded nature of all consuming and devouring desires of turbulent waters. Adhering to her impression, Carmen is extreme within debut and introductions, her initial appearances are harsh and unforgiving, sensuous glances and smoldering glares of mute debasement, a lingering cruelty that shudders under the bite of an empowering, and compelling creature with pert lips pouted, or reeling back into a simper of terrifying gloss. She robes herself within monochromatic splendors, cinched leather and sallow blouses of loose, cropped finishes over conforming trousers buckled, crossed, and embellished with appeal to further effect her overwhelming aesthetic and appeal.

Twined in silvery tissue, scars that lace over one another and spell down her entire spine, Carmen's effects from her Aeon bond has permanently lightened her hair to an arctic hue, bland and white and unhinged around her features. Her simper of wide grace reveal canines slightly elongated and the sharp quality of her eyes dilate in relation to her manifest of powers, splicing to a singular line or expanding wide to eclipse the entire oculi. A myriad of bruises, that formulate into a diamond pattern of consistent length, edge, and diameter correlate down the breadth of her spine, panning upward onto her nape and vanishing beneath sallow threads of her hair. The violet and sapphire cores span outward across her blades and peak just over the curvature of her shoulder and taper into the opal grace of her natural complexion.


P S Y C H E.
Carmen does not adhere to Fate or predetermined courses of absolution and reasoning, but advocates for the conceptions of Destiny and terms of omnipotence for the greater being. She yearns for power, for strength, and purpose yielded by her own endeavors and finds solace in all bases of consumption and gain. Incapable of being satisfied is another facet to her multi-furnished complexity, Carmen’s cavernous void of need and desire seems eternal; boundless and bourne without restriction to whichever reason of fulfillment. She does not hesitate and does not deter from challenges of betterment, constantly yearning for means to satisfy her soul and embellish her means of power and want. She believes in only herself, rather than the unity derived under the teachings of The Fayth, she believes in her capabilities and her own methods to see tasks finalized and the means of achievement cloaked in whichever shade of grey required for the final product. Among her faceted idealogy and perception, Carmen has been deduced as a selfish creature, one that relies on cruel methods in comparison to genuine altruism, as she can be perceived and assumed as a lone and solitary individual striving to found their own personal gain. And whilst Carmen is assumed of these characteristics, it’s the inner source that bears truth to her general consensus of thought and intention. Manipulation underlies in the tone of voice and praise, her means of conduct done only to achieve her own, personal, goals of power.

Therein lies a void betwixt heart and soul, one that yawns ever deeper and yonder beyond just bones and flesh, and whether or not Carem is aware of this conceptual handicap does not seem to deter her or inspire a change in her overall debut. This void, however, is often filled to the brim with other vices, both of physical, psychological and sometimes emotional, this stems and branches to a writhing curiosity and fascination with mortal limitation - sometimes her own, and others - that bears onto pain of both giving and receiving. Her projection of need seemingly writhes beneath the surface of her mortal countenance, broadcast only thus through the darkest hours when Carmen sheds the uniform continuity of her military pursuits. Though not wholly considered a sadomasochist, Carmen understands the underlying notion of her creators and own manipulators and appears to harbour no ill will onto her betters, or her peers. Her military induction is nearly flawless, in that her record of obedience is stalwart and well founded, concreted with the practice of perfected tempering - so long as she reaches her goal and is given exactly what she wants.

Carmen does not acknowledge to the monstrosity of her previous successors, she views the Prototypes as failures rather than tragic products. She regales her Aeon as the King to her soul, the one that will fortify her thirst and need for power, and the one to see her potential and Destiny finalized in the end. She obsesses over this power, over the bond, and any source that will see her ascension and rise finalized to the stature she believes is destined for her. She will bend knee to no other.


B A C K G R O U N D.
The dome of Palamecia conceives weapons and technology beyond present conception, and also conceives the likes of women akin to Carmen’s debut. Within the towering spires and correlating tempers therein lies a facility known as the Imperial Paddock: an arena with a generating core of blinding light that glimmers downward into a netherworld of depravity and furnished sin beyond fixated doors of steel and electricity. The Imperial Paddock was the initial prison derived under Palamecia’s refinement, the only product of the generation and massive enough that all other facilities were considered ill-equipped and flagging behind the sudden creation. Life afforded little luxury to her youthful reign, the sort that tarries under woe and seems to flourish under strain despite all gilded cages and barbed leashes. Carmen never despaired over her initial origins, the sense of belonging never fixated her into lonely qualms of conceptual sickness, as the Imperial Paddock was her domicile and choice of living. When compared to the endless days of living within Palamecia’s underground sanction, the Paddock was a realm of warmth, food and a simple way of existing.

The underground was furnished in a ebony glamour, typically impacted with illegal purchases and gain by the swipe of a small, scar riddled palm. Though, Carmen was not bourne here within the dome, Carmen was originally founded in a northern city in Baanga known as Lucin; a botch of a community flailing in revel from the sources of Palamecia draining life from the plain and lands. Lucin attempted for little in confining her state of wanderlust, owed entirely to a deeply seeded aphotic void that yawned, pulled, and warped her entire being to a creature that had once bitten into a man that dared to attempt theft on her person. Carmen came to Palamecia on a pilgrimage and lease, provided to those that apply, to seek a life within the multitude of levels of the technological sanctuary. Much like a leveled purchase, one starts out in the underground levels, the lowest tier they have to offer with particular objectives one individual can perform to gain access to the true splendor Palamecia has to offer. Like rising into court, where a queen belongs.

However, Carmen became fixated in the primal state of life those dark days had to offer, it provided a way of life, an acknowledgment to life wherein she had previously questioned her own reality within Lucin’s deterioration. She wanted to temper those around her, she wanted to subjugate those beneath her own beauty and prowess, and seduced those of higher gain into mere pedestals for her immediate ascension. But, lost to the wiles of power and rising ever higher, Carmen landed herself within the Imperial Paddock where she did not hesitate to try and rise higher in the arena, to achieve that eternal title to be the best. The most powerful. The Queen.

Through a routine screening of potential candidates to the cause of Fort Lullin, Carmen was selected among many after spending five years within the Paddock, initially imprisoned for a multitude of attempts at theft, murder, and infiltration of military official housing. She took to the transition with ease, only figuring that they were elected for transport to another facility, one that was meant for the violent and unsound. They seemed to select the most violent of creatures that day, after all, much to the tremor of those that gleaned through the masses. She remembers agony and terror and the glimmering eye of a beast that surrendered her down to her knees. The years within the Fort have bled into a cesspool of black and blue, correlating into a unified wealth of power and despair; consuming, devouring, reaping her soul yonder her own limitations. Though those years are a literal fog, Carmen has taken to her SOLDIER induction with ease, a sort of manic, demented flourishment on her new seat of power.




R E G A I L I A.
Years of struggle, survival, and power hungry madness has afforded Carmen a unique participation to battle. She thrives within close quarters and personal lairs, forging traditional weaponry in favour of something far more suiting to her qualms and fixations. Her conducts of battle, however, flit across a line of reasonable and manic, often hurting herself well within the process. Years of conditioning have impressed ways of lessening the pain and reflecting damage, but Carmen finds the infliction to be inspiring and thus, almost necessary. Her custom weaponry, specially imported from Palamecia, is a set of unique gauntlets and footwear that provide Carmen a literal edge to her combative strengths. The blades are of an alloy derived from Aeon craters and the hide of her own Aeon to fortify the original steel into near indestructible edges. The same appliances are given to her bladed feet that fit perfectly and bear weight and stress fluidly. Her armour consists of varying threads of ebony, always interchanging through her states of appeal. Carmen advocates to for victory, the kind that will surrender under her sheer power and bend knee to her overwhelming will, she will surrender her enemy or simple opponent with literal tooth and claw - much like a rabid beast.

Whilst her physical capabilities bear weight, it's not where her true powers manifest. Carmen has bonded with her Aeon well enough to induce sheer, unadulterated power in their forge of woman and creature, and has advocated to obtain more and more. But, such manifest and power allies close to the emotional and psychological state of the bearer, and Carmen's chasm of emote and sanity has yawned farther than deemed safe and secure. Thus, these abilities fluctuate and rapidly decline depending on her current state of inner, and sometimes outer, affairs.

R U I N A G A [deceit. manipulative. ruin.] A swell of light erupts from her ligaments: palms, fingers, any section of flesh brims to the edges with this gleam. It's ashen in colour, teeming with ebony edges that feather outward into rays of curious, blackened, light. One contact, the light seems to burn, not one of flame, but one that breaks down in terrible agony of disintegration. The curious edges of feathered ebon literally seep into the membrane, spanning outward in harsh, curling edges that vein onto flesh and literally erode from the inside and outward, with ashen gleams summoning forth. The depths of light, and concentration, reflect to the strength behind this ruining glimmer and wed; sometimes as insignificant as a light spark of black, and onto a full conflagration and assuage of taint that blooms outward with a roar of pain and defiance. This glow seems to bypass traditional elements of nature, as it does not owe origin to any of them.


A T E R N A [death. devouring. enslaving.] A vibrating tempo resonates, eclipsing the realm in the wake of its' wrath and bathed in writhing blacks and blues. The breadth of Aterna spans beyond Carmen's mortal countenance and stance, shining through her eyes, and wrought forth in a terrifying gale of wind and terror that shreds through the opposition and devours in a flicker of black - winking out of existence and taking all with it. The resulting damage is left not only on the area around, but onto Carmen herself, seeming to tear away parts of her soul, leaving her spent and exhausted; trembling in throes of bygone power and loss.


A E R O N A [inventive. ambitious. treacherous.] Swirling masses of ebony wisps whorl around her, slicing into her skin and even those within close proximity, blood weeping paths of euphoria and pain. The sound is of screeching banshees that arise in tempo and ferocity, dependent on her state of mind and heart. The swirling bits can fluctuate beyond her control, or simply form in lazy whorls and waves in her distraction.


L A C R I [decay. death. devouring.] Pooling from her yawning orifice is a taint of unimaginable suffering, sluicing like tar yonder lips and teeth, a liquid that oozes and manifests into terrible manifestations of decay and reeking of death of dry, olden tombs. Only wrought from her mouth of terrifying simpers, her canines pierce the flesh, release the festering mass, bathing those in a suffering agony that eats away at the delicate membrane unless pried away by sheer force.


A E O N.
◆ B A H A M U T // black & blue.

◆ Devouring, manipulative, enslaving and progressive.

Gilded in a gold and ebon whorls of darkness, Bahamut was located in one of the deepest fissures and craters left behind by the Aeon descent. In the unforgiving mountains of Junon where cores of rock gleamed within an internal energy that pulsated and writhed with every method of contact, where black waters raged and filled the crater to the brim with an aphotic death. Defined as male in genetic markings, the findings of Bahamut were draconic in aesthetic appeal and warped in feathers with ebon edges and myriads of scales that were nearly indestructible when probed and plied; dark like bruises and blackened like tar. There was an underlying fixation of ominous dread, the sort that was later assuaged once they broke down the remains of this Aeon, even going as far to see these remains separated purposely and lost in whichever mill was designated for the delivery. However, speculation derived that the dread still remained, quivering yonder death despite all attempts by the Aeon officials to thwart it.


C O R E.
◆ Reaper



O V E R D R I V E.
F L A R E G A //
It's terrifying in power, but yearning for in death. This last resort power seems to combine all manners of manifest and power, burning and writhing and intent to consume all within its' path and wake. Gleaming black and blue, like a void of space and time, and warping the area into blackened ash and rain that falls and bathing the grounds in a vicious ooze. The gales summoned from this all mighty wrath and rage seem to inflict even the heavens, darkening the realm with swirling clouds that bear threat of storm and terror, ready to unleash the final blow.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by icmasticc
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Corbyn Vesper

Thirty | 29 / May | Six - Foot - One | Commander

A P P E A R A N C E.
Assertive in poise and stature, the rigid posture of Corbyn Vesper is unmistakable. Proportioned and symmetrical to an exact degree, his physicality exudes discipline and efforts of constant maintenance. A purposeful choice leaves the body at a medium build and avoids the kind of bulky muscle usually associated with those of the combative occupation. Various scars scatter amongst caramel skin, hard with age and silent reminders of stories no longer told. Ebony hair is kept short due to preference, never regulation, while facial hair is consistently groomed, but never shaved off. Though the light brown of his eyes glisten in the sunlight, it is the look they convey that makes them striking. His stare is built from years of uncertain futures with the smallest glimmer of hope hidden in the ulterior. Tattoos and jewelry have neither place nor meaning for the somewhat young commander and his general out of uniform attire is composed of comfort clothing versus fashionable outerwear.


P S Y C H E.
For one to have achieved the rank of Commander, the persona attributed to Corbyn Vesper is surprisingly contrary to average expectation. In spite of his leadership role within SOLDIER, he is best described as socially comfortable, yet mentally reserved. His outgoing nature allows for easy communication with all manner of individual with a certain level of familiarity, but those exterior appearances are not all natural. In truth, trust is not easily gained or easily kept with the man and he regularly holds the slightest bit of distrust for all those he associates with. This rather paranoid nature does not stem from malice, rather a specific belief that one should never underestimate what another is capable of - especially in the present times. Why this manifests as distrust rather than caution, however, is a flawed trait in Corbyn's mentality and sometimes causes his external behavior to appear standoffish in the eyes of others.

On the other side of this coin though, strong bonds of loyalty can be formed when one proves to be trustworthy and, or, capable. Corbyn is not so flawed that he severs bonds as they form and it is his own opinion that this kind of loyalty should be treated as a reward and not just given out to any and everybody who appears to be nice.

In the matters of The Fayth, the commander is a firm non-believer. Chastising others for their beliefs comes in opposition of his own morality, but a convert he will never become. Combined with his inner fear and confusion surrounding the Aeon entities, Corbyn really only believes in himself and whatever he is capable of accomplishing. The disregard for The Fayth sits alongside a similar distaste for politics. Being SOLDIER damns one to some involvement with political affairs, no matter how small, but the commander takes up an active role in avoiding the fiery subject as much as possible. Whatever other issues exists, his main problem with The Fayth and politics is both are bridges to his third, and most hated, subject of all; the Aeons.


B A C K G R O U N D.
The small isle of Ivalice exists to the east of Baanga and though they function independently with their own government council, the nation is officially an annexed territory of the much larger Baanga to the west - and the birthplace of Corbyn Vesper.

W - I - P


R E G A I L I A.
True to his steadfast discipline, technique is the most valued aspect of combat to the mind of Corbyn Vesper. Though strength, speed, and power are all equal parts of a successful battle style, skill and technique have always taken precedence over the rest. To that end, Corbyn moves about the battlefield with grace and efficiency, no movement wasted or superfluous and every action intentional and calculated. To him, this is the only way to survive and coming out alive in the end is the only consideration in the heat of battle. His chosen weapon is a custom-built, dual-headed lance spanning the length of his body. On each end lies an ornate spearhead that is designed to cut as well as it pierces if used in the correct manner. A chain and pulley mechanism was built into the shaft and attached to the spearheads, allowing each to be fired and retracted or simply released to be used in a whip-like fashion. The shaft also spits in the middle to enable a quicker, more close-quarters style to be used should the need arise.

Though he considers his strongest abilities to be purely physical and gained through training, even Corbyn could not deny the intriguing power and potential of his bonded Aeon, despite the fact that his relationship with the being called Asteria is a work-in-progress. Through the power of Asteria, Corbyn gained the power to move his body through folded space in order to reach any given point instantaneously; to the eye of another, this phenomenon causes the commander to appear as if he's warping from point to point. The ability has been dubbed "Point Shift". Unlike the accepted mechanics of teleportation however, point shifting requires Corbyn to use an anchor with which to shift to in order to focus and keep his body from splintering while moving through folded space. An anchor can be anything thrown by Corbyn himself and he prefers to use his own weaponry as a means to shift as it allows him greater maneuverability on the battlefield.

The caveat to this seemingly powerful ability lies in the fact that physical damage occurs during any shift. The human body can not withstand moving through folded space and though the power of his bonded Aeon protects him from outright dying, Corbyn suffers damage in proportion to the distance traveled; the longer the range from one point to the next, the greater the damage taken on landing. The other problem is that his range is largely governed by how far he can toss his chosen anchor. Due to these limitations, point shifting is used as a companion in battle rather than a means of mobility. Corbyn has even developed several techniques to make specific use of battle possibilities.

S H I F T B R E A K [singular. destructive. apathetic.] Affecting a single target, space folds around Corbyn and he moves through it, picking up velocity and speed until he savagely rams his target with the point of his weapon. This technique intends to deal significant damage to one target while dealing heavy damage to Corbyn himself as the travels over a great distance at a much higher intensity in order to build the proper power. This attack is stronger if executed from further away, but this also increases the damage done to the commander.


P H A S E S H I F T [dismissive. protection. arrogance.] Concocted while learning the reaches of his new abilities, Corbyn found that attempting to shift without throwing an anchor resulted in what is now dubbed as a phase shift. The technique does not move the commander through folded space, rather it instantaneously moves him the length of one full stride. In effect, this allows for life-saving evasive maneuvers in a close quarters situation should human reaction and awareness not be enough.


S H I F T B U R S T [explosive. damning. preservation.] An oddity in the arsenal, shift burst occurs as Corbyn throws an anchor straight into the ground at his own feet. Rather than move through folded space to meet the anchor as normal, the folded space compresses and explodes outwards in a radius, pushing back whatever is caught in the area and causing internal damage - a technique designed to provide temporary relief from an aggressive, surrounding mob.


A E O N.
A S T E R I A // Colorless
[ Apathetic, Dismissive, Preservation, Adaptation ]
Asteria was found in the wilds of Ivalice, encased in a hardened substance akin to diamond, but not quite as strong. Upon removing the body and commencing the studies, it was found that Asteria's DNA constantly shifts and transforms itself - revealing that though she takes a female form, she has the capability to take new forms and her true nature is unknown. Her current form is that of a seraph as fantasized by human minds. Her body and face are that of a young adult woman with flowing brown hair while six, white feathery wings protrude from her back and a fitting black gown covers her bare self.


C O R E.
Lancer


O V E R D R I V E.
P E R F E C T S H I F T
The culmination of a perfect bond between Corbyn and Asteria, Corbyn gains the ability to freely point shift over any distance without throwing an anchor and without suffering any damage. The commander blinks around the battlefield delivering blows to any and all he considers an enemy. Most notably, this allows him to freely perform Shift Break without the limitations and deal massive damage to single targets all over the battlefield.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by FantasyChic
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“america's sweetheart & same damn life “
L O N D O N C H A S E


Twenty-three | Second of June | Five-seven | Second Class



A P P E A R A N C E.
London has been called many things in her lifetime and has often been told that she is like the waters, beautiful to look at but dangerous, callous, and unforgiving underneath it all. She never disputes this metaphor. With a light skin complexion, harsh silver eyes, and long, light blonde hair, she often leaves an impression on everyone she meets. However, upon closer inspection, one could see the effects the Aeon binding has had on the young woman. Her silver eyes are freckled with dark blue specks. Her torso and back have been scarred the shades of gray and blue. Her ears have been shaped and appear more pointed and angular. Though she doesn't broadcast these changes, she does not hide them.

Her expression rarely changes. To others, she seems emotionless and unfeeling. She often wears clothing suitable to her situation. Adapt and thrive, after all. She chooses clothing that accentuates her figure but provides comfort. She enjoys wearing sweaters, camisoles, and light jackets with tights or jeans often accompanied with boots and heels in various lengths. She accessorizes with scarves, necklaces, and never leaves home without her trusty sunglasses.


P S Y C H E.
London doesn't listen to the rumors spread about her and how she got to where she is. She is often seen as unfeeling and rude due to her expressionless demeanor. She doesn't broadcast her feelings openly. She shares her opinions only when asked or feels she needs to say something.

Despite this, she does have feelings and emotions. She is able to adapt to many situations if they require a delicate touch or an in your face method. If she were to smile, it would be for something truly happy. If she got mad, it would be for something truly bad. If she were sad, it would be for something truly upsetting. She doesn't share a love for politics, believing they often look out for themselves rather than others and she often doesn't respond to authority figures with respect unless they have proven themselves deserving of it. She doesn't share the same values of any particular religion, believing we are more or less responsible for ourselves. No one person is more important than another and those that believe that someone is is foolish.

She doesn't enjoy the Aeons power but has come to rely on it as a means to an end. A tool to be used to help and progress. Adapt and thrive. She repents the Prototypes of the past and the damage they have caused and hopes to further the advancement of the current technology. She believes that those SOLDIERs that rely too heavily on the Aeon are hell bent on destruction.

She cares deeply about others, especially when part of a team she has come to know. She isn't trusting at first, but once a bond is formed, she is a powerful ally and friend and someone you would want watching your back.


B A C K G R O U N D.
Adapt and Thrive

These words echoed through London's mind constantly as she trained. Brought up to be the next SOLDIER, her adoptive parents ensured she had the education, the skills, and the means necessary to enlist and become a SOLDIER, something they've wanted but could never obtain. They drove their ideals into the young mind of their daughter. Adapt and thrive. Never show your true feelings. That is what would make her the best. So she was trained and worked. Hard. Daily. She never hated her parents, if that is what she would call them. She had no other reference to base her experience off of.

Her real parents were unknown. Were they alive? Were they dead? She had never been told. All she knew was she was a young baby when her parents disappeared and she was put up for adoption. Her adoptive parents, both high-ranking officials in the government wanted a child that fit their particular mold. Nothing more than an accent piece they could brag about to others when she eventually was admitted into SOLDIER. Her genes must have attracted her to Davis and Carol Chase, who handpicked her out of the other children to be bred into a soldier. A fighter. A tool to be used. That is what London now believes. There is no love lost to her adoptive parents and their petty ideals.

She was handpicked to become a SOLDIER. Her intelligence and skills spoke for themselves. She had amazing hand-eye coordination, a steady gaze, and was able to control herself when in tense situations. During the training, she met many other hopefuls for the SOLDIER program. It was there she learned about the other reasons for becoming a SOLDIER. Many others dreamed of this. Wanted to do good for the world. Others just wanted the recognition and the power. Many sleepless nights led London to believe she wasn't here for the right reasons so she opted to leave. It was a high-ranking official named Sereena who sat her down and explained her reasons for picking her. She wasn't chosen because of her parents. She wasn't chosen because of her skills. She was chosen because she displayed the qualifications needed to not only withstand but use the power given by the Aeons. She would be useful and could prove everyone wrong.

London went on to continue her training and eventually passed and survived being bound with her Aeon. She joined the ranks of the SOLDIERs and aimed to be a useful addition to the team. Recognition isn't something she wants. She doesn't desire the power or the prestige. She wants to be useful. She wants to help.

Adapt and Thrive.




R E G A I L I A.
London prefers to be far from the fray; it's where she is the most useful. With her steady hand and great coordination, it's only natural that London is the resident sniper. As such, she has the latest Sniper Rifle: the SL-Aqua, customized just for her. The Sniper rifle is able to scope large distances away and be easily carried. It is made out of an alloy that allows for a sleek appearance and can be broken down for transportation. The bullets are customized tranqs that can be changed with a flick of a switch. In one instance, she can take out enemies with harmful toxins that weaken and kill, but, with a switch, it can administer healthy fluids into allies that buff and heal. If in immediate danger, London has a knife with her and is trained in hand-to-hand combat.

For armor, London prefers light armor for easy movement. Her armor is silver and dark blue and protects against environmental hazards. She is able to glide around the battlefield and endure harsh terrain.



London has made it clear that her Aeon is of use to her and a handy asset to have, but that it doesn't hold power over her. Though it has made no attempt (yet) to take control, she is prepared for the day it tries. Her powers derive from protection of herself and her allies as well as being able to fend off her enemies if they try to get too close.

Glacier[intellect, order, justice] Spawning from her arms, legs, and back, London is imbued with ice shards that protect her against damage. She is able to fling the ice shrapnels at quick speeds and is able to slide around on an ice path when in this form.


Arma[protection, peace, progressive] London is able to summon a shield to surround her or her allies and absorb damage. The shield is made of a see-though material that looks similar to water. The damage absorbed is processed into whoever it is shielding and their next attack forces the damage back against their foes.


Fugam[manipulitive, inventive, law] London is able to summon a bright light to envelop her and allow her to transport herself around the battlefield. The light forms what appears to be angel wings that grant her the power of flight for the brief time she uses her power. She can escape from danger or fly to an ally to help defend.


A E O N.
◆ A N G E L I U S // blue & white.

◆ intellect, law, justice, manipulative

Angelius appears as a man on the offset, but do not be fooled by his appearance, he is a powerful Aeon capable of moving the waters and the light at his will. He has long, flowing, dark hair that flows like water along his back. His pure, white angel wings are long and are able to cover his body. His eyes are pure white and his lower half is as transparent as water. He glides along as if swimming, but appears as if he is flying. Though angelic in appearance, he is a force to be reckoned with when cornered and can unleash a torrent of power when pushed. He believes in justice and order but believes he knows how to deal said justice.


C O R E.
ASSASSIN



O V E R D R I V E.
A Q U A //
Not to be trifled with, when at the limit, Angelius imbues London with a harsh, blue light that transforms the woman into an aquatic being. She appears to be made fully of water. In this form, London moves gracefully and can withstand damage due to her aquatic body. She can summon torrents and waves of water to thrash her foes and can summon pools to soothe allies.
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∙• never once considering how in the world she was to get out again •∙
Ʌ M Ǝ N Ŧ I Ʌ Ɵ B C Ʌ Ṣ U Ṡ

Twenty-Seven || 11th of April || 170 cm. || First Class


A ᴘ ᴘ ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ᴀ ɴ ᴄ ᴇ

The poise and title of SOLDIER seems to have rolled off her shoulders and fallen to the wayside, leaving a waifish and excessively girly silhouette that lits about the shadows with a skipping gait in a world here and yet not wholly here; a dance among the fantastical; reminiscent of a pixie intoxicated. To focus on the girl illuminated is to see her clearly, but wandering or shaded eyes are graced with a haze about her form that licks at the air with a maddening lack of cohesion, one of many peculiarities inherited. Wardrobe of opportunity, though rarely afforded, is youthfully feminine: lace, ruffles and hues of cerise, lavender and periwinkle, with a particular affinity for grandiose furs that recall adolescence in her mother’s wardrobe. The overall effect is like a porcelain doll out of place, fragile and fading.

A once chestnut mane now dipped in the ink of aeon is sheared to a bob style that did not seem to falter the image, falling messily in raven strands across fair skin lightly dusted with freckles. A fragmented soul mended with aeon too late gazes out of almost colorless pale gray orbs that twitch imperceptibly between vacant, melancholy, calculating, and then back again. It’s the kind of dead stare that incites others to coax with affections, if only to see some light in those pale eyes that appear immune to the inflexions of her features. Features lacking the ocular restraint and displaying too easily stolen emotion; pale pink lips that curl towards dimples and a laugh betraying shared secrets in tune with the hearts of lovers.

Her beauty and virility becomes a juxtaposition akin to her mind, both savage and innocent, when surrounded by the destruction of battle. Lips curl in pensive and somber thought, touching her expression with a cause, and an occasional flicker of bemusement that finally entrances her eyes into a gnawing darkness. Those that had tempted emotion would do well to weep for the ferocity it holds on her bearing, the monster it bequeaths upon the girl.

P s ʏ ᴄ ʜ ᴇ

There is a world that consumes her and it is not our own. While SOLDIER has taught her to remain present there is always a notion about her that belies the struggle to exist and absorb her surroundings. Her facade is one she is well committed too; sweet, innocent, damaged, lost, but there is occasionally a method to her betrayal from the inner yearnings. The veneer was cast to dispel the cruel beast that claws about within. There is meaning in not knowing oneself, but loss in not being truly known.

She is far from opposed to making friends, or even small talk, but most find her to be lackadaisical, quirky or to be blunt, fucking weird. Her access and prescription to drugs on the base has gained her a few "friends", though obviously these relationships are transient in nature. She has a tendency to latch onto specific individuals and dismiss others entirely. At first there seemed to very little rhyme or reason as to how these judgments were made. In time, it was observed that her aeon helps shield her from her apathetic cruelty by teaching her to feed from the emotions of those around her. The observant believe the girl is drawn towards those with intense and lucid emotions; be they poignant or jubilant. The SOLDIER program, as of yet, has seen no negative effects of this emotion syphoning, though her companions are usually chosen with this in mind and personnel with weak constitutions are advised against prolonged contact.

It would not be a stretch to say that her aeon is her best friend, the only one she has truly allowed past her barriers. He dwells in her head and likely knows the girl better than herself. She views the transformation as a boon, unsurprisingly. When one has grown accustomed to madness then madness is the only norm to be known.

B ᴀ ᴄ ᴋ ɢ ʀ ᴏ ᴜ ɴ ᴅ

Amentia was born into a line of excessive wealth and influence. Her mother, an enchanting woman, doted heavily on her only child and was a superb storyteller. They would create castles of silk and her mother’s empyreal voice would weave fantasies about princesses battling demons in a land where magic was paramount. She was six when her mother died. Heartbroken, Amy slipped more and more into their fantasy world. Her father favored to spoil the girl through objects rather than affection and allowed the harmless delusions to continue, viewing her as a child, or not seeing her at all.

Years later the Father brought a new wife and son into their home. Amy seemed pleased to have the company and Father was content to leave them alone while he traveled. But all good things come to an end, and her Father’s realization of this was sudden. He came home to find Amy standing in the foyer, barefoot in a white gown stained with crimson bleeding into soft pinks. He removed a kitchen knife from her hand and scooped her into his arms, battling a mounting hysteria. In a shaky, almost reluctant, voice he asked what had happened. “They were bored and so I helped them get to a better place,” was the beaming cherubs only response. He set her down then, never to touch the girl again. Amentia would never feel remorse for her actions, though she did over the loss of contact.

The whole incident was covered up; any evidence disappeared, along with Amy. Her Uncle was currently pulling for a Regent position in Nuxvar and this scandal, Amentia, could not be allowed to tarnish the family name. The media relayed the fabricated story calling it a burglary and even the people at the Mental Health Institute deigned it improper to discuss, instead choosing to drown the girl in lôtos, a drug that induces sleep with the side of effect of vivid dreams and hallucinations. Had they cared, they would realize this only compounded her previous insanity. Soon she acquired a dependence on the drug, and any attempt to remove it from her system brought on a frightful fit of anhedonia and withdrawal. She was ten.

She lived there for years, there and not there, crawling into her head so that the world within her became more vibrant and encapsulating than anything reality had to offer. It wasn’t until she was 16 that SOLDIER came collecting at the request of her almost forgotten family. SOLDIER proved to be a blessing. They gave her a semblance of sanity and normality, at least a means to grasp at it. They gave her routine and they treated her like everyone else. She was far from the worst case to pass through these halls. Her Father has even written her to tell her how proud he is of her progress, though she wasn’t asked to return home and he never bothered to come visit. She convinced herself these were impossibilities and not the fault of her Father’s affections.

She continued to struggle with alcohol and drug abuse. SOLDIER even chose to expand her arsenal of abuses when they realized that there was a need to quickly remove the effects of her crutches in lieu of battle and training. The doctors assured an easy fix and introduced her to Exsomnis IX; a high grade amphetamine. The average human would surely deteriorate in health with this juxtaposed concoction, but thanks to her aeon infusion her body seems no worse for wear. It is difficult to tell if it has furthered her mental capacities. She still proves to be an effective weapon and so concern has yet to be shown over medicating.

R ᴇ ɢ ᴀ ʟ ɪ ᴀ

Her inherited empathetic nature gives her an almost prophetic sense in battle, an instinct that thrives with or without a centered calm. Due to this she adapts quickly to her opponents. She favors a style that is ultimately rooted in surprise and is not beyond running and drawing the opponent into a situation beneficial to herself or faking an injury to lull the already over-estimated opponent into complacency.

She favors lightweight armor in muted camouflaging tones and has been provided with a thin durable suit that bends reflective light and allows for near perfect concealment in an array of environments. Her weapon of choice and skill is of limited variation; relying heavily upon bo-shuriken that are placed in excess on her thighs, arms, boots and occasionally even used to hold her hair up. After the realization that her blood can have damaging effects when making contact with others she has taken to cutting them across her own flesh and coating their tips. She is currently trying to master the lightweight and ferocious Kpinga and has taken to strapping two of them across her back.

She doesn't hesitate. Ever. True mercy is a thought claimed by sanity, of which she has very little kinship, and instead her own mind sees death as its own mercy; to remove people from the dull and damning reality in which they are blinded by society. She derives a thrill from combat and death, but it subsides when the killing is over. SOLDIER is inclined to favor this reasoning, if only they could remove its application to the home team.

For as long as she can remember there has been another inside her. A monster dwelling within, vying for control and whispering immoral absurdities so she took the introduction of her aeon quite well. He even proved to win out against the other and provide comfort while her body trembled and writhed in sweat through a melodic caress of complex ethereal symphonies. They bonded; both trapped in this reality, misunderstood and sharing a rather loose view on pesky definitions like morality and damnation.

She was occasionally troubled with his captivity which she attempted to alleviate by granting freedoms over her physical being that most SOLDIERs dare not afford their own aeons. Her lack of conviction for control over the aeon and his genetic influence has hindered any further advancement as the SOLDIER program seems weary of her compulsions, and whom truly conceives her actions and thoughts.

T A N T I B U S : ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ғᴀʙʀɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Often our worst enemy is our fear, the creeping miasma that crawls and burrows destructively between heart and mind, finding true potential and presence as you drift between worlds- nightmares. She beckons these demons from within their keepers imagination, whispering animation and confirmations to new found pets in tones that edge upon the void of sanity and ravishment. They creep forth, cimmerian phantoms tinged in malice. While they lack in capacity to deal sizable damage, they are impervious to receiving and often deter the assaults of enemies.

V E S A N I A : ᴅᴇᴠᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ, ᴀᴘᴀᴛʜʏ, ᴍᴀᴅɴᴇss
Focusing on a chosen enemy mind can send their consciousness into a downward spiral in which madness begins to devour through emotion, memories and sanity. The experience is far from painless. It has been cured with time in some, while others show only minimal improvement after lengthy exposure. The negative effect of this is a sort of absorption on her end, for pieces of soul never truly dissipate.

P R A E D O M O : ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ, ᴇᴍᴘᴀᴛʜʏ, sᴜʙᴊᴜɢᴀᴛᴇ
A fog of shadows wells about the girl, consuming only an inch or so of space from the ground but affecting an odd sensation of slithering solidifications just below; a miasma of guardian hood that embraces almost imperceptible tentacles. Should anyone deign to approach the maniacal minx the tentacles are quick to lacerate their flesh and link them to her purpose; temporarily removing their own thoughts/motivations and replacing them with her own. Depending on her mood this can induce an urge to protect or an overwhelming need to curl into a ball and whimper for release. Effects are nullified once contact is broken and no wound remains.

A ᴇ ᴏ ɴ

+ X C A V A I R N || C ᴏ ʟ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ʟ ᴇ s s & B ʟ ᴀ ᴄ ᴋ
ᴀᴅᴀᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴅᴇᴄᴀʏ, ᴇᴍᴘᴀᴛʜʏ, ᴇɴsʟᴀᴠɪɴɢ.
Initially it’s true visage was an incomprehensible jumble of debate, an evasive camouflage of nothingness and familiarity, as viewers each recalled entirely deviating entities. A repair to cohesion was found through implementing an array of blinding illumination upon the persecuted creature. Exposed was a coherent yet defective amalgamation of nix and psyche; a penumbra of macabre allure. Sharp points and twisted claws weep corrupting toxin and precede degeneration with a myriad of oculus’ that seem to perceive through aura as well as sight. To be unguarded in the presence of such an embodiment is to feel, utterly and inescapably, tinged with dread and some suffering crippling depressive ruminations. The emotions are so woven in proximity that to claim them as your own or the aeons is futile.

...and with creation there would be death and decay, and as beginnings are messy, so shall be the end, for all creation is subject to time and fate, especially the mind…

It’s own intentions are muddled in an impractical translation of other to human; maddening and virulent. It isn’t evil in so far as it’s incomprehensible and noxious; transcending our own ideals of morality and aligning with natural progressions. It speaks in a symphonic lament that recalls something both sinister and intimate in most. Personnel in contact with the aeon are consistently rotated as it seems a reverse Stockholm syndrome often comes into play.

C ᴏ ʀ ᴇ

R A V A G E R

O ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ᴅ ʀ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ

D A E M O N I U M V I S
Limit break induces an appearance of coma on the girl. The essence of Amentia and Xcavairn splinter outward in an all out empathetic assault; entering, enslaving and adapting the bodies of the recently deceased [human or other] within an unknown proximity. If there is no readily available dead then the critically wounded will do. It harkens a process of decay and atrophy, delayed enough to make the husks useful either in an assault or protective capacity.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by The Survivor
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Bruce Kilgore

[ Seven Nation Army & Whipping Post ]
39 | Date of Birth: 12 of July | Six-One | First Class


A P P E A R A N C E
Bruce might have been a handsome man once upon a time, women giggled and their eyes followed him as he walked by. But such days are gone, the scars on his face, his demonic horn and eye patch and almost seared on scowl took any vestige of handsomeness he once had. His body is scarred and muscled, next to no body fat on him despite his age, a by product of the experimentation. The remnants of a detective still lingers with this man, a cocky stroll and and all knowing look in his eyes, constantly searching and scanning and analyzing. When his powers reach their height, his face is covered in black veins and his eyes go pitch black. It is a change he doesn't notice and doesn't seem to affect him in any significant way.


P S Y C H EBruce is a good man who was turned into a monster. He is bitter and vengeful and would murder everyone around him if he could. It is a constant struggle between the true Bruce and the aeon, each struggling for power in his brain. It is because of this that his mind is always chaos and the constant struggle between his two selves reflects in his outward behavior, one moment being kind and sincere and the other angry and vicious. At most times, these personalities have learned to work together and make Bruce a kind man with extreme cynicism. This combination allows him to be both ruthless and merciful on a dime and works well for whatever situation he is in. He feels a connection to his fellow SOLDIERS, whether weak or strong. He feels the suffering they have all endured binds them together and despite what he personally feels about the person, he would risk his own life to save them if he had to.

His relationship with his aeon is complex, he both loves and hates it, can be destructive without it yet he relies on it, the only thing that he will always truly trust. He has no theories on what aeons are, aliens, maybe, fallen gods, what faith he had was shredded when he was turned into a SOLDIER. Despite the madness that his own true self and the aeon cause him, orders cut through it crystal clear and if Bruce is having a psychotic episode when the personalities are at maximum clash, a superior need only to shout an order and Bruce's sanity will return and both personalities will work as one. His thoughts on politics are negative, he has a long history with political interference and while he can work the political spectrum, he'd rather not.


B A C K G R O U N D
Bruce Kilgore was born in the capital Galbadia to a poor family in the slums. His father was a factory worker and his mother died in the hospital during his birth. To call it a family would be stretching it, it was simply himself and his father. Despite being incredibly poor and overworked, Bruce's father raised him to be grateful for all he had. He was a good man trying to raise a good son. Bruce's father's values took away immediately and when Bruce turned 18 he joined the Dalmasca Police Force as a standard police officer. In those days, he believed the police could well and truly protect people from anyone. Over the years, he trained and did his time in the police force and his bright, optimistic viewpoint on life began to fade. He joined the DPF Special Operations Group and eventually worked his way up to detective. He had learned how corrupt the system was and that the rich and powerful could do anything and get away with it. He made it his life's mission to make sure the corrupt wealthy and powerful would be punished, if it was the last thing he would do.

He eventually fell in love and got married and had a kid and the whole quest for justice thing fell by the wayside for a while. He was promoted to Lieutenant by the time he was 32 and was put in charge of some important operations. But the evidence of the 1% corruption came and looked him in the face when an upstanding doctor spoke out against the policies of some of said wealthy and powerful and ended up hung from a bridge a week later. Now with a Lieutenant rank and being considered for Captain, Bruce could actually do something about it. And do something he did, he arrested the officials and proved they were crooked, landing a few of them behind bars. But some people at the very top didn't like that at all but they knew Bruce was a popular figure in the public eye so they couldn't kill him and make an example. They decided to make his life a hell instead. Bruce was abducted and forcefully introduced in the SOLDIER program. He was 35 years old and suffered through 4 years of hell and torture and training. Through that whole time he was told his wife and child were dead and that it was all his fault. It was the worst 4 years of his life and by the end, he was a completely different man. The man he is today, a trained super killer. A SOLDIER.


R E G A I L I A
Bruce uses much of what he learned in the police force and especially SOG in addition to the skills he learned while training as a SOLDIER. His tactics are very much fast and loose with a basis in strategy and tactics. He uses a a heavily modified assault rifle and equally heavily modified sidearm. These modifications range from different firing modes to different sights to grenade launcher to a bayonet when things get a little hairy. Despite his missing eye, he has near perfect accuracy. He also has a custom made machete that works in cohesion with his lightning power. His armor is something you would see on a militaristic special force operator and the color of it depends on the environment he's working in. He never wears a hat or helmet.

Lightning's Lance[Unbound, Dynamic, Destructive] A state of being where Bruce can manipulate lighting from his fingertips, though he can't control where it lands after hitting its initial target or the amount of damage it'll do to the area surrounding the target.

Lightning's Wrath [Fury, Chaos, Destructive, Devouring] When Bruce's madness become unmanageable in the heat of battle, his two personalities clashing at their height, he calls upon this ability, which turns himself into a walking lightning storm. While useful, it has massive potential to hit friendlies as well and is incredibly unpredictable. It is a bit weaker than Lightning's Lance as it isn't as concentrated in pure energy.

The Demon [Death, Devouring, Temperamental] The Demon is the opposite of lightning's wrath, when Bruce's two selves combine perfectly, he can channel the demon. The demon is a form that turns the veins in his face as black as night and turns his eyes darker than the void of space. He turns into a monster, his teeth grow in size in sharpness. His nails become black claws. But with this power, he goes blind. He's stronger and more lethal at shorter distances, but he is extra vulnerable to deadly attack.


A E O N
Fenri
 // Black and Red
- Fury, Chaos, Destructive, Death
Fenri was found after an explosion ravaged a power plan in the wilds of Baanga. Fenri can change their form at will, sometimes being a menacing man, a beautiful woman, or a horrific beast. The only thing that's constant is the black and electric blue tone they have around them, with electricity constantly circling them.


C O R E
RAVAGER



O V E R D R I V E.
Fenri's Pleasure
Bruce allows Fenri full control, submitting to the aeon. He turns into a being of lightning and death, capable of flight. This is the only state where Bruce truly has full mastery of his powers, when being guided by Fenri. In this state, Bruce can summon multiple lightning storms at once, manipulate wind into tornadoes, and be an overall apocalyptic force of nature.
Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Hexaflexagon
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◄ All These Things That I've Done, O Magnum Mysterium ►

C O R R R H I N E B E C K

Twenty-Seven | 13th of March | 198 cm / 6'6" | Commander


A P P E A R A N C E.
Legends say that there are rare occurrence when mountains tire of their eternal perches and walk amongst the people. Such myths may be the only possible explanation for the behemoth that is Corr. A creature born from the explicit dance of well tuned genetics and the blunt repetition of hard work. Musculature is not formed in an well balanced aesthetical decree, but brought forth by the stalwart mentors of wheelbarrow, axe upon hard bark and sledgehammer smashing down upon heavy stone. Such facets are further highlighted by the damage worn upon the body, damage from sun and wind, heavy callouses in a constant state of death and rebirth. Scar tissues runs across the body some thin and pale barely presents ghosts faded by the hand of time, others are crimson splashes, angry unyielding patches of torn and beaten flesh.

Despite an appearance which would otherwise suggest an consuming aura of severeness and rigidity, his face tells another story. Looking up beyond the nose crooked and perceptually swollen are two spheres one brown and the other a deep orange that of a dying ember, a faint reminder of the Aeon's touch, deepest into the rugged mountainside. Yet they glimmered with something that contrasted the image set forward, a sense of wrenching nostalgia and acute empathy. As if those eyes alone understood the weight of the world that had been pressed upon your shoulders. This lighter appearance is further accented by the smile that appears behind the well-kept beard. Welcoming and kind, it came without much provocation and was typically accented with a warm bouncing laugh that seemed to consume the entirety of the room.

Choices of attire articulate this more humble appearance. Loose fitting and ragged they either came from a perspective that did not have money or did not care up putting on airs. The only other particularly in the arrangement is the ink strewn across the flesh. Their rough and rugged presentation gives off the assumption that they were done by the self. If asked the man would simply explain that the process helped him think. The exact patterns and drawings holding no particular meaning except to the mind in the moment that they were birthed.

P S Y C H E.
How does one rectify a belief in a faith which deems them an abomination. This is the keystone at the heart of Corr's emotional ensemble. Due to the nature of his birth and upbringing the teachings of the Fayth have been firmly interwoven into the man's own outlook towards the world. He believes in balance, unity and maybe most importantly of all redemption. This makes him somewhat reserved in the process of vilification and damnation for he at least holds true to the ideal that for every ounce of evil and corruption within that there must on the same course of logic be an equal amount of good that has been repressed. He does not force these teachings with the fiery words of sermon, he embodies his faith rather than try and explain it.

Yet now he has become what even the Fayth has deemed irredeemable. An unholy creature born of union with that which is Sin. At first this caused considerable angst as you may very well imagined. It lead to a certain level of self-destructive behavior and internally spiraling collapse. The only word that was heard was that of the bottle continually whispering its chant of soothing hypnagogia. Yet as time progressed and he was able to think and dwell upon these thoughts there was a peculiar epiphany. Forsaken by the institution he still believed in its teachings and one those tenets was that of redemption. That the dark and the light could always be brought back into harmony. And he saw a world of disharmony ahead of him. Being damned as he were there was nothing left to lose. He could throw himself fully at the challenges ahead of him and use the power of the Aeon to fix the great disharmony bubbling forth in the world and maybe in that way find his own sort of penance. To continually become more efficient, a better fighter, a better person. Learning slowly to love the straight line paths through life, create opportunities and grasp them. Continual refinement.

Despite his own internal crisis Corr has always been something of a jovial and kind hearted soul. Partly from the teachings and partly because of his own natural deposition. A natural sense of self and an empathic ear when needed. This combined with miraculous levels of self-restraint cuts him usually into something of a paternal figure towards his fellows whether he likes it or not. This typically has the result of some tending to view the man as soft and unfit for service. But it takes a particular kind of undying flame to refuse to surrender one's conscience to another's keeping. Corr may not look for a fight and welcomes a diplomatic solution when it is available, but force his hand and you shall feel the wrath of the heavens fall down upon you. So while he may lack the efficiency of some in his ill-fated attempts to keep his moral center, the mission will always still be completed, the duty always done.

The relationship with his Aeon has evolved from a natural untrust and hatred towards something a little more pragmatic. Corr has come to understand he is a tool to it as much as it is a tool to him, and together they have the ability to meet both parties respective goals.


B A C K G R O U N D.
The story begins on a storm swept evening in central Gatrea. When a storm does fall upon the typically dry continent it is one that rages and bellows for all to hear, hence the footsteps leading up the old stone steps carved from the cliff face that lead up to the Weissbern Monastery were hidden. It was only sometime later that Father Jerome Rhinebeck, that man of the Fayth in charge of the house of worship heard the small cries cutting through the night. Here in the darkness and the cold, he found a child wrapped in a small bundle. Taken the small speck of life into the dwelling the Father and the other monks cared for the child that had developed a fever from the resulting exposure. By some form of a minor miracle the child survived and the monks collectively decided to raise the child naming him Corr after Saint Corr the Redeemer.

And so this was the life that Corr was raised into. It was simple life where the twenty or so monks that lived, studied and prayed within the walls of the ancient building became a family all into its own. A world of seemingly endless books in the centuries old library that was the original genesis of the Monastery's entire existence and the sprawling wilderness which stretched on for miles in every direction. It was a place where adventure could be found quite easily if you looked hard enough around every corner. Yet despite its simplicity it was not a particularly easy life. The monks came from a certain sect of the Fayth that believed enlightenment and salvation came through the breaking away from earthly possessions and living in a state of continuous refinement and betterment. This translated to not only much reading and studying that had to be done on Corr's part but great levels of physical exertion. Felling trees and dragging the logs back to the Monastery to fuel the fire, breaking stones to use to repair holes in the building, and climbing down the cliff side to fetch water from the river and bring it back up without spilling anything.

Despite the hardships that were presented, Corr took to the life like he had been doing the motions for a lifetime. He studied the religious texts with a level of vigor and earnestness surprising giving his youth and the physical labor only served to mold his form into the hulking mass that serves him well today. It was fairly well assumed that Corr would take up the mantle of a priest within the Fayth, continuing his spiritual studies at the Temple proper. Yet before that was to be done, he was to travel an idea set forth by his adoptive Father and that was fairly common practice. The youth would leave Gatrea becoming missionaries of sorts and helping those that needed it to give them a greater understanding of the world before they fell into greater study. And so it was for that reason that Corr left the monastery with only a few coins to has name and the clothes on his back learning to live off the kindness and charity of others.

His travels would eventually take him to the outer ghettos of Faelan. It was here that Corr would help a woman beset by a group of thugs. The woman turned out to be a recruiter for the SOLDIER program sent to look through the ghetto for possible candidates that may have escaped the government's traditional testing sweeps. Seeing the ease at which Corr dealt with the thugs, she give him an offer to help the whole the world. All Corr knew really was that it was a military test of some sort. Something inside of him drove him to accept the offer after a week of pensive thought. To help, to bring unity that was the purpose of the Fayth or at least the Fayth in his eyes and to turn down an offer to help an unimaginable number of people could not be passed up. And so that was how Corr attend the primarily trails designed to weed out those unfit for the program and was brought to the Fort.

All he remembered of the actual 'joining process' was the particular sensitization of burning like being thrust into a pool of molten glass. Yet somehow he survived though not untouched with the permanent discoloration of his left iris being the mark of his own self-damnation. In hindsight knowing what he knew now, he would've never taken the woman up on the offer, but that was the problem with hindsight. Essentially becoming all that the Fayth called irredeemable and demonic wasn't something he took well at first. He took to basic primal instincts in a self destructive downward spiral reaping his own flesh and soul to fuel his own death. Eventually this lead to a stint in the medical ward from death due to near self-induced starvation. It was during this time of near death that a moment of clarity broke through the darkness that had surrounded him. From that point forward Corr seemed to be a changed person and threw himself with vigor at the tests and the training. The years of monastic toil had proven the perfect base as he we used to the rigor and intensity presented to him. The Aeon which had up to that point rejected began to easily bond and fuse with the empowered soul now that its walls had been broken open. They found in his level-headed and controlled mannerisms, a natural leader able to keep his cool in the heart of battle and willing to go above and beyond to get the job done. Corr became the weapon that he was born to become.


R E G A I L I A.
Come the whirr and gnawing crash of death. Corr prefers adaptability and flexibility over brute force in terms of combat. Using his natural strength and durability he draws foes towards pitched duels and battles to draw them away from his compatriots and aims to keep those in his sights from moving further. In this regard he uses a strange weapon that comes originally from Rabanastre. A large churning and ripping saw blade atop a large pole of meteoric ore designed to tear flesh and bone asunder. (For ease of reference imagine a chainsaw on a six foot long pole) The manner of its construction allowing for mid to close range combat and keeping the enemy away from striking distant with well placed pokes and stabs.

His magic comes in a similar flavor designed to draw in foes and shield allies and self with enhanced defensive capabilities

Erronka [predatory. order. savage.] A flash of light projects outward from Corr's body as if exploding from the spine. The creature Erronka is directed at becomes consumed by predatory rage enhanceing its strength, but now directing its attacks in earnest towards Corr forgetting whatever foe it may have been challenging previously.


Zilzal [strength. justice. law.] Corr's right arm becomes distorted and morphed by the power of the Aeon, rock suddenly bursting through the flesh. By making physical contact with this morphed hand to self or ally, the individual is bestowed higher defensive properties for a short period of time


Garde [morality. protection. unthinking.] Corr seems to vanish in a flash of light that is produced from his core. He reappears next to a close ally (within thirty or so feet) in a protective stance taking whatever blow may have been attended against them towards his own form.


A E O N.
ādanyi ║ green/white
life, predatory, protection, order
The creature was gargantuan in size having originally thought to be an island. In actually the island was the crest of its head and when drawn out from its depths they found a gargantuan creature. A writhing mass of vines and stone interlaced with detailed rune stone like patterns that glowed white with unknown power. Deeper analysis found the creature to be male if male could be such a designation. To many's surprise, the great creature seemed to have taken on the shape of a colossal sized human yet one of earth and light rather than flesh and bone.



C O R E.
SENTINEL: Physical resistance by 100%



O V E R D R I V E.
In an explosion of fury and power, the energy held within Corr begins to leak in glowing pulses. Allies within range of the pulse receive a surge of energy and power increasing their strength and speed to levels which allow them to easily tear their foes asunder. Yet bestowing such amounts of energy upon others drains it twofold from Corr, sapping away his own life force to the point of death or something close enough too it.

Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Hellis
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Hellis Cᴀɴɴɪʙᴀʟɪsᴛɪᴄ Yᴇᴛ Cʟᴀssʏ

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29 | 22nd of December | 197 cm | First Class.
theme.

Kain Bradwell


A P P E A R A N C E.
Kain is built like a locomotive from hell. Forged by the harshness of the fighting pits and in alley brawls, his strength is focused in a impressive but to showy of a physique. Yet as He stands 6'4, 214 lb of muscle and grit, This towering specimen of a man is the ideal SOLDIER in some ways.

He is physically powerful, athletic and with set jaw that is every recruiters wet dream. But Kain does his best to ruin this illusion by wearing the most unflattering of clothes and barely paying any attention to the proper care a mane of hair such as his own would need. All that hard work to keep his body in tip top shape is wasted on ill fitting combat fatigues and what ever he find comfortable to wear. His eyes are a dark almond color, his skin is weather bitten and scarred in many places. His hair is bushy and wild, kept up with a top knot or similar and while he groms and keep his beard from growing to thick or to long, he gives people the vibe of a feral man.


P S Y C H E.
Kain is the living embodiment of a locomotive. He has been known to wade trough brawls flinging people aside in persuit of a single target. Coming from a background where toughness is survival, wit is a asset and grudges are kept for far to long, he carry that mindset with him everywhere. He does not let go of a grudge, he do not easily forget mistakes, even if he forgive them. He has a almost feral way to him, that is carried in everything from the way his eyes flicker and look for threats to that of his gait which remind people of a rugged street predator. As a boy from the slums to whom pro-active ferociousness is key to survival, he is quick to violence as well.

Kains time with the gangs was one of abuse and abusing. It left deep scars with him, teaching him to naturally mistrust humans just as much as monsters. But he also learned to consider other then blood, family. And he becomes protective of this "Family". So protective in fact, that has spent time behind bars for assaulting a particularly offensive and abusive officer. His temper is nothing impressive for a big man who spent so much of his life fighting, he flies of the handle far to easily to be considered entirely stable and has been described as nearly feral. However, despite his size and thuggish appearance, Kain is very keen and surprisingly intelligent. He is no way a gentle giant but he has good heart beneath all those scars.


B A C K G R O U N D.

To live is to fight, to fight is to survive. Surviving isn't living, but it is close enough. - Kain, SOLDIER psych evaluation interview.

Kain has suffered the cruelty of being a outsider his entire life. Born in the slums, he was on the street by the age of five. His parents, a junkie mother and a father he never met, werer hardly rolemodels. He didn't have a family, as far as he knew and before the streets he had lived a life in squalor with his parents. They had to scrape for food, and Kain was a fast growing kid who needed more then what ever meager meals they could acquire. His mother spent what little they had on fast fixes and so Kain ended up on the streets, pennyless when his mother died of an overdose.

It was these desperate years that would help shape him to become what he is today. A ferocius, focused fighter and a survivor. HIs salvation would come in the form of Ortega Maurice Santiago, or Wits as he was called by the miscreant of a alley gang that he belonged to. Part of the Slums considerable underground with its gangs, thieves and hustler, Ortega came across a 11 year old Kain fighting a dog over a scrap of food. When the dog bit Kains leg, he punched it to death, eyes wild a snarl on his lips. Ortega, 13 years of age at the time, was terrified and amazed. He approached Kain, and with some coaxing, the poorly fed but still rather large boy followed to meet with the others.

But a tall, big boy such as Kain was a prime target for the smaller but more vicious who saw a big dumb kid to bully. His first year was spent being pushed around, becoming a beating bag for older boys who wanted to put the feral kid in place.But Kain, as it happened, had a limit. Not sure what to do, he bottled his anger until it overflowed and he beat one of the kids half to death. This impressed the leader of the gang, Merciulos. Mercioulos, also known simply as Merc, declared his newfound foot soldier off limits and began to teach him how to really fight. He also made sure Kain ate well and had Wit teach him to read, write and the basic of math.

Kain and Wit grew close. Really close. Two were all but inseprable, with Kain as the wild muscle and Wit as.. well the wit. Not that Kain wasn't intelligent, he was hound for information and read as much as he could, partly to atleast pretend he could keep up with wit. When they were 15 Wit tried to make a move on Mercs position as a leader. Merc killed him, brutally and in front of everybody else. Kain, knowing he could not take on Merc surrounded by all his goons, would spend the next to years targetting them on their lonesome seeing how he knew all their local haunts and hangouts. Sometimes, he would sustain severe damage, yet he would come out on top. After two years of a systematic fight, Kain finally saw the futility of his actions. Having little skills but fighting, Kain was picked up by the army. At first he only trained and helped with logistics, but soon he began gearing up. As soon as he hit 18 he started participate in patrols under a particulary abusive Officer.

After assaulting said superior officer after the man had berated and verbally abused his comrades, Kain was put in a detention cell. It was then SOLDIER approached him. They considered that due to his passionate nature and his strong will, he was a prime specimen for the project and he was chosen to carry Balils genes. As a soldier, he found a outlet for his rage, and his feral nature and wild fighting styled was honed and sharpened into a form of shock trooper. He rose in rank fairly quickly, but once he reached 1st class, he was barred from reaching commander due to his short fuse, his inability to let go of personal grudges and his quite problematic tendency to lose himself in combat. He was an exellent battleram and inspiration on the battlfield, just not commander material.


R E G A I L I A.
What comes to mind when you see the human behemoth of a man is not the fast and agile type. And in some ways, you would be right. But far from slow, Kains style is all about the pursuit of a single threat or target. A true berserker, his solution is to put a end to the threat even at the cost of his own health and well being. Something of a human stampede, you aim him at the target watch everything around him either get out of the way or get trampled underfoot. His weapons of choice are a pair of Trench knives, essentially a combination of knife and knuckle dusters, allowing him to punch, cut and stab as he see fit.


S H R O U D O F F L A M E S [Punishing, Protective, Passion] Wrapping his fist of fire, the flames climb up his arms to eventually encompass all of his massive frame. The flames sear and latch onto anyone he hits, causing continues burning damage if not put out. The flames eventually start hurting him, but this takes a while to happen. But it still acts as a effective limiter to the power.


I N N E R F L A M E [Vengeful, Rage, Destruction]. For each blow he takes in a fight, for all the damage he sustains, the power in his fists grow and the more determined he grows. His power grows exponentially the closer to death he is. This means that trading blows with him is a losing battle as his punches don't grow weaker by wearing him down, they grow more powerful. However, he doesn't have any means of keeping himself healthy, so while he does grow more powerfully offense wise, he is in fact still being beat down or dying.


C O M E T R U S H [explosive. Relentless. Destruction.] A single target, single focus, single purpose attack. The searing rush is aptly names, as he shoots forward like a great ball of fire, leaving burning trail in his path an knocking aside allies and enemies that are in the way of him and his target.


C O R E.
Berserker


A E O N.
Balil, The Fire of Retribution
White and Red┊ Destruction, Justice, Temperamental
Best described as a temperamental embodiment of justice, Gibil does not care about collateral in the quest for punishing those it deem wicked. Balil is described as a massive, towering demon with a charred black carapace with endless fires burning inside it. Possessing six arms and a burning maw it makes for a intimidating sight. Scienstists have complained that it is hard to harvest dna from a creature constantly on fire.


O V E R D R I V E.
J U S T I C A I N F E R N A L I S: When pushed to near death, a overwhelming urge to pull his offender down into the fiery pits of hell with him emerges. It manifests as four extra arm, made out of molten fire charred black metal. HIs own actual arms are also covered in molted flames and metal as well. HIs breath comes out as scorching steam and his body seem to glow from the inside. Each of his punches are delivered with devestating force and sends shockwaves of scorching flames.



Trivia

Kain's barred from sparring outside a strictly monitored group due to loosing control. Several former sparring partners have gotten severely injured fighting the berserker.

During his first 4 years of Training, they had to buy increasingly sturdier punching bags as Kain would wear them out.

The fastest Kain lost a fight was against a instructor who literally made him run into the instructors fist repeatedly. He is still rather grumpy about that.


Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Insatiable
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◆ "That's what law is: educated guesses at right and wrong." ◆
N I C H O L A U S E L D R I C

36 | September 27th | 182 cm | Commander

A P P E A R A N C E.
Aesthetic, elegance, refinement, the alpha male virility. Even Nic himself can't tell if all conduct ambiguous schemes of his characteristic portrayals or are intentional excuses seized towards relevance. Whether it's the former or the latter, and if they deem to have vague insights towards his natural awareness - or lack thereof, both are nevertheless incorporated with his usual undertakings. Often groomed with expensive trench coats, shiny leather shoes and bags bought from merchants at unforgiving prices, it wouldn't be much of a surprise that Nic's finances are quite cascaded with torrents of cash, especially for someone who is previously known as one of the best private investigators in the city of Dalmasca.

While possessing an average physique in no more than having a lean and proportional body mass, Nic obligates himself to not obsess over it despite how often he puts the concept of looking good above all social ambiguity. Sometimes he can be the type of person who would end up sounding like a hypocrite or a pretender even when it's far from his actual intentions. His eyes are coloured in hazel, manifesting his known mischievousness and is said to be the bridge connected to his habitual smirks and general sarcasms. Beyond that however, are ripples dribbled in sadness and despair. A tragic occurrence in the past which he just can't move on from. Enshrouding the emotion is what he normally attempts, although not fortunate in most scenarios.

Nic's bond with Razgor had his hair turn jet black from dark brown. Ideally, he keeps it evenly trimmed along with his facial hair. It's a rare eventuality that he deviates from his standard rule of not looking odd but if he does, there's ought to be something that's forcing him to do so.


P S Y C H E.
Money and fame. That's all there is to it when one begins an unrestrained bout of obtaining both. Once upon a time those were what kept Nic from plummeting into a substandard lifestyle, and in fact, a tremendous aid towards his own prosperity and success as a private investigator. A virtuoso of getting the job done effectively as well as having a reliable set of skills to find answers, it's easy to understand why a great number of people would go right into his services whenever they needed some help. It is, in fact, effortless to gain his clients' trust as the favourable outcomes of his recognized work clearly proves that he is the perfect person for the job. But when there's trust, there's bound to be an opposing force against it. Taking advantage of what's invested is a perfect example and Nic is no exception from committing such acts.

"Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it",

That's what Nic placed into his mindset in the long run. Though he has a firm belief of moral excellence as well as a practice that'll somehow warrant him a place far from subsequent wrongdoings, Nic lacks confidence in fulfilling an ideal life of righteousness. For him, it's always live a life of imperfection, not something that is hindered by rules, laws and any standardized output to make one feel like a bird living in a cage. Any notion or semblance that completely oppose freedom, deliverance or any of those concepts are what he's entirely against.

SOLDIER offered him a chance of redemption. His committed mistakes as a husband and a father almost had him descend into the depths of insanity. His family's death left a mark that is forever engraved in his wounded heart. Vengeance is what he only yearned since then. His desires burned with a fervent endeavor to put the perpetrators towards their demise, shackling their rights by his reckoning. SOLDIER prevented that. His blind pursuit for retribution was short-lived, hence his enlistment to the program. A changed man is what he is now. Someone who anticipates what's beyond and acknowledges the values of a protector. Although his core beliefs are still intact as well as his troublesome demeanor, upholding his positive principles is what he maintains persistently.


B A C K G R O U N D.
Dalmasca. A shining beacon of political intrigue and technological progression. A domain where ambitions dwell and new ideas revolutionized, yet riddled with crime and unlawfulness. Clearly any city with such an extensive populace are ought to be subverted by humanity's sins, and none can obtain immunity from it all. Despite the flaws however, there's always a force standing firm against it. People whose careers or lines of business encircle around purging any infractions of law. Making sure that the innocent are far from domestic unrest and also put those who transgress behind bars. It's far from an effortless endeavor. Being involved with the fight for peace and justice won't excuse one's self from any consequences. There are lives lost in exchange for a better tomorrow, and some sacrificing their positions for the sake of others' safety.

Eldric & Salvin Information Services, formerly known as N. Eldric investigations before recruiting Zachariah Salvin as an official business partner, started as a run-of-the-mill private investigative firm with scarcely any clients reaching in for their needed services. There was, however, one particular case that they've assigned themselves into which paved way for major changes to occur and also granted Nicholaus Eldric the notoriety he was mostly known for. A missing girl whose father was a boss of a known crime mob and whose mother was desperately pleading to locate her whereabouts before she could stumble into a crossfire of an organized war between two opposing criminal parties. Francesca Lars was the name of the girl, and although the case wasn't as easy as it was on paper, considering the lack of leads and authentic evidences, Nic used his initiatives and versatility to slowly dig up the pieces of the puzzle. Witness provided by the girl's grandmother drastically placed the duo back in the game, even though at first the old lady's words seemed something to cause doubts due to her exaggerated tone of voice and an eyesight weakened to near uselessness.

Eventually things turned out to be out of Nic and Zac's expectations. The people who were held responsible towards the systematic turbulence of the two criminal parties were none other than the girl's parents. Two bosses of seemingly infamous crime groups. Their divorce was a main driving force for their unlawful acts, and their daughter appeared to be some kind of trophy for whoever wins the war. Unfortunate that none of those would ever carry on as anyone involved were locked behind bars. The mother, being a political figure, was immediately impeached from such scandal that her reputations were stripped away from her. It turned out that the whole purpose of the daughter being missing was for her to devise a plan to stop the fight between her mother and father. Luckily, she was caught by Nic before her plans were even commenced. After all of it was over, the girl was brought to her grandmother's custody.

Locals overstated it as the 'case of the century'. Various detectives and private investigate groups were also involved on finding the girl, yet no one came close to solving it all than Nic who later gained tremendous recognition for his spectacular work. That alone paved way for succeeding cases from new clients, which then perpetuated his standings and the firm's reputation. Until he was regarded as the best private investigator had things start to plummet down on a steep slope. Greed and self-interest took over and Zac Salvin quit as opposed to Nic's new way of getting things done as well as their constant arguments between Nic's changed ethics and acquired fame, thus having the firm's name reverted back to N. Eldric Investigations.

months thereafter

It all transpired a week after his daughter's 6th birthday. Nic and his wife Rosela, who worked for the government as an institute researcher, were both invited for dinner sponsored by one of her colleagues who later became Nic's client due to an undisclosed case discussed to him regarding financial robbery. Two suspected culprits were given as a lead, and Nic was tasked to intercept any further attempts of them breaching the client's financial investments. The entire operation, however, went to a peculiar route, reminiscing the good old days back when fame wasn't something attached to Nic's prestige. Much to Nic's surprise, and not towards the fact that the case deemed nearly unchallenging, his old partner, Zac Salvin was the apprehended culprit. Of course Zac wasn't the actual person responsible. Two people were warranted for the case and despite how Nic nearly believed Zac was behind it, even with his antagonizing look when they re-acquainted, Nic was certain that he wasn't the one.

Merely did Nic know that Zac's presence was a warning sign for the following events to take place. After confessing that Zac was affiliated with another investigative agency and he's working on a case to suppress two hired assassins and their illicit undertakings, things went rather conspicuous and Nic started to think that he was being lured to a trap with an embedded time bomb. Then, as Zac explained his entire agenda, Nic gradually tracked down what's behind the case he was assigned with, and soon found out that he just placed his family in grave danger against someone who masqueraded as his wife's colleague.

Nic's arrival was late as it seemed. His house painted a scene straight out from a horror film, with furniture drenched in blood and stained clothes worn by lifeless bodies. In complete fright of what occurred, and in consternation towards the culprits showing up in the horrific episode, Nic could only kneel in absolute blankness with his mind aimlessly wandering towards the unknown. The assassins were identified as the parents of the girl named Francesca Lars, supposed mob bosses whom Nic apprehended in the past, now exacting revenge. His wife and daughter were dead, the assassins escaped and Nic deliberately lost his momentum, despite best efforts of standing up against those who took his life away from him. Eventually, Zac Salvin caught the assassins but the damage was already done, and not even his condolences could bring Nic back to his knees. Vengeance was what's left of him. For nearly months of coping with the tragedy, none could measure a stronger emotion than anger and hate. Nic's firm was no longer in business as he soon wandered from one bar to another to get tremendously intoxicated, and in the process, planning his attempts to put the people behind his family's murder towards their demise.

SOLDIER

For what Nic didn't know was that his wife worked as a real scientist rather than a stereotypical lab coat-wearing researcher. Associated with the SOLDIER program, her death was indeed a tragic occurrence when it was heard by her actual colleagues. Losing one brilliant mind was crucial towards their enterprise and an impediment for the goal that's being achieved. But Nic was seen as a shining hope for things to go back in motion. A recruiter was then dispatched to his whereabouts and soon confronted the former P.I. about a future he could still claim. A future where his services can be reached by the whole world. The truth was imparted, especially about his wife's affiliations. Nic could only give doubts and the jarring 'go fuck yourselves' response. Nonetheless, a week was given for his sincere response and as Nic thought about it, the more he was reluctant to put his trust towards someone he barely knew.

There were voices rustling in his sleep, and a message he caught from his dreams about refusing a future that his deceased wife could've wanted not only for her and their daughter, but for Nic's betterment. Would it be worth to continue a life led astray by vengeance? Killing a bunch of criminals to attain...what? nothing? satisfying one's burning desire for grievance? when the people you're doing it for are no longer part of this world! Still greatly disinclined to accept what was offered, Nic had no choice. His dreams kept on getting worse with each passing day. He contacted the recruiter and gave his most sincere response.


R E G A I L I A.
Years of extensive battle training and extracting the knowledge of getting around the fields of war, concluded results tell that Nic belongs to the category of tactical strategists. While he exhibits competency towards physical combat, endurance between prolonged battles and skirmishes tend to impart his weakness, and that's what he needs to avoid. In the long run, diversion and disruption are the two vital factors where he excelled. Planning beforehand is an obligation not only through assignment briefings, but also within actual sorties. His strategies used before when he was a private investigator has been an advantage to climb up the SOLDIER ranks, thus how he is mostly commended by his superiors with his brilliant ways of hindering the enemy's advancement as well as disorganizing their communication lines.

A weapon of choice has always been the traditional S&W .500 Magnum. It was a handy, lightweight weapon and was often used during Nic's encounters with criminal masterminds and his pursuit on finding the people behind his family's murder. SOLDIER's armory upgraded his style of combat and provided significant tweaks to his old-fashioned revolver. The Magnum x44 or 'Selena' as what Nic named after his deceased daughter is a convenient but deadly semi-automatic pistol that has an added electrical charge to fire a destructive beam after its last round. Advanced technology has crafted the bullets and transformed them to ionized plasma. These can be reloaded also by using the electrical charge system installed within the weapon.

Though Nic admits that his upgrades are surreal and flamboyant towards his style of combat, they don't come close to what his bonded Aeon can bring to the table. Razgor's abilities upholds Nic's disrupting strategies and commences different techniques that can be crucial against the enemy's flow of combat, nullifying their gathered strength until they crumble into a cluttered mess.

C R I P P L E [enslaving, treacherous, instinct] - Shadowy tendrils arise from the ground, binding enemies on a casted circle and disabling their means of basic, physical movement. Using hand gestures can initiate a command to let the tendrils constrict their victims or multiply to gain a wider radius. The range extension, however, is limited.

T O R M E NT [decay, manipulative, dynamic] - Sends a small flock of crows to a particular area, conjuring a blight that curses enemies upon contact. Cursed enemies will have their defenses decreased and mitigate their ability to move. The effect can only last for a short period of time but its duration is doubled when targets are immobilized.

C R Y P T [devouring, deceit, life] - Summons a six-eyed raven that siphons the life essence out of a living being. A green thread-like ray beams out from its beak. Once connected to a host, energy will continuously be drawn in, restoring vigor or even heal physical injuries. The draining process ends once the bird disappears or if interrupted, but can have an extended duration as well as an increase to its effectiveness if the target is immobilized. In some situations, the bird can also be utilized as a scouting aid as it can share its vision alongside Nic's


A E O N.
◆ R A Z G O R // black & green

◆ devouring, decay, predatory, savagery

Swathed in a flurry of dark feathers and crows hovering nearby with their blood-splattered beaks, Razgor is described as a wandering terror of the shadows, roaming through realms engulfed in darkness to plague the souls that are capitulated in fear. Found in the barren islands of Southern Cressia and beneath the forests that populated it, the tall humanoid raven is said to have a voracious hunger for the living, drawing in the essence that makes them alive to augment its harrowing corruption. The crows are believed to be molded creations from devoured life energies. While they're very much corporeal, they only possess a few authentic characteristics compared to the real ones. When they die, their earthly bodies wither into scattered wisps of light and are converted back to Razgor as energy reserves. They are, however, carnivorous and their ravaging hunger are linked from their host.


C O R E.
SABOTEUR



O V E R D R I V E.
◆ C A R R I O N
An influx of residual life essence putrefies, withdrawing what's left of the man's vigor to reconstruct the mood of day and become resuscitated as a harbinger of fear. Thick, grey clouds taint the sky, conjuring a bleakness to which darkness can prowl. And when the shadows rise, a murder of crows is summoned to unleash desolation, feasting on life and whoever clings to it. Razgor's howl of terror wails throughout proximity, unchaining an intimidating gleam of hopelessness and his unquenchable thirst to devour the souls of those who are truly afraid.


Hidden 7 yrs ago → 7 yrs ago Post by Damiann47
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Damiann47 Local Planetary Body

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“Arin Stone“

Twenty-three | 17th of May | 5' 11" /180 cm. | Third Class.




A P P E A R A N C E.
Her build is very athletic yet light where her muscles aren't particularity noticeable, although toned. Her brown hair is usually kept somewhat short out for utility purposes and for personal preferences. It also should be noted that she doesn't get it professionally cut, but instead chop it all off herself. For the most part her appearance is perfectly human, expect for the heavy scarring across her back that almost resemble burn marks and are still fresh from binding with her Aeon. Then if Arin were to hold her mouth open one could see razor sharp canines, again another side affect of becoming a SOLDIER.

Arin has simple tastes in clothing opting for what's most comfortable like tank tops or sweatpants. She doesn't exactly care to maintain a tidy of appearance, of course she bathes regularly but won't do much beyond that. When preparing for combat duties, however, Arin dresses up in a more pragmatic manner. Sleeved shirts, boots, and cargo pants is the kind of clothing she would wear underneath armor.


P S Y C H E.
Arin Stone is best described as headstrong, highly willful and simply stubborn. She is the type who prefers to blaze her own trail only because she wants to, and enjoys the accompanying sense of freedom all the while. Arin finds great thrill in the heat of combat be it from a basic bar fight to the bloodied battlefield as it serves to be a fantastic outlet for her aggression. This is all not to say that she is a simple minded barbarian, Arin has her quiet moments too especially when given a chance to relax with individuals she trusts. Despite her wild and free personality Arin can be quite disciplined, focused solely on whatever mission she is assigned. Years spent in the military had forged a professional persona that she adopts once it is time to work, a drastically different attitude that has been known to catch many off guard.

As a brand new SOLDIER Arin quite frankly doesn't get along with her Aeon. She finds it too alien, and above all else fears that it would undermine her free will. These fears are only confirmed on the occasions when she is overtaken by intense rage and brutal savagery, these outburst are facilitated by the Aeon in question. Simply put Arin would much rather do anything she can without utilizing the might of her Aeon. She also distrusts the entire SOLDIER program itself, she never fully volunteered to join the program and sees it as a potential threat to her one day. Arin however doesn't feel the same way about other SOLDIERs, while she wouldn't lay down her life for any individual SOLDIER, she doesn't hold her current condition against any of them. Otherwise, Arin had never cared about the Dalamastice Govern, she feels neither hate, nor love towards those in charge. To her the Govern had always been this separate entity to her life. As long as they don't attempt to actively infringe on herself, well Arin doesn't care what those politicians do.


B A C K G R O U N D.
Arin Stone comes from quite the mediocre background. She spent her early life living in Galbadia, her family was not rich or poor; snugly secure as a middle class household. Her childhood was simple and she didn't want for much, at least if her desires were within reason. Thing was Arin made for quite the tomboy, even as a young girl she kept her hair chopped short, and never wore flowery dresses if she had any say. As she grew older Arin eventually got involved in brawls with other children being the only female taking on boys around her age. Usually these bouts were friendly contests that occasionally turned violent, still it was around this time the girl discovered her natural aggression and thirst for a good fight. Too often she would return home turned purple with bruises, her clothes stained with blood, and with zero explanations. Before long a pre-teenaged Arin was pulled from public schools instead to be home schooled by her father, who was a minor researcher in his own right. This decision made by both parents was out of concern for their only daughter, that she couldn't keep getting involved in these street brawls, and for a time it seemed as if their gambit paid off. Little did they know that through a streak of rebellion Arin continued to sneak out at night. From this point forward she became very careful at hiding the bruises and other injuries from her parents.

Stability inside the Stone family collapsed when the father lost his researcher job, this occurred around when Arin was aged 17 years old. The situation rapidly grew dire, it wasn't long until he started to blame Arin for his being layoff, his reasoning for this was because she had to be home schooled he couldn't put in enough hours, or something to that affect. It was during one specific alcohol fueled argument that Arin finally ran away from home. She hadn't heard from either her father or mother since then. After that she found herself wandering the streets for a handful of months, and while a couple of friends agreed to house her for a time, she was effectively homeless. Rather than falling in with gangs, Arin decided to enlist with the army despite being underage. Perhaps her recruiter failed to catch the discrepancy with her age, perhaps he just didn't care, or maybe she only got lucky.

Arin found that her aggressiveness served her well in the armed forces after easily passing through basic training. She favored a point-man position armed with nothing more than a shotgun and a strong will to carry her. For a decent number of years Arin was quite content, even discovered a sense of purpose by serving. Life was good. That was until a particular officer approached her, his express intentions unknown. While at first he praised her fighting spirit and dedication, he then proceeded to explain a peculiar error that came up during an investigation of her initial enlistment. Arin knew exactly where he was going at, yet to her surprise he instead extended an offer to join a special program. The SOLDIER program he called it, and honestly she was left with very little wiggle room.

From there the process of binding with her Aeon had been terrifying and confusing. Arin at first found it difficult to live as a SOLDIER, but in the following weeks she made ever so slight progress in learning how to control the newly found rage surging throughout herself by utilizing sheer willpower alone. If anything she actively fights against the Aeon's influence in a desperate attempt to remain herself, yet it is a battle she is certain is lost a little more everyday. In other news since her joining the SOLDIER program, Arin had learned the one officer who blackmailed her had received a "unexpected" promotion. Arin wasn't too thrilled to hear about this to say the least.


R E G A I L I A.
Arin is not synced with Entrasi, her Aeon, and this is reflective in how she carries herself in combat. She still clings tightly to old skills and tactics; she fights like a moral human rather than utilizing the powers of a SOLDIER. As such she is only trained with one skill ready for battle at this time. Even then she definitely belongs at the very front, and she is no stranger to the battlefield. She tends to aggressively push the enemy, charging forth with her shotgun paving the way, and she not afraid to personally meet her opponents. Make no mistake, however, Arin isn't a mindless berserker; if you tell her to pull back she would without question, at least under normal conditions.

In terms of equipment her most important and notable piece of gear is a powerful shotgun, affectionately referred to as the "Doorknocker" by Arin. It is a modified automatic shotgun that packs quite the hefty punch that also can be loaded with standard buckshot and armor-piercing slugs. These slugs aren't the most accurate, yet they can dig deep into most armors. Arin wears light weight armor that allows for fast and agile movement, factors vital for a shotgunner on the run. She also carries a combat knife that's she well trained to use.

Hell's Chamber [Fury, Destructive, Predatory] A single target is consumed in a concentrated column of a fire. This pillar would continue to persist for another minute at which point the target would have presumably had long perished in the flames.



A E O N.
Entrasi
Red/Green [Unbound, Predatory, Temperamental, Savage]

Entrasi was a paradox of a being, while his body was made of a material very similar to wood his entire form smolders with an eternal fire, perhaps even completely enveloped in these flames in the past. He took on the appearance of a giant humanoid but bent with bestial savagery, hunched over rather than standing straight up like a human. Numerous trials have shown that recovered samples of Entrasi's "skin" is perfectly fireproof, and impossible to cut though conventional means. There is much uncertainty as to what Entrasi represented, but he was obviously a uncontrollable force of nature.


C O R E.


LANCER



O V E R D R I V E.
Forest of Immolation

Arin gathers the raw might of Entrasi and from that explodes forth a supernova of fire, enough to cover a full city block. Then from beneath the ground would burst forth a labyrinth of throned vines, burning with the fury of Entrasi and suffocates everything caught in it's rampant growth. Arin herself would remain safe within this Forest of Immolation where the vines would form a protective dome around her, however she would also be knocked unconscious, and potentially left on death's door from the sheer amount of energy exhausted.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Ambiguity
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Ambiguity

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Athena Volkov




“Fix You & Jesus Christ“
Thirty-two | Date of Birth: 5th of November | 5’8” | First Class.


A P P E A R A N C E.
Athena exhumes a natural beauty though she pays her appearance little mind. She never cared for the beautifying makeup that those who could afford them caked themselves with. Those with the Archadian militia had little time for such luxuries. She walks tall with bold confidence and has scars from her time within the militia. Her hair is often kept in a tight albeit messy bun. On very rare occasions will she wear it down.


P S Y C H E.
“Lights will guide you home. And ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you ...”
Coldplay, Fix You

Life is precious. Sick or healthy. Poor or wealthy. Deserving or undeserving.

Life is precious. However, those who do harm, to prevent further harm, must be harmed.

Words that her father made creed when she was a little girl, all life holds worth though not all can be saved. Growing up in the tundras of Archadia, Athena witnessed at a young age the trials underwent by the militia and the people living far from the safety of the cities. Her father’s clinic, meager compared to Nibelheim's most modest clinics, was often filled with militia and towns people alike.

Hailed as an accomplished healer, SOLDIERs under her care hold her in high regard. She cares deeply for her comrades, for not only have they all undergone the same agonizing process of becoming a SOLDIER, but their lives outside of being a SOLDIER were erased forever. From this shared experience, a camaraderie, stronger than what she witnessed among the militia, formed. They are her new family. Those who would do harm onto her family would suffer. Preserving life is but one side of her repertoire. Corrupting it occupied the other.

Fortunately for her, Athena and her aeon are of like mind. Both have a natural inclination to healing. However, while Athena tries desperately to save those that come under her care, her aeon understands the flip side of mercy. As such, there are times where she resists the aeons control of granting death when it's impossible to save an individual. Though, like any SOLDIER, she can only control herself so much.

Politics and religion are moot points to Athena. Religion was something that people came up with to rationalize what they can’t control while politics is reserved for those that are privy to it. Though a contradiction, she’s a soldier as she is a healer. Her role within the grand machine is clear to her. She cares little for religion’s answers and leaves politics to those who prefer talk to action.


B A C K G R O U N D.
“Well, Jesus Christ, I’m not scared to die. I’m a little bit scared of what comes after…”
Brand New, Jesus Christ

Athena grew up in the village of Trost in the northern tundras of Archadia. Assailed by harsh winters, mother nature commanded her respect. Anything less would be mean death.

Growing up with only her father and brother, Athena was barely old enough to remember the passing of her mother. Powerless to save her then, she took up the healer’s oath and studied under her father at the clinic when she was of age. She turned no one away even though they hadn’t the funds to pay for treatment. Her father scolded her and continued to teach her that the world was not kind to those charitable enough to expect nothing in return.

Perhaps due to being youthful or craving something more than the white walls of the clinic, Athena joined the militia as a combat medic. Stationed at the Trost garrison, her time in the militia slowly changed the idealistic ‘save all you can’ girl into a ‘save who you can’ woman. Killing was never her favorite solution, but after committing the act many times, she became desensitized to the killing. It became as second nature as breathing.

Being so far north, bandits were a common scourge on villages that resided far from the great cities of Archadia. While she preferred duties of safeguarding life, utilizing science, she created a poison to save militia lives. No matter the rationale, when her creation debuted, she crossed a point of no return. Her father never intended his lessons about poisons to be used as weapons; however, Athena concocted vile toxins that subjugated the enemies of the militia using said lessons. The lucky ones died in the first few seconds of exposure. Those unlucky drew breath until a militia member could finally put the suffering to rest. Athena made sure she was there to administer the mercy. She would see her work through. She would never speak of this to her family. In life or in death. It would’ve broken her father’s heart no matter the logic.

Word of her deeds circulated beyond the Trost garrison. With her brother starving during a famine that took Trost while her father was bedridden from sickness, a man approached her. Promising her that her family would be relocated to the cities and be taken care of, she had only but to say yes to a proposition poorly explained to her. Desperate to save the anchor to a life she could scarcely remember, she accepted the stranger’s proposition. Extinguished from the world, the proposition was her recruitment into SOLDIER.

Though she promised herself to dismiss her cruel ways of dealing death to another human being, she was once again thrust into a world where cruelty was needed. Where her methodology was common place. Specifically, the means to the end were acceptable as long as the end was reached. Her fellow SOLDIERs respect her due to her rank and reputation, but to her, that’s all petty excuses to rationalize the weapon she’d become.

As long as her family was cared for, she could live with her atrocities. An unspoken penance to her father for the vile uses she carried out using his knowledge imparted to her.


R E G A I L I A.
“And at the gates, does Thomas ask to see my hands?”

Usually close to the front, Athena prefers armor that can shake off typical rounds but remains light enough to traverse from place to place. She carries a bag containing medical compounds, supplies, and poisons for the deeds she must do when the powers granted from Ascephea were inappropriate. She has great respect for modern day medicine. However, as per tradition of healers from her village, the old medical practices are something she keeps herself trained to do. Athena also has a rebreather due to her constant exposure to her toxins.

Though she would rather save than kill, to protect her comrades and herself, she will strike at those that would mean harm. She carries a burst fire assault rifle. The model nearly identical to what militia members used back in Archadia; however, modifications were made to give it more stopping power. The round chamber also underwent modifications for her specialized bullets, bullets laced with a medicinal concoction that makes it harder to breath upon exposure to the misty vapor. These modified bullets seldom ever pierce a target's skin unless its point blank. Instead of the traditional gun powder encapsulated by a metallic shell, these bullets are made from a material that shatter on impact like glass. Upon shattering, the contents will have similar effect to ammonia or gas used to crowd control. The contents have a short lifespan out of concern for advancing into the contaminated zone. These bullets are meant as a means to allow friendly forces to advance and remove the hostile. Due to the delicate nature of these bullets, Athena does not carry many on hand. Large concentrated doses, though dissipating quickly, can be deadly.

She abhors biological weapons, but her deadlier affinities have their uses. If close quarters is called for, Athena keeps her militia combat knife on hand. However, close quarters is something she avoids whenever possible.

Blending her varied duties as a SOLDIER and a former militia member, Athena prioritizes healing instead of fighting. However, when needed, she takes the support role rather than assaulting directly. Indeed, she prefers to breakdown the constitution of an enemy rather than be the main aggressor.

Due to Ascephea’s nature, Athena walks a fine line between doing no harm and ending life quickly due to not wanting to prolong one’s suffering. Because of her newly spliced body, Athena resists the urge to kill a patient when they’re vulnerable while also striving to keep to the ways of the healer as she was with her father and with the militia.

Ambrosi [Protection, Life, Instinct]

It is said that the nectar of the gods is the sweetest taste to ever touch the lips of any mortal. Supposedly the nectar provides onto the user longetivity, health, and immortality. Though not accomplishing anything so grand, Ascephea has granted Athena the ability to cast a spell that heal and heightens the senses of an individual to be more responsive to external stimuli and react quicker. However, the spell can only be cast on one at a time. Mass healing will result only in minor healing.


Rapture[Life, Protection, Peace]

The old religions speak of an event where believers in a god will shake off death to join him in celebration of immeasurable happiness. Though unable to raise the dead, those nearly at their limit will ignore pain temporarily as a calm flows through them. There would be no worry. No fear. Hope would fill their souls as they fight onwards toward their objective. If they should fall within the duration of this spell, they shall fall in bliss rather than agony.

Even with the boons granted above, this spell remains dangerous and used sparingly by Athena. Because her allies would have no concept of pain, they may pass on with non being the wiser. She will seldom use this on Second Classes and almost never for Third Classes. She’ll break this rule of thumb only if ordered to do so by a superior or if the situation is truly dire.


Pestilence [Predatory, Instinct, Savage]

Regardless of how strong the tallest man stands, all are powerless before the spirits of disease, sickness, and plague. Illustrating the ‘mercy’ that Ascephea delivers to those where death would be the kindess, Individuals succumb to fever, sapping of strength, and the inability to carry out rational thought. This spell can be enacted on a crowd or an individual. If used on a crowd, said crowd will most likely feel a dampened version of this spell. If used on one individual, depending on how much energy Athena pours into the spell, it is enough to cripple the most hardened of warriors.


A E O N.
Ascephea White/Green [Protection, Morality, Life, Instinct]

“So do you think that we could work out a sign. So I'll know it's you and that it's over so I won't even try ...”

Theorists and scholars alike postulate that Ascephea’s origins trace back to the far islands of Cressia. Though feminine only where the masquerade like face mask rests upon her face, her body is shrouded in a flawless white robe embroidered with elegant curves of golden patterned lines. While what of her body can be seen looks humanoid, calling it truly humanoid is an erroneous statement.

Of her origin, scholars believe that Ascephea was a patron of health and vigor. She would answer prayers to those who prayed for their health or for those praying for a loved one on the verge of death. However, it is believed that she granted death, if it was the greater mercy. However, her true origins are but speculations of mortals describing beings transcending mortality.

For the most part, Ascephea and Athena have a very strong bond. Given the near matching demeanor qualities of both, their strengths complement each other. However, unlike herself, Athena doesn’t share her view of death perhaps being the better cure. Quite prevalent in their relationship, discord arises primarily from this quality.


C O R E.
Medic


O V E R D R I V E.
“And I will die all alone. And when I arrive I won't know anyone…”

Elysia


The ultimate boon shared between Ascephea and Athena, in the most dire of situation, a last resort, Athena takes in the agony of nearby wounded and dying and unleashes a wave of light. Foes feel nothing while allies she can visibly see, feel, and hear, receive a period of invulnerability. Able to perform feats of legends, those who are touched by this spell become something akin to valkyries bringing those fortunate - or unfortunate - to the next life. There is no weariness or fatigue within the affected souls.

Whatever attacks assail them during this period or fatigue they feel, Athena takes it all. As the law of nature demands it, whatever is given must be paid for. Equivalent exchange. Athena is the payment. The spell continues until Athena can no longer sustain concentration or Ascephea forcefully ends the overdrive. Though the aeon longs to show her splendour to the world forever, Athena is her vessel. End Athena’s life, and she would return to her long slumber until another comes along. Ascephea does not want that, so she'll step in if Athena's life is nearly forfeit due to this power.

Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Raijinslayer
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Raijinslayer .

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"James Camaron“
20 | Date of Birth: 15/Oct | 6ft even | 3rd Class.

[rank can be of any choosing: third, second, first, commander.]


A P P E A R A N C E.
Optional category.


P S Y C H E.
James' basic view of the world is that everything that happens has to happen for a reason, and that every and all life has some form of meaning to it. As such, the man finds killing and murder to be rather distasteful, as well as a belief that even the most evil and vile people in this world are deserving of redemption. His is a kind heart, one that beats with an empathetic rhythm that seeks to feel out and understand the thoughts and woes of others, but due to how he grew up with a lack of significant human contact and very little in he way f friends, he has trouble expressing these feelings, and often says things in a manner that may come off as odd or even insulting to some people. In an attempt to hide his social failings, James often takes to mirroring the emotions and attitudes of whoever he's talking too, as well as trying to be as agreeable and passive as he can be so as not to make somebody angry with him.

In regards to how he feels about His Aeon, the best of ways to put it is . . . conflicted. Raganavic is an unstoppable force of life, a creature whose vary presence invigorates those around him to an insane green, who can turn the most barren and inhospitable of regions in the world into places full of life and wonder. Even in his current catatonic state, rumors often abound about how, more then any other Aeon, his needs high-levels of security due to the fact that many wild animals, some being quite monstrous, are often formed out of the very dirt near the facility where his body rests. Yet, having part of the beast inside of him, and feeling it's latent thoughts, he knows that despite the wonder and beauty it can create, it is wholly unintentional. Raganavic is a creature of instinct and savagery, a harsh predatory beast who would have little problem destroying everything in its path. While both have an understanding of life, James' belief that all life should be respected often clashes with his Aeon's desires. Not only that, but the difference between thought and instinct is present in how they approach violent situations, as Jams likes to plan and prepare for things in advance and strategize, Raganavic seeks to only act and continuing acting until his foes have been defeated. As such, James often has trouble controlling the instincts that Raganavic unleashes upon him from time to time, the primal call of his flesh and bone urging him to leave his civilized mind behind.


B A C K G R O U N D.
James' life is likely different then most who entered the SOLDIER program. While it started common enough, with his family living an average life in Cressia, things began to change once James entered the elementary school. There, James was quickly discovered to be something of a prodigy when it came to things like math, sciences, and computers, etc. His mind worked on a level much more advanced then those of his peers, and as such, he quickly was removed from the school system entirely, his parents taking to putting him into special tutoring institutions so that his intellect could be challenged and so that his gift could continue to grow. By the time he came to be 15 years old, he'd gained several degrees from colleges institutions and had developed a few rather impressive patents in computer science. However, it was also at this age that he began to realize what his successes had done to his life over all.

His parents had become estranged and uncaring of him, often seeing him as just a way for them to continue their growingly luxurious lives, making themselves rich of his discoveries. His childhood had gone by in a flash, filled with nothing but studies and projects, he had no friends, especially none close to his own age, and he often felt a great depression from everything that had come to be expected of him. Whenever he sought to relieve his load or suggest that his family do something together,his parents would shame him for daring to be lazy. They'd rant on and on about how he should keep on using his talents to better the world, and so on and so forth. And being the diligent boy he was, James often complied, but as the next three years went on by, he felt control of his life slipping farther and farther out of his grasp, and his depression growing deeper and deeper. And then, one day, he heard about the SOLDIER program. A sect of specialized Super Soldiers, they were often asking for volunteers to take into their ranks. Being old enough to participate, James suddenly found himself doing something he never had done before.

Acting on impulse.

From that moment on, his life quickly fell into a swirl of chaos as his parents screamed at him for wasting his potential, his own questions on what had possessed him to joining, and the events at Fort Lulin when he finally arrived. Havin made sure to keep relatively fit, he was able to pass the regular tests to ensure he was able to fulfill the duties a Soldier needed(if jus barely) But then came the Bonding with his Aeon. To call the experience painful was an understatement, as he felt that his entire world had been thrown onto it's head, the intensity of the alien DNA merging with his own flesh and bone, the feeling of Raganavic's immense life energy flowing into him. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd survive the process in the moment, but he didn't regret his choice for a single moment the entire way through. It was, for the first tim in a long while, a choice that he had made for himself, and he was determined to see it through to the end. After the process had been completed, however, James noted that he felt. . . strong. Stronger than he ever had before, and with this strength came a feeling of control and power. While he knew that, as SOLDIER, he'd likely be forced into many terrible situations and would, quite likely, die in a battle somewhere, he felt that if it happened, then it happened. While he wouldn't say, at the young e age of 18 at the time, that he was content with his life up to that point, far from it, but he was to live his final moments out soon, then at least he had at least taken control of his life in someway before he end.


R E G A I L I A.
'Stay back. Assist the actual fighters. Strategize when things go wrong. Try to ignore Raganavic when he gets antsy.'

James' time on the battlefield is very much limited, but what he lacks in skill, Raganavic often assists him with(whether he asks for it or not) by surging the primal instincts within his very DNA. James' fighting style is to stay in the back and take out foes while his allies are keeping them busy, preferring to stay out of the bulk of the fighting whenever possible. His weapon load out consists of a simple semi-automatic pistol that he bears some proficiency with, often used when things get a little too close for comfort, and a hi-tech Compound Bow. One of the few hobbies he had that actually carries over to his new lot in life, James proves himself to be a pretty good shot with the weapon, and the power that the thing can pack is not to be underestimated. Along with just regular arrows, James can also employ a variety of special arrows. these include Stun Arrows(most effective upon human enemies, as that what they've been optimized for), Smoke Arrows, Flash-Bang and Concussion Arrows, Flare Arrows, Net arrows, and Grappling Arrows, with designs for other such arrows being in the works. Now, given the fact that he can only carry so many on his person and an emphasis on lethality, while something he dislikes, is the point of the job, he often only has 3 of any type of special arrows, and of those he has, he has about 5 of each, so he has to make each shot count when he uses them. as for normal arrows, he often carries anywhere between twenty to thirty of them at any one time.

As for a melee weapon, all he currently has is a knife, but he's currently going through training with various implements in order to find something that betters fits his style, though the knife isn't that bad of a choice, just not one he's sure of yet.

Raganavic's abilities often have to do with either smashing through the opposition or filling ones allies with his immense life energy in order to make them better and more dangerous.

Draco Cordis [Instinct, Predation, Agility] This is a passive ability that grants James two things: a form of life sense that allows him to identify most living creatures within 10-15 meters of his position, though he's unable to pin more than a general sense of the direction the life signs are coming from at his current level. The second ability activates whenever he's in a fight or feels as if he's in some form of danger, granting him a heightened reaction time through heightened senses, as well as faster reflexes in order to keep up with his increased perception of the world.


Draconus Aspectibus[Instinct, Ambition, Savagery] This is James' active ability, which isn't really that draining, but costs him the use of Draco Cordis when used, if only for a short amount of time (3-4 posts). This attack allows James to summon up to two smaller, simplified version of his Aeon's form(known as Aspects) from the immense life energy that flows through his body. Once summoned, the Aspects can be used to perform one actions, and then they immediately disperse, the remaining life energy dispersing into the ground, often leaving behind a bright spot of greenery behind as a result. Actions the Aspects can do are varied, but the commands must be simple and they can't go more than 15 meters away from James, growing weaker the further away they are. Some examples of their usages are Attacking X target with a bite, claw X target in the eyes,Take hit for X comrade, Move X comrade from point a to b, so on so forth. Now, the Aspects don't stay around forever, as they often let loose a large amount of the life energy that lets them come into being, often leaving them little time(1-2 posts) to actually act, meaning that James can't just use this ability without thinking. This ability can only be used when James is capable of using his Draco Cordis passive or is somehow filled with Life Energy in some other way.


A E O N.
Red&Green, Life, Instinct, Savagery, Chaos, Dynamic, Short-sighted
Raganavic- A humongous testament to the chaotic energy that is life, his entire form, while manly stable as a Serpentile Draconic entity, constantly changes the components of it's body, not in an effort to adapt to their surroundings, but due to the spontaneity of the creature. It was thought by those who studied it that this ability to manipulate the very energy of it's own being was not just limited to it's own body, as the comatose form of the dragon often has to be cleared of new and strange creatures sprouting from both the dirt and the creature itself.

It's thought that ancient people thought of Raganavic as something closer to a natural disaster then a god or being, a fickle creature that cared not what happened, only caring about the present. It's a being that acts and never thinks, a destructive force of life that would leave vast swathes of Destruction and Death alongside equal, if not greater, amounts of life and creation.

James and his Aeon are in constant conflict, as one might expect from an early bond of a Newbie SOLDIEr, if a bit more so. The creatures desire to act and keep acting are beyond a doubt the hardest thing for James to resist, as it pushes him to follow random impulses and desires, and usually at the most inopportune times. However, there are times when the two are able to better coordinate their efforts, as these are the moments where James' over-thinking mind causes him to freeze up with indecision. In these cases, the Aeon's influence often forces him come to decisions quickly, and in these instances, where seconds are precious resources, he often finds himself grateful for the push. There is also a slight physiological change due to the Aeon's cells, as James often gives off quite a lot of body heat due to the high levels of life energy imparted upon him by Raganavic(and like the Aeon can adjust it's body,he can somewhat adjust the heat level), as well as people, animals, and plants often feeling somewhat invigorated around him as well. He's been told that he makes an excellent room heater on cold nights. He's not sure whether or not he should take that as a compliment or an insult.


C O R E.

ARCHER: critical chance increase by 300%



O V E R D R I V E.
Regis Cordis
This final ability allows for James to generate and internalize a great deal of life energy into his body, putting him into a form of hyper-state that causes a form of Raganavic to form around his body, similar to that of an aspect, only this one is much more transparent, and gives of lots of sparks of electrical-looking energy with every movement. In this state, a huge rush of Life energy is flowing through the area around him, up to five meters in every direction, and any allies caught within it will gain an increase in their regenerative ability, ability to heal, and physical capabilities. Along with this, James is able to from constructs from his Life energy in order to attack and deal damage to foes, mostly using this to add some extra oomph to his arrows, though, as he can create much strong ones comprised entirely of his Life energy. This form only lasts for, at most, 4-5 posts. After that, James will enter a critical condition as his body starts to shut down from all of the excess life energy entering his system, likely entering shock and death if not treated appropriately soon after.


Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by DJAtomika
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“Master of Shadows ||| Weaponize“
33 | 12th of May | 5' 7" | Second Rank.


Natalya Kortensky


A P P E A R A N C E.
Though diminutive for her build, Natalya is a strong, muscle-bound woman. Her bulk more than makes up for what she doesn't have in inches. She has bright blue eyes, with a head of short, closely cropped blonde hair. With strong, worn hands, and a physique to rival her male peers, she stands out amongst the other finer ladies of Archadia.

Her choice of clothes is representative of her upbringing as a military girl; fatigues in either urban gray digital camo or snow-flecked camo, along with her choice of combat boots and gloves. On her head sits a beret with the crest of the Galbadian Armed Forces, and the beret is usually either a dark red or a deep navy blue. If in her civilian dress, she prefers to wear a digital camo tank top with the insignia of the Galbadian Medical Corps on the left breast, along with cargo pants, boots, and her choice of a military coat or civilian bomber jacket. She's also never seen without a military cap, either in jungle or urban camo.


P S Y C H E.
"V oblasti zdravookhraneniya, prikhodit sila.
V sile, prikhodit otvagu.
V khrabrosti, prikhodit chest'.
V chest', prikhodit velichiye."

Natalya is loyal, honest and headstrong. Without a head for leadership, she instead leads by example. To her patients, she is like their mother; caring, kind, yet firm and disciplined. To her friends, she is like a sister; loud, loyal and understanding. To a stranger, she seems like an enigma; noisy and humorous, yet harsh in her duties and discipline.

Natalya is also rather expressive for such a stern soldier, and is never seen with her stern expression when off duty. Instead she boasts a loud, raucous laugh and a bright, welcoming grin. Rough back pats, shoulder punches and vigorously shaking her friends when excited is part and parcel of her character.


B A C K G R O U N D.
Born in Dalmasca and raised in Nibelheim, Natalya was a military child through and through. She was brought up in an army family and joined the Galbadian Armed Forces once she was of age. She was placed in the Galbadian Medical Corps and subsequently put through both rigorous military training in combat medicine, and a scholarly degree in surgical medicine and pharmacology while out of the army. Once she had both, she was given the post of lead doctor in a small, military-run clinic in Nibelheim. She saw to many of the sick and ill there, often running the clinic late into the night for those that sought aid when their loved ones fell ill.

She took care of her patients with all the caring a mother would in taking care of her children; with love, kindness and patience. And this kindness is what brought her to the attention of the SOLDIER project. Even with a combat medic, the project still needed a proper doctor in the field where there were little clinics or hospitals.

Unique in her purpose amongst the SOLDIERs, Natalya is a proper doctor, both with her powers and with her hands and gear. Someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty in the blood of their enemies or their friends. Willing to fight down the strongest of foes to save the lives of her friends, Natalya is a staunch ally and a welcome comrade to have in the field.


R E G A L I A.
Natayla doesn't kid around when she talks about her gear. Her signature Sil'naya Ruka Zakona is a chunky, tanky suit of battle armour that houses her various weapons. With the insignia of the Medical Corps painted onto both shoulder pauldrons, the suit of armour is a reminder for Natalya to never forget her origins. It monitors her vitals and those of her team, augments her strength and agility, and increases her durability against damage, making her a tank that protects her party easily.

The suit itself houses two weapons that augment her chosen Aeon. These weapons are not modular, but are built in a way that they fit into her armour's housing slots like gloves. Their forms move and shift like machines, even though the weapons themselves remain usable and functional. A combat shotgun rests on her back, just above her right shoulder. A machine pistol lies folded within a holster on her right thigh. Within her left bracer is a deployable riot shield that encompasses most of her body when she crouches, along with a mount for her weapons. Her gauntlets themselves are heavily armoured and resistant to the force she can punch at.

M E T E O R P U N C H [strength. chaos. destruction.] Channeling Alexander's rage into her fists, she can deliver a sub-sonic punch that is able to devastate heavy armour or solid structures.


O V E R G R O W T H [caring. kindness. selflessness.] Natalya digs deep into Alexander's guided fury and finds his soft spots for kindness, and releases spores from her armour that, when touched, are absorbed rapidly into the body and provide healing for wounds and injuries.


F O R C E S H I E L D [determination. endurance. adaptability.] Empowering her shield, she is able to raise a much bigger force shield that can absorb incoming damage in a much wider area, covering roughly two people standing shoulder to shoulder from head to toe.


A E O N.
A L E X A N D E R | Red & Green
Alexander was found in Gatrea, at the land bridge between the continent and Galbadia. Within the ruins of an old castle, the remains of the once grand stone dragon were found. Its DNA provided Natalya with the powers she has now.


C O R E.
MEDIC: healing by 100%


O V E R D R I V E.
U L T I M A W E A P O N
Fusing all of her guns together and empowering them with her Aeon, she is able to fire an extreme burst of raw magical power in the form of a giant laser that scorches a massive area. After which, plants rapidly grow within the burnt area that release spores and pollen that heal allies within the field.
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S A M M A E L K ö N I G

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"Fall not from Heaven, but rise from Hell"
Age. 26 | Date of Birth. November 26th | Height. 6'-2"|

[First Class]


A P P E A R A N C E.
Samm is built on a tall frame, supported by lengths of lithe, athletic muscle. His complexion is pale and even, harkening to a lineage within Galbadia’s northern reaches. Piercing eyes of ice-blue punctuate a handsome, weathered face, which sports a well-trimmed beard and the lines born from a quick smile. His countenance is one of approachability and honesty, tinted with a constant bent towards optimism, and a healthy inclination towards mirth.


P S Y C H E.
It is not a vague or insightful fact that the world is not equal. The creatures that exist upon the globe are subjected to a litany of factors and circumstances for which they have no control, and their lives are profoundly influenced by these winds of fate before they even draw their first breath. Some face the world with a smooth, clear, and effortless path, while others are subjected to the cruel crucible of a harsh and malevolent reality. Sammael is not one to refute this truth.

While he accepts these natural laws, Samm is not one to take such aspects as absolutes—fates can be changed, and light can be brought to even the dark corners of the world. One only has to be brave enough to carry the torch. This notion is at the core of Samm’s being. As a son of a fortunate side of fate’s coin, Samm feels strongly that he was given a mandate to pay his privilege forward, and bring as many of humanity’s downtrodden out of the shadow of a punitive destiny. He is a man of conviction, determination, and staunch hope. Yet—perhaps antithetically—he is an atheist with a true belief in man’s own claim to morality.

Tempering these hard edges of Samm’s being, is his very real penchant for optimism, joy, and the pursuit of happiness. His desire to help others bleeds heavily into a love of making people smile, and improving the disposition of those in his company. Samm’s humor is ranging, from soft and subtle, to off-color and brash—he is comfortable amongst any crowd.

The relationship Samm holds with his Aeon is a precious one. Fortune was good to Samm once again when he came to be bonded with a being that seemed to so exemplify his nature to do the greatest good. In his Aeon’s power, Samm finds an invigorated purpose, and the embodied justification that he is to banish darkness wherever he finds it.


B A C K G R O U N D.
Sammael Aaron König was born on cold winter’s night in the Galbadian state of Aster. As his father and mother both worked as prominent engineers within Aster’s climate encouragement facility, Samm enjoyed the comfort of an upper middle-class lifestyle from his conception. An only child to preoccupied parents of means, the stage was set for Samm to be a detached, spoiled, and selfish individual. In stark contrast to the conventional wisdom of many, Samm somehow bucked the odds, and grew into a young man who was empathetic, humble, and forthright.

Intelligent, athletic, and connected through both his parents and his own friendly magnetism, Samm had the desire and means to pursue a degree in engineering at one of the prestigious technical institutes in the shadow of Dalmasca. This aspiration was one that fulfilled Samm’s wishes to be an engine for something ‘better’ within the world—the idea that he could become some lauded engineer that brought warmth, food, and comfort to the less fortunate by way of his fantastic technological creations.

While Samm felt he possessed the wherewithal to achieve great success in the field of engineering, reality managed to drive a wedge into his mind as he grew closer to adulthood. Intelligent as he was, there was a key element missing in his plan to become the angelic savant he dreamed he could be: passion. There was no passion for Samm within this dream. Making the world a better place was his ultimate goal, and the path of an engineer doing righteous work had simply come too easily to him; something automatic and expected. He would find no fulfillment in such a life.

As this realization, Samm for the first time felt the chains of uncertainty pulling from around his neck. As he became a man, he found himself listless and depressed. The search for a vehicle to carry out what he considered to be his purpose became a near obsession, and his days were filled with half-starts and only glimmers of hope as opportunities to find lasting fulfillment in his life waned. It was during this trough that he was found by the recruiters. Vague and mysterious, Samm was confronted by a pair of self-proclaimed scientists who enticed that they could provide a means for him to truly excel, aid, and uplift humanity in a way that only a handful of people could.

It was as if a veil had been withdrawn for Samm, and his true purpose lie in the growing light afforded by such a promise of profound meaning. After passing a battery of physical, psychological, and genetic tests, Samm found himself in the cadre of SOLDIER. Bound to his Aeon, and trained to the very pinnacle of his physical and mental potential, Samm transformed from simply a man, to something he never had even dreamed he could or should become: a living weapon, forged atop an anvil of trained perfection, and tempered with the blood of stars.


R E G A I L I A.
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Sammael meets his enemies head-on upon the field. Relying upon keen strategy, agility, and honed skill, Samm engages foes with single-minded purpose. He wields a long katana-like sword, with a unique energy-laden blade. White-hot at the apex of the katana’s cutting edge, this sword imbues highly volatile bursts of energy when cutting or slicing through the flesh of a target.

Though reliant primarily upon his athleticism and agility for survival on the battlefield, Samm is also encased in a full-body suit of armor. Made for mobility, the armor is primarily focused upon absorbing ranged ballistic attacks, as well as increasing Samm’s spatial acuity of the battlespace. The helmet that encloses his entire head is covered with sensors that give him instantaneous threat updates, locations of comrades, and other pertinent information.

Now linked inimitably with the Aeon known as Ither, Samm possesses processes that allow his mind to take in and respond to stimuli on an almost precognitive level. In combat he misses almost nothing, quickly gaining a true sense of his adversary in the breadth of a heartbeat, and allowing him to dodge strikes—and even rifle shots—that would otherwise decimate a lesser being. This battle focus comes at a price however, as with continued and sustained use, Samm’s cognition of his surroundings become more and more clouded with cosmic static. Lost to the powerful hum of Ither’s soul within him, Samm can over utilize his power, and become completely oblivious to the world around him to the point of delusion, insanity, and death.

[Aphelion] With a flurry of staccato light, Sammael’s living image is split into six perfect avatars. The avatars move and react like sentient beings, distracting the foe until struck down like the straw-men that they truly are.

[Perihelion] A fiery white aura ensconces Sammael, coalescing into a crown like beacon around his forehead. Lances of this light erupt from this beacon, shooting out with deadly effect to wherever Sammeal’s eyes have alighted.

[Analemma] Bursts of bright hot light envelope an area surrounding the impact location of an enemy’s strike, or in the path of an incoming ballistic projectile. For normal attacks, this light-energy deflects the incoming strike so no harm comes to the intended target. This power is best utilized in the protection of others, but can in rare cases be employed in times of self-preservation.


A E O N.
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Ither--white
Bathed in the purity of moral judgement, Ither shines like a beacon in a sea of dark, undulating ebony. Possessing a multitude of heavenly arms, regaled in white, and trimmed with gold, this Aeon is a pillar of justice, truth, protection, and the living embodiment of the greater good. Darkness is banished before it, like sand before the crashing waves of an approaching tsunami. Strong in will, and resolute in purpose, Ither is a being of conviction, white hot purpose, and an infallible will to reorient all life to it’s true and rightful place—no matter the cost.


C O R E.

SABER: Agility increase by 100%



O V E R D R I V E.
[Tears of Icarus] In a fiery corona, living light strikes from the heavens. Sammael is wrapped in folds of a conflagration of white, so bright that it blinds those who gaze upon it. From this blinding flare comes a flurry of successive fire bursts. These bursts possess the power of the living Sun, and cascade in roiling tendrils from the caster, to the intended foes like a flood of righteous destruction. This near holy fire strips its target of flesh, bone, and soul, rending those before it to a husk of scorched and pure nothingness.
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