Post by Azazel on May 26, 2019 4:35:08 GMT
Character Name:
Azazel
Gender:
Male
Starting Planet:
Earth
Race:
Vampire [Demon/Human Hybrid]
Racial Traits:
Interdimensional Transition
Demonic Spike
Intelligence
Transformation Path:
Demon
Age:
Unknown, appears to be middle-aged.
Fighting Style:
Brawler
Appearance:
Azazel appears human from a distance, although once one closes in they would easily notice his blue tinted flesh, a sign of his undeath, as well as his red eyes that seem to burn with intensity in the night. His hair is long and black, it curtains his face fashionably as it drapes across his shoulders, his facial hair being differing lengths and styles based on his fancy at the time. He is never without a full length coat, etched with intricate gold and silver designs, and occasionally he will trade for one of differing colors, with red being his preference. His pants and boots are as elegant, and he wears protective bracers to match, but his hands are uncovered and sport dangerous claws at each fingertip. His coat hangs open, revealing his deathly pallored chest and abdomen, chiseled like a statue and firm as marble.
History:
There was once a time when my name was feared by the monsters that stalk the darkness rather than revered. That story, like many others I have to tell, is not quite as interesting, so I’ll save you the details. I was born into a small village, secreted in a deep forest and bereft of the comforts of stature as civilized ways. I was trained as a soldier, a warrior against the darkness that encroached upon our homes with every setting of the sun. As I was perhaps the best among ‘The Order’, or so it was referred.
Into my early adult years I was tasked with finding great relics of power that could possibly turn the tide in our endless war against the darkness, and found nothing more than paltry tricks and traps that were beset upon me at every turn. The enemy grew stronger with each passing day of my journey, and I found myself at my end once I had found the home of our strongest foes.
The Vampires.
I fought to the very end, but to no avail as I was dragged into the depths of what they called their throne. And I was not killed, but instead offered a greater power than my own, that of undeath itself. I feared for my life as any mortal should, and so I accepted without hesitation. The turning was possibly the most horrifically painful experience of my life, as it twisted my entire being to something else. I died for the first time that day, and I rested for a length of time I cannot recall. I awoke a monster, even by their standards, and I used my newfound powers on my captors. It seemed as though they hadn’t expected the depth of my abilities that they had gifted me, and it was a brilliant game as I hunted each of them down to he last, destroying the nest within a fortnight.
The feeling of satisfaction was rather short lived, however. Once the majority were executed, I felt a deep sense of... regret, perhaps. Not that they were gone, rather that I were now lost to my people, as I could not return now that I too had become a monster. I corresponded with the elders through letters for many months, as I detailed my adventure so that they may understand my situation. My efforts were in vain. I was erased from their history books, in all except my great sacrifice, with which they named me a fallen hero of The Order. I died a second time the day I received that last letter.
Years passed as I roamed in solitude across the land, searching for a way to walk in the sunlight once again. It was a torture I did not anticipate, and my weakness drove me to search for even greater strength. My research brought me into knowledge of many dark and hidden creatures, some arguably more powerful than any god that the peasants worship. That was, until I came to hear of The Forgotten One.
This isn’t a topic I’ll describe lightly, nor is it one that I am willing to indulge fully. I dare not speak its name, for that may be enough to summon it back into existence. I learned of its power, and it’s cycle of rebirth, and I knew I couldn’t allow it to happen. Such a primordial being could not walk this plane without it being the end of us all. And so I carefully plotted my own ‘resurrection’ for years further. In stopping its own rebirth, I absorbed its power for my own, and saved you all by sealing myself away with my new strength.
I’ve spent countless years in the void, living my life as a ghost between worlds. Now that I have controlled my power, I may finally bring myself back into the light once more.
Personality:
Azazel is nothing if not self serving and aristocratic. He was raised a warrior and had fully devoted himself to his cause, to rid the world of evil. As time went on he became convinced that there was no balance to the world without evil, and his actions led to his becoming the embodiment of that balance. Even to his most devilish ends, he truly believes that he has done no wrong, as his will and action are simply to keep balance with the good in the world, lest a greater evil take his place. He is a rhythmic and enticing conversationalist, and he is without mercy in battle when he must resort to violence over words. Whether he is truly a being of pure darkness is to be interpreted by those he comes into contact with.
Starting Techniques:
[ST] Vampiric Siphon - Biting an enemy allows Azazel to absorb their life force directly into his own, healing him directly. The amount healed is exact to the damage inflicted. If health is full, this goes into his other stats in an even ratio. Can only be done in close range or when the enemy is grappled/stunned. [20% damage, heal for damage inflicted]
[ST] Sanguine Whip - Using the power of
Blood to create a whip-like weapon as an extension of self, all melee attacks can hit at close AND medium range.
[ST] Rondo of Blood - Every physical attack that connects with an Enemy restores 1% of overall health.
[ST-1] Immortal Transfusion - Sacrificing Health, replenish Ki or Stamina at a 1:1.25 ratio.
[GT] Clutch of Darkness - Sweeping around his target with inhuman speed, Azazel embraces the enemy by the head and arm, exposing the neck and rendering them helpless if they do not fight him off.
[AT-1] Void Blade - Summoning a sword made of energy from the depths of the void, he slashes the enemy in an attempt to rend their flesh with its cold blade. Can also be thrown to strike at long range, counting as a physical attack. [1-25%, can Dismember]
[CT-1] Stake - Summons dark energy to form a bloody stake, launched at the enemy in order to pierce their body. [1-25%, causes bleed]
[PCT-1] Chaos Claws - Imbuing his arms with burning darkness, he strikes the enemy with a heavy barrage of strikes. [1-25%]
Example Roleplay:
There was one moment. Many things in this life continued to rush towards one particular moment at any given time, a moment where one’s fate could be decided in but a handful of seconds, and one could only know this after the moment had passed. Azazel, The Lord of the Damned, as he had been known by those who feared his reign over the darkness in centuries past, sat quietly on his throne as he contemplated the simple philosophy that repeated in his head time and again. There was barely a sense of time passing in the hellish void that he had imprisoned himself in so long ago, as he quite often found that thoughts were just as fleeting. His heart’s beating slowed to a dead man’s pace, and his mind wandered as he searched outwardly, his spirit clawing at every grasp of reality it could cling to.
The particular thought on his mind was no coincidence, rather it was a reflection of his exact struggle. He only hoped that he would come to finish the philosophy. “If one could only predict the exact happenstance that brought about their fate, then perhaps with that knowledge they may change it...”
Of course, these words were only spoken aloud to himself, as there was no other for him to converse with.
Something in the threads of reality must have stirred him from his slumber, something profound, as Azazel noticed he was already standing. He could feel the disturbance oncoming for what seemed an eternity at this point, and finally it had come to fruition. With an inhuman quickness, he glided out of his castle’s balcony and into the depths of the void before him.
The vampiric lord had waited innumerable ages for this exact moment that had thrust itself upon him so suddenly. His power had waned in the time spent building his home in the Void, and it seemed that at this exact time and place the fabric of reality was thin enough that he would be able to reopen the path between. He had practiced the ability to move through shadows for centuries previous, and his new powers allowed him even greater transversal, and if he were to complete the link between himself and both realms, he would complete the ritual he had started so long ago. With true power at the tips of his fingers, he came to the spot he felt the tear most.
Summoning his energy, Azazel began his chant. The language was one long dead and gone, but its words carried power that shaped the world as he spoke. His speech rolled off his tongue with a hiss as he enunciated each syllable with utter precision. “Rep maitnetop metua serete, da muirepmi ocov et. Madnics munger muvlas em caf!” The world around him seemed to shimmer and shake as he spoke, continuing his chant repeatedly as he focused all of his power on the task at hand. His goal was not simply to open a rift, but to see himself into the very fabric of the Void so that he may always return, and with his greater strength he would finally walk the mortal realm once more.
With the power of the ancient one flowing through his veins, Azazel reached into the depths of his soul and felt the darkness held within, pouring out of his being like a black smog that settled into the Void itself, becoming the anchor that he needed.
He was unsure of how long the ritual had lasted, as he had been every event that occurred in this haunted hellscape, but when the moment finally came he felt it in his entire being. The Anchor was finished, and his power drained as a result. He felt weakend, almost desperate, as he shouted the chant to open the gateway.
“Etidnap sov mer!”
The resounding crash and silence that followed stunned the immortal as he saw the fruits of his labors. A silent, almost symbolically unperturbed portal stood in front of him. The destination was obscured, but he could feel the presence of life on the other side. A moment passed as his momentous achievement sank into his mind, and with a flourish of pride he stood.
Azazel entered the portal, whatever waited on the other side be damned. He was to spend eternity in this hell no longer.
WC:726