DAO [MYRMIDON]
Sept 24, 2014 14:23:25 GMT
Post by Dao on Sept 24, 2014 14:23:25 GMT
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[attr="class","bio"]NAME
Dao
GROUP
Feroxi
AGE
17
BIRTHDAY
November 27
WEAPON
Sword
CLASSES
Myrmidon, Mercenary, Wyvern Rider, Thief
POSITIVES
Adaptive, Curious, Cunning, Ambitious, Determined, Focused, Sharp, Intuitive, Self Reliant
NEGATIVES
Desperate, Brutal, Frugal, Hateful, Unforgiving, Untrusting, Untrustworthy, Obsessive, Selfish
BIO
A normal life had been granted to the infant, that despite all the trouble the world was facing, the sheer fact that such normalcy in itself was a miracle. Born to a pair of loving parents, Dao had been named something else. A different name, and a different life. One that should have been lived side by side with the people he would have come to love and only in death should the parents and offspring have parted. And in death did they part, it was just too soon.
He had been seven years old, just somewhat old enough to properly wield a sword under the tutelage of his father who had wanted to pass down his knowledge to his only child, when it began. Due to political climate of the Feroxi Lands, along with the living conditions that had been presented to his life, protection had always been handled by his parents. Though his father had always been the better swordsman, his loving mother was never too far behind in terms of skill and strength. To him, the child, his parents were the perfect pair. Not even the dangerous wolves and beasts of the area were a match for them. Yet the wolves that his heroes had battled could not hold a candle against the workings of a well oiled raid.
His temple had been bleeding when he came to the image of the quaint little house he had lived in being burnt whole. He had not known the meaning of the word but in his very bones could the child feel sorrow. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tried to get up. Stubby, weak, pathetic legs continued to push in a vain attempt to get up. He didn't know what he had to do, just that he had to do something. To find his parents, the heroes who always knew what had to be done. He moved forward, his body desperately trying to keep up with his mind.
And all he had been rewarded with was the sight of his parents gone. Falling down to the ground with those lifeless eyes. Something in him, young as he was, snapped. Reason and logic was thrown irresponsibly at the sight of such madness. He didn't care if the sword he had was too heavy or if he didn't even know how to swing one. None of it mattered because all he needed to know was to point the sharp end of the weapon at those monsters that killed his loved ones. He screamed, ran, tore his throat out sore and all he had gained from that was boot to the side of his head.
Cold, blinded, and in excruciating pain. The child's body had no choice but to shut down.
Dreary and blighted years rolled along and the sword in his hands was heavy. Heavier than he ever remembered it being. Yet the fire inside him continued to be stoked, fed with the fuel of revenge towards the monster that had taken him in. It did not matter if he was tired, or that his limbs may as well have been broken. He was going to commit to the promise that had plagued him for the past three years. And as he circled around the image of the pseudo-father-figure that had caused this curse on him, the ten year old child stabbed forward with all the grace of a bastard. Hacking and slashing at the wooden pole with his rusty sword. Unkempt the blade had been, long chips and cracks present on it, but nonetheless the child continued to train. He continued to sharpen his fangs. Fangs that, if his wish were to come true, would sink themselves on the neck of a greater beast.
Time continued to elapse and the opportunity refused to present itself. It did not matter that he had stained his own hands with the blood of innocents. It did not matter that he had taken lives that need not have been snuffed away. To him, the sole thing that mattered was revenge. Revenge, revenge, revenge, and revenge for the people he loved. His body had grown, his reflexes becoming sharper, and further did he grow side by side with the man that had taken him in. That confident smile present on the older male, he wanted to wipe it off. Preferably with his own two hands.
And they continued along, more and more time passing by. The young man continued to live by the way of the sword, tainted and blindly following his own ambition. Ignorant of the world and its happenings, being pulled along with the invisible leash around his neck, 'Dao' simply had no choice but to continue forward---that maybe his wish upon a dying star would be granted eventually.
OTHER
Dao, in recent years after incurring a loss due to an unkempt weapon, had taken it upon himself to always keep his weapon in mint condition. He knows nothing of the world around him, and the only thing he knows how to properly do are house keeping and swinging his sword around---as attested by living on the road with a party of raiding bandit mercenaries. Carries with him just a fraction of blood from the lands of Chon'Sin, from his mother's side. Carries with him a black rock pendant, a supposed 'heirloom' of his deceased father.
FACE-CLAIM
NO. 6, NEZUMI
Dao
GROUP
Feroxi
AGE
17
BIRTHDAY
November 27
WEAPON
Sword
CLASSES
Myrmidon, Mercenary, Wyvern Rider, Thief
POSITIVES
Adaptive, Curious, Cunning, Ambitious, Determined, Focused, Sharp, Intuitive, Self Reliant
NEGATIVES
Desperate, Brutal, Frugal, Hateful, Unforgiving, Untrusting, Untrustworthy, Obsessive, Selfish
BIO
A normal life had been granted to the infant, that despite all the trouble the world was facing, the sheer fact that such normalcy in itself was a miracle. Born to a pair of loving parents, Dao had been named something else. A different name, and a different life. One that should have been lived side by side with the people he would have come to love and only in death should the parents and offspring have parted. And in death did they part, it was just too soon.
He had been seven years old, just somewhat old enough to properly wield a sword under the tutelage of his father who had wanted to pass down his knowledge to his only child, when it began. Due to political climate of the Feroxi Lands, along with the living conditions that had been presented to his life, protection had always been handled by his parents. Though his father had always been the better swordsman, his loving mother was never too far behind in terms of skill and strength. To him, the child, his parents were the perfect pair. Not even the dangerous wolves and beasts of the area were a match for them. Yet the wolves that his heroes had battled could not hold a candle against the workings of a well oiled raid.
His temple had been bleeding when he came to the image of the quaint little house he had lived in being burnt whole. He had not known the meaning of the word but in his very bones could the child feel sorrow. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tried to get up. Stubby, weak, pathetic legs continued to push in a vain attempt to get up. He didn't know what he had to do, just that he had to do something. To find his parents, the heroes who always knew what had to be done. He moved forward, his body desperately trying to keep up with his mind.
And all he had been rewarded with was the sight of his parents gone. Falling down to the ground with those lifeless eyes. Something in him, young as he was, snapped. Reason and logic was thrown irresponsibly at the sight of such madness. He didn't care if the sword he had was too heavy or if he didn't even know how to swing one. None of it mattered because all he needed to know was to point the sharp end of the weapon at those monsters that killed his loved ones. He screamed, ran, tore his throat out sore and all he had gained from that was boot to the side of his head.
Cold, blinded, and in excruciating pain. The child's body had no choice but to shut down.
Dreary and blighted years rolled along and the sword in his hands was heavy. Heavier than he ever remembered it being. Yet the fire inside him continued to be stoked, fed with the fuel of revenge towards the monster that had taken him in. It did not matter if he was tired, or that his limbs may as well have been broken. He was going to commit to the promise that had plagued him for the past three years. And as he circled around the image of the pseudo-father-figure that had caused this curse on him, the ten year old child stabbed forward with all the grace of a bastard. Hacking and slashing at the wooden pole with his rusty sword. Unkempt the blade had been, long chips and cracks present on it, but nonetheless the child continued to train. He continued to sharpen his fangs. Fangs that, if his wish were to come true, would sink themselves on the neck of a greater beast.
Time continued to elapse and the opportunity refused to present itself. It did not matter that he had stained his own hands with the blood of innocents. It did not matter that he had taken lives that need not have been snuffed away. To him, the sole thing that mattered was revenge. Revenge, revenge, revenge, and revenge for the people he loved. His body had grown, his reflexes becoming sharper, and further did he grow side by side with the man that had taken him in. That confident smile present on the older male, he wanted to wipe it off. Preferably with his own two hands.
And they continued along, more and more time passing by. The young man continued to live by the way of the sword, tainted and blindly following his own ambition. Ignorant of the world and its happenings, being pulled along with the invisible leash around his neck, 'Dao' simply had no choice but to continue forward---that maybe his wish upon a dying star would be granted eventually.
OTHER
Dao, in recent years after incurring a loss due to an unkempt weapon, had taken it upon himself to always keep his weapon in mint condition. He knows nothing of the world around him, and the only thing he knows how to properly do are house keeping and swinging his sword around---as attested by living on the road with a party of raiding bandit mercenaries. Carries with him just a fraction of blood from the lands of Chon'Sin, from his mother's side. Carries with him a black rock pendant, a supposed 'heirloom' of his deceased father.
FACE-CLAIM
NO. 6, NEZUMI
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