Post by Blake Oleander on Jan 3, 2018 7:03:26 GMT -8
Basic Information
Name: Blake Oleander
Nickname(s): The Demon of the Vale, No Brakes, The Raging Demon, The Generous God, The Frontline Canon
Age: 22
Height: 6'1
Weight: 180
Blood Type: AB-
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Eye Color: Brown
Hair: Brown
Pass Time Information
Hobbies: Practicing with his blade, reading, archery, and climbing, some woodworking.
Talents: A strong sense of direction and balance. A natural sense of movement in his proximity. Animals love him.
Favorite things: The smell of rain and freshly cut grass. The smoothness of a good whiskey, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his body, the coppery taste of blood on his tongue.
Miscellaneous: He likes to whittle and carve gifts for his friends in his spare time, something made with his own hands to express what those close to him mean to him.
Mental Information
Personality: Home and family are everything. From a young age, he was raised to hold the belief that it was the duty of all men to protect where they come from. To follow the orders of those above your station, and to focus your ambitions inward rather than outward. The measure of success was in how well one served, not in climbing above your station. If he ever questioned these teachings they were when he was young enough to have such questions quashed. This is how things were, how they were supposed to be, and it was his purpose to be the best weapon that he could be. For that was his station in life, a soldier for the 63rd district. A small parcel of territory besieged on all sides by enemies he was born into a warrior code out of necessity.
He became accustomed to death early during skirmishes with the other territories around him. He grew to enjoy the feeling of his blood pumping through his body, the taste of his blood and the uncertainty of his fate. Dancing on the edge of a blade, that's when he felt most alive. But not everyone made it out alive, and that was fine. He has learned to accept the deaths of his friends and comrades as well as his enemy as right and just. Dying for your people was the highest honor that he can achieve, and he knew there was a time that he would join the honored dead.
Much like his territory, he is young, scrappy, and hungry. When a fight or better yet a battle breaks out he throws himself into the thick of it. Welcoming the danger, he believes the best offense is a better offense. And with a strong enough offense, you don't need anything more than a token defense. He is like an arrow loosed from his Master's bow, sent to destroy with little thought about how he will return to the quiver.
He sees little need to socialize in his current situation, however. While his Elders decided to send him to the Academy as a sign of goodwill and a show of faith he did not view these people as his comrades. Not truly, he would follow orders and he will fight to the death for them as long as he is expected to. But his loyalty is to his people, and nothing these strangers can ever do to him or for him will change that. He was here to learn and to perfect that... abnormalities, that he had shown to have. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Mentality:
"I am an arrow to be loosed from my Master's bow... An arrow does not concern itself with how it will return to the quiver. Only that it strikes true!"
Ideal: Doing his duty to his people no matter the personal cost.
Belief: It is better to die for duty than live for your own happiness.
Physical Information
Build: His body is toned and athletic, honed from a lifetime of battle and training for the next battle.
Defining Marks: Scras mark most of his torso and arms. Nearly all from bladed weapons, though he does have a scar just under his heart from an arrow.
Description: He has medium length brown hair, generally messy and unkempt in perpetual bed head. His face is all but free of smile lines as his typical expression is a stony expression masking his thoughts. He tends to dress in the clothing of his people which has a distinctly Eastern flavor to it from the old world. A consequence of the founders of his territory being martial arts masters from the area.
History Information
History: He is too young to remember the world before the war. Far too young to remember his Mother of Father, both who died while the war was new and the abilities that people began to wield were foreign and beyond understanding. He was not unique in this, many young men and women in his small slice of the world suffered the same fate. He was told it felt like the world was ending, but Master Shirihama and the other Masters stepped forward when the world broke around them. With their skills, they defended those that couldn't defend themselves against these super-powered thugs and soldiers. In time people began to flock to the small safe haven that they'd created, and it began to expand over the years.
The young were trained to fight, they were not given the luxury to question it or their fate. There was no time for such things, not when life hung in the balance every day for everyone unable to protect themselves. They did what they could for the children, but necessity dictated that they needed to be warriors first, and well-rounded people second. Weapons to strike down those that would harm them. The philosophy of defense morphed over the following decades slowly becoming a philosophy of aggression. The people of the surrounding areas were enemies because they have always been. Every resource that they had could be used by Blake and his people. And likewise, the resources that they held could be used to help their enemies. None of them were large enough to halt all aggression in the area, and thus even after treaties and accords were signed there were still skirmishes. Raiding parties mostly, or assassinations. It was on all sides, a part of life. The natural order of things.
It wasn't until later in his life, after his twenty-first nameday that his aberrations manifested. It was a battle that had been fought time and time again. Water was precious and wells were prized resources. They were raiding a nearby camp that was holding the well in what they called the Emerald Vale. A wooded area far from the ruins of civilization. They'd thought they were being stealthy but it turns out they had been tracked the whole way there. When the arrows went flying three of his men fell, and Blake took one to his chest. He'd been injured many times before this, but something inside of him snapped. At first, he thought he had been poisoned as he felt a fire rip through his veins like nothing he'd ever felt before. But no toxin could do what happened to him. His right arm exploded in pain as his bones twisted and skin hardened. The sound of flesh ripping filled his ears as his nails grew long and pointed until he had a scaled claw twice the size of his other arm. He didn't have time to think about it as their enemies closed in with blades. He lashed out with his claw, ripping through their armor and flesh like it was nothing. What remained of his men fought by his side to drive them back from the well, and the day was won. But something more important than the well had surfaced.
People with abilities like this were responsible for the wrongs of the world. They had none like it among their people, purity had always been maintained. And yet Blake was now one of them. The whispers of demons were carried on the air to his ears as his comrades debated what to do with him. The argument was put forth to kill him and say he died in battle with honor. It was rebutted with how it was a blessing that would allow them to rip through their enemies. He stayed silent as they decided his fate, his own heart in turmoil over the revelation. He wasn't sure what or who he was anymore. Eventually, it was decided that such a thing was for the Elder's to decide. And so Blake was taken into custody to be presented before The Elders and his Masters. Much like the soldiers, he'd fought side by side with their opinions were split on how best to move forward.
Blake was kept in custody for three days while the Elders decided upon his fate. During this time he was met with jeers and sneers. He was called a monster, a demon, a freak. But he endured, he followed his teachings and focused his anger and uncertainty inward. Meditating on the events of the past few days and preparing himself to do his final duty. To die for the peace of mind for his people. But that was not the decision that the Elders made, it was decided that he would be sent away to a place that handled people like him. A Military force that kept watch over the land, enforcing it's will. He was to study and be a part of it, to understand it completely. The implication was clear, he was to master it and bring that knowledge back with him, as well as how to defeat it. Should the need arise...