Post by Deimian Kyrikk on May 12, 2019 11:44:11 GMT -8
Basic Information
Name: Deimian Relus Kyrikk
Nickname(s): None (yet)
Age: 17 (February 23)
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 150
Blood Type: O+
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Eye Color: Solid Black
Hair: Blood red
Pass Time Information
Hobbies: Listening to nature; Tai-chi, meditation, reading and reciting poetry
Talents: Walking around blindly, reading in brail, listening
Favorite things: Birds, poetry (Shakespeare & T.S. Eliot)
Miscellaneous: Blind, walks around with a cane topped with his family's crest. Speaks with an English accent (heightened received pronunciation).
Mental Information
Personality: Over the years, Deimian has learned that sharing kindness with everyone is a way to give life in little ways as atonement for what he has done. He's also very curious, and attentive.
Mentality: Completely mentally intact (90%?? of the time)
Ideal: “Humble servanthood is the highest position to lead in life.”
Belief: There is darkness, but is there light?
Physical Information
Build: Pretty scrawny
Defining Marks: Rather than eyes, within the sockets are swirling spheres of darkness; there are scars around his arms from where he burnt himself as a child
On the back of his right hand is the Kyrikk family crest; the Arabic is the symbol for "rooted"
Around his left eye is the Aedrian citizen mark:
And around his eyes is a black bandage wrap.
Description: Nearly vampirically pale; wears a black wrap around his eyes. He's almost always wearing a Nobleman's clothes, with fancy designs of dark red embroidery in silk clothing. Or suits. Most of his clothes represent the family color red.
History Information
History:
What would one expect from the child of powerful mages? Power? Skill? Technique? Truly, in the great kingdom of Aedria, there is little not expected. Those certain mages with a well established name should have a child that is beyond them in skill, for even comparable prowess would disappoint. Beginning many years ago on the floating islands of Territory #43, this was the standard that onlookers silently pleaded Deimian Kyrikk to reach. His story is not one of a disappointment, however. He achieved such a goal. As a toddler, he showed natural interest and talent, and brilliant skill and technique at twice the age. Every citizen fed him attention and pride, and it filled the air he breathed. It hung in the atmosphere around him, and he became addicted to its scent. There was only one thing that could damage it all, a particular interest kept behind closed curtains: the dark arts.
Though not every Aedrian held the same conviction, the Kyrikk line — and those with different blood but similar titles such as sister, brother, father, mother — did not approve of the practice. It was kept hidden, and Deimian used his expertise in the other areas to further the shadowed one. His focus landed on a certain aspect of the cryptic practice: the dimension of pure darkness. Some called it Hell, others Hades, and still others the Underworld. Though names differed and descriptions spoke of varying details, they all unknowingly told of the same realm, and every description was correct. It was naturally only reached by the unforgivable following death, which is what gave Deimian such satisfaction. He wanted to access it and its power while his feet remained standing on the land of the living.
In truth, concealed behind a deeper veil, a veil of heart and spirit, there burned a desire- no… a desperate lust for more recognition and power; more victory over an eternal battle between him and a loss of identity. Thus he held onto the lust tighter than any stronghold in his mind. Others fell one by one; first, small trivial desires, then self care habits, and onward until the collapse of the last mental fortress: morality. Without the final tower that halted attacks on his psyche, Deimian wished to test his power in a way he never before would have imagined.
Shrouded in lightless quiet, the Kyrikk boy hovered weightlessly between the soft emerald grass and the moonless ceiling of clouds above him. Eyes throughout the territory closed in slumber, but spellbooks surrounding him open. Carried by the occasional chilling breeze were whispers falling like mist from the lips of Deimian. They rode upon the intangible currents and off the edge of the island only a few paces before him. If any invisible soul listened closely, it could hear an incantation, or a prayer, to a sinister being more powerful than him that resided in the his favorite region of study.
The once continuous trickle of words came to cease. A sudden presence became a dam of the tongue. Never before in the boy's life had silence pierced his ears so sharply. No physical disturbance had taken place. No senses of the body were prophesying of attacks to come. Only his soul was disturbed, his innermost being. We are not alone, his spirit whispered to his mind of the material. “Have you come for me?” Deimian uttered with a twisted mix of fear and impatient desire.
Without a voice of response, the presence rushed into his body, filling every vessel of blood and sparking every nerve fiber. It became a second body residing in the same point as his in the plane of time and space. Deimian fell forward from force of the unseen impact. The earth grasped at his hands, and his hands fell defenseless into it, grabbing at the dirt from the transcendent turmoil within him. The boy's movements themselves felt different, as if the presence within him must first allow him to move before the action was possible. Once Deimian opened his eyes, he could see thin wisps of pure darkness, like blackened smoke, drifting from his skin into nothingness.
Arising to his knees, the young mage gazed upon his hands that curled into fists. Uncontrollable laughter slithered out of him and into the night. He could feel the new power, fed by a dimension far below the earth.
Surely this was where satisfaction was found. Surely the testing of power could meet its end at the end of the territory in the dark field. But his mind, now attached to demonic strings, begged for more. He could feel the malevolent puppeteer control his thoughts. This power needs a test, his own whisper echoed in his skull. His eyes, pulled by a hidden force, fell upon the only house that held within it countless recollections, the only house home to two bodies from which his own came. In that moment, the last remnant of his moral castle, the last pile of rubble, fell apart. The last internal plea whimpering for repentance was met with a scream of rage, pride, and lust for power. A fire from the dark realm overtook the books that he once required as Deimian arose to his feet. The wind fled from his suspended body as the possessed child flew across the plain to the structure his eyes were set upon.
The fleshy curtain across Lucius Kyrikk's eyes lifted as a voice woke him. The vision before him was his own son, shadows swimming about the air around him, raging black fire surrounding his closed hands. Every muscle within the man jerked in a struggle to stand. “Olive,” his frightened voice called to his wife, who was in the same state as her husband. She cast a defensive shield around their house, so that any disaster to come would not harm those beyond.
“Son,” Lucius's trembling voice began. “What happened to you?”
“Can you not see?” Deimian smiled as he rotated his hands as an evil display. “I've finally become more powerful than you.”
“Deimian you're scaring us,” Olive confessed, tears forming as her hands readied for attack.
Lucius did the same. “I don't know what you're thinking, but please son, stand down.”
“You're right to be afraid.” The flames surrounding his hands began to crawl up his arm, fueled by the last word spoke. “But soon you'll be at peace.”
The flames erupted as various colors of spells flashed. The house once filled with joy and memories was ripped apart; the wood splintered, the happiness snuffed, the glass shattered, and the love of a family crushed. In one night, the Kyrikk name cracked and fell to pieces.
Rubble surrounded him, and the barrier surrounding where the house once stood flicked and vanished with the life of its caster.
Deimian fell to his knees. The presence within him became unstable. “What is happening?” It shuttered and shivered, shaking his spirit like a supernatural trembling of the earth. “No, no!” Fractures formed across his inward heart, allowing terror and fear to seep through. His body began to shake violently with his soul, keeping him from pleading for release. All his power, all that was learned before, seemed to leak from his body and fall away, never to be recovered; piles of grained power slipping through his paralyzed hands. Only the power of darkness remained, and as if some twisted reminder, his sight became a testament to the fact. All light around him retreated from his vision, leaving the one thing he always thought he wanted: darkness. The presence had vanished, leaving behind a corpse still breathing.
"Muthuh.. Fathuh..." the boy whimpered. Like the darkness that filled his eyes, a dark cloud of regret, self-hatred, and grief wrapped around his heart, crushing his soul relentlessly as if a coiling snake.
The cycles spun around the growing child as time dragged his lifeless spirit through the years. The citizens of Aedria knew only that a malevolent spirit attacked the Kyrikk family, and not that it commanded a small body during the attack. The Kyrikk boy, however, lost his recognition in the territory. His eyes of shadows scared children, his blindness and powerlessness made him useless and worthless in the eyes of adults. As if the wicked spirit took it upon its leave, purpose had left him, and all that remained was crippling regret and grief. He was looked at as an Ardhanian living on Aaru.
There was only one person that cared for him: Jace Temples. As the son of a couple Deimian's parents had been long friends with, he was always an older brother figure. He took Deimian in soon after the incident, and found books meant for those who had lost their sight. They became the boy's new purpose; he devoted himself to reading them everyday. Within a year, he could read in the language. It took another two years, but he finally confessed to Jace what had really happened. Following a couple days to process, and fully work through, the two became closer for it. Deimian confessed also to his caretaker that he wanted to lose all power that he had left. Jace encouraged the kid to seek out an Academy to the East, known as Cabal Academy. If anyone would be able to remove his power, it would be those in charge there. Deimian agreed, and left with a Zabal trio to venture across the continent.
Stats:
[Starting: Atk: 5, Def: 10, Spd: 10, Per: 10, Eng: 15]
Base:
Atk: 5 {/25}
Def: 10 {/25}
Spd: 12 {/25}
Per: 10 {/25}
Eng: 16{/25}
With Items:
Atk: 5
Def: 10
Spd: 12
Per: 10
Eng: 16
Base:
Atk: 5 {/25}
Def: 10 {/25}
Spd: 12 {/25}
Per: 10 {/25}
Eng: 16{/25}
With Items:
Atk: 5
Def: 10
Spd: 12
Per: 10
Eng: 16
Qi:
Hell's Blessing
1. (Zero Ability) Hellfire: Deimian covers his fists in raging black fire, delivering searing punches. 50% of his Eng to Atk.
2. Temptations:
3. Summons:
4. True Face:
5. Sulfuric Acid:
6 Demon Wings:
Hell's Blessing
Desc.: Deimian has the ability to summon power from the realm of darkness itself. Hades, Hell, the Underworld, whatever you wish to call it, the powers within it reside within Deimian. When in use, black wisps of pure darkness float off of him, and he hovers above the ground a couple inches (purely aesthetic; can still be tripped/affected by ground environment)
3. Summons:
4. True Face:
5. Sulfuric Acid:
6 Demon Wings:
Items:
Head:
Chest:
Hands:
Legs:
Feet:
Misc.:
Misc.:
Special:
Chest:
Hands:
Legs:
Feet:
Misc.:
Misc.:
Special: