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Dakon Steelsworn
Topic Started: Dec 18 2016, 10:11 PM (53 Views)
Atonement
Member Avatar
Black Sun's Zenith
Name: Dakon Steelsworn

Race: Demon

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Abilities: None

Appearance

Dakon is a man of olive skin, his dark unkempt hair is long and flows down to his shoulders. His beard is full but not excessive kept generally better kept than his hair as it hangs from his face. His body is lean and muscled belying his warrior like upbringing, he stands at 6'2" and weighs in at 180 lbs. His eyes are a deep jade green and his only other noteworthy feature is a large scar visible over his heart and one on his back evidence of being run through.

Clothing and Attire

He wears a black tunic over a blue robe. Attached to the tunic are steel plated paldrons for his shoulders as well as additional plating for his chest and thighs. This plating is thin and affords minimal protection in favor of light weight affording more mobility to the wearer. His fore arms are covered by rawhide bracers with steel plates running down the center to help deflect light blows.From his waist hangs his lone armament a simple katana named God's Breath. Legend has it that this indestructible blade only grants power to those it deems worthy. Dakon's pants are simple and made of hide and he has long since ditched his sandals for boots in preparation for his trip to Azzeth.

Around his waist is also a small satchel with many compartments. These hold coins, matches, jerky, a canteen and a world map.

Personality

Dakon is relentless. What he takes to he pursues with all his strength until he attains, it is all he's ever known how to do. To this end He is very straight forward. He is a headstrong and confident individual who will do what he feels is best for himself and his goals. His current goal, to become strong will define most of his interactions with the world and force him to cast aside his emotions when necessary.

History

They say before you die your life flashes before your eyes. I guess that's true....I thought of the moments that lead me here and all at once the memories came flooding back. It felt like a dream as the images played before my eyes. Moments, triumphs, heartbreaks all merging into one. As I fell backwards into the jade pool, my mind fell back in time to the earliest things I could remember...before it came to this.

My earliest memories of childhood are of my mother. Every summer our family would travel to a campsite by the river where we would laugh and play. The memories come in little fragments, the feeling of the sunshine on my face, the smell of a campfire, her smile. Thinking back at it that was also the last time I had seen my father smile. He had always been a stern man, and ended the youthful bliss of my childhood on my sixth year.

I was the heir to the Spellblade Legionary one of the most prestigious sword schools in the nation. Legends say the style had been founded far before the great war with the undead, but that was when it was first noticed by history. The Founder, Medren Steelsworn made the style famous, helping to drive back the hordes and was said to have fought alongside the likes of Roshoin Desviti, the First Hero. As a result of his actions he was gifted our family's cherished heirloom God's Breath, the finest katana I have ever seen.

I don't think I ever questioned that I was supposed to be great once in my life, after all I was, as my father used to say the true heir. I don't know what drove my father to do what he did, to try to become the best, all I knew was that I wanted to be just like him. I spent the years training, ingraining and being ingrained into the dojo. My hands were callused from keeping it spotless and my knees sore from the wood floor but my spirit never wavered.

In the summers I would sweat, and in the winters I would brave the snow and harsh conditions. I wasn't alone either my father had me enrolled among his other disciples, and I as the true heir was expected to be the best. There was a time that I was. I took to the art of the blade like a fish to water, I would strive hard to be like my father.

The early years I was without equal, my style was refined and I rose to the top of my class. Yet our school was not just famous for it's swordsmanship, it was it's particular style of melding spells and bladework that had earned them their name The Spellblade Legionary. My father was also a master of the mystic arts and this is where I failed him and ultimately where his resent for me grew.

Unlike the rest of my peers I had no talent for magic whatsoever. It wasn't long before that had become apparent, and their ridicule of me began. Undaunted I refined my technique, but it became evident with time that no progress would ever be made. I didn't want to disappoint my father, I was as he said, I was the true heir.

As I reached my teen years the entire family dynamic had changed. My mother was weary, a result of my fathers embitterment over my failures. I don't think I ever saw her smile then. Due to mounting pressure from my lack of progress and my aging my father was forced to appoint his best student as the new heir. It would mark the first time in anyone's memory the title of Grandmaster would be appointed to an outsider. It was my fathers greatest failure and his greatest shame. I think that was when his drinking started.

For years I buried it, pushed it down. Trained. I would never be the heir. That's what they had said, but I couldn't believe it. I had to try, I had to become strong. It wasn't till the last few months that my fate had truly been sealed. After long last my father's number one disciple had finally succeeded in mastering all the techniques my father had to offer.

A ceremony had been set, and news spread throughout the land of the next man to be appointed to Grandmaster of the Spellblade Legionary. A man that was not, and now never could be me. I guess looking back at it that was the incident that truly brought me to here and now. I still remember the cool fall air and the sound of rustling leaves as I entered the dojo that night. I had come to say goodbye to the sword that I had one day hoped to wield.

I carefully removed God's Breath from it's resting place, admiring the hand work of it's brilliant crimson scabbard. I grabbed the hilt, a woven blue fiber handle with a small golden tassel and drew it, admiring it's sheen in the moonlight. I felt regret, not just for my own failures, I had become a fine swordsman, just not the kind my father had wanted. Just not a true heir.

"You have no right to wield that sword!"

I don't think I'll ever forget that drunkenly slurred statement. I turned to face him, his blade was already drawn, an anger on his face I don't think I can ever unsee. What happen next is hard to remember, I tried to reason with him, but I couldn't, and despite being drunk my dad was still a master. I don't remember much other than the end, I tried to defend myself and I had succeeded. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor. I cried, my eyes filling with tears as I wiped them away with blood covered hands. Was this why I had wanted to become strong?

I fled that night. I didn't look back. I can say in the weeks that followed I heard of the rumors of the murder of the former Grandmaster my father, and of his thieving son that had stolen the family treasure. I don't know why I kept the sword. Maybe I figured I needed protection and took it, that's what the logical part of me says. The real me? I wanted something to remind me of home, of my mother, of the summers we spent together as a family.

As I fled from Siciny I decided I would atone. I would follow my dream, the dream that killed my father to the end. During my travels I fought bandits and righted wrongs as a travelling swordsman to earn coin until I heard of a rumor. An unnatural race of creatures popping up on an island off the coast of Alendia called Azzeth. Ever in pursuit of strength I headed to the island. I suppose I saw it as an opportunity, a chance to make a name for myself.

It wasn't easy to convince a local for passage to the island but I managed to barter my way there. The first nights were quiet. I spent days exploring before I began to feel like I was being watched. On the fourth night my suspicions were confirmed. I had been moving inland in search of food and freshwater and my pack had long since emptied. As I lay against a tree near a befouled pond I heard something moving in the water.

It emerge with a grotesque chattering noise, an abomination of flesh, its multiple limbs supporting a mass with many faces. They clacked and clicked as it dragged itself from the muck and towards me. I rose to my feet, adrenaline beginning to pump through my blood. This was it! I finally found one. Yet just as I had gotten my hopes up I was let down. Even an amateur could tell this beast would be no challenge.

It took another slow step towards me its hideous form useless, slow and dull. I drew my blade sprinting towards it intending to end it in one go, and I did just that. Unsheathing my sword I brought it to bare against it's exposed flesh. My strike cleaved through the creature, it's morose body separating with a spray of fine red mist. How useless...I thought as it fell lifelessly back into the water. These creatures were not strong.

"AGHhh!"

I spat as my body was throttled from behind, a clawed hand ripping into my chest cavity and out the other side of me. My eyes felt so suddenly heavy as I began to cough blood, my ears filling with a familiar chattering sound. Like this? I felt so ashamed. I died letting my guard down, to an enemy I had perceived as weak, as beneath me. I really was a failure, my father had been right about me all along. As I fell backward into the pool the creature had emerged from and my breathing began to slow I wished I could have been strong. Perhaps if I was stronger I could have felt warm again and just like that the memories of my sunny childhood faded with me. I let go of God's Breath, I let go of everything.

Tokens & Traits

Regenerate 1, Second Heart

God's Breath Enchantments : Mastercraft




Edited by Atonement, Jan 27 2017, 01:08 AM.
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