[CHAR] ⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

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 N A M E :
N A M E :

"He can't seem to conjure up what it was..."

 A G E  O F  D E A T H :
A G E  O F  D E A T H :

"His age pushes over 1000, yet he can't place an exact number."

 R A C E :
R A C E :

"He is a human, that's known for sure."

 G E N D E R :
G E N D E R :

"There is no doubt that he is a male."

 P S Y C H O L O G Y :
P S Y C H O L O G Y :

"Despite the smog that covers his brain the brashness and impetuousness shine through. He stands stubborn as he forces himself to try to play blocked memories of the past. Confusion, loss, anger, course through his mind as he stands in a land on the brink."

Memories of the past find themselves locked away...

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
 W H A T  Y O U  C A N  R E M E M B E R :
W H A T  Y O U  C A N  R E M E M B E R :

  {M A N Y  L I V E S  L I V E D  B Y  O N E :}
{M A N Y  L I V E S  L I V E D  B Y  O N E :}

For a mind so full of memories of years past, not but one stands evident as full. Fragments of glipese upon different lives in different ages flood his mindscape as he can only catch but fleeting looks at once full experiences. Distorted calls and singing within a language of old but to his mind a warmth spread when it crossed his concious. Memories meld and mix in a hazey convocation as sights of spears made of crude iron and wood turn to blades of tempered steel, turn to the wood of a smoothbore. Different memories, different times, different lives. Although he had not but a clue of who he was, he could tell he was a man who has lived a long, long time.

[1] When he awoke, the dirt and grime that surrounded him was naught but sparse. The armor he wore, ruined by a glimpse he couldn't see through the fog, sat roughly upon his body while within his hand he grips but an almost pristine iron dagger. His mind draws upon blanks on its origin, it his body seems to know it inside and out. The blade still as sharp as the day it was forged as he ran a thumb across it. For some reason, it was an item so familiar his body kept track of the movements for it that for him was hidden behind the fog of his mind.

[2] He doesn't know what he feels, but he can feel it. A burn. A scorch mark upon his soul. A fire that rages with the screaming shouts of but hundreds of voices with an anger that fuels it further. Red tendrils light up his veins as the ire consumes him. Sparks of power glow from his body as it taps into a power so familiar he can call it, yet for distant it refuses to follow his call, refuses to spark its energy any further. It stands as a mystery for as when the red tendrils fade from view, he can feel the power slowly being ripped from him.

 W H A T  Y O U  C A N ' T  R E M E M B E R :
W H A T  Y O U  C A N ' T  R E M E M B E R :

  {F O R  A S  I  H O L D  T H E  H A T E  O F  M Y  T R I B E ,
{F O R  A S  I  H O L D  T H E  H A T E  O F  M Y  T R I B E ,
  I  S H A L L  M A K E  T H E  G O D S  F E E L  I T S  R E C K O N I N G :}
I  S H A L L  M A K E  T H E  G O D S  F E E L  I T S  R E C K O N I N G :}

Many say the Gods are not such beings one should cross; however, for man who has but naught to lose, no such regard is held. 

For as his God, Comjir, had been forsaken to die upon the holy fields, he was the only surviving worshiper left to enact but only pain on these Gods who had wronged his own and had wronged himself. And so began his journey, to slay those who stood as idols for Gods who but turn their back on their godly brother in the persuit of power. Idol after idol had been felled by his hands. Temples for these wicked God burned and demolished at his word. Yet, in his journey, there was but one idol who escaped his grasp. One idol who got away. One idol who had managed to best him.

It is but always the cowards who use cheap tricks. He was caught in a trap, surrounded by idols of wicked gods, once good men trapped in the talons of evil. And but for him? The man who defied the Gods? By their might, he was left on that field alone. Torn. Broke. Shattered. As blood spewed forth from his lips, one last thought crossed his mind: "One day they shall cower."

He can't seem to remember the tricks he once knew...

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_______________________________ _{_{N A M E : N A M E :}} "He can't seem to conjure up what it was..." _{_{A G E O F D E A T H : A G E O F D E A T H :}} "His age pushes over 1000, yet he can't place an exact number." _{_{R A C E : R A C E :}} "He is a human, that's known for sure." _{_{G E N D E R : G E N D E R :}} "There is no doubt that he is a male." _{_{P S Y C H O L O G Y : P S Y C H O L O G Y :}} "Despite the smog that covers his brain the brashness and impetuousness shine through. He stands stubborn as he forces himself to try to play blocked memories of the past. Confusion, loss, anger, course through his mind as he stands in a land on the brink." Memories of the past find themselves locked away... _______________________________	_______________________________________________________________________________ _{W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N R E M E M B E R :} _{_{_{{M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :} {M A N Y L I V E S L I V E D B Y O N E :}}}} For a mind so full of memories of years past, not but one stands evident as full. Fragments of glipese upon different lives in different ages flood his mindscape as he can only catch but fleeting looks at once full experiences. Distorted calls and singing within a language of old but to his mind a warmth spread when it crossed his concious. Memories meld and mix in a hazey convocation as sights of spears made of crude iron and wood turn to blades of tempered steel, turn to the wood of a smoothbore. Different memories, different times, different lives. Although he had not but a clue of who he was, he could tell he was a man who has lived a long, long time. [1] When he awoke, the dirt and grime that surrounded him was naught but sparse. The armor he wore, ruined by a glimpse he couldn't see through the fog, sat roughly upon his body while within his hand he grips but an almost pristine iron dagger. His mind draws upon blanks on its origin, it his body seems to know it inside and out. The blade still as sharp as the day it was forged as he ran a thumb across it. For some reason, it was an item so familiar his body kept track of the movements for it that for him was hidden behind the fog of his mind. [2] He doesn't know what he feels, but he can feel it. A burn. A scorch mark upon his soul. A fire that rages with the screaming shouts of but hundreds of voices with an anger that fuels it further. Red tendrils light up his veins as the ire consumes him. Sparks of power glow from his body as it taps into a power so familiar he can call it, yet for distant it refuses to follow his call, refuses to spark its energy any further. It stands as a mystery for as when the red tendrils fade from view, he can feel the power slowly being ripped from him. _{W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R : W H A T Y O U C A N ' T R E M E M B E R :} _{_{_{{F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E , {F O R A S I H O L D T H E H A T E O F M Y T R I B E ,}}}_{_{_{I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :} I S H A L L M A K E T H E G O D S F E E L I T S R E C K O N I N G :}}}} Many say the Gods are not such beings one should cross; however, for man who has but naught to lose, no such regard is held. For as his God, Comjir, had been forsaken to die upon the holy fields, he was the only surviving worshiper left to enact but only pain on these Gods who had wronged his own and had wronged himself. And so began his journey, to slay those who stood as idols for Gods who but turn their back on their godly brother in the persuit of power. Idol after idol had been felled by his hands. Temples for these wicked God burned and demolished at his word. Yet, in his journey, there was but one idol who escaped his grasp. One idol who got away. One idol who had managed to best him. It is but always the cowards who use cheap tricks. He was caught in a trap, surrounded by idols of wicked gods, once good men trapped in the talons of evil. And but for him? The man who defied the Gods? By their might, he was left on that field alone. Torn. Broke. Shattered. As blood spewed forth from his lips, one last thought crossed his mind: "One day they shall cower." He can't seem to remember the tricks he once knew... _______________________________________________________________________________

Age of Death: — 25
Gender: — Male
Race: — Human
Psychology: —  He has a calm demeanor, almost stoic but not all the way there. But beneath his exterior lies a brave and driven person. A loyal and caring person that values his friends and family. Once he sets his mind to something, it can be hard to be convinced otherwise. Also, has a strange affinity with coins, and likes to have some on his person if just to flip them on occasion.

⑇⑉What You Remember⑉⑈

[Friendly Sparring]
The smell of the ocean and the sound of steel clash rang out as an intense fight was going on. Then the sound of a disarm and a fall, but instead of a final blow or a death cry. There was only laughter as a warm hand headed down to help the downed. It felt like a scene he had seen before but repeated several times with this person, with only this one being one of warmth and perhaps something more. A feeling he could not decipher right now. What this was about, and why was this such a friendly encounter this time?                       

⑴ When he wakes up in this world, in his hands lay two swords, two short swords made of steel but with runes etched on the blade. Runes that he could not decipher but felt a connection with. It felt familiar, and it weighed less than what you would expect. Making it ideal to be used in one hand and even more so with one in each hand.          

⑵ Despite being blind, he is still able to see through a means thanks to his lineage. However, as he will notice, it is not like a normal human's vision and something that he will have to get used to. Lines outline each thing, both the living and the nonliving. Faces are not easily seen, but he can see some features, and at least there is color to this vision. It being day or night matters little to him and he can still clearly see despite it. He can tell people and things apart despite this and if he focuses enough. He can almost see something more, but right now, it escapes him.

⑇⑉What You Don’t ⑉⑈

[This Ends Here]
 For as long as he can remember. There was a monster, some kind of specter, that haunted his family for generations. Due to some curse that plagued the family due to their unique power. He thought his father managed to kill the thing, but instead, his father made a deal with it. A terrible deal that when his father died. This deal was transferred to his older sibling, and she became its host. For years, it wore his sister's skin until one day when he was forced to kill his sister, and it simply moved into another sibling. 

Tired of this specter, he, with allies, made a plan, and while it worked, at first, it started to fail, and he knew what he had to do. He to destroy this specter once and for all. He sacrificed himself to end the specter. His last wish was that his family would finally be freed from this curse and be able to live in peace. Hoping that his sacrifice was not in vain.

[CHAR] ⇜ Deicide ⇝ [Dark Fantasy Isekai]

Festive Homo Ex Imagine Dei Partus Est

Theyra