IULDEN ANASTHAS
Crown-Prince of the Four SwordsMale.
Race: Archelves (Ushelves), sometimes referred to as star elves. According to legend they descended from the stars to live amongst the other races. Distinctly different from most other sentient life, as their hairline consists partially of bird-like feather protrusions, often grown from either side of the skull in symbiotic persistence with more conventional hair growth. In addition, their strange albeit largely aesthetic eyes have garnered them both fame, reverence, and infamy, as their eyes and their unnatural glow provides them with an exceptional presence. Unlike most ocular organs, these eyes reflect a large portion of whatever light enters, thusly making them appear glowing, therefore granting them both poor vision and heightened sense of hearing. However, their nighttime vision as a result is increasingly impressive, more potent than even feline predators. Beyond this the Ushelves maintain common traits, such as slender and tall bodies with agile dispositions and compressed muscle-mass.
Personality: The once-prince of the Ushelves is an increasingly bitter life due to what he remembers of the past, defeated in fact. Depressed but sharp-witted, silver-tongued, and an odd-joker, with all this in combination, makes him a rather strange companion for others to entertain should the find themselves in his presence for longer than expected. Having been humbled by the memories of his past, his sense of capabilities has been dwarfed in addition, making his skills difficult to manifest unless given assistance. As such, he is self-destructive in seclusion, but given the right support, may provide an exceptional asset. The estranged drive towards the summit being the only real force of will put into his crumbling mind, a drive that most certainly illustrates the utter oddity of the drive's existence in and of itself, as one glimps upon the once proud and mighty elven prince and general leaves little expectations for his future beyond darkness.
Appearance: Iulden Anasthas was once a tall and noble warrior, capable of great feats of strenght all the whilst displaying his nigh-celestial appearance as he danced across the field of battle with his swords close at hand, but glories are only momentary, and his glory seems to have passed. The once bright crimson locks having been corrupted and despoiled by his defeat, now bearing themselves before the eyes in a dull grey. Even so, a speck of life remains in tact, with the feathers covering the left side of his head past his cut-shortened ear being the 'feathers of a king,' thusly called as the royal family of the Ushelves carried with them the genetic disposition for their feathers to bright violet appearance. Beyond his face, the man's body is scarred beyond compare, and his left arm dismembered and thereafter cut off by his foes, leading him towards a path of one-armed swordsmanship which could become quite daunting to tread.
The crown of the Ushelves rests upon his head, 9 pieces of ornamental metal melded into his flesh. The Ushelves venetrated the flame, and often utilized it to expand their appearance through "symbiosis." This basically entails the process of burning steel into the flesh, making it become part of the body.
Skills:Advanced Swordsmastery, Experienced Tactics, Adept Strategic Awareness.
Memory: "It was a reddened noon, the sun itself crying with blood. Our realms had been brought to the battlefield, with my palace, where myself and my fathered occupied ourselves at times of peace, merely minutes beyond the frontlines as the enemy crashed against our high walls and laid siege to our settlement. From the heavens rained flames and boulders, and together with my four blades I stood against the tide alongside my siblings and companions, alongside my armies and those of my father's. But our defiance would not last long, as a foe incomprehensible broke the walls and tore our security asunder. The tides had been let loose upon our homes and our people were forced into massacre.
I could do naught but watch as my father's blade shattered upon the force of his opponent's blade and its thrusts. The world quaked and moaned, as I did, with the falling of my father, and the soon-to-come death of myself. I could do nothing but utilizing everything I had to somehow produce a miracle beyond understanding, and as such I drew the blade of death, and charged at the foe who had slaughtered my progenitor.
With a swift slice from the lower left, my arms extending and retracting as the blade carried its momentum onwards, the very moons themselves would have surely shuddered, but as it came into contact, my blade of death shattered, and death itself had been defeated by this foe. I had garnered its attention thusly, but still undeterred I reach to my side, and with a swift slice from the hip, right out of the sheath, I would surely penetrate his defenses as he approached me with a world-ending charge. Again, my newly drawn blade of morning shattered upon touch, and I was forced to leap back in order to recovered even a semblance of safety.
As I tried to gain my situational awareness back, I could not help but notice that the sounds of fighting had ceased, and my surroundings were left in stillness. I shuddered, as the moons should have done at my first slash, for I realized that I was engaged in a duel with a foe, surrounded by the remainder of his armies, and the vanquished carcasses of my loyal soldiers.
Bolstered by my rage, I drew the sword of anger from my opposite hip, readying my starfall descent, a cut from above prepared by a crescent rise of both hands, joining together at the apex, to then descend with the force of the falling stars to demolish all that I sought to be destroyed.
Alas, with the crescent rise, my arm was felled and cut in a clean slice through my flesh and blood, amputating it in a clealiness incomprehensible to all who maintained reason. I gritted my teeth, my pride the only thing that allowed me to remain upright and defiant, as I screamed with grinding teeth. With the last strenght in my body I raised my right hand towards my shoulder, and drew the sword of life, but as I was in the midsts of deliverying my over-the-shoulder attack, my grip around my sword faltered, and the blade was sent soaring, as I felt my heart pierced and my gradually cooling body fall limp towards the floor."
Memento: The Seal of a Thousand Moons, a form of prosthetic, though it can be largely be described as an end-cap to protect the skin of the amputated flesh from infection and disease. The seal was placed on the end of his limb, just before the elbow, and scorched into his flesh to ensure it would forever remain. The tip is flat, but upon it is a small protrusion with a lenghty scroll attached. It was written by the ancients and supposedly brought with them from the stars in preparation for potential serious injuries amongst royalty. The scroll itself, whilst incomprehensible to all alive at his time, supposedly spoke tales and rituals to summon the stars to guide your path and aide you in battle. Iulden does not remember when it was grafted onto him, as he died during the same battle where his limb was lost.
