(Art is 100% property of Mohzart on deviantart)
Len is a tall man, standing at 6'2", and is broad-shouldered and well-tempered. He has a steely, even gaze, and a permanantly furrowed brow- likely the side-effect of constantly trying to remember something. His arms are very burly, as are his legs. Overall, he's built like a tank, and looks like he's taken plenty of blows, but put out even more. His even blue eyes, slightly bent nose, medium-length black hairs, and his bushy black beard are the most prominent features on his otherwise forgettable face. On his skin though, normally covered by many layers of loose clothing and likely more than one jacket, masses of pale, long scars trace across his body. Perhaps he's hiding something, maybe he isn't. It's not likely he'd remember anyway.
Age: 27
Sensation: Instinct
Warbrand: “The Pinch”; Once Len wills it to, the warbrand becomes rippling sheets of metal that fold into two very large multipurpose pincers that can withstand an unimaginable beating. On top of that, the warbrand possesses the uncanny ability to take on the properties of naturally occurring matter and organisms. The pincers also have a basic form of shapeshifting built in, allowing them to alter their length, density, sharpness, etc. to an extent. The weapon is simple, but truly versatile and strong in the hands of an experienced fighter.
Saving Grace: Back when Len was a child, he dreamed of becoming the king of a country he dubbed “Utopia” - the perfect place to live. As he grew up, his childish dreams became fantasies, and his fantasies evaporated into distant memories. This old hope is represented as a crude, tattered flag of a non-existent country on the left side of his chest. Thought faded and ruined, the flag still pulses dully with its old colors.
Personality: Sorry, you will see it in the roleplay! ;o
History: Six years ago, to the day, Len started losing memories. Like pennies down a well, they just disappeared. First, the insignificant memories, things he'd never need to remember or look back on fondly. His life slowly slipped away, without him even noticing. He eventually realized what was happening, but never thought it would go to the extent it did. He thought it was normal to not remember what happened on his 18th birthday, to not remember his grandfather's name, to not be able to think up the face of his mother. After all, there was plenty on his mind he had to remember, anyway. Soon, though, even important memories started draining away. His birthday, his parent’s names, where he grew up, the passcode to his phone.
But there was a way to restore the memories: action and conflict would bring in a torrent of the things. These episodes of recollection are a drug for Len. Whenever he gets in a fight, when his adrenaline is pumping, his muscles flaring, a huge portion of his memories come back, flooding his brain with euphoria and a lust for lost information. As soon as the fight is over, they slowly fade away again, like the tide on a beach.
When his warbrand appeared, he fully accepted the path of war, knowing exactly what it would mean. It would be a cure. Maybe, constant battle, constant assault, anything.. maybe it could stop the mental hemorrhaging. He embraced his fate, and he knew there was no running from it. There was no mistaking the fact he could feel battle in his bones, calling him, waiting for his passion and fury. He could feel it. He knew, without feeling, without learning, how to fight for his life. Len knew the only thing he could do was embrace his instincts and surrender himself to the path of War.
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