Fantasy Curse of Ages - Character Sheet

[Siren77]

Feel free to customize however you’d like, and add whatever you feel is necessary! Segments not labeled as optional are mandatory for the CS

Name:

Physical Age:

Actual Age: (Remember to account for for their years in the Monolith)

Height:

Weight:

Appearance: (Image)

Attire: (Describe it, and have another image handy if not shown above)

Weapon of Choice: (Describe it, and have another image handy if not shown above)

Chosen Battle Art: (Info on their ability, as well as the variations accompanying it)

Resurrection Effect: (I.e. A tornado of flames, billow of clouds, a swirl of leaves. Something to that effect. Get creative!

Personality:

Do they enjoy immortality?:

Backstory: (Include necessary events leading up to being forced into immortality. As well as who/what taught them their art form, and where they got their weapon(s). Also include details of their first death, as the scar from that is the most prominent. Last required bit is how they were lured into the Monolith, and how long they’ve been there)

Theme: (optional)

Fun Facts: (optional)

Quotes: (optional)

 

[Siren77]

Name: Hana Fukushū

Physical Age: 32

Actual Age: 681

Height: 165 cm (5’5”)

Weight: 58 kg (138 lbs)

Appearance:

Attire: A lightweight and free form gown that allows for unrestricted movement. The torn remains of a Kimono is worn overtop, a tad large for Hana, and only fully able to be worn on her left side. Metal plating sits atop her forearms, with leather hide concealed beneath her clothing at her torso, hips, and thighs. She also wears a pair of lightweight, calf-height boots, perfect for stealthy movement.

Weapon of Choice: A hilt-less Nagamaki named The Seraphs Feather. Though long preserved as a relic in one of her homelands ancient temples, it eventually came into her possession until her imprisonment in The Monolith. Despite its considerable size at 136 centimeters, the blade is impossibly light and durable, making it a perfect choice for a smaller combatant like herself. The hilt is 56 cm, and the blade is 80 cm. (Will feature some art for it later)

Chosen Battle Art: Divine Arts
A secretive Art Form known only to the High Priests in Hana’s homeland. There are Seven Forms, each based upon the mythical Seraphs, and their glorious battles recorded only in the sacred texts preserved by the Priests of the Gods. Agile and Fast Paced Warriors, their reaction time and swiftness was said to be unrivaled, so the Divine Arts seek to mimic this for any Warrior fortunate enough to learn of its contents. The various forms are said to bathe the users blade in the light of the heavens.

-First Form of Divinity: Repentance
The User dashes forward, swinging with a wide arch with the intent of decapitating opponents similar in size. Can also be used to target weak points such as the back of a larger opponents legs.

-Second Form of Divinity: SkySplitter
With the blade angled vertically, the user starts low and ends high, thrusting upwards in a straight line with a powerful jump to increase the height of the slash.

-Third Form of Divinity: Guardians Halo
With the blade angled horizontally, the user spins their whole body in a circular motion, swinging their blade at full extension to maximize the diameter. Perfect when surrounded, or flanked on all sides by projectiles. Multiple rotations can be performed, at the risk of dizzying the user. Can be used midair, but only with one rotation.

-Fourth Form of Divinity: Atonement
With the blade partially sheathed, user waits for opponent to strike while in close quarters. In an instant, the user parries and then launches themselves skywards for an aerial attack. May also be used purely for evasion. Impractical for multiple targets.

-Fifth Form of Divinity: Seraphic Shatters
In a powerful overhead slash, The User can deliver a crushing blow that can be felt through the strongest of armors. Though it is the slowest of the Divine Arts, and leaves the Users front wide open. Best used on stunned opponents.

-Sixth From of Divinity: Heavens Strike
The User utilizes a powerful jump similar to the second form, using the height advantage to dash through the air with a rushed stab. The movement can be launched in any direction save for directly upwards. Movement cannot be changed mid attack, so precision and timing is key.

-Seventh Form of Divinity: Deliverance
The final variation of the Divine Arts, Deliverance is also the most difficult to perform. Gliding as if gifted wings, the User cuts down their opponents in a string of successive stabs and strikes, all occurring within an extremely short amount of time. Even the most conditioned of Warriors will be out of breath at the end, so it is wise to use this form only as a last resort.

Resurrection Effect: Upon death, Hana’s body shatters into a flurry of Cherry Blossom petals that dance in the wind for a time. When the time comes for revival, the blossoms swirl in a vortex until Hana reappears in the center of it all.

Personality: Quiet, Cold, and Composed. Hana harbors a strong bearing over herself and her emotions, such that it rarely come across that she feels anything at all. There’s certainly no joy are any light emotion about her, though her sphinx exterior can often be broken through frustration, often with other people. She’s self reliant, refusing to trust others unless being given a logical reason to do so. Respect in others is far from her, though can be earned should they prove themselves capable and useful to her. However It’s only a means to an end for her. Her goals are the only thing of importance to her, all else is merely a distraction in her eyes. While trust and respect might be earned, she won’t even blink if that same person is slaughtered before her, thinking death just another necessary casualty for her own success. No sympathy, no regret, only Hana’s own resolve.

Do they enjoy immortality?: Absolutely Not.

Backstory:

Spoiler: Its fucking long .-.

Fate is a fickle thing in terms of those destined to serve under the Gods Will. They are promised from a young age all that they desire, in exchange for their servitude and devotion to the Divine. Some hold this responsibility well, demanding nothing more than what was needed, making the service towards the Gods it’s own reward. Others, demand the world. Everything they lay eyes on that so much as catches their interest for a moment must be theirs, with greed consuming their souls. They become corrupt, which is masked behind how they present themselves to their public. But evil is always punished, one way or another.

One such High Priest was Juro Banta, a prodigy within the Holy Temple of the city Chennma (Teichi province). Just weeks after his ascension on high, he dound a certain fascination with a woman who was seemingly far beyond his reach. With his ego far too inflated for his win good, he approached the woman, attempting to court her thinking his status would do all the work for him. All he was greeted with was an unimpressed glare, and a request to leave her be. He felt angry to have been rejected so quickly. She’d not even given him the slightest chance! Him! A High Priest to the Gods! This would not do. He had it made up in his mind that he was owed this, owed the most beautiful woman he’d thought to ever lay eyes upon. So it became an obsession. Week after week, month after month, he tried and failed again and again to court the woman. The most he ever learned of her was her name, Hana Kuriko.

Juro tried all manner of tactics to soften her up. Gifts, Handwritten Poetry, Offerings of Private Evenings, all done before the people of their great city so all could know of his love for her. But every time, it was that same disapproving look, and shame to be even acknowledged by him. Nothing worked. And it was driving him madder and madder by the day.

One day, just a year after the High Priests obsession had started, Juro would see something that touched a particular nerve in his inflated head. Hana was with someone, a different man. And she was not looking at him the same way she looked at Juro. No, she was smiling. It was such a gorgeous smile, and the first time he’d witnessed it. He recognized the man, an individual by the name of Satoshi Fukushū. He was no one of importance, held no high position or status amongst this city. No, he was a lowly musician, a shamisen player that by some ungodly logic had own the heart of this young woman. What was he compares to Juro? The High Priest had wealth, influence, and an ensured life of luxury for Hana even unto the afterlife. It disgusted the priest to see her stoop so low as to associate with this scum, so he made his move to confront them.

“How dare you speak with this gorgeous woman, toting her around like an object in your company! Do you not know that this woman has my devoted love? Do you not know that she is mine?!”

Satoshi was entirely confused, stunned with a lack of words as to what to say to the Priest. But it was not he who needed to say anything. Hana was quick to March forward, fury blazing in her eyes as she jabbed a finger at Juro’s chest in an accusatory fashion.

“How dare you, a High Priest, prove yourself a hypocrite! You claim this man totes me as an object, and yet you are the one who speaks of me in such a manner! I belong to no man, not until the day I make the choice to do so. I don’t belong to him, and I certainly don’t belong to you! I have requested you leave me be, requiring only you preserve your dignity and move along, let here you stand as a child lacking a toy. So once more let me be clear. I require none of your gifts, none of your influence, I only require your absence.”

That said, Hana stormed off, leaving the two men and the crowd to watch her leave. They then looked at one another, Juro embarrassed and Enraged, and Satoshi looking confused still and yet a dreamy grin was plastered on his face thinking himself lucky. Despite the glare, Satoshi merely shrugged and shuffled along with his business, as if to way “it is what it is.”

For a time, Juro made no further attempts to court Hana, and merely acted as an absence as she had requests. He’d still see her, bustling through the crowds often hand in hand with that commoner. It made his blood boil just seeing such things, but he was not about to embarrass himself as he had last time. So he could only watch his beloved Hana fall in love with a lesser man.

—————————

Hana had never known greater joy in all her life. While typically she’d lived a relatively solitary life, conversing only when necessary and keeping to herself, there came a time when she met a man that broke down all her walls simply by being himself. Where most men failed was when they pretended to be someone they weren’t, someone important, someone with great favor, someone who had every right to her. But Satoshi? The only thing he cared for was his music, and playing for others. That’s all he wanted to do for Hana when they met, was play, and let another person feel joy. He never once made any bold attempts to court her, or convince her that he was worthy. All he wanted to do was try and make her happy, and he succeeded.

With how steadily things moved, it wouldn’t be until a little over year after their first meeting that Satoshi finally worked up the courage to ask Hana to marry him. She was 22 at the time, and Satoshi 26, neither harboring any sort of inheritance to provide for them. And yet, it didn’t stop them. Hana, as calculated and careful as she was, didn’t even question Satoshi for a moment. On blind love, and faith in the man who’d cared for her, she agreed. It would be a life of sacrifice they’d lead if they expected to progress, but both were willing to fight for it if it meant being together. That same night, they stayed up for hours until the sun arose, talking out their plans and fantasizing about where this path would lead them. Despite the stacked odds, they remained hopeful.

Not even a week later, the wedding took place.

The two lovers were married beneath the archway of the Chennma Temple, with vows of caring for one another in this life, and into the afterlife. The seal was made official, and for the first time they’d embrace as spouses. Hana and Satoshi did not know of greater joy than that very moment. Yet, cruel as fate often was, it would not last longer than that night.

When the two had finished the ceremony, and indulged themselves in the social gathering of their friends and family, the time came for them to retire late in the evening to the simple plot of land they’d purchased in anticipation of this day. It wasn’t much. But it would be home to them. They had still been discussing what sort of produce they’d grow to be sold. Hana thought cabbages would be easy to care for, and popular enough to sold to the public. Satoshi argued the same for sweet potatoes. They would finally come to the agreement of trying both, and seeing which sold best, which satisfied them enough to sleep that night.

The sound of breaking wood awoke the both of them, sending Satoshi hurtling from the bed to investigate. While not a warrior by any means, he’d be damned if he didn’t defend his home and his wife on the first not of being responsible for them. His tenacity, while respectable, proved to be his undoing. Before he could even approach the doorway of their bedroom, a figure suddenly lunged from the darkness, running a katana through Satoshi’s heart. He’d die with little more than a gasp for air, as his body crumbled to the ground in a heap. Hana’s shock forbid her to scream, only able to look on as two other figures dressed in black entered the room as well, carrying canisters of oil and a flint rock.

Hana broke from her trance, and moved to escape through the window, only to be caught and thrown to the ground by a fourth figure she had not seen enter. Only then did she start to scream, writhing around as two of the intruders bound her with thick cords of rope and gagged her with a cloth, as the other two dumped oil over the house. Her eyes widened in shock as one took the flint rock and struck it with his sword, sending sparks flying that lit the home ablaze in mere seconds. Not long after that, the toxin on the cloth took effect, and she’d fall into a deep sleep once more.

Juro, finally driven past the breaking point in witnessing Hana and Satoshi wed beneath the arches of the very temple he served in, acted in rage. Summoning a handful of the shinobi guards that served to protect the temple, Juro instructed them to murder Satoshi, burn their home, and bring Hana to him. While any sane person would think to question such a request, The High Priest need only say it was through divine revelation that he delivered these instructions, and it would be so. The shinobi carried out their task, and it was not long after that Hana would be brought to him.

When Hana came to, she found herself laying in a luxurious bed. Though in a haze, the visage of Satoshi’s death still clung to her memory. At first, all she could feel was an aching pain in her chest, tears pouring from her eyes as she cried out for her lost love. But those tears soon turned to rage as she hears a voice join the mix.

“Don’t weep my darling, he was unworthy of you.”

Juro stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear as if having conquered the world. Despite those hateful eyes, and the tears that still dripped from them, The High Priest dared to approach.

“Don’t you dare come near me!” Hana hissed, crawling towards the back of the bed. “And don’t you dare talk about my husband that way! We was the only truly worthy man I’d ever met on this earth!”

Juro tisked, sitting down at the edge of the bed near Hana. That same evil smile adorning his face.

“My love I can prove I am just as, no, more worthy to be your companion. You need only give me the chance.” He stretched his hand forward to touch her face, “I can make you forget all about that filthy musician.”

Hana’s arms moved quickly, one deflecting Juro’s outstretched limb, and the other lashing out with bottled up ferocity. The slap was loud, and stung greatly upon her hand. It satisfies her, now only being able to guess how much it stung the High Priest.

“I’d sooner live a thousand lifetimes alone than forget about Satoshi! Your offer is worth less than the ashes left of my home. You must truly be insane to think murdering my one love would suddenly turn my heart towards you. You, a pretender, who thinks so highly of himself as to demand the world in return for his insignificant title. Pathetic does not even begin to cover the rat I see before me.” Hana spat upon him for good measure, “I suggest you kill me as well. You’ll never have your prize, but mark my words, so long as I draw breath your head will be mind to claim in return for what you’ve done!”

Juro only needed to glance upwards for insanity to take its hold. That same disgusting glare pierced his soul, freezing him where he sat for a moment. As great of a lie as he has lived, Hana’s words shattered his illusion of life, and he believed her. But he was not about to let her get away now.

“It saddens me you have chosen this path. We truly could have been happy together had you only heeded me. But I suppose if you won’t come willingly, I shall take what is mine by force.”

—————————

Years. Long, grueling, horrid years did pass. Years of being used, abused, and left to starve in the darkness if she resisted. Enslaved beneath the public chambers of the Temple, Hana endured many forms of cruel torment, all chipping at her mind as sanity and hope lost its place. No one ever came looking for her. It was declared that she and Satoshi had perished in the flames of their home, leaving nothing behind but the charred remnants of wood and the stone foundation. Hana was as good as dead to the world, and certainly felt the same in her soul. For seven long years did she give up, feeling too weak to fight, too forgotten to care. She craved only the sweet release of death, that she might be delivered into Satoshi’s arms once more. That, or the sight of Juro’s bowels being ripped asunder. Yet she lacked the stomach to fulfill desires, lacking the fortified will to perish, or to take the life of another. So each day was taken in stride, fighting on the days she could muster strength, and remaining submissive when the clenching of hunger grew too great.

Juro, hellbent on his ‘visions of the future’, continued to make offers to Hana. Promising to care for her, promising a life far better than the one she’d chosen. Each time, she refused. And each time, she was punished greatly for it. Everything seemed to bottle up inside her. Her rage, her sorrow, all formulating into one defeated and empty soul that no longer intended to try. And yet, just as a bubble bursts from excessive tension, so too did she finally erupt. Unbeknownst to her, every month spent in isolation and agony only drug her into madness, descending further and further. The weight built, the pressure grew. And then the bubble popped, and Hana snapped.

Seemingly having had a change of heart out of the blue, Hana surprised Juro in accepting one of his many offers. She claimed to have been a fool, and was willing to abide by his claim over her. Juro, despite his surprise, made no question of it. It was too easy. Hana knew the damn fool was just itching for her to finally fall into his delusions, and intended to capitalize on it. One more evening is all she had to endure, putting in an act convincing enough to fool the High Priest, and lure him into a false sense of security. Then the night came, and Hana patiently laid still in bed, waiting for the sound of Juro’s breathing to deepen in slumber. Darkness had long fallen still, but Hana had been through the halls of the forsaken temple enough times to know them just as well as the High Priest himself. And she knew just what she was after

Many times had she passed a display, containing a large handled sword with an gorgeous silver and blue blade, and a lone scroll. Many times had she fantasized running it through Juro, just as his Shinobi had done to Satoshi. And now, she’d finally get her chance. Crawling subtly from the bed, Hana counted the steps through the darkness as she left the bedroom. 10 paces to enter the hall, turn left, 20 paces to the corner, turn right, down five stairs, three steps past the first display (A set of golden orbs with insects preserved inside), down another five stairs, three steps past the second display (A set of 8 masks), down a final five steps, and then one step to stand before the display she was after.

In the darkness she knew the sword sat with its hilt on its right side, so she knew where to grab after she carefully opened the lid and set the glass aside. Her hand came around a texture that would become all too familiar to her, smooth and polished wood at the bottom with an intricate design, and a wrapped top with a sturdy grip from the cloth. She wasn’t used to the weight fo wielding a weapon, even one as light as this, so it was awkward to handle at first. But, she managed to silently carry the large sword up the stairs, and back into the bedroom where Juro still slept. Everything past this moment occurred in a far less calculated blur. Overcome by the emotions and pain she’d endured for the past few years, Hana cried out, charging towards the bed and driving the sword as far as it would go through Juro and the bed beneath. Again and again, she’d thrust the blade, the sound of his dying breaths, agonized whimpers, and splitting flesh bringing nothing but sheer ecstasy to her soul.

Blood-soaked, cackling, and oh so hungry for more violence, Hana continued her mutilation as she heard the panicked footsteps of the other residents of the temple. They’d heard Juro cry out, which was fine by her. She wanted them to know she was free, and that they were next. Just as she retrieved her blade one last time from the corpse of the High Priest, the door to the bedroom was thrust open, a group of shinobi rushing in with swords drawn. They carried torches, and stopped dead in their tracks as they bore witness to the blood soaked slave wielding the relic in her hands and standing over the corpse of their master. And it was in their shock that Hana capitalized.

The blade made her feel lighter than a feather, and launching from the bed felt like flight. She buried her sword into the abdomen of the closest shinobi, tearing the blade out his side and kicking him into the rest. A second was sliced through the vast majority of his neck, leaving only bits of muscle and skin connected, sending his head hanging over his back as his body crumpled to its knees. Hana sounded like a wild animal, huffing and growling with each strike and thrust, hell bent on causing pain and destroying anyone that stood in her path.

‘They all must die’ she told her self, ‘They all are at fault.’

One wound think a literal beast had invaded the temple with the carnage that was wrought. The morning after Hana’s night of destruction, those going to worship at the temple would be greeted with the sight of priests having been cut down mid escape. Blood littered the ground in patterns of scratches, splatters, and pools where the bodies were littered. The once pure white halls were painted red with the Blood of Priests and High Priests alike. Anyone that had resided at the temple were slaughtered, Hana thinking them all complicit with her fate. Whether this was true, she’d never know for sure. But she’d never regret her actions.

Of course, one woman could only do so much work. It was no surprise that some of the Priests of the temple escaped, running to the hills with a deep fear for their lives in their hearts. But Hana was a woman of focus and commitment, she’d find them one way or another. Driven mad by the newfound and once uncharacteristic bloodlust, Hana spent the next three years wandering the entirety of Teichi, hunting down the remnants of that temple. She would not rest until every one of them had been cut down, and their blood had decorated the surface of the earth. One by one, her task was completed, until the last of them would lay still for all eternity.

When it was done, and the last of their flesh was rent apart, Hana would return home. Traveling the familiar dirt road alone, her thoughts relayed everything that had happened in the past decade of her life. So suddenly had her life been torn apart. Her husband murdered, her home destroyed, and her fate perverted. All by a man who could not stomach the thought of rejection. Juro had made his poor decisions, and Hana was the consequence of such things. While hunting the remainder of his fellow Priests, Hana had analyzed and studied the scroll, finding ancient writings of the Divine Arts. All of which she did practice and learn of, if only to aid her in her unholy crusade. And now, it was all over. Which left one question, where would she go?

The Cherry Blossom trees. One of the last places she’d felt joy in her lifetime. The very place Satoshi had finally braved the question that sealed his own fate. The gorgeous pink petals littered the ground as Hana slowly trekked across, Seraphs Feather still slung across her back. No one was around, just her. Just her and the horrors that traveled with her always. After some time, she’d stop, and knelt next to one of the many trees in the grove. Unsheathing her blade, she gazed at the reflection of the tired and empty woman before her, still young yet void of hope. As she looked, Hana realized she didn’t want to go anywhere. She just wanted the nightmare to be over. She just wanted to be with Satoshi again.

Seraphs Feather was slowly brought upwards, and its blade pressed into the soft flesh of Hana’s neck. This time, without hesitation, without fear, the blade was sliced deep into her neck, and at last her vision went dark.

—————————

‘One thousand deaths a thousand times over.’

Hana would be denied her final rest. For the slaughter of the Gods anointed holymen, Hana was forbidden from the afterlife, resurrected just next to where her body once laid. The very Gods she’d once worshipped, the very Gods who delivered her into the hands of a corrupted servant, had now abandoned her in full. Hana should’ve felt rage, but by now she only felt a numbing cold. Warm tears silently leaked down her face, her eyes still remaining empty. Unsure of what to do next, Hana departed, knowing full well that now she’d never see her beloved again.

With the scar of her first death embedded in her neck, Hana wandered the earth for another 200 years until her time came to be imprisoned in the Monolith. She’d been lured there under a promise of finding true death within its walls, and she was a fool to believe such things in the first place. For 449 years she’d remain in isolation, just as she had when imprisoned beneath that temple. In the darkness, bound in chains, she could only listen. Listen to the hushed whispers of the Holy Men that guarded the temple, spinning tales of the Servants of Orochi. Many things did she hear, but one thing was certain.

Hana was going hunting again.

Theme:

 

[.empathogen.]

Name: Renjiro Hansha

Physical Age: Twenty-Five Years-Old

Actual Age: One-Thousand Five Hundred and Thirteen Years-Old

Height: Five-Eleven

Weight: One-Hundred Eighty Lbs.

Appearance:

Attire: Renjiro wears an oriental yī-fu that has been altered since his imprisonment in the Monolith. The black garment has been torn at the sleeves and the hem of the shirt has been torn up to the bottom of his pectorals. Any other part of his torso is exposed, showing his Eternal Scar and the mark those damned zealots of Orochi cast onto his back. Even so, the shirt still buttons. He also wears baggy white pants that cuff just below his knee. Paired with martial arts slippers, the whole affair is subtly decked out with jade ornaments with red tassels. He also wears multiple piercings on both ears.

Spoiler: Renjiro

Weapon of Choice: Though theoretically, he can create any type of weapons he wants, his favorite and deadliest weapon choice is a set of double-edged long kukri swords, the idea for which he came across in his time spent on the continent. He made the set with his own power, making them near indestructible and keener than any other edge he's made. It is said that the blade is so sharp that when it slices through you it feels like a gentle breeze against your skin. He calls them Revenant's Pride.

Chosen Battle Art: Unbreakable Will
Renjiro's Battle Art manifested the day he was transformed and he has been perfecting the techniques from then on. His Art hinges on the creation and use of geometric diamonds that only shatter into nothing at his whim.

Form 1- Glance
A slice that generates 2-5 shards of diamond per weapon that fly at the trajectory of the sword swing.

Form 2- Splinter's Grace
A parry that causes a wall of diamond to be formed in front of or behind the user.

Form 3- Totality
A downward cut that brings a solid layer of diamond down onto the opponent.

Form 4- Truth
A horizontal spin, with or without the blades, creating an outward burst of spikes.

Form 5- Conviction
A simple thrust, upon which a triangular prison is formed around the opponent.

Form 6- Fractal
An attack where multiple walls of the diamond mirror are created in a hexagonal shape, allowing Renjiro to dash through them and cut through his opponent, gaining momentum every time he pushes through a mirror.

Form 7- Clarity
Only when using Fractal can he do this. As a finishing blow, Renjiro can pierce the heart of his foe and "infect them with his powers, causing them to slowly become a diamond statue. They crystalize from the inside out, becoming a gem husk.

Resurrection Effect: Upon death, Rejiro's body splinters and crumbles like a weak gemstone breaking open. When he resurrects, he reappears by stepping through a reflection, be it an image on water, glass, or one of his diamonds being used as a mirror.

Personality: Although his outward mannerisms are goofy and light-hearted, Renjiro is a tactical genius. His actions are always, more or less, pure in the sense of whatever he does he puts his whole heart into it. He is very protective of those who can't defend themselves since he was once defenseless himself. Renjiro is the first one to crack a joke but the last person to leave a battlefield. He can come off as lewd to other men since his tastes lean toward that lot in the matters of love. However, that's only to cover his naivety of having his heart sought after by anyone worth a damn. He's totally charismatic and draws the eye toward himself constantly, which can be a bad thing at certain times. All in all, he's just a magical guy trying to survive the times and the horrors that come with them.

Do they enjoy immortality?: *serious mode* "When you've been alive as long as I have, all you have left is to look forward to the future and being a part of it. I don't care how this fate occurred to me but I want it. And nothing is gonna take it away from me."

Backstory:
He was there when the old magic was cast, binding the souls of those who'd be unfortunate enough to carry the Eternal Marks upon their bodies and souls. When the times were feudal and logic and reason could never explain the wonders of the next day let alone the here and now. He lived his mortal life knowing exactly what's he'd be-- a sacrifice to a higher power that forsook him at birth. He was struck through the chest, ran through with a spear that let out the very life force that kept Renjiro on our plane. But that's where it happened. Somewhere between this life and the next, a blank white light with no voice asked him a question.

"Would you survive death for me?" It asked.

Eager to claim what he had lost, Renjiro's heart was set aflame with the answer. A blue orb formed in the white-hot brightness and, tentatively, he took it into himself. Suddenly, he was back at the altar, stepping out of shards that lay where his body once was. Onlookers stared in awe and shock at what was transpiring. Guard rushed toward the man only to be taken down by his flurry of attacks in self-defense. In the end, Renjiro was the only one left standing.

Then the burning started.

A scar began forming on his chest and back, a reminder of what happened that day. In the corners of his mind, he could hear and feel it. A curse searing into his very being. ‘A thousand deaths a thousand times over’ the voices chanted as the mark solidified. And thus began his life of running. After five thousand years of running and building different aliases for different times, he was caught by the priests of the Monolith. He's been there since then, seeing others cursed to the same fate as him. Now he's biding his time, waiting for them to sli[p up. He can free himself and the others, all he needs is an opening and a reflection.

Theme:

 

[seasonedcat]

WIP fat juicy c o c c

name: Mao

physical age:

actual Age: one thousand two hundred and five

height: 5'5 (5'9 with the heels)

weight: 103lbs

appearance: (Image)

Attire: (Describe it, and have another image handy if not shown above)

Weapon of Choice: (Describe it, and have another image handy if not shown above)

Chosen Battle Art: (Info on their ability, as well as the variations accompanying it)

Resurrection Effect: (I.e. A tornado of flames, billow of clouds, a swirl of leaves. Something to that effect. Get creative!

Personality:

Do they enjoy immortality?:

Backstory: (Include necessary events leading up to being forced into immortality. As well as who/what taught them their art form, and where they got their weapon(s). Also include details of their first death, as the scar from that is the most prominent. Last required bit is how they were lured into the Monolith, and how long they’ve been there)

Theme: (optional)

Fun Facts: (optional)

Quotes: (optional)