Asmodean Triestes Aegrimonia

[Galad J. Victus]

A plague. A killer. A destroyer. And one child. Ruining of a life, fading of the hopes; given birth by the innocence. The undying quest, and the eternal sorrow. And one child. In the eye of the storm. One child.

“Is it true that there are cures for every sickness?”

“There are cures for every sickness, but there is no cure for the cure itself. Nature cannot give you what you do not already posses, it can only reveal what is hidden inside you. But there is a price. Are you willing to pay the price, Asmodean?”

Memories. From my very first moment in this life, to that black stain. Years, mixing into each other amongst the loved and cared ones. Unknown to me back then, it was a reflection. All this joy and comfort. It was too real. My judgement was clouded and, and I was a mere boy. I could not see the truth. I could not see what was coming. I could stop it, but I was a fool. A fool!

But now. I stand educated, I am taught by the fate itself. More than fate; the pain. It loves me, as a merciless lord loves his torturement. It loves my chains, my prison and the iron bars. But I broke free. Teachings betrayed their master, in a fierce battle which was a clash of wills. The pain taught me too well. I ran. From the death I ran, from the single place which holds meaning to me. I buried the memories, I burned the emotions. Until there was nothing but a wasteland left, I burned them all. I do not regret. I did what I had too. Or the pain would drive me to insanity. I did what I had too…
Now, I have nothing left to lose. No weakness. No ties. I am as dark as the night, as silent as the death. I thought it would be enough. I hoped. Hope of a forsaken man. But it was not enough . Chaos still lurks in my mind, the remainder of my past deeds and sufferings. A whip, constantly scorching my back, eating me from the inside out; corrrupting. My mind stands darkened, I do not trust my eyes. I cannot trust them. I cannot trust anyone, especially myself. The plague. On that very night, it came to us for the first time. Fire, and madness. Chaos. Death. It was terrifing. It changed me. For the others it brought death and darkness, but for me, only the change. I wish I had died. If you must know, then you will. But I have to warn you first.

My story is not for the soft hearted or the innocent. You will not find any heroes or saviors, no heroic deeds will be performed. No miracles will happen in the last moment, pushing the darkness aside, saving the masses. If you are seeking for these empty dreams, you best seek elsewhere. For here, you will only find death, chaos and misery. You will find people who were left to death. Ignorance. Defeat. Blood. Here, you will find the plague, and one darkened child, a fallen hero he may be to your foolish imagination.
A plague. A killer. A destroyer. And one child. Ruining of a life, rising of the terror; given birth by the foulest of the souls. The undying quest, and the eternal sorrow. And one child, in the eye of the storm. Here, you will find nothing but sorrow. The eternal sorrow.

Amongst the Ashes

A spark in the death ashes,
Threateaning to break the defeat and madness,
When the river runs red in a collapse of innocence,
All that is left is no more than the abyss.

It all begun there, in the city I was born. Rhoriac, it was called. A city shielded with high walls, blessed with gardens and palaces, high temples. A city of marvelous beauty, the Jewel of the Belliath. Capital of my greater home. By it’s inhabitans, the world was called Parranonia. My first love, the roof over my head, the light deep inside my heart. Later, it also proved to be my room of torture. A dark stain in the white silk, that is my soul. No. It should be the other way around.

I was born as a commoner. A child of seemingly no importance. A family of seemingly no importance. Not anymore. My father was a fallen lord, defeated in the cruel game of fates that is played for the throne and the eye of the king. He was betrayed, cast aside by the false allies. Years ago. His prestige, gold, and everything taken away from him; enslavement to a life of misery and endless shame. A forgotten name we carried, and a surname, highly rare within the common rabble which were forced to live in. Our true names and legacy were unknown to the everyone around us, as it could yet draw danger and hostiliy. The man was robbed of his gold, but not of his high-born blood. He was stil proud, enflamed, and a sharp man, my father. Unbending, respected. A lion amongs cats; The House of Aegrimonia. A name long faded into the dusty pages of the history, destined to be forsaken.

I was a child of the same burning spirit. As humble as our little house was, located barely inside the walls, as far away from the palaces and gardens as possible, I was proud. Pride, and strength was there to be found in my blood. A burden, a heavy burden which exhausted my soul, drawing me into many fights and brawls in the muddy streets and pits where the unlawful beasts hide in the search of fortune and loot. As a child, I was a true troublemaker. Yet, I was happy. Despite all the misery and danger, I was foolishly happy. I had been an optimistic from the heart. I was stupid.
Streets taught me. The runing, stealing , forging my life in the alleys of a city which was an entire world in itself. The dark side of the beauty. Rhoriac was famous for it’s riches and comfort, but no one cared about the lower masses of people, who were the unseen part of the glory, shadow of the light. As soon as my father revealed me our ties to the nobility, I couldn’t help but wonder. Would I be as greedy and self-centered as they are, if not for our unfortunate fall? The answer was unclear. Enough to terrify me.

I was forced to look upon the life as what it was from a very early age, due to our darkened future and fortune. I had to be realistic, I had to live not with the promises, but with the force of strength. In this place where all the hard work was done, the unfair arena where the minority crushes the majority, you had to have dirty hands, or you would have death. As a boy, the harsh truth was forced upon by me. By the will of fate and life. Greed. Jealousy. Power. Desperation. And most important of all, I was blessed with a clear view. Something which would come very handy later in my life. First to be useful, then disastrous. Good or bad? ..But let’s not overstep.

At the age of 11, I threw myself out, to the tricky and unforgiving arms of the real life. I knew a few childs roughly of the same age as I, and the same fortune. Together, joined by a handful more, we decided to stick together against the tides of fate. In them, I found companionship. Chance to slip away from this life of forever boredom. And misery. We would be free, we could do anything! Foolish childs of no understanding, coming together in something which could be described as the transformation of a trembling hand, into a steel fist. We called ourselves, “ The Dagger and the Cup.” We were a group of friends, kids of the same desperate nature. Despite our youngs age, we were aware. That we had to stick together in order to survive. We were taught.

With that, my last ties with the home were wildly cut. There was nothing keeping me there. Because I had a new home. The entire city was before me. My father and mother would not let me, but I ran. I told them that I hated this life. The words were as shocking for me as they were for them. I told they that I hated them. I told I hated everything related to them.While it was a lie to make them let me go, it stil tored my heart apart. A terrible lie. In truth, I loved them so much. But this life was not for me. Plus, I knew I was a burden. More then themselves, they would always take care of me. What little possession we had always flowed towards me. With me gone, they would have a free hand. This was for them, as much as it was for me. Yet I felt so sad. It was then when I discovered tears held a speacial meaning. That they could drive to sorrow and self-hatred, rather than being something that comes up in moments of physical pain. The real pain was much deeper, much perminant. First of many, in a path that is only covered in shadows and fire. Ignorant, I was eager.

That night, after leaving, I silently went back to our house. I did not reveal myself, however. I hid outside. I watched and listened. My mother had been crying for hours. The woman was destroyed, collapsed and seemingly over. My father was silent. His eyes were wet, I saw that after finally he fell asleep, after hours spent without a single blink. He was no longer the man who taught me how to fish, in the lake outside the city, played games with me, and became my first and ever lasting friend. He had changed. Grim. In the course of a day, a new wisdown had fell upon his already seasoned face. A terrifing sight. They were so forsaken. Abandoned to their own cruel fates, in a hut barely enough for them to fit in. Robbed of their final treasure and joy. I could not bear to look. I was weak. I ran again, this time not looking back. A child, running, deep in the night, absent soul. I went as far as my legs could take me. As far as my broken heart could command me to go. I wasn’t afraid of the dark and cold. I was afraid of the emptiness. I was afraid to find it back in our house, if I ever returned some day. I wasn’t afraid of the outside world, I was afraid of home. More than anything else, I was afraid. I was as afraid as far as a little child could be, my mind crawling with pain. I promised. I promised myself that I would save them from the filth and death in some forsaken pit no one cared about, and beg for their forgiveness. I had too.

When I was found by the others, laying in some back street, something eased my pain, as I gazed eyes upon a marvelous being. That girl, from the house in the far corner of the street. Her name was, Ester. Ah, that feeling still lurks in my mind, after all the chaos and unorder dominated. Love. A feeling so untouched, pure. Far stronger than any other; anger, hatred. My heart was beating for her, as my body was screaming to be given to her. My mind, etching with the weight of one such feeling, the most ancient thing ever existed, the curse of our race. To me, it was more like a miracle. I could not take my eyes away, my thoughts could not be fixed at the given matters. But, she was the perfect distraction I so desperatly needed. I would stay, if not for myself, for her. What motive drove me forward is yet unclear to me, however. Love, or lust? Ester, or hunger for power? Anyhow, I was eager and willing.

We stole, tricked, wasted. More than usual we would wander into the Trader’s Quarters and silently pick up a few things for ourselves. The place was so rich and full of trading items, from all over the world; the realm of Belliath, far to the east where the spice comes, Anzarishuwa, west, the other side of the great Sea of Storms, Tarmolin, north, from the ancient and powerful strongholds and tribes of hillmen, The Red Snow, din Azrabat, din Werrit. And from many many more. Ours was a city of undying glory, the richest, and the most feared amonst the Divided Nations of Tamin Lelith. Thus, we had endless resources at our command. We only had to be careful, and the treasures of this entire city could be ours. Cunning, and planned. Organized. There were others who saw the opportunity.

Gangs, thugs and ambushers. Men with nothing to do than steal and rape. In the lowest and darkest pits, huts, alleys. Where ever the light was absent, they were there. The darkness of the city. They were murderers. Killers. They found pride and joy in it, shamelessly. Men with no honour, no soul other than the one existed for gold. Lust for vengeance, blaming the rich and the innocent for their failures in life, waging a silent and dangerous war against the more successfull part. They barely even deserved death in my eyes. No more, no less. They were of discomfort. With us stepping in, their usual “trade” was badly hit, as we found greater success in our speed and innocence. They came at us. Thoughts of blood and death fixed in their minds. That night, when we were dividing the spoilers and resting at our usual meeting place, some back alley which no one ever set foot, they came, as dark as the shadows of the night. Blood was spilled, blood of innocent children. Worms!

I was at the far side of our camp, fortunately. Somehow, I had a bad feeling as soon as the night fell upon us and the moon appeared. I was uneasy, so I had been walking in the roofs and and gazing eyes upon the other side of the city, tips of the great palaces visible from above the inner walls. I was lost amongs my usual deep thought, of myself, where I truly belonged. They were cut short when a blood-freezig scream echoed amongst the ruined walls of the alley. A girl. Ester. Without thinking, I dropped myself, blindly picking up a stick as I ran, rushing forward as fear and hatred joined together in overrunning my mind. The first worm fell as my wooden weapon came upon his head, like a sack full of potatoes. I liked how that fealt. Seeing a man collapse before you, as your weapon hits them and you hear the sound of bones being crushed and the screams filled with sheer pain. And fear. Blood rushed at my mind, forcing me to unleash further blood, not of my self, but those of them. Kill. Kill. Kill. Anger. Rage took me, thought as dark as that very alley filled my head, and I striked forward. Kill.

I dogged the dagger, and broke the arm wielding it, then I crouched, heard the hissing of air as it cut through it, above me. Two violent hits at the legs was enough to collapse the man. My senses screamed as for a seemingly long moment, I though it was either going to blow up, our cut open. I quickly turned around as the adrenaline commanded me and I parried the sword which nearly ended me. As I disarmed my foe with a fastly landed hit, I grabbed the sword in the air, throwing away the wooden stick. It was time to give these man a test of their own medicine. First, I cut his throat. Then, as the other one came at me, full of rage, I held him and spilled his organs at the floor, a disguisting and shapeless thing fell upon the ground. The man was already dead. What a shame, I could use him for further pleasure. As the last one rushed at me, I silenced him. The sword was stabbed in his mount, as he was letting out a warcry. The lifeless body fell, as the few others ran, disappearing deep into the night. Only then, I begun to calm down. I looked around, as my logic and clear sight came back, I realized what I had done. Murderer. I was one of them, now.

Everyone except Ester and me were either dead, or in it’s verge. Only Mikael looked like he could survive. Yet, strangely, Ester did not carry any wound. She was more hurt mentally. After they killed all the other boys, they were going to have fun with her. I was disguisted of the thought, and the men who created it. I was going to hunt them. I was going to kill them all. Not a single one was to be left alive. To see one so beautiful, crying, calmed me down. Ester… I was needed here. The golden hair and the ocean blue eyes, the pale skin. I barely managed to look upon her in such state. Ruined.

Fortunately in the morning, things were better. Mikael was alive, slipping from the claws of death, and Ester with smiling, matching the beauty created by the most skilled and ancient of the artists. As we left, the sword was hanging in my belt. Just in case. I named it, The Redemption.
With our group gone, I did not know what to do next. As I was the best scout and the sharpest eye amongs them, and only one left capable of fighting amongst us three, I went ahaed while the other followed in my path. There could be othet thugs yet, caution was necessary. Then I heard a voice in darkness. Commanding me to stop. I was surronded, archers and crossbows directed at me, over the rooftops, from the other sides of the windows around me. Ambush. Murderers. I waited, silent for my death. Mikael was going the have to protect Ester. I closed my eyes, as a even greater darkness closed my vision. But nothing happened. When I opened them back, I barely saw a figure coming at me with lightning speed. I deserved death. I did not react. The killers were all to die. A shattering pain, and last thing I saw when I was about the slip into darkness, was a pair of deep oceans. Distant. I was grateful, and angered.

The Rise from the Pit
The phoenix was dead and forsaken,
His fires faded and glory taken,
But when the flames were reborn in the tides of war,
The conflict died out and he was crowned, the King of all.

When my eyes were open, I was in a much different place. The pain. My body was screaming. My head, my arm. I forced myself to rise from the bed, clean and comfortable surprisingly, a man in uniforms walked into the room. The two headed red eagle. The proud guardian of Belliath. The man was of the city watch. Suddenly, memories of that night returned to me. That red night, in which the blood was spilled. There, I was offered two choices. The life payment, or the service. I was either going to become a watchmen to pay for my crimes, or I would be robbed of my life. How just. The life was cruel, I was merely defending myself. The men had done the horrible deed were away, yet here I was, before the wise eagle. I was condemened to serve forever. Death or not, I was done for.

The life conditions were barely above the alleys. I was regulary given bread and water, sometimes meat, when luck favoured. I received a training in weapons, discipline, and I became a guardsman, all but in acceptance. I was looked upon by my brothers-in-arms, as I was of a criminal past and was a murderer. For the first time in my life, I was entirely forsaken. What had I left? My life was gone, my friends, family, love. What was the point?
The years passed, and I grew. When I was assigned to a high city patrol, I was 14. I sawed the life of the nobles and richmen. They were bathing in gold. A mere wall was parting our side from theirs, but they were of an entirely different world. I was enraged. When the majority suffered so deeply, these people were living in the palaces, made of silver and diamonds. Slavery. Every noble had around hunderds of slaves. They were treated as objects, created to offer pleasure, and service. They were no humans. They had no rights. The word “freedom”, was a distant whisper in the wind, for them. I could see in their eyes. The silent cries. Help.

I had seen a lot of injustice in my life, but this was it. I had to do something. I switched to a low city patrol, and shared thoughts. The people listened, the men in my patrol were all of my origin, of the alleys and the real soul of Rhoriac. The masses were what kept the wheel turning, with sweat and blood, but the credit was denied to us. In the back streets, in the nights, the people listened. I avoided other watchmen at all times, and most especially, the places which carried memories. Of the red night. Our home. I failed to find the strength to face my fears.
An entire year passed in this state, I already had a sufficent number of followers now. I secretly ogranized them, far from golden eyes. But one day, my activities were revealed. Someone had betrayed me, either one of my fellow watchem, or one of the others. As it was the second crime, there was to be no mercy this time. I couldn’t run, and I was outnumbered. I surrenderer.

I was going to be hanged in the main city hall. An example to be made. It was to erase all thoughts of equality, and vengeance. I had given up. I had used all my chances, gambled, and I had failed. The eyes that gazed upon me, were yet of hope. Thousands were there. Rich, poor, soldier, noble. Even one of the high lords was at the place. As I waited for death, my eyes catched a familiar face in the crowd. Three, actually. An old, yet strong man. A girl. And a boy. The boy was smiling. Old man and the girl were both in the first line. But, only the other criminals who are to be hanged next were positioned there. This had to be a nightmare. No. NO!

What now? What could I do? The passion came back. I had to live. A sudden rush of anger and hope. After all the years. My father. Ester. How? How could I broke free from these damned chains? Find a way! I strugled with renewed furiosity. I fought. A sword was drawn behind me. And another in the crown. And another. And another. Everything happened in a moment, as a battle began amongst massed. Some rushed towards the platform, hopefully to save me, some charged at guards, some took the high ground and cried at to bring more men to arms. Blood spilled. The prisoners. They were going to be executed right now. I roared. I imagined the executioner being choked. Suddenly, the sword escaped his hands and the man shivered, his hands holding his throat, fighting against some kind of invisible force. He was then quickly slain by one of the charging man who had managed to breakthrough the guardian line. I was freed of my chains by the rebels. As soon as the chains lay broken, I went at the prisoner group.

The wathcmen were fallen in minutes. As the chaos and blood reigned, I failed to save them all. The city watch regrouped there, with the high lord at their helm. They retreated back into the inner city walls with casuilties on both sides. Many of the thousands had fled as soon as the battle began, but some remained to pick up arms and fight. A red river ran through the streets, dead laying around here and there, fire and ruins. The barracks were besieged, battle at the inner walls parting the high city and low city, chaos everywhere. I had merely lit a spark, and the whole city was burning now.

The People’s Civil War had begun.

The walls seperate us deeply,
Yet in reality, we stand so closely,
That you can’t see it, is a pity,
I have to wage war, to free this city.

Months chased months as the Civil War dragged on… As the main manpower was in revolt, the high lords’ and the King were having trouble raising war-winning armies. We were facing a mix of mercenaries, gold-loving thugs, a part of the Royal Army, the fiercly loyal remnants. Yet, we had our problems. Most of our men were peasants and civilians who generally had no training or experience with soldiering, and the real professional parts were low in numbers, and old. They were retired soldiers and old adventurers. And I was given the responsibility. It was my duty to lead this men to battle and bring them out alive, while in the same time winnig them loot and victory. I was beginning to learn the commander’s way.

I arranged a meeting with the other rebellious persons of note, coming from all around the city. We barrircaded the Outer Walls in case aid arrived from the wider Kingdom. Then army was split between us. Four main groups, one mine, and the other one that I knew belonged to my father. He had brought ill-news when he arrived.

The mother was dead. She had been sick for years, and that combined with her sorrow, had finally brought her down. Father said that he had been seeking me for a long time, trying to inform me and convince me to come back. I would go back running if I knew. I held myself responsible. I was a monster. We returned to find the hut burned and razed. There was nothing left for me now. Nothing to be found there. As we were walking away from the ruin, AlI that came to mind were flashes. Memories of the time spent together. I hated myself.

Father and I did not speak to each for the rest of the day. It was good that we didn’t.

Yet, the duty was there, staring at me. The clashes in the Inner Walls found strength, night raids were launched to our side at nights, archer volleys and even fire-loaded catapults. They were attempting to burn us alive. Those cowards. A whole year of war and chaos passed, and I grew. The war was nearly over.

We were victorious. The walls had been breached in a fantastic one-sided siege, and already the masses of the greatest city on the planet were flowing inside. The mercenary companies were there to greet us. After a furious battle, we were inside, despite their heroic stand and performance. Tens thousands from both sides had been lost of a total. The madness had to end, and end soon. Launching thrusts into the city, we progressed further towards the Royal Palace with each day.

I had always admired war, you know. How it would felt to be a proud soldier, in shiny uniforms and armor, fighting for the codes of honour and chivalry and winning glory for myself, and all that I cared for. It all seemed like a child tale, full of adventures and smiling men. The reality was different, however. Much, much different. Majority of the death were not caused by the battle and the arms. Sickness. Filth. I saw people bathing in their own filth, people using corpses as beds, cannibalism, entire towers made out of human remnants, fires, highwayman and thugs, finding opportunity in chaos and cutting throats for fun. When the supplies ran out, however, begun the real shock. Things people would do to survive. Horrible.

Yet I did not come to hate war. I only hated the way it was made.
But finally, it was done. The Civil War was over. The skies were blackened with smoke that day.

In the absolute moment of victory,
Then appears a new misery,
Chaos itself, it is the fiercest enemy,
The true death, now you will see.

None of us saw it coming. We were so blinded by our own glory, we were so deep within the riches, wealth, and all that we have dreamed for, none saw it. No one wanted to reward the wounded. No one looked after them, what little discipline we had in our victorius arms, was lost. People began razing, lotting, spitting in the dead aristocratic corpses. The King himself was slain, his throne left empty and realm broken. I tried to restore order, but to no success. As the chaos went on, the alleys, out rim of the city, where the spirit of freedom was first born, were now abandoned. They were forsaken. All that was left were the death. Casulties, great men who sacrified themselves for the greater good. They were all forgetten. Once wall-breaking spirit was gone, only to be replaced by the cold truth, we had become what we killed. I was elected King, but even then no one payed attention. There was a reason that only a small minority was granted wealth and power. I had learned it. But it was too late. Simply abandoning the death and moving away was foolish, but now that an entire social level was slain, their living ground was empy. The people were blinded by self-made promises.

The plague began in the outer parts, developing in beggars and homeless. Streets filled with corpses, rats, vermin. They were more than the living. It grew in deadliness. Silently invading the inner city, the death closed on us. None of us realized it until it was too late.
It would change our skin, making it extremely pale, as if all the life was sucked out of it. It would kill your soul. And evetually, it would kill you. There was nothing we could do. No one knew how to cure it. How to counter it. We watched as our beloved ones died. I watched. Father. Esther. I wanted to die. And it found me, at last.

But, the salvation was denied. My skin changed, my sould burned from the inside out. Yet, I didn’t die. The Gods themselves were mocking me. I was the only one left. The entire population of the greatest city in existance, dead, the city was a mass grave, a city still, but one that belonged to rats. How, I asked to myself every hour of every day. How did I survive? And why? I had caused the death of hundreds and thousands of people, I had ruined the greatest city in existance, I was a murderer who killed in cold blood, and I was not the same boy who entered this war, many months ago. I entered as a boy, yet when it finally ended, I was a man. A man who could sacrifice anything for the smallest of the strategic gains. I had become one of those high-born lords, all but in name. I was made a warrior, one who cared about nothing but victory. And now that my soul was slain, only an empty shell was left, one seasoned with pain and blood, full of wounds and injuries, no voice was within, nothing but a cold whisper. My heart was nothing more than an empty shell.

To declare my sorrow, I painted myself. Tatoos. As a part of my people’s tradition, a person who knew only of loss and suffering, who had experienced nothing but sorrow in life, could become a priest, dedicating themselves to the Gods and temples. They would be removed from the outside world. Locking themselves in their holy places. I painted myself with their tatoos. The Order itself was dead, destroyed during the Civil War, to take advantage of the massive wealth stored in them as tribute to Gods, but no one other than me truly deserved the title. There were none who could claim it. The city was dead, nothing but empty souls who wandered the ruined streets were left there. So I departed. I ran.

As I left the city, I noticed something. Beyond all the dead and loss, I had lost something far greater and deeper. As if something that had allowed my speed, a passion and will was cast aside, as if my flest was cut open and it was taken from inside me. Not merely my soul, now my entire existance was pointless. I knew not of it, what I lost, but I knew things were never going to be the same.
I lived the life of an exile. I spent time in the wild world, later to be found by some space travellers. They were shocked. I explained them that a plague had destroyed Rhoriac, that all who survived the Civil War was lost. They did not recognize me at first, luckly. Probaly due to tatoos and the abnormal skin. I left with them.
With them, I left that world behind me. I left millions of dead behind me. I left a life behind me. Myself, behind me.

With a new wind the eagle flies,
A new passion that he rises,
Leaving the ground behind and below,
The beast shall seek a new hold. ​

Spoiler: Basic Information

NAME: Asmodean Triestes Aegrimonia
SPECIES: Near-Human
AGE: 17
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 1.92 m
WEIGHT: 73 Kg
EYES: Bright Green
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Extremely Pale
CREDITS: 1,000
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Abnormally pale skin, eyes, tatoos.
FORCE SENSITIVE: Lost.

STRENGTH: 6/10, Asmodean is above the average, his strength sharpened by war and street living.
DEXTERITY: 8/10, From his early childhood, his survival was determinated by his dexterity. Impressively good.
CONSTITUTION: 3/10 His sickness has left his constitution weaker, if not terrible.
INTELLIGENCE: 8/10 Asmodean is especially intelligent. He has a brilliant mind, lessons taught in war and life have also greatened it.
WISDOM: 7/10 He had his extreme experiences, and as a result, learned much. He is wise, and he seeks to be wiser.
CHARISMA: 6/10 Altough his appearance is terrifing, having served as a leader before, Asmodean is still considered charismatic.

SKILLS:
*Surviving
*Close Combat
*Leadership & Command
*Concealment
*Writing


STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:
+Agile
+Logical
+Observing
+Resistant to Pain
+Discreet

-Fails to Feel
-Apathetic
-Pessimistic

GEAR:
1x Vibrosword
1x Blaster Rifle
1x Blaster Pistol
1x Black Coat and Robes
1x Bone Helmet


PERSONALITY:
Shortly, Asmodean has little emotions, he is cunning and observing, he has a very tactical mind, able to make sacrifices and focus on the greater goal, and he never hesitates. He is cold blooded, he views the killing as a daily task, altough he hates himself for it, and is strongheaded, proud. His sickness allows him to think clearly, he has no fear, no love, only hate, and not strong, that is. He is always in a negative mood, he doesn't speak much, he values observing and silence.

He is very determinated. Once he sets his mind in a purpose, as long as there is a chance of success, he never backs down. Otherwise, he would not hesitate to simply drop it. Although he seems like a silent psychopath who kills for nothing but pleasure, he is far deeper than that. He has little respect for those who would try to boss him around, but would show a strong loyalty to anyone who approches in more friendly ways. More than anything, he has self-pity and hatred, and that, probaly is the only thing he is able to feel.

NOTES & EFFECTS:
Other than mental emptiness and pale skin, his sickness causes occasinal paroxysms. It is impossible to know when it will happen, how long it will take, and foresee the effects clearly. Sometimes it causes him to go insane and kill everything in sight, sometimes it would bring back his Force connection for a few short minutes and causes Asmodean to use it unconsciously, or make him stare at things, doing nothing.

He doesn't know he is a Force sensitive, leave aside he lost his connection to it. As the Force is largely unknown in his homeworld, he never knew about it. Instead, it was believed that some priests and lords had speacial powers, some sort of sorcery. As the paroxysm happened only once before, and the Force wasn't granted to him in that case, he doesn't know about the connection.

He had formed several bonds with people close to him, in the Civil War and before. His companions, his father, Esther, his warriors. He had a lot of people who trusted him, loved him from the deepest. And when the plague killed them all in a matter of days, nearly a million men, all caused by him indirectly, all the established bonds were cut in the same time, the Force shut itself to Asmodean, otherwise he would have died due to shock. It didn't leave him, however. It is still inside him, only untouchable, unfeelable. It is what keeps him from death.

ROLEPLAYS:
Tests of Time




Note: Basic profile will be expanded later.