Darenzel

File:Darenzelbanner1.png

Darenzel
Player: User:Jade Defender
Biographical Data
Real Name:	Host (James Ryder), Darenzel
Known Aliases:	the Darkwalker
Gender:	Host (male)
Species:	Host (human), Celestial
Ethnicity:	Host (caucasian)
Place of Birth:	Host (San Diego, Ca)
Base of Operations:
Relatives:
Characteristics
Age:	Host (33 at death), 17,440 (more than 7,500 spend in resurrection stasis)
Height:	Host (6'2")
Weight:	Host (216lb)
Eyes:	Host (grey), Golden
Hair:	Host (Dirty blonde/brown), Golden/white
Complexion:	Host (pale), Golden
Physical Build:	Host (Light Athletic),
Physical Features:
Status
Fame:	██ ██ ██ ██ ██ ██ ██ ██ ██ Local
Alignment:	LG LN LE NG TN NE CG CN CE
Identity:	Host (Secret)
Years Active:
Citizenship:	Host (James Ryder) US Citizen
Occupation:	Supernatural Hunter
Education:
Marital Status:
Known Powers and Abilities
Celestial
Equipment and Paraphernalia

Physical Attributes
	Strength			Weapon
	Durability			Armor
	Speed			Reflexes
	Resistance			Stamina
	Dexterity			Agility
	Combat			Regeneration

Non-Physical Attributes
	Energy			Psionics
	Telepathy			Willpower
	Sorcery			Technology
	Intelligence			Knowledge
	Charisma			Bravery
MaekadaBox created by @Maekada

Background and Origins

Currently

Stories

Virtue's Ruin

Darenzel awakes to a dark and dusty tomb, howling wind threatens his safety from outside the ruined stone walls. He is disorientated and lost, up and down blend together, everything sounds so far away. His mind swims, he has no idea where he is or how he has got here. Something does not sit right, danger ebbs around the edges of everything, and in his stomach he knows something is wrong. He makes his way, stumbling, outside. Chaos. It engulfs everything, it IS everything. The ruins of a great temple is engulfed in a twisting sandstorm, which has eaten away everything to a wasteland. A dull fiery glow permeates the horizon, lost occasionally through the sands of howling winds. The turbulence roars like a living thing, hungry and raging.

Somehow, he knows this place, its called Carceri. What its purpose is, he cannot recall. He does know he must leave this place. he senses a presence here, hiding in the shadows, feels its malice. It makes that howling inferno inviting. The presence gnaws at his conscience mind, terrible and savage, it wants him.

Instinctively he searches for a weapon, what he would do with it he is unsure, but he finds comfort in the thought of being armed. Nothing. Only dust and rubble remains. The presence is closing, like its creeping closer, its everywhere, like whispers, closing. Closing for the kill.

Racing from the ruins, the wind hammers him like a ram, viciously whipping, trying to beat him into submission. He looks back, seeing the presence, they are wraiths, several of them, pools of shadow, their claws gripping the stones as they creep from their holes of darkness. Outside jagged rocks, and a rubble-strewn wasteland await. promising a torturous death of stroke and despair. The sand streams off of everything, hypnotically, it howls around everything. It burns his flesh and stings his eyes. By the Light what is this?

The wraiths are closing, moving faster as the excitement of flesh, of the hunt takes them. They let cry murderous screams, filled with hate and pain, promising a savage and miserable death. He tries to run, scrambling over the rocks, the ground and stone crumble with decay. The wind burns, blistering his flesh, it tears at him, as if its allied with the Darklings. he knows he cannot escape them, they move too fast, so very fast... They bound impossible distances in the blink of an eye. Something primal takes over, he must fight them, and he hides. They are smart, they spread out looking for him. Waiting, his anxiety builds exponentially, surely they know where he is, they are simply closing for the kill, surrounding him. Then he sees one, it does not know where he is, its still searching, sniffing the chaotic winds like an animal finding the scent. He lunges then at the Darkling, knocking it off balance, but its quick, and recovers immediately, its counter attack hurls him from his feet, and into a boulder roughly. With inhuman speed its upon him, snarling and hungry. His head is reeling, and he tries to right himself, but its weight is intense. It rakes at his face, vicious claws cleave his flesh like cream. Its breath is rotten with decay. His face is on fire, but he gropes desperately for something, ANYTHING his fingers curl around something solid, and with everything he smashes it into the monsters head, and is rewarded with a sickening crunch. It is wounded, but not defeated, black ichor oozes from its face. In desperation he dashes the stone repeatedly into its skull, until its legs give, until its skull gives. He was alive, by the Light, he was alive!

His respite is short lived, the others let cry another murderous scream, long and mournful, they know one of theirs has fallen, and they are coming. He spies a crude blade, only a knife on the fallen Darklings corpse, silently thanking the fates, he snatches up the weapon, scrambling he hides again. He ambushes a second wraith as it closes on the fallen, its eyes scan the rocks attentively. He leads with a heavy stone, which slams home in the monsters back, sending it tumbling, he leaps upon the Darkling plunging the blade into its chest and neck repeatedly. It never stood a chance, the monster drowned in its own ichor, and only managed feeble scratches at him in its death throes.

He notices too late, as the last charges him, it shreds his unprotected back with savage claws, the pain screams through his skull, drowning out his own cries of anguish. Before he can recover it is upon him, clawing his face with monstrous strength, blood pours from his face, his right eye is useless. Feebly he manages to place the blade between the Darklings ribs. Snarling in fury it moves to bite him, desperately he thrusts his hand into the path. Savagely it chews through three of his fingers, and buries its claws into the flesh of his arm. He swoons from the pain, he has lost too much blood, it was his doom. Somehow, unconsciously, he stabs the monster in the collar, just below the neck, its claws recede, desperately he twists the blade for all he is worth, tearing the wound open. Gurgling, it release him, and thrashing, tries to defy its death.

He can taste the beasts foul and noxious blood, but the flavor grants him such sustenance! As it dies he frantically crawls toward the Darkling and stabs it again, raining blows upon it until its death spasms cease. Shakingly he raises his ichor covered hands to his mouth. What foul and odious stuff this was! but he felt better, so much better. Teary eyed he plunges his face into the gore of the monsters throat and drinks deeply, feeling vigor returning.

What a monster he was! his left hand destroyed, his face in shreds, and now his very soul was in dire jeopardy. The tormenting winds burned so fierce his flesh was cracked and crumbling. He like the ruins was being destroyed by the very realm.

He managed weakly to move away from the Darklings bodies, horrified at what he had done. Weeping at what he was. By the Light! What was happening?

THE LIGHT! He remembered it, he served it, it created him, sustained him, loved him and all things. Where was it now? Had it forsaken him? Left him for dead? His pain was intense, its reality brought him back to the wasteland that was, the Nether.

He began moving, how long he journeyed no one knows. He kept on moving until his legs crumbled, burned and worn to dust, the wind took them. Then he tried to crawl, the sands wearing him down, weathering his body to dust. The horror had him, here he would perish, destroyed away from the light. His sight went next, the fiery winds burned his eyes to useless orbs. He must have failed, the Light loved him no more, he was Anathema. What had he done to be forsaken and allowed to die thusly?

A deep and soothing voice called to him, its power silenced the furious roar of the wind, and caused the storm to calm some. It promised salvation, prizes of beauty, of love. It promised to restore him, lulled him, that he need not die thusly. He was wasting away, his arms dust, his flesh nearly all gone. he was a whisper from total annihilation. It promised to mend his mind, and heal his broken body, to make him whole and beautiful again. It could not do such wonders so long as he was a servant of the Light. To be saved... he must FALL. With no time to decide, he faced oblivion. Away from the Light, there was no coming back a second time, no resurrection. Salvation was a word away.

"WILL YOU FALL?

The Angel's Heart and Spirit were broken...

"... yes"

OOC Information

• Attempts to Lie to him are likely to fail, this is an automatic celestial Ability, allowing him to distinguish the resonance in truth.
  
• Darenzel has trained his supernatural senses to better locate and identify the supernatural, giving him a preternatural ability to ascertain the origins of many of the creatures he encounters.
  
• Attempts to read his mind or emotions by Immortals of Divine Origin (may- send tell in RP) discover a troubled mind, confused, and angry. Feelings of loneliness and despair, often masked by false sense of power and anger. He feels he has lost his place in the Light, and is doomed to Reside forever in darkness, though he committed no sin.>br>
• His Origins are ancient, if a scryer is an Immortal of Divine Origin, they might discern all that is present at this page about Darenzel through "Legend Lore/Past Reading", and his aura radiate's Celestial, though tainted by the Arcane of Falling.
  
• Other Divine Origins may sense the lingering power of a specific Being upon him, its "scent/feel" is unmistakably that of Akoman. They may also discover if particularly talented (level 35+) that is indeed an angel of the Seraphim, the First house, and thusly related to many Angels in Theology.
  

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