Post by Sinner on May 24, 2008 14:35:43 GMT
Name: Miles
Age: Unknown
Height: 5’10
Build: Slim
Power: Resistance to injury, pain absorbance – basically these powers go together. Miles can’t die, and he can’t feel pain, so he takes on the injuries of others, healing them while taking any of their major injuries upon himself (which fade soon enough as well). This is basically his curse, he must free others from the grip of death to die himself. He can also transfer these injuries to other living beings as well through direct contact.
Looks: Long brown hair, blue eyes, bandages covering his wrists, legs and part of his chest. Wears a ragged brown riding robe (split at the legs)
History: Miles is a murderer. Or at least he was a murderer in his past life. A warrior, perhaps one of the best, certainly of the most ruthless. His ferocious efficiency in combat led him to be known simply as ‘the Butcherer’, and for years he was feared by all but the most powerful of beings. Eventually his own blood lust overruled his orders, and he was rejected from the military, only to become a mercenary and in time lead his own band of murderers. Whole villages and towns were ransacked and burnt, the innocents living in these places put to death without a second thought of the Butcherer. He didn’t do it for wealth or challenge, it was no challenge for him. He merely revelled in the pleasure of it all.
Yearning for a man who would be his equal, he abandoned his mercenary company, for they were only slowing him down. He didn’t eat or sleep or drink, the madness of the unequalled making him believe he was invincible. Eventually he wasted away, finally coming upon a small hamlet, where, in his weakened state, he was killed by a common farmer.
But death was not ready for him yet.
Many years later he arose, a changed man, the impenetrably dark silence of death creeping into his skull and revealing to him the truth of what he’d done. And he wept for days on end, wishing to end his wretched existence once and for all. Yet the worst blow death had dealt him was just that. The end would be far too easy.
He was cursed to live.
Race: Resurrected human
Friends: Anyone who deserves to live.
Weapons: A wooden staff in case his injuries become too painful for him to walk without it.
Age: Unknown
Height: 5’10
Build: Slim
Power: Resistance to injury, pain absorbance – basically these powers go together. Miles can’t die, and he can’t feel pain, so he takes on the injuries of others, healing them while taking any of their major injuries upon himself (which fade soon enough as well). This is basically his curse, he must free others from the grip of death to die himself. He can also transfer these injuries to other living beings as well through direct contact.
Looks: Long brown hair, blue eyes, bandages covering his wrists, legs and part of his chest. Wears a ragged brown riding robe (split at the legs)
History: Miles is a murderer. Or at least he was a murderer in his past life. A warrior, perhaps one of the best, certainly of the most ruthless. His ferocious efficiency in combat led him to be known simply as ‘the Butcherer’, and for years he was feared by all but the most powerful of beings. Eventually his own blood lust overruled his orders, and he was rejected from the military, only to become a mercenary and in time lead his own band of murderers. Whole villages and towns were ransacked and burnt, the innocents living in these places put to death without a second thought of the Butcherer. He didn’t do it for wealth or challenge, it was no challenge for him. He merely revelled in the pleasure of it all.
Yearning for a man who would be his equal, he abandoned his mercenary company, for they were only slowing him down. He didn’t eat or sleep or drink, the madness of the unequalled making him believe he was invincible. Eventually he wasted away, finally coming upon a small hamlet, where, in his weakened state, he was killed by a common farmer.
But death was not ready for him yet.
Many years later he arose, a changed man, the impenetrably dark silence of death creeping into his skull and revealing to him the truth of what he’d done. And he wept for days on end, wishing to end his wretched existence once and for all. Yet the worst blow death had dealt him was just that. The end would be far too easy.
He was cursed to live.
Race: Resurrected human
Friends: Anyone who deserves to live.
Weapons: A wooden staff in case his injuries become too painful for him to walk without it.
