Personality: The first impression one will generally aquire about Venarion is that he is a loner. He speaks little, often staring into space with a look of profound sadness on his features. Venarion tends to keep to himself, content to dwell in the dark, quiet places of whatever city he happens to inhabit at the time. A drifter, he leaves little to no trail these days, moving from one place to the next with an air of indifference. Those who interrupt his silent reflections are oft met with hostility, or at the very least a wary mistrust. Venarion regards himself as a Killer, or Predator, having no remorse for those he kills to secure his blood money. Indeed, he revels in the suffering of his opponents, relishing every scream of utter agony.
Likes/Dislikes:Venarion enjoys the quiet reflections of innermost thought he pursues in the dark, secluded areas where few tread.. or many fear to. He is known for his ravenous sweet tooth, and passion for elegant music. He can oft be found lurking in the back of a orchestral performance, blending in with the crowd as he closes his eyes to lose himself in the music, if only for a few minutes.
Venarion is possesed of a strong dislike for bitter foods, almost forgoing them in thier entireity. His dislike for paladins in general is well known, stemming from the perspective as his polar opposite. To him, a true paladin embodies all that he is not. He reviles them, but none more so then the zealous 'Crusaders'. These men with such blind religous zeal as to become an almost automated soldier who can be molded like putty to do whatever thier overlord desires. It is this lack of free thought, of single minded will, that disgusts Venarion so profoundly.
Appearance:Venarion stands just below average height for an elf, with lightly tanned skin which would appear to have been aquired in the relentless heat of a battlefield, as opposed to carefully tanned. His eyes are a dark emerald shade, watching the world around him with a detatched arrogance, seeming to look down upon all but a select few. Long golden hair cascades down his back in shimmering waves, sparkling slightly when the light hits it. His body is finely toned, with a broad chest, and thickly corded muscles.
Tattoos of rose vines adorn his shoulders, inked in a dark black color. The markings curl all the way down his arm to his wrist, with a rose blooming on his shoulder. Usually hidden by his leggings, this pattern also appears on his legs, starting at his hips and curling down to his ankles.
When the Chidren Cry
The thunderous pour of rain sounded all around him, lighting cracking in the distance with the roaring booms of thunder tearing through the air. Yet Venarion heard none of it, felt none of the stinging pelts of droplets upon his body, for his attention was transfixed upon the scene below. Far down from the hilltop upon which he stood, an orphanage lay aflame. He could almost hear the sickening cracks of the wooden timbers as the fire licked and danced beneath it. The screams of the dying sent a cold shiver down his spine, for he thought he could pick out the screams of children among them. Wasting no time, he ran down the steep incline towards the grisly scene which awaited him below.
The sickening stench of rotting flesh greeted Venarion as he entered the smoldering ruins of the Orphanage, causing him to double over and retch onto the ground. Wiping off his mouth, he groans and thinks to himself. "Something about this place.. It is horridly.. wrong." For Venarion had no other words to describe the feeling in his roiling gut, the profound sense of unease that sent chills down his spine. Rising he presses on, steeling himself for the horrors he would be sure to find here.
A short time later, Venarion turned a corner, only to find he was alone no longer. For in his path, stood a tall elven woman, her robes torn and stained with blood. He recognized her as one of the orphan matrons. Her tattered robes were a dull amber shade, which might have once shimmered when the light hit it. But now it was torn and stained. Her hair was frizzled, the dark brunette shade of her hair matted with dried blood. But it was her eyes that was the most unsettling part about her. They were cold, empty and lifeless. It was as if he stared into a dark void, which clawed at his soul in an attempt to pull him into thier empty depths. She was deathly still, lacking any involuntary action that a living person made.
As he drew closer to the woman, she suddenly leapt into motion, running at him with a unearthly scream that chilled him to the bone. It was all Venarion could down to dodge her sweeping slashes with long, filth encrusted nails, leaping backwards as his right palm closed, save for his middle and index fingers. "What.. are you.." he murmured to himself, as he stepped inside her guard. He didnt know what this... thing was, but he wouldnt die today. With the deadly precision of years spent practicing his art, Venarion pounded her with six lightning fast jabs, each hand striking her chest with a sickly squelching noise, dark green bile rising from the wounds left behind by his jabs. Each strike was met with the sound of bones crunching under the force, and yet still the creature came. She was relentless in her pursuit, raking his chest with a screech of victory. For Venarion was sent flying from the force of her slash, or so it seemed, as he slammed into the wall. As he pretended to be stunned, the creature racing after him as he flew... he flattens his palm, leaping up to meet her in the last possible moment. As her grisly palms reach for his throat, he slams his flattened palm into her forehead with a roar of denial, the force of the flat-palmed punch engaging the hidden blade inside his glove. He dug his fingers into her skull as the blade sank into her skull, plunging right between her eyes. The woman howled, screaming and trashing as the dagger penetrated her flesh with a sickening squelch. She thrashed and flailed, desperately trying to free herself from the blade. But soon, she shuddered one final time and was still, having no energy left to fight.
Venarion pulled his blade out of her skull, flicking his wrist to retract the blade. He slumped against the wall, with a soft groan. He had no clue what that.. thing was, only that it was dead now. It was as if someone had taken the corpse of an elf and filled it with a mindless hatred, sickening to say the least. Rising, he forces himself to continue on.. whispering to himself "I must get to the bottom of this Nightmare.. Something is most definitely unclean within these walls.." He was still shell shocked by the encounter by the monster, that was easily apparent. The stench of death became stronger as he walks deeper into the depths of the orphanage, Indeed it soon became almost overpowering in its grusome scent. Venarion dropped to a crouch as a pair of misshapen figures ran towards him, the ghouls slavering jaws dripping vile drool as they leapt at him. Venarion backstepped so that the ghouls leaps would find only empty air. He snapped a punishing high kick into the head of the first ghoul, knocking its head clean off with the crack of bones snapping. Wasting no time, he stepped inside the guard of the second ghoul, driving his knee into its chest. Rolling his body with the force of the motion, he slugged the staggering ghoul with a right hook that shattered its skull in a spray of rotted flesh, greymatter and sickly green bile. As the second ghoul fell to the floor, Venarion takes a shaky breath, taking the still moment to recover from the shock.
But he wouldnt be given long to catch his breath, for the hornets nest had been stirred. From around the corner a massive creature charged towards him. The beast seemed to be stitched togeather with chunks of rotted flesh from various beings, the pale flesh shaking and jiggling as the ran at him. With a roar that shook the hallway, the Abomination swung one meaty arm at him, sending him flying into the wall with a sickening crack. The sheer power of the monstrosity astounded him, "Cant get hit by that again.." he whispered to himself with a grunt, rolling out of the way of the creautres next swing. Yet he was not fast enough, for the blow nicked him as he rolled to safety. Even the slight brush jarred his body, sending him rolling out of control. Had the blow hit him squarely, he would likely have been killed outright. Venarion rolls onto his feet, leaping at the creature to strike into its backside with a forceful jab. Yet, his hands sinks elbow deep into the thick folds of flesh which made up the beast. Pursing his lips, he kicked off the monstrosity with a growl, his normal means of assault seeming to be ineffective against such a creature. "Seems I will have to improvise.." He says, reaching into his belt. He drew a small bottle with a rag capping it. Striking a match attached to the bottle, he lights the rag, the stench of burning oil filling the room. "Open wide, Ugly..." he snarled, standing his ground as the Abomination charged him, roaring with its slavering maw spread wide. Venarion waited until the last moment, before hurling the burning concoction down the Abominations throat, rolling out of the way as it slammed into the wall- and promptly burst into flames as the Moltov Cocktail burst inside it. The fires caught quickly to the putrid flesh, a burning inferno igniting within moments. The Abomination flailed and thrashed with pain-crazed rage, unable to think, unable to anything besides scream in torment. Eventually the burning lump of flesh that once was the terrible Abomination fell down and laid still, shuddering for the last time. Venarion rose, breathing quickly as he walked deeper into the nightmarish place that was once a haven for orphans.
A short time later, Venarion came upon a room which gripped his heart with the icy fingers of death. For all around the room, lay the bloody corpses of children. The bodies were mangled and torn, some bent at unnatural angles. They had died fighting, clinging to thier young lives with a desperation that he wish no child would ever have to know. It was thier faces, that scarred him the most. For upon each childs cherubic features lay a look of utter horror and hopelessness.
At the back of the room a figure stood, chanting in a malefic tounge while waving his hand through mystical passes of some horrific spell. Venarion could not understand the words, but they sent chills down his spine as he listened. As he walks forward, his mind reeled from the horror of the room. But then, he noticed something that had escaped his notice during the first inspection of the figure. At his hip was a ritualistic dagger, which was.. stained red with blood. His mouth becomes dry as he looks to the children again, for the wounds over thier chest.. they matched the daggers shape perfectly. Venarion shook with rage, for now he knew who was responsible for this entire atrocity. But before he could move, before he could act.. The figure turned towards him, and he recieved his first glance at the face of true evil.
Beneath the blackened cloth of the cowl was the face of a man, of a human nearing his early fourties. The mans face was pale and, gaunt like a walking corpse. His lips were frozen in a permanent sneer, of disdain, of superiority, of malice. But it was his eyes perhaps, that was the most unsettling. For his eyes were filled with.. glee, the blue-green hazel eyes that stared into his own.. they relished the atrocity that he had commited. They.. they relished, the horrors he had visited upon these children. But that was not all he saw in that sickening gaze, for within those eyes there was also hunger.. a hunger to cause yet more suffering. Venarion had met many people in his life, seen many monsters of this world.. But none, none were so profoundly vile as this man. As the cold hand of fear gripped his heart, Venarion knew that whomever this man was.. only one of them would survive this night.
It was then that the man spoke, his voice so chilling that Venarion cringed inwardly. For the man spoke with a voice full of malice and hatred, the deep tone of his voice echoing the horrors in his eyes. "So.. you are the one who has intruded upon these defiled halls. I have watched you, watched your struggles to reach the innermost sanctum of this forsaken building.. The man laughs, cackling to himself. "You have come far.. but it has been in vain. For now... You will die." with that, the man raised his hand, shouting the final command word which finished the spell. The mangled bodies of the orphans.. they rose, with jerky motions they rose from thier peaceful slumber. Venarion could only watch in horror as they stood, falling into a single file before the man. "Now my... Children, of the Damned.. Kill him." He cackles madly, as the children run towards Venarion as a unified mass with only one goal- His end.
The world seemed to move in slow motion for Venarion as the watched the undead monstrosities the orphans had become run towards him, intent on his destruction. He tensed his body drawing upon his training to deaden his nerves, as tears rolled down his cheeks. 'They arent children anymore.. This man has stolen thier life from them..' he thinks to himself, "You die today.. You die for the sins you have committed upon these halls.. upon these children.." Venarion roars as the first child reaches him. Tears streaming down his face, Venarion slugs the cherubic form of the child with a straight punch. The force of the blow sends it reeling, its face caving in upon itself. With a final shudder, the child lays still. Venarions spins away just in time to avoid a second child leaping onto his back, snapping a high kick into the chest of the child as it sails past him. With a sickening squelching noise the childs body bends at a most unnatural angle, the crunch of bones snapping heard as the child slams into the wall and lies still. Looking around him, Venarion sees that he had barely dented thier numbers- there were still thwo dozen children, if not more. 'I wont be able to kill them all.. not now. Unless..' he thinks to himself, drawing his last incindeary bottle. As the grusome mass of zombified children draws ever closer, Venarion lights the rag within the mouth of the bottle. He looks away, mouthing 'Im sorry.' to the children as hs throws the bottle into thier incoming wave of flesh. The bottle shatters upon impact, the contents inside instantly igniting into a roaring fire. The first child caught by the flames flails, running every which was as the burning tendrils of fire consume him. Inadvertedly he spreads it to his fellows, until all the room is filled with the keening wails of the burning.
Within the burning flames of the inferno, Venarion looks around, seeking the necromancer. His eyes nearly miss the black clad figure as it flees down the hallway, almost letting him escape. But almost would not be enough to save him, for Venarion had little intention of 'almost' making good on his word. Sprinting out the doorway and down the hall, Venarion draws his folding hand crossbrow, unfolding it and drawing a single quarrel. The man had a signifigant lead.. he would only get one shot, just one to make the man pay for what he had done to these children. The black liquid swished lazily within the canister at the center of the bolt, as he loaded it into the crossbow. To Venarions eyes time seemed to slow down as he takes aim with the crossbow, closing his eyes and pulling the Trigger. Sailing through the air the bolt slams into the back of the Necromancer, the canister collapsing upon the impact- igniting the volatile oil that laid inside. The explosion that follows sears the flesh from the mans bones, his scream of agony drowned out by the roaring howl fo the fires. Within the fires that still burn around the corpse of the necromancer, all Venarion could see was charred bone. Falling to his knees, he whispers to himself "This long nightmare.. is finally over.."
Angelus Venarion himself is a decorated Veteran of the Scryers, now retired from thier service. He currently works on a contract basis for the varying factions of the horde, and the Cataclysm.
Within the Underground, Venarion is known as 'Angelus'. The figure known as Angelus has no data that anyone would be able to recover regarding his history, the only evidence to his existence being the brutal killings that have been linked to him, and the ghost stories swapped by the drunken patrons lof various taverns. Known of by many, yet known by none, Angelus's true Identity remains a secret.
Quote: 'All that lives must one day die.'- Venarion Ebonrose
Last edited by Rhynarion; 2011-05-06 at 05:04 PM.
Reason: Finished the Bio.
Well its short, but im sure you have more to add in the future. Here is the first thing I see, he is a decorated Veteran but information on him is hard to acquire. This doesn't really add up. If he is a known veteran then information on him wont be very difficult to acquire. Other than the bio being quite short and what I pointed out Im pretty interested in what it will look like when finished.
That was a miswording on my part. Venarion does his normal work under his true Identity, and is listed as a Veteran of the Scryers under such.
His cloak-and-dagger work done within the Underground, he performs under the assumed Persona of 'Angelus', a false Identity which has served him particularly well in his career. People see Angelus as a person unto himself, where he is truly as much a mask as the one he wears.
Also- Bio finished, feel free to leave comments on it. ^.^