Since me and Zhar are almost done developing the latest RP for the DiabloFans Community, I thought it would be fitting to make the official character creation thread for the upcoming RP entitled, "Abaddon's Legions"! Now, mind you, we want everybody's character to be different and unique. So be creative! Also, in order for this RP to work you guys have to start out on the slaver ship everyone is on, so be sure to include how he/she ended up being captured. Try not to make you character super overpowered, try to make your character feel as human as possible. Remember, ALL FIELDS ARE REQUIRED!
NAME:Vaker a.k.a. the Cowking AGE: 19 years HEIGHT:mmm... 1.73 meters (don't know you system) WEIGHT: 65 Kilos... HAIR: black EYES: orange GENDER: male CHARACTER BIO: Some years ago he was a coward thief, who got involved in a terrible struggle for power between two great mages, while hidding from the unleashed powers of the contenders he accidentaly found a wand of unimaginable power.
time pased and he used the power of the wand to impress some peasants and convince them he was a god. He claimed to be the ruler of the world and called himself "The Cowking"
But as he didn't know how to use the power of the wand properly, and while ordering his subjects to build a temple in his honour, somebody stole his wand and capture him in some kind of parallel world.
His most loyal servant managed to contact him and realese him from this prison, but now the "Cowking" was powerless. As he failed to make a true demonstration of his power his servants left him... few years passed and now the former "ruler of the world" is in a slave ship...
STRENGTHS: stealing, some residual fire magic powers, deceive WEAKNESSES: his sense of humor, clumsy, careless, can't use other elements magic yet... HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Lost and powerless he wander alone for a few years searching the source of the power he once used to wield... one of those endless days the slavers captured him... WEAPONS: none (for now) is searching for his lost almighty wand CLOTHING/ARMOR: rags...
HEIGHT: 5' 7"
WEIGHT: 170 lbs
HAIR: Pure white
CHARACTER BIO: An Albino Necromancer specialized in using poison and bone spells with the ability to communicate with the dead.
STRENGTHS: Scholar, can cook fish better than an accomplished chef, can see in the dark, and can use magic.
WEAKNESSES: Can't swim, can't fire a bow to save his life, can't sit in the sun for too long, and discriminated against because of his calling.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Tea was drugged.
WEAPONS: Dagger coated with a poison that can turn normal cuts into festering wounds. Another Dagger for certain spell work.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Light clothing with a cloak, all black.
SPEECH COLOR: Dark Green
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Just as the Scorpion hunts...
"Nothing is True. Everything is Permitted." ~ Ezio Auditore de Firenze
CHARACTER BIO: The bastard son of a demon and a Westmarch prostitute he never knew, Dagon was born into difficulty. His mother could not support him, and took him to the Zakarum church to live the life of a priest. She offered him to the eldest priest within the church, but upon contact with holy water, his skin sizzled and bubbled. The church saw it as a mockery that she would offer a demon spawn to them, and planned to have Dagon killed in the name of the gods. His mother stole him away in the night, and ran to her closest known relatives.
She gave her son to them, and they welcomed him with open arms. She explained to them the circumstances, that he could very well be the spawn of a demon lord, yet they still accepted him as if he was their own child. With Dagon in safe hands, his mother fled into the wilds, never to return to the region out of fear of the church. Dagon wouldn't know of her existence, or his heritage, until much later in life. For now, he was simply a child being raised by who he thought were his parents. He loved them, and for 8 years he was their only son.
His foster parents had birthed a son of their own, named Drangar. Dagon took him under his wing, cared for him, and protected him in any way he could. They soon became good friends when Drangar grew older, and would frequently test their skills against each other through wrestling, and occasionally swordplay. Both dreamed of being knights smiting demonic influence from across the lands, of the glory that they would be given in the afterlife. But, as simple villagers, they could do nothing of the sort.
It was in his later years that Dagon would behind to have visions. Slowly, they intensified, turning into twisted nightmares. He would wake up screaming, tearing at his flesh, howling in pain. He drempt of hell, of a purple, winged demon on a massive throne of rock. His parents knew something was troubling Dagon, and asked him. He explained, and they feared the worst. They finally had to come clean, and tell Dagon of his heritage. They explained his mother, the church, and the circumstances that brought him to them. He was floored, nothing could have prepared him for this.
"BUT HOW?!?!" he screamed, wondering how he could ever be the son of a demon. He had no special powers, no horns, nor hooves, not even scaly skin, yet he was still tainted with demonic blood. His parents knew not why his abilities had been stifled, perhaps it was the early influence of holy water, perhaps spending time in the church, they knew not. Dagon, despite this revelation, loved them still, and his respect for them grew, knowing that his parents could have been burned at the stake for harboring a demon.
Their entire existence was shattered one autumn night: they came with torches, with cages, with chains and swords. They slaughtered the old, the infirm, and the children. They were slavers, and they had chosen Ragen as their next target.
Dagon grabbed his brother, and fled for the door. They threw it open, and were faced with a pair of slavers. Before he could even think a knife flew past his ear and embedded itself in one of their chests, felling him instantly. Dagon kicked the other slaver down, grabbed his father's longsword from above the door, and ran the slaver through as he tried to get up. More came, and this time, there was no escape. They sent the boys to their ship, and burned anything that remained.
STRENGTHS: One on one combat, strong, somewhat quick, has a knack for anticipating his opponents next move, Tactical mind. WEAKNESSES: Reserved, cannot enter churches, must constantly hide his heritage.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Outlined in the bio
WEAPONS: Father's longsword, and a dagger tucked into his left boot.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Light scale mail worn underneath his cloak, heavy red gauntlet worn on his left hand and arm to substitute as a shield.
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Quote from "Sixen" »
"One in every 10 million people can potentially have a headache from this pill." God forbid she is the 0.000000001% of having a headache.
NAME: Drangar Rundenth AGE: 21
WEIGHT: 170 HAIR: Black, medium length EYES: Sliver GENDER: Male
CHARACTER BIO: Drangar was born to two hard working residents of the village Ragen. At a very early age his older "brother" took him under his wing and taught him how to fight. Every day the boys would go outside and wrestle and cause mischief. Soon Drangar found that he had a natural ability, his quickness. Although his oldest brother, Dagon, was much stronger than him Drangar could sometimes beat him because of his natural quickness. Learning to utilize this talent he began stealing from local pubs sometimes in order to give his parents financial aid. Drangar thought his life was good until the fateful night when the slavers came.
It was a late autumn night when Drangar and Dagon suddenly heard a scream right outside of their house. Going outside to investigate, the two boys found themselves being face to face with two slavers. Drangar knew he had to do something so he quickly grabbed the skinning knife his father had left outside and threw it at one of the men hitting him square in the chest. The slavers looks surprised, as did Dragnar, but the slavers had the two boys heavily outnumbered.
"Take them back to the ship." The tall man in the middle said as the four men on each of his sides grabbed the two boys and stated dragging them outside of their village.
"What should we do with the village." One of the goons asked
"Burn it." The tall man said as he quickly threw his torch onto a bale of hay. Drangar has been a slave ever since.
STRENGTHS: Quick, Stealthy, A ladies man WEAKNESSES: Sometimes a bit cocky, Hotheaded
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Explained in the bio
WEAPONS: Two hidden blades, 1 handed short sword (like in the playby)
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Metal chestplate, spaulders, and bracers
NAME: Wulfgar AGE: 48
WEIGHT: 225 HAIR: White, long EYES: Brown GENDER: Male
CHARACTER BIO: Wulfgar, a member of the once might Shadow Wolf tribe of barbarians, now reduced to a mere pit fighter after a skirmish ended with him being captured and sold into slavery. His natural skill with weapons, and year spend in the high lands made him a expert in the ring. Moving from town to town, from slave owner to slave owner, to which ever seedy character from Sanctuary's seedy under belly would pay for his "services".
STRENGTHS: Strong, resilient. WEAKNESSES: Aged, mind deterioration.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Traded to ship captain
WEAPONS: two handed axe, short sword.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Metal chestplate, spaulders, and bracers
Will probably add more later. Just wanted to get something down.
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-Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's First Law of Equivalent Exchange. In those days, we really believed that to be the world's one, and only, truth.
NAME: Jerfuth AGE: 22 HEIGHT: 5'11" WEIGHT:134 HAIR: Brown EYES: Hazel GENDER: Male
CHARACTER BIO: As a child, Jerfuth was raised in the Singram Tribe of druids, learning to shapeshift under their gods. He was one of the best students under their Elder Druid, quickly learning to shapeshift into a tiger, bear, serpent, and hawk. During a ceremony, Jerfuth ran off into the woods after not being granted the honor of becoming the Elder Druid to, who Jerfuth thought, was an undeserving druid. He made his way to a cliff edge where he noticed a boat docked on the shore below. After flying down to the ship, he searched around any people wondering why they had come to the Singram isles, before he was knocked unconscious by a slaver.
STRENGTHS: The ability to shapeshift into different, useful forms. WEAKNESSES: Any melee or ranged combat when not shapeshifted.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Was knocked unconscious by a slaver while searching around the slave boat. He was put into a cage that, regardless of his form, he could not escape.
WEAPONS: A claw staff. Natural weapons while shapeshifted.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Simple cloth armor reinforced with light leather armor. Jerfuth wears the tiger tribal armor along with two pouches that hold herbs and reagents.
NAME: Donsro AGE:18 HEIGHT: 5' 10" WEIGHT: 187 lbs HAIR: Light Brown EYES: Lime Green Gender: Male
Character Bio: Donsro, until the age of about 16, grew up in a small but worthy village. He's practiced martial arts since he could walk and also is gifted with the blade. By the time Donsro hit seven or eight his village noticed that he was gifted in a mental state as well. He sees things in a more different light than most people. Every detail and possible situation runs through his head for everything he sees, making him an excellent problem solver. Such gifts takes take their toll on him though as anyone can imagine. Donsro set off from his village when he turned 16 in order to fufill his true potential.
Strengths: Martial Arts, Blade, Problem Solving, Modest Weaknesses:Magic
How your character was captured:Wrong place at the wrong time.
Weapons: Dark curved blade that he keeps at his side.
Clothing/armor: Leather vest, Leather Pants, Black Boots
CHARACTER BIO: A farmer by trade, Micawkineer learned young the value of hard work. Upon his fathers death, he took up the farm, and supported his mother, and 2 younger brothers. Skilled with his hands and polearms, from years in the fields he knew them well. His land, being rich and fertile was often sot after by the king, for himself. One night while sleeping, hired men by the king torched the land, and assumedly kidnapped his family. He awoke, drugged and tied up in his own home, remembering little of what happened.
STRENGTHS: strength, bartering, resistant to poisons
WEAKNESSES: no tactical training, ill tempered, slow learner.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: Wagered his freedom on a hand of cards.. his hand wasnt good enough, and was sold into slavery. He hopes being around the type of people who kidnapped his family, he may learn where they are.
Character bio: Borins' mother, an Amazon, and his father, a Vizjerei mage, had a hidden affair. After giving birth to Borin, his mother was kicked out of her clan for tainting the Amazonian blood line and his Father was kicked out of the Vizjerei clan for the same crime. Both clans looking to purify their blood line sought after Borin to kill him and end his tainted lineage.
Borin's parents escaped with him into the Shrival wilds were they lived for many years. Borin's mother taught him how to shoot a bow and with his Amoazonian genes, he was a sure shot, however, he lacked the natural strength and speed his mother had. His father also helped to teach Borin how to control certain elements. Without a pure mage lineage, Borin was never as capable as his father but he soon learned that he could imbue his arrows with elements and use his Amazonian skills to deliver the magic to his foes.
Borin and his parents could feel the impending discovery of their location. Sacrificing themselves to save Borin, both of his parents went to their respective clan to suffer the consequences of their actions in exchange for the safety of their child. The clans refused the offer of his parents and took his parents prisoner and continued to look for Borin.
Borin continues to live in the Shrival Wilds alone, only venturing to the cities when supplies were needed. Whenever he would have to interact with other people, he would wear his mask to conceal his true identity.
Strengths: Sight, Aim, and basic elemental imbuement.
Weaknesses: Close combat, Strength, and Speed.
How your character was captured: One day while in the city, Borin was told about a special bow made by the Amazons. Excited by the chance to have a bow made by actual Amazons, Borin Blindly followed the merchant only to be attacked and taken aboard a slave ship.
Weapons: Long Bow
NAME: Ja'quar AGE: 21 HEIGHT: 1m67 or 5'6" WEIGHT: 54 kg or 119 lbs HAIR: Very dark blonde (almost black) with some hint of very early greyness, extending into his neck. Sweaty and untidy due to humid conditions. Tied into a pony tail to keep them out of his face. EYES: Brown GENDER: Male
Ja'quar has no true father, for his mother was a common prostitute. She worked in the city of Caldeum in one of the cheaper brothels. With avarage looks she had nothing that made her stand out of the crowd, but she wasn't shied away either. Her attitude however made her one of the less liked employees, so when she was conceived she got little help to cope with it.
Her love interest at that time was a bog scourer: he searched the bogs to the south for fallen adventurers and stripped them bare leaving their desecrated bodies in the swamp to rot. He didn't earn much respect among his fellow humans this way, but his wealth was vast which was all that mattered.
He volunteered to watch over her and the child. She was no fool, so for the last stages of pregnancy she continued to live of Ja?quar?s father?s back. When the child was born she quickly got back in shape to work again. When the boy was about 1 year old she severed all ties to the men and went on to live her own life.
In the years that followed Ja?quar?s father tried to do all he could in educating the young boy. Being a sly one himself, he taught the boy ways to present himself in a way he was not. He taught him to lie and cheat with a straight face and said it was okay if you helped others that way. He also taught the boy how to work leather so he could have more time roaming the bogs for bodies.
This was the way the boy grew up, self sufficient and ingenious. He didn?t have a hard time making friends due to his social skills, but he did see how everybody around him started to despise his dad more and more. One day his father returned with a paranoid look on his face carrying a small box. He ran past the boy and quickly hid the cache. A few hours later a handful of guards entered the house and searched the place top to bottom. When they found the cache they accused the man of stealing of noble. When Ja?quar?s father said in his defense that had only found these items in the bog the judicial system ruled that he was to be exiled from Caldeum and live in the swamps till eternity.
At 10 years of age Ja?quar?s life seemed to vanish in smoke. He went with his father to live in the march of Caldeum and learned how to survive in such treacherous conditions. From him he learned how to set snares, how to kill and how to fight. He learned the ways of surviving in the swamps as normal man would.
When his father returned one day with a face as pale as a ghost. The fourteen year old Ja?quar knew better than to ask and let him be. His father couldn?t sleep for days on end and when he seemed about to snap a couple of pale men appeared at their doorstep. ?You disturbed the balance of Trag-Oul, for that you shall be punished?, one them said. ?Please, I have a son?, pleaded the father, ?do not let him grow up as an orphan. At the very least, take him into your midst when you take me away.? A flash of white later his body slumped to the floor. The men looked at Ja?quar, whose face was contorted with shock, grief, anger and guilt. ?Come?, the same person said said, and somehow Ja?quar could only follow.
As an apprentice of the cult of Rathma he never fully trusted them. He only admired them. These people used everything as tools, even life and death were in their hands. He watched their surgical precision; he observed their mathematical analysis of cost and benefit. And in such a way he began to adopt their way of life. He looked around him and learned only the things he deemed useful.
But still he didn?t trust them. He didn?t like them. He didn?t want them. He hated how they were always reserved in their actions; everything somehow needed to be in balance with Trag-Oul?s whishes. His servitude to the dragon was something he didn?t find useful, so he never adopted it. With guile he made others believe, but once he knew everything he wanted to know, he left.
The others didn?t stop him, he was not important enough. His knowledge only extended to the animating of dead bodies, a minor aspect of the Cult. However, for Ja?quar this knowledge was all he needed. Living in the swamps had given him enough skills to survive on small prey, but trapping large pray in a circle of shambling carcasses was something he found much more appealing.
STRENGTHS: Controlling the undead, fighting in swamps/dense terrain, lying WEAKNESSES: Man to man combat, open ground, hard to trust others
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: not applicable
WEAPONS: A dagger: it's light and small, so it doesn't get in the way very often. When he reanimates he needs to have a hand or both his hands free, depending on the intensity.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Tight leather clothes, minimizing the chance to stick to branches.
TEXT COLOUR: It's DarkSlateGray
I know the image says rogue, but that's just how he looks.
[ATTACH]1951[/ATTACH] NAME: Azriel AGE: 38 HEIGHT: 5' 9" WEIGHT: 131lbs HAIR: Very thin and dark brown EYES: Red GENDER: Male
Deep within the forests of Al-Dur, a mother gives birth to a child. Shortly thereafter, a group of marauders destroy the village, raping and slaughtering those who dare step in their way. The child is kept safe by a man, the very man who disclosed the location of their village for his own goodwill. Named after the god of torment, Azriel never knew his mother, nor his father, but he has known pain. The man took Azriel to a mountain village to be taught under a dark wizard. The wizard, who grew more insane by the day, taught Azriel all that he knew under the notion that he would soon die and he didn't want his precious art to diminish with him.
For the first ten years of Azriel's life, the villagers embraced him as a new addition to the community, but the teachings of the wizard made him cold and the villagers soon learn to keep away from him. For this, Azriel never learned to love, but instead, learned how to make others love him. Jaded as he was, he still felt the warmth of acceptance from the weakening mind of his tutor, a warmth that kept his innocence intact, blind to his persecution within the village. The wizard was indeed kind to him, though that was not enough to keep Azriel from seeking fellowship from other members of the village. His quests for friendship led to him discovering a boy who, in due time, would become his companion in conquest.
During his teen years, Azriel grew more aware of the community's prejudice towards him. He addressed the wizard of this matter, only to have the wizard cackle at his feebleness. Angered and confused, Azriel retreated to the forest of his birth. There he found the journals of his late mother, journals that revealed her life. He gathered the journals and journeyed back to the wizard, studied them... and soon came to realize that he was the son of a mortal and a demon. The marauders who came to destroy the village were allies with The Holy Alliance of Northen, and when informed of the immaculate pregnancy, set out to exterminate Azriel and the tainted village. Azriel swore vengeance on the Holy Alliance that day, and after, studied the arcane much more deliberately.
Azriel soon took interest in the occult. He learned the names of demons and evils alike, and took great interest in the God that shared his name. The god of torment visited Azriel in a nightmare, showed him the tragic scene of his village's sacking, and showed him the future, the sacking of the mountain village he now lived in. In cold sweat, Azriel threw together the wizard's textbooks and his enchanted dagger, flew into the forest, surviving only through the manipulation of the plants and water around him. Everywhere he went, the trees died from dehydration, the moss greyed, and the soil grew hard. Over the course of the week, Azriel found the climate becoming, to his dismay, more and more dry. The next day, he found himself on the border of a vast desert. Azriel was weak, sickly, and pale from malnutrition and the shade of the forest... he had no choice but to push through the desert. After two days of walking, he started hearing the galloping of horses, and shortly after, saw the waving of banners; the Alliance had found him. A small army of 200 was combing every corner of Al-Dur to find Azriel.
Azriel started to run, and he ran until he found a cave. He searched the cave for inhabitants, and after finding no one, established his haven in the deepest part of the cave. He put enchantments on the mouth and passageways of the cave and created a network of caverns. The caverns became his abode, and Azriel continued his studies in complete solitude. He discovered that in his hurry, he had gathered too many books; he had taken a few selections of the wizard's necromantic practices, and after taking great interest in Necromancy, Azriel began to take up the practice. He would soon become a master in Necromancy and the arcane.
STRENGTHS: Manipulation of matter, arcane mastery, necromancy WEAKNESSES: Hand to hand combat,
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: One day, while performing an intricate ritual, the sound of marching was heard above. In frantic desperation, Azriel started putting enchantments on the walls of the caverns, but to his dismay, was quickly overtaken by ten men. A holy knight had taken down the enchantments on the mouth of the cave. Azriel was taken to a impervious prison hidden in the desert cliffs. He underwent mindless torture at the hands of religious radicals, slowly becoming weaker until his arcane abilities diminished.
WEAPONS: An enchanted dagger that bleeds it's foe until death, only used in desperation.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: Robes, leather armor
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I hate the way you cling to ignorance and pass it off as innocence
NAME: (unknown... yet)
AGE: aronud 25
HEIGHT: 1.80 meters
WEIGHT: 60 kilos
HAIR: black as the nigth
CHARACTER BIO: she born in Westmarch, doughter of a legendary order of withes that conceived her without a father. She was raised surrounded by magic and powerful spells. At the age of 15 her powers araised as had been foretold. His fate was sealed, as she would fulfill the ancient prophecy preserved by the order. Developing his magic under the guidance of a stranger witch who lived near the now lost village of Tristram.
Years ago, witnessed the slaughter brought by the Lord of Terror, and narrowly escaped with her life. But her soul was marked by the evil presence, being lost in a dreamless sleep. Many years pased... One day she was awaken by a terrible scream from de very heart of the world. She realised that she had no memories, but somehow she knew her path...
STRENGTHS: the power of the prophecy lies within her soul
WEAKNESSES: she can't control her power as her soul remains shattered
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: N/A
CLOTHING/ARMOR: barefoot, she's wearing a corset, pants and a cape
CHARACTER BIO: Ravanos was once a young monk in training. One day a woman from the town was brought in to be exorcised. The small church had never seen anything like this before, the woman violently fought and injured those trying to restrain her. Ravanos knew something had to be done quick.
Ravanos ordered the villagers to hold the woman down. She arched her back letting out blood curdling moans of no earthly origin. Ravanos took out the necessary items from his pack and got ready to perform the ritual.
He placed his hand on her forehead and looked into her black eyes. It was if he was staring into a dark empty well with shadows moving about. He began to chant and the woman grew more violent and she spat at him but he paid no mind.
The woman arched her back again and her mouth opened wide. Her eyes began to drain of the blackness and Ravanos felt a little relieved. Suddenly something black shot out of her mouth that resembled an arm. This black arm grasped his right hand and began pulling itself from the woman.
The creature resembled a human in only the most basic of ways, it's skin was black almost like tar but also resembling shadow very much. It screeched as the sun it it's skin and opened it's devilish maw full of sharp teeth. It swallows his hand and arm up to the nearly the shoulder and clamped down. Ravanos howled in pain. Not only did the bite puncture his skin but his arm felt as if it was being slowly dissolved by acid and burned at the same time.
The creatures lower extremities began to fade as if Ravanos's arm was being injected with the being. Just then the senior monk of the town, the man that had raised Ravanos, burst through the crowd. He quickly muttered a prayer and slammed his palm into the beasts body. At the very same time the beast burst into black flames. The creature shrieked and burned to ash that blew away with the wind.
The senior monk, named Eos clinched his teeth in pain as the fire worked it's way up his arm searing all the flesh as it went. Ravanos stared in horror at what progressed infront of his eyes. Eos was slowly devoured from his arm up to his shoulder, across his chest, and spreading onto his face. His screams finally stopped when the blaze reached his knees and he fell over, dead.
Ravanos looked at the ground, then slowly at his arm, his wounds from the teeth had healed already only leaving scars, that wasn't the oddest part of it though. His right arm now was a swirl of black shifting material, as if a moving tattoo, with streaks of bright green in it.
After that day Ravanos didn't leave his former mentor's hut much. Only often enough to gather food and water. He always kept his arm covered with a black sleeve made from burial cloth, it was a horrible reminder to him AND the town of what had happened that day... STRENGTHS:Strong hand to hand fighting his fists are as damaging as any mace or warhammer. He's agile quick and sometimes his right arm becomes ablaze in black flames that sear anything but himself.
WEAKNESSES:His right arm is cursed with a black taint that can cause extreme pain to him at any time. It's as if his arm is being burned in the deepest bowels of hell itself.The cursed black flames could potentially burn anyone or thing close to him.
HOW YOUR CHARACTER WAS CAPTURED: N/A WEAPONS: His bare hands.
CLOTHING/ARMOR: A black trench coat and some black pants with black boots.