Uriel Morganson
Uri, Uriel, Number 14, The Dancing Flame
The Blaze Which Burns Evil Hearts (Dragon Force) || Yasuharu Takanashi
17 Years Old
|Gender|
"Male, Though I thought it was quite obvious."
|Birthdate|
"I was born on the 15th of November."
|Sexual Preference|
Heterosexual, "The grass is quite green over here. Thanks for asking."
|Role|
Tactical Bruiser
"My mother used to say they were blue like the sea, now I know the truth. These cursed eyes, which have seen what was not meant to be seen, burn like the flames I was never meant to command."
Uri's eyes are a bright, happy blue. Strange to say the least, as he always seems to wear such a dark expression.
|Hair Color|
"Black like ashes..."
Oh stop it already. It's getting depressing. Uri's hair is black, cut somewhat long, but it's not entirely a bad look on him. Though he doesn't take very good care of it, as he's not one who takes extended baths, Uri's hair is shiny and soft. It frames his face well, and gives him an air of softness.
|Body Type|
"It's just the way it's supposed to be, I guess."
Solid. He's a bit tall, but he is built powerfully. His muscles are lean, and proportionate for his size, but he isn't thin, or even overly bulky. Put short, his body is just right. He's strong, fast, and durable.
|Standard Dressup Attire|
"I used to hate this stupid thing, now, I honestly can't say that I like to wear anything else."
Uriel still wears the clothes, and armor, which marked his almost permanent indentured servitude. On his legs are a form of thin, quilted trousers, that are padded enough to keep his legs from being easily injured, but not so heavy as to reduce Uri's speed. These pants cut off a few inches above Uri's ankles, but any leftover skin is covered by his boots. These boots are well-worn and made of leather. These boots have taken the place of his gladiatorial greaves, and are heavy enough to protect his feet, but light enough to move quickly in. These boots are wide enough at the top to allow Uriel to tuck in the bottoms of his pants. At the very top, Uri's boots have a strap with a buckle, which keeps his pants tucked in and keeps rocks and sand out of the boots. On his torso, Uri wears a thin, flax shirt. He wears a gladiator's heavy belt, as well as a modified leather jerkin, which protects his upper chest. This jerkin has a pair of clasps on which to secure his hooded cloak. His arms are uncovered, save for a pair of short leather bracers. They are only about five inches long, beginning at his wrist and ending a short length up his forearms. The bracers are brown, and worn, but otherwise well kept. Though they provide protection and support for his wrists, their true purpose is to hide Uriel's scars. The scars from his shackles mark him as an ex-slave, and the bracers completely cover them, helping him maintain a low profile. When his arms are held at his side, Uri's cloak covers them completely. This cloak is also large enough to cover Uriel's pack and upper body, showing nothing but the knees down when worn fully.
|Height & Weight|
"I'm the right size, I guess, but it's nothing to really fret about."
Standing at 5' 8", Uri weighs about 160 lbs. Healthy, but not overly large or small.
|Birthmarks, Tattoos, and Scars|
"I've got a fair few scars. Half of them are only a few weeks old."
Uri's body is covered in a number of small scars, but the most prominent are as follows. He has an archipelago of dots on right right shoulder near his collar bones that look suspiciously like teeth marks. On his back, Uri's got a large, knotted, ropey scar that cuts across his spine, stretching from his right hip to his left shoulder. Lastly, on his wrists, Uriel sports the true mark of a slave, shackle sores. They take the form of a series of rings around his wrists. he has them on both arms.
|Personality|
"I’m me. There’s not really much else to explain, is there? However, seeing as how you've gone to all this trouble, I suppose I could fill in some blanks…"
Uriel is just... Uriel. In a word, he's taciturn. He doesn't speak much, and when he does, it's brief, incredibly frank, and to the point. He always appears to be thinking about something, and unless conversing with someone directly, then his gaze never seems to be focused on anything at all, always lost in the endless horizon. His eyes are empty, and dull when this takes place. Only when his name is called, and his attention is regained do his eyes shine like they used to. For being as young as he is, Uriel is wise beyond his years, and his dull appearance belies a sharp wit, a brilliant mind, and an unquenchable desire to regain his lost honor.
Though he appears broken, and weary, it should not be assumed that Uriel is incapable of having fun, and being a child. His smile, though rarely surfacing, is brightest when in the presence of those who accept him. He is a loyal friend, a fierce advocate of his allies' honor, and a confident, happy partner for conversation and revelry. Even more so, when Uriel fights, his eyes regain all their old fire, and burn with a fearful intensity. Though he says nothing in battle, Uriel is a staunch defender of the ideals of justice, and hates evil and wickedness wherever they might arise. When he sees it, he pursues it with a single minded determination, regardless of what he is doing.
|Likes|
~Restful Stillness
~Peaceful Silence
~Strength
~Honor
~Honesty
~People who prove their own words.
~Fresh fruit. As a slave he barely ever got it.
~Sailing ships.
~Gentle Breezes.
~The warmth of the Sun. |Dislikes|
~Liars
~Cheaters
~Enclosed Spaces
~Darkness. The kind that you can't see through.
~Being alone.
~Fighting
~Sitting still when there's work to be done.
~Stale bread. Uriel never wants to eat it again.
~Arrogance.
~Anyone who devalues life to seem strong.
|Strengths|
"The things I'm good at are no noble trades. There is no honor there."
Fighting. Due to his time as an arena slave, Uriel is a terrifying, efficient, and brutal physical combatant.
~Leading Attacks. While this trait would make him a good general, Uriel isn't cut out for military life.
~Finding weaknesses in others. This is specifically related to combat. As much as he hates it, when it comes to fighting, Uriel's mind is a steel trap.
~Self-reliance. This is true of Uriel whether he's tending his own wounds, or putting food on his own plate. As a slave, you had to. There are no doctors, nannies, or butlers in the Slave's quarters.
~Physical strength. Uriel's body is made for work, whether it be fighting or hauling burdens.
|Weaknesses|
"I'm ashamed to admit it, but..."
~Uriel has a nearly debilitating fear of the dark. During his time as a slave, Uriel was often placed in solitary confinement. This was the deepest, darkest, coldest, dampest part of the arena. There was no sunlight, no moving air of any kind, and absolutely no one to talk to. It was just Uriel, not even his shadow was there. While this should be more of a fear, the dark is such a strong influence on Uriel, that he will refuse to be anywhere that there is darkness unless there is no other option.
~While he is smart enough when it comes to battling, outside of combat Uriel is kind of an idiot. He's not good at surviving in the wild or doing mental gymnastics, he can't read, write, work a map, or even keep track of more than one thing at once. His time as a slave got rid of any mental horsepower he might have had.
|Fears|
"Weak men will tell you fear is nothing. Only the strong will tell you it's everything."
~The dark.
~Enclosed spaces.
~Dying.
~Capture.
~Sandstorms.
"..."
Uriel sports a trademarked silence when he fights. He says nothing, shows no emotion, and gives no signs of weakness or struggle. To an inexperienced fighter, Uriel appears invincible. While he obviously isn't the most supreme fighter in all of Egypt, Uriel is very good. He fights brutally, and efficiently, wielding an unorthodox set of weapons with an unorthodox style of twin sword fighting. It appears to not even contain any style at all until he charges in, and closes within five to six feet. Uriel's body, which trained under intense heat, withering thirst, and the watchful eye of the king, is more than used to fighting. His body wastes no movement, and flows inescabably from one motion to the next, twirling like a dervish while weaving a deadly dance of blades. His twin swords act something akin to a hammer and anvil, pinning down an opponent's weapon before stripping it away, or parrying it swiftly, before moving in with a wickedly heavy strike. His style is only augmented by his ability to cloak his blades with fire, though he doesn't need to in order to be effective. The rotational energy provided by his swift, spinning motions provide insane cutting power, and can cleave even the sturdiest of armors. This ability to cut is only amplified by Uriel's flames, which heat the are to incredible temperatures. While Uriel is not built for siege combat, he can remain locked in single combat with any opponent until he himself is dead, or he is crowned the victor.
|Ability|
"Though I never chose to have this power, greedily, I took it. Now, it's flames consume me."
Uri possesses the ability to infuse anything he touches with Blue, Spiritual Flame. This flame burns just as brightly, and just as intensely as physical flames, but the heat and fire produced this way are very temperamental. The flames are only capable of burning very specific things, otherwise, the flames have no effect whatsoever. Uri's flames will only burn things that Uri considers his enemy. In this case, the fire only seems to affect that which is evil; directly opposed to the values of righteousness. The flames will also affect people, or things, who are trying to harm Uri or his allies, and impurities, such as diseases or poisons. In the case of the latter, this is accomplished by bathing a sick patient in blue fire, either via direct infusion, which is currently beyond Uri, or by laying his burning hands upon the intended target, and allowing the flames to spread manually. Once this is done, the flames will begin burning away only the disease or poison; the victim will be purified and unharmed. When there is nothing left to purify, the flames will naturally extinguish themselves, as there is no more fuel or energy input from Uri. These flames will burn nothing else, not wood, not paper, and not even Uri.
However, not all is sunshine and rainbows for Uri. This ability seems to suffer from a form of unwritten compatibility requirement. As of yet, the only thing that Uri can infuse with the spirit fire are his own fists, his sword, and his parrying dagger. Further, he cannot produce an open flame, it must be, "attached," to something, such as a weapon, or a patient. Further, Uri is incapable of otherwise manipulating the flame he creates. He cannot control it remotely or cause it to, "jump," from one place to another, if the fire is capable of being spread, it must occur via direct contact. When Uri does choose to infuse something with flame, the target will become covered in the blue flames, and will heat up accordingly. In the case of Uri's fists, this does not harm him, as the flames will not burn Uri, and the heat will not affect him or anything he is wearing. Uri's sword, however, is a different matter. Though the blade doesn't seem to suffer from its fiery treatment, as the spirit fire only burns impurities and evil, it does super-heat the blade's edge, drastically increasing its cutting power by allowing it to flash melt through substances, provided the blade is hot enough. Hopefully, by finding and defeating his shadow, Uri can gain more control and raw power. However, Uri doesn't yet know that this is a possibility.
|Price|
"I hate darkness. I hate everything about it. I hated it so much, I did everything, tried everything. Anything I could do to get close to the light was worth every price I might pay. But... by standing so close to the light, my darkness only became bigger. I hated it. More than anything, I hated it. So, when the chance presented itself, I gave away my own shadow, my own darkness. You might think me relieved, but instead... now, I feel incomplete. I am a scattered piece of the whole."
Uri chose the price of Shadow. He doesn't know where his shadow ran off to, but he knows it's out there somewhere. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the wind is high, and the moon is bright, he thinks he can hear it... laughing at him and his fear of it.
|Equipment & Weapons|
"Everything I had was paid for. As a fighter, there's only one currency: blood, whether it's yours, or someone else's."
A well oiled, fastidiously maintained falcata. The blade has no nicks, and the pommel is made of a dark, matte wood that has been lacquered to prevent wear. The handle is well worn, and fits Uri’s hand perfectly. It always resides in its leather sheath unless it is being put to use.
A sturdy, canvas rucksack. It has no zippers, instead it sports a pair of heavy, metal buckles that secure the bag’s main pocket flap. Uri keeps most of his supplies in this bag. It has a buckle which fastens the whole thing to Uri’s belt.
A twenty inch parrying dagger that he keeps strapped to his belt. The dagger is longer than usual, and sports a heavy guard about the pommel. This dagger is not the leading weapon, when wielded with Uri's falcata. Instead, it is used in place of a shield, helping Uri to keep fast on his feet without sacrificing a shield's defensive capabilities. Though the blade is thick, it is not any less sharp than Uri's Falcata.
A woolen cloak. Though it is thick, and warm, it is not sturdy enough to bear the brunt of the recent sandstorms.
~A few gold coins, just barely enough to buy passage on a ship to anywhere, however, Uri hasn’t gotten it in him to leave just yet.
~A waterskin, but he needs a new one, as this one doesn't hold very much.
~A loaf of bread.
~A few strips of salted, and preserved meat.
|History|
"Where shall we begin?"
Uriel wasn't born in Egypt. No, his home lay thousands of miles beyond the Nile Delta and the sea. Uriel's home was in the mountains, surrounded by lush valleys, and rolling hills. He lived a simple life, in a small village, as a hunter and farmer. His father was the chief of the village, and though Uriel was respected, he was never arrogant. Instead, he was kind, and just, a natural leader, just like his father. Uriel's mother was a medicine woman of sorts. She knew so much about plants and animals, and she was always present during births, to help the mother. She was kind, and she was gentle, and it is from her that Uriel gets his blue eyes, and his thick, dark hair. Beloved by the village he grew up in, Uriel was set to become the village chief when he became a man. Even more so, Uriel had fallen in love. A girl from the next village over had captured his attention, and he often snuck out at night, walking for miles, to see her, promise her his undying love, and return before sunrise. When his father found out, instead of being angry, he was proud. If the two children were married, then the villages would join, and their prosperity would increase. Their marriage was set to take place after the first thaw of winter, the spring of their marriage, the two villages would become one, and they would plant their harvests together. However, such happiness was not to last.
Before the first snow, in the bitter cold, Uriel's village was attacked by bandits. They killed his father, and captured Uriel and his mother. After they had finished with the townspeople, they burned the village to the ground. Uriel watched on in helpless horror as his life died before his eyes. The bandits bound him, tied him to the back of a horse, and forced him to march to the sea. Uriel's mother died during their journey south. She could not cope with the continuous marching, and her body simply gave up. With hate in his eyes, Uriel could do nothing to avenge the death of his mother, and he could do nothing to help her survive. Uriel was alone, half a world away from everything he knew.
When their party reached the coast, Uriel was sold. The Chief had become a slave. They packed Uriel on board, along dozens of others, just like him, and sent him away from the world he knew. The passage to Egypt was horrid. Though Uriel didn't know Egyptian, he picked it up quickly enough by learning from the phrases of the slavers, as well as others like him, who spoke his language, and who knew the Egyptian tongue. Whatever camaraderie might have been had between the slaves was quashed by the slavers. The slaves were made to fight over moldy bread and kitchen scraps. Many died in their beds, and some at the hands of each other. Though Uriel was sick from the food, he didn't die, and he successfully fought off those that tried to take his food from him. It was hell, but he survived. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they landed at the Nile Delta, and there, Uriel was sold. He was now property of the King of Egypt. Uriel was illiterate and unskilled, but his body was strong, and he was of good stock. Uriel was to be sent to the pit. He would fight in the arena, as a slave, for the rest of his life.
On the way to his new home, Uriel was made to carry a package. The slavers told him to be careful with it, and not to drop it, as it was very important. The package was simple enough. It was a large vase, wrapped in cloth. As he carried the vase, the bindings came undone, and revealed the vase. He stopped, for a moment, to fix the wrappings, as his slavers continued on without him. He would be punished for his lateness later. As he adjusted the cloth, he was bumped into by a passing merchant, and the lid fell from the vase. Jostling to catch the lid, Uriel managed to get a hold of it, but, something else dropped from within the vase. It was a small glass box. Tinted blue, and somewhat round, but it was so opaque Uriel couldn't see through it. Uriel watched helplessly, as the falling box journeyed to the ground below, and shattered into a thousand pieces as it struck the earth. However, instead of the tinkle of broken glass, Uriel's ears were filled with an unearthly moaning. He made to cover his ears, but his bindings made it impossible. He shouted, scared out of his mind, as black flames engulfed the world around him, consigning him to the void. When Uriel opened his eyes, his bindings were gone. Before him there were five braziers, each labelled with the five parts of the soul. A voice told him to choose. Uriel refused once more. The whole thing was unnatural. He wouldn't do it. He waited there, for what seemed like hours. He sat, not making a decision, resolute in his choice. However, the blackness did not fade, and the braziers did not vanish. As he sat, the allure of power played at the edges of his mind. It slowly turned him, corrupting his thoughts until he found himself standing before the brazier labelled sheut, shadow. Uriel had always hated the darkness. The darkness of the slaver's ship, the darkness of night, and the darkness of his life. His shadow could rot for all he cared. Once again, the voice spoke, telling him he had chosen well. The darkness faded, and he returned to the world of the living. The slavers told him to hurry up, as he had fallen far behind, and to be careful with the vase. Without his shadow, Uriel felt... strange. He felt suddenly paranoid, as if he were being watched. The feeling soon passed, driven out of him by the hoarse calls of his masters.
Still a slave, and unable to grasp how to use his powers, or even what they were, Uriel delivered the vase. No one asked about the glass box inside, and so, Uriel told no one. After that was finished, he was sent to the pits. During the first few weeks, Uriel was trained. He learned how to use a sword, and with it, how to take the life of another man. Uriel's first fight wasn't in the arena. It was just with another inmate over an accident Uriel had not caused. He killed the man with his bare hands. The flame had nothing to do with it, the accident had nothing to do with it. Uriel just wanted to watch him die. That incident earned him a week in solitary confinement, the darkest cell in the prison he called home. The darkness tore at Uriel's mind. His screams weren't answered. Uriel resolved to never be sent to solitary again. If he wanted to kill, he had to do it on the sand. His next fight was in the arena. He was given a simple sword and told to fight a vastly more experienced, better armed foe. The arena roared, and the viewers jeered. They wanted to watch Uriel die. Uriel, however, had other plans. With expert maneuvering, brilliant swordsmanship, and a bit of foul play, Uriel slayed his aggressor, driving the point of the blade through his opponent's skull. The audience cheered, and though the moderator wished to have Uriel put to death, the crowds loved him. He was allowed to live. The rush was indescribable. The adrenaline that pumped through Uriel's body compelled him forward. He was made to participate in smaller battles, in one on one contests, but he was never the underdog. Instead, Uriel was armed with two swords and given real armor. The proctors were grooming him to be an executioner. Uriel flourished. Each time he was finished with his opponents, Uriel couldn't help but want more. He wanted to do it again and again, to prove he was the strongest, the fastest, the greatest. After continued displays of his clear superiority in combat skill, the arena officials allowed Uriel more time to train, and took him off the roster for a few weeks. He honed his skills in mock battles, pushing himself to the limit, and well beyond the exhaustion of his opponents. Uriel became a ruthless, master of the blade, a dervish of the burning sands. He was set to make a grand re-entrance in a month, with only two fights between it. Since there was no one who could match him, they proctors were having an increasingly difficult time killing him off. At this rate, he might even earn freedom.
For his next fight, Uriel was given the falcata he now wields. They pit him against a man on horseback, armed with a spear and a shield. Facing down his fear, Uriel strode forward confidently. Though the man on horseback charged, the reach of his spear and the seat of his horse clearly advantageous to Uriel's pitiful swords, he was not afraid. Rolling between the legs of the horse, Uriel lashed out with his blades, slicing through the muscles and tendons of the horse's powerful front legs. It fell, it's legs crippled, and its rider was sent sprawling to the ground. Uriel stood, barely winded, and strode over to his would be killer, dispatching him mercilessly by cleaving his head from his shoulders. Though the crowd jeered, Uriel ignored them. The man had asked for it by standing against him. However, the horse had done nothing wrong, and for its trouble, Uriel had crippled it for life. It was put to death painlessly and quickly. That was the only time Uriel apologized for murder. His proctors began to feel a cold sweat at the backs of their necks. How could they kill him? He slew everything that stood before him, regardless of disadvantage or difference in arms. As punishment, his stunt in the arena earned him another week in solitary. Remembering his fear of the dark, and the last time they put him in solitary, the proctors hoped it would break him. This time, it nearly did, but his mind stood firm, and he emerged from the darkness unscathed, ready to bathe in the light.
Uriel's last fight as a slave was arguably his most brilliant. It was the moment he discovered his powers. Uriel had managed to work his way up from a disposable slave, to, arguably, the strongest arena fighter in all Egypt. Armed only with a pair of swords, the crowds roared in approval as Uriel dispatched his opponents time and time again. The proctors' only option, was to stage a murder. They had to assassinate him. Uriel's grand re-entrance was set in the capital of Egypt, and a number of royals were in attendance, though the king was preoccupied with the artifact situation. Just before the opening ceremony, his proctors slipped poison into his meal. It was a slow acting venom, one that would cripple him in the arena. Then he would be killed and it would all look like an accident. It was perfect. As Uriel strode confidently into the arena, feeling the hot sand beneath his feet, he unsheathed his swords, and awaited his opponent. Instead of a single opponent, the capital's strongest fighter, Uriel was greeted with half a dozen, heavily armed soldiers. Uriel silently understood. He was being put to death. The first soldier was put down quickly, Uriel sliced his neck open, aiming for the thin chink in the soldier's armor. The second took a little more finesse, and Uriel had to slice the spearhead off before the man would close to close combat, where Uriel dominated him effortlessly. However, by the time he got to the third, he was slowing down. Uriel's limbs felt heavier than boulders, and his vision was distorted, spinning and shifting. The poison was taking it's toll. Uriel was dying. He knelt, unable to stand, and the other soldiers closed in for the kill. Amidst the screaming, the jeering, and the roar of the crowd, Uriel head a single voice, clear as day. Gazing to the King's box, he noticed an old woman. Uriel would later learn she was the king's mother. She jeered, screaming, "Come then! Show me how you die, fool!" Enraged, Uriel felt something break within him. The voices that tugged at his sanity in solitary confinement were back. They jeered, and booed. The consigned him to death, laughing at him sickeningly. Uriel's fist struck the ground and the vices quieted. "Silence." He commanded, the voices vanished. He felt something crack within him. Some barrier inside his very soul had weakened. "I am the victor, not you." Uriel whispered. "I am the champion, not you." The crack widened. "I am the victor, not you." Uriel stood, and pointed his blades at the proctors, challenging them. "You poisoned my drink." He stated. It was not a question. It was a fact. "It will take more than that to kill me." Uriel said, and with that, the flame erupted all over his body. It covered him in seconds, and purified the poison within him. Uriel's hands tightened around the grips of his swords. "Come then." He said to the remaining three soldiers. "Show me how you die." With that, the wall inside his soul shattered, and the flames spread to his swords. Fearing for their lives, the soldiers threw their spears one by one, and Uriel dodged them all with precision, swatting the last out of the air with his sword. They closed to close quarters, and Uriel decimated them. The first was stabbed through his armor, the blazing blade pierced him effortlessly. Withdrawing the sword, Uriel spun, cleaving the second's shield in half, leaving a smoking line across the wood. Continuing to spin, Uriel's dagger caught the soldier's blind swipe of the sword, allowing his falcata to bite into the tender flesh of his shoulder, severing the neck artery and piercing the windpipe. The last offered up his blade and surrendered. Looking at his proctors, Uriel smote the soldier's sword, cutting it directly in half. Uriel then turned and left. The last was allowed to live.
With his powers awakened, Uriel fought his way through the slavers and armed guards, escaping the pit handily. Once he was freed, Uriel staged his own death by fleeing the city during a sandstorm, then sneaking back in through the sewers. His proctors' only hope to, "find," him now, would be by combing the desert. They wouldn't know that he's simply hiding out in the poorer district of town. As a free man, Uriel cast off his armor and other clothes, the most noticeable marks of his slavery, and sold them for the supplies he now carries, though he kept his belt and weapons. Uriel continues to hide from his proctors as well as the royalty and the city guards. He is sure that, after making such a menace of himself, there's a warrant out for his arrest. If he is captured, he'll most likely be put to death. However, he's managed to keep hidden for now, and plans to buy passage back to the country of his origin as soon as the next ship comes in.
|Other|
As a part of the price Uriel paid for power, he cannot recall anything about his lover. It was as if her existence was completely wiped from the face of the planet. He wants, desperately, to find her once again, but he doesn't know anything about her. Though he is hopeful, he knows that finding her again would be almost impossible.
Uri, Uriel, Number 14, The Dancing Flame
The Blaze Which Burns Evil Hearts (Dragon Force) || Yasuharu Takanashi
17 Years Old
|Gender|
"Male, Though I thought it was quite obvious."
|Birthdate|
"I was born on the 15th of November."
|Sexual Preference|
Heterosexual, "The grass is quite green over here. Thanks for asking."
|Role|
Tactical Bruiser
"My mother used to say they were blue like the sea, now I know the truth. These cursed eyes, which have seen what was not meant to be seen, burn like the flames I was never meant to command."
Uri's eyes are a bright, happy blue. Strange to say the least, as he always seems to wear such a dark expression.
|Hair Color|
"Black like ashes..."
Oh stop it already. It's getting depressing. Uri's hair is black, cut somewhat long, but it's not entirely a bad look on him. Though he doesn't take very good care of it, as he's not one who takes extended baths, Uri's hair is shiny and soft. It frames his face well, and gives him an air of softness.
|Body Type|
"It's just the way it's supposed to be, I guess."
Solid. He's a bit tall, but he is built powerfully. His muscles are lean, and proportionate for his size, but he isn't thin, or even overly bulky. Put short, his body is just right. He's strong, fast, and durable.
|Standard Dressup Attire|
"I used to hate this stupid thing, now, I honestly can't say that I like to wear anything else."
Uriel still wears the clothes, and armor, which marked his almost permanent indentured servitude. On his legs are a form of thin, quilted trousers, that are padded enough to keep his legs from being easily injured, but not so heavy as to reduce Uri's speed. These pants cut off a few inches above Uri's ankles, but any leftover skin is covered by his boots. These boots are well-worn and made of leather. These boots have taken the place of his gladiatorial greaves, and are heavy enough to protect his feet, but light enough to move quickly in. These boots are wide enough at the top to allow Uriel to tuck in the bottoms of his pants. At the very top, Uri's boots have a strap with a buckle, which keeps his pants tucked in and keeps rocks and sand out of the boots. On his torso, Uri wears a thin, flax shirt. He wears a gladiator's heavy belt, as well as a modified leather jerkin, which protects his upper chest. This jerkin has a pair of clasps on which to secure his hooded cloak. His arms are uncovered, save for a pair of short leather bracers. They are only about five inches long, beginning at his wrist and ending a short length up his forearms. The bracers are brown, and worn, but otherwise well kept. Though they provide protection and support for his wrists, their true purpose is to hide Uriel's scars. The scars from his shackles mark him as an ex-slave, and the bracers completely cover them, helping him maintain a low profile. When his arms are held at his side, Uri's cloak covers them completely. This cloak is also large enough to cover Uriel's pack and upper body, showing nothing but the knees down when worn fully.
|Height & Weight|
"I'm the right size, I guess, but it's nothing to really fret about."
Standing at 5' 8", Uri weighs about 160 lbs. Healthy, but not overly large or small.
|Birthmarks, Tattoos, and Scars|
"I've got a fair few scars. Half of them are only a few weeks old."
Uri's body is covered in a number of small scars, but the most prominent are as follows. He has an archipelago of dots on right right shoulder near his collar bones that look suspiciously like teeth marks. On his back, Uri's got a large, knotted, ropey scar that cuts across his spine, stretching from his right hip to his left shoulder. Lastly, on his wrists, Uriel sports the true mark of a slave, shackle sores. They take the form of a series of rings around his wrists. he has them on both arms.
|Personality|
"I’m me. There’s not really much else to explain, is there? However, seeing as how you've gone to all this trouble, I suppose I could fill in some blanks…"
Uriel is just... Uriel. In a word, he's taciturn. He doesn't speak much, and when he does, it's brief, incredibly frank, and to the point. He always appears to be thinking about something, and unless conversing with someone directly, then his gaze never seems to be focused on anything at all, always lost in the endless horizon. His eyes are empty, and dull when this takes place. Only when his name is called, and his attention is regained do his eyes shine like they used to. For being as young as he is, Uriel is wise beyond his years, and his dull appearance belies a sharp wit, a brilliant mind, and an unquenchable desire to regain his lost honor.
Though he appears broken, and weary, it should not be assumed that Uriel is incapable of having fun, and being a child. His smile, though rarely surfacing, is brightest when in the presence of those who accept him. He is a loyal friend, a fierce advocate of his allies' honor, and a confident, happy partner for conversation and revelry. Even more so, when Uriel fights, his eyes regain all their old fire, and burn with a fearful intensity. Though he says nothing in battle, Uriel is a staunch defender of the ideals of justice, and hates evil and wickedness wherever they might arise. When he sees it, he pursues it with a single minded determination, regardless of what he is doing.
~Restful Stillness
~Peaceful Silence
~Strength
~Honor
~Honesty
~People who prove their own words.
~Fresh fruit. As a slave he barely ever got it.
~Sailing ships.
~Gentle Breezes.
~The warmth of the Sun.
~Liars
~Cheaters
~Enclosed Spaces
~Darkness. The kind that you can't see through.
~Being alone.
~Fighting
~Sitting still when there's work to be done.
~Stale bread. Uriel never wants to eat it again.
~Arrogance.
~Anyone who devalues life to seem strong.
|Strengths|
"The things I'm good at are no noble trades. There is no honor there."
Fighting. Due to his time as an arena slave, Uriel is a terrifying, efficient, and brutal physical combatant.
~Leading Attacks. While this trait would make him a good general, Uriel isn't cut out for military life.
~Finding weaknesses in others. This is specifically related to combat. As much as he hates it, when it comes to fighting, Uriel's mind is a steel trap.
~Self-reliance. This is true of Uriel whether he's tending his own wounds, or putting food on his own plate. As a slave, you had to. There are no doctors, nannies, or butlers in the Slave's quarters.
~Physical strength. Uriel's body is made for work, whether it be fighting or hauling burdens.
|Weaknesses|
"I'm ashamed to admit it, but..."
~Uriel has a nearly debilitating fear of the dark. During his time as a slave, Uriel was often placed in solitary confinement. This was the deepest, darkest, coldest, dampest part of the arena. There was no sunlight, no moving air of any kind, and absolutely no one to talk to. It was just Uriel, not even his shadow was there. While this should be more of a fear, the dark is such a strong influence on Uriel, that he will refuse to be anywhere that there is darkness unless there is no other option.
~While he is smart enough when it comes to battling, outside of combat Uriel is kind of an idiot. He's not good at surviving in the wild or doing mental gymnastics, he can't read, write, work a map, or even keep track of more than one thing at once. His time as a slave got rid of any mental horsepower he might have had.
|Fears|
"Weak men will tell you fear is nothing. Only the strong will tell you it's everything."
~The dark.
~Enclosed spaces.
~Dying.
~Capture.
~Sandstorms.
"..."
Uriel sports a trademarked silence when he fights. He says nothing, shows no emotion, and gives no signs of weakness or struggle. To an inexperienced fighter, Uriel appears invincible. While he obviously isn't the most supreme fighter in all of Egypt, Uriel is very good. He fights brutally, and efficiently, wielding an unorthodox set of weapons with an unorthodox style of twin sword fighting. It appears to not even contain any style at all until he charges in, and closes within five to six feet. Uriel's body, which trained under intense heat, withering thirst, and the watchful eye of the king, is more than used to fighting. His body wastes no movement, and flows inescabably from one motion to the next, twirling like a dervish while weaving a deadly dance of blades. His twin swords act something akin to a hammer and anvil, pinning down an opponent's weapon before stripping it away, or parrying it swiftly, before moving in with a wickedly heavy strike. His style is only augmented by his ability to cloak his blades with fire, though he doesn't need to in order to be effective. The rotational energy provided by his swift, spinning motions provide insane cutting power, and can cleave even the sturdiest of armors. This ability to cut is only amplified by Uriel's flames, which heat the are to incredible temperatures. While Uriel is not built for siege combat, he can remain locked in single combat with any opponent until he himself is dead, or he is crowned the victor.
|Ability|
"Though I never chose to have this power, greedily, I took it. Now, it's flames consume me."
Uri possesses the ability to infuse anything he touches with Blue, Spiritual Flame. This flame burns just as brightly, and just as intensely as physical flames, but the heat and fire produced this way are very temperamental. The flames are only capable of burning very specific things, otherwise, the flames have no effect whatsoever. Uri's flames will only burn things that Uri considers his enemy. In this case, the fire only seems to affect that which is evil; directly opposed to the values of righteousness. The flames will also affect people, or things, who are trying to harm Uri or his allies, and impurities, such as diseases or poisons. In the case of the latter, this is accomplished by bathing a sick patient in blue fire, either via direct infusion, which is currently beyond Uri, or by laying his burning hands upon the intended target, and allowing the flames to spread manually. Once this is done, the flames will begin burning away only the disease or poison; the victim will be purified and unharmed. When there is nothing left to purify, the flames will naturally extinguish themselves, as there is no more fuel or energy input from Uri. These flames will burn nothing else, not wood, not paper, and not even Uri.
However, not all is sunshine and rainbows for Uri. This ability seems to suffer from a form of unwritten compatibility requirement. As of yet, the only thing that Uri can infuse with the spirit fire are his own fists, his sword, and his parrying dagger. Further, he cannot produce an open flame, it must be, "attached," to something, such as a weapon, or a patient. Further, Uri is incapable of otherwise manipulating the flame he creates. He cannot control it remotely or cause it to, "jump," from one place to another, if the fire is capable of being spread, it must occur via direct contact. When Uri does choose to infuse something with flame, the target will become covered in the blue flames, and will heat up accordingly. In the case of Uri's fists, this does not harm him, as the flames will not burn Uri, and the heat will not affect him or anything he is wearing. Uri's sword, however, is a different matter. Though the blade doesn't seem to suffer from its fiery treatment, as the spirit fire only burns impurities and evil, it does super-heat the blade's edge, drastically increasing its cutting power by allowing it to flash melt through substances, provided the blade is hot enough. Hopefully, by finding and defeating his shadow, Uri can gain more control and raw power. However, Uri doesn't yet know that this is a possibility.
|Price|
"I hate darkness. I hate everything about it. I hated it so much, I did everything, tried everything. Anything I could do to get close to the light was worth every price I might pay. But... by standing so close to the light, my darkness only became bigger. I hated it. More than anything, I hated it. So, when the chance presented itself, I gave away my own shadow, my own darkness. You might think me relieved, but instead... now, I feel incomplete. I am a scattered piece of the whole."
Uri chose the price of Shadow. He doesn't know where his shadow ran off to, but he knows it's out there somewhere. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the wind is high, and the moon is bright, he thinks he can hear it... laughing at him and his fear of it.
|Equipment & Weapons|
"Everything I had was paid for. As a fighter, there's only one currency: blood, whether it's yours, or someone else's."
A well oiled, fastidiously maintained falcata. The blade has no nicks, and the pommel is made of a dark, matte wood that has been lacquered to prevent wear. The handle is well worn, and fits Uri’s hand perfectly. It always resides in its leather sheath unless it is being put to use.
A sturdy, canvas rucksack. It has no zippers, instead it sports a pair of heavy, metal buckles that secure the bag’s main pocket flap. Uri keeps most of his supplies in this bag. It has a buckle which fastens the whole thing to Uri’s belt.
A twenty inch parrying dagger that he keeps strapped to his belt. The dagger is longer than usual, and sports a heavy guard about the pommel. This dagger is not the leading weapon, when wielded with Uri's falcata. Instead, it is used in place of a shield, helping Uri to keep fast on his feet without sacrificing a shield's defensive capabilities. Though the blade is thick, it is not any less sharp than Uri's Falcata.
A woolen cloak. Though it is thick, and warm, it is not sturdy enough to bear the brunt of the recent sandstorms.
~A few gold coins, just barely enough to buy passage on a ship to anywhere, however, Uri hasn’t gotten it in him to leave just yet.
~A waterskin, but he needs a new one, as this one doesn't hold very much.
~A loaf of bread.
~A few strips of salted, and preserved meat.
|History|
"Where shall we begin?"
Uriel wasn't born in Egypt. No, his home lay thousands of miles beyond the Nile Delta and the sea. Uriel's home was in the mountains, surrounded by lush valleys, and rolling hills. He lived a simple life, in a small village, as a hunter and farmer. His father was the chief of the village, and though Uriel was respected, he was never arrogant. Instead, he was kind, and just, a natural leader, just like his father. Uriel's mother was a medicine woman of sorts. She knew so much about plants and animals, and she was always present during births, to help the mother. She was kind, and she was gentle, and it is from her that Uriel gets his blue eyes, and his thick, dark hair. Beloved by the village he grew up in, Uriel was set to become the village chief when he became a man. Even more so, Uriel had fallen in love. A girl from the next village over had captured his attention, and he often snuck out at night, walking for miles, to see her, promise her his undying love, and return before sunrise. When his father found out, instead of being angry, he was proud. If the two children were married, then the villages would join, and their prosperity would increase. Their marriage was set to take place after the first thaw of winter, the spring of their marriage, the two villages would become one, and they would plant their harvests together. However, such happiness was not to last.
Before the first snow, in the bitter cold, Uriel's village was attacked by bandits. They killed his father, and captured Uriel and his mother. After they had finished with the townspeople, they burned the village to the ground. Uriel watched on in helpless horror as his life died before his eyes. The bandits bound him, tied him to the back of a horse, and forced him to march to the sea. Uriel's mother died during their journey south. She could not cope with the continuous marching, and her body simply gave up. With hate in his eyes, Uriel could do nothing to avenge the death of his mother, and he could do nothing to help her survive. Uriel was alone, half a world away from everything he knew.
When their party reached the coast, Uriel was sold. The Chief had become a slave. They packed Uriel on board, along dozens of others, just like him, and sent him away from the world he knew. The passage to Egypt was horrid. Though Uriel didn't know Egyptian, he picked it up quickly enough by learning from the phrases of the slavers, as well as others like him, who spoke his language, and who knew the Egyptian tongue. Whatever camaraderie might have been had between the slaves was quashed by the slavers. The slaves were made to fight over moldy bread and kitchen scraps. Many died in their beds, and some at the hands of each other. Though Uriel was sick from the food, he didn't die, and he successfully fought off those that tried to take his food from him. It was hell, but he survived. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, they landed at the Nile Delta, and there, Uriel was sold. He was now property of the King of Egypt. Uriel was illiterate and unskilled, but his body was strong, and he was of good stock. Uriel was to be sent to the pit. He would fight in the arena, as a slave, for the rest of his life.
On the way to his new home, Uriel was made to carry a package. The slavers told him to be careful with it, and not to drop it, as it was very important. The package was simple enough. It was a large vase, wrapped in cloth. As he carried the vase, the bindings came undone, and revealed the vase. He stopped, for a moment, to fix the wrappings, as his slavers continued on without him. He would be punished for his lateness later. As he adjusted the cloth, he was bumped into by a passing merchant, and the lid fell from the vase. Jostling to catch the lid, Uriel managed to get a hold of it, but, something else dropped from within the vase. It was a small glass box. Tinted blue, and somewhat round, but it was so opaque Uriel couldn't see through it. Uriel watched helplessly, as the falling box journeyed to the ground below, and shattered into a thousand pieces as it struck the earth. However, instead of the tinkle of broken glass, Uriel's ears were filled with an unearthly moaning. He made to cover his ears, but his bindings made it impossible. He shouted, scared out of his mind, as black flames engulfed the world around him, consigning him to the void. When Uriel opened his eyes, his bindings were gone. Before him there were five braziers, each labelled with the five parts of the soul. A voice told him to choose. Uriel refused once more. The whole thing was unnatural. He wouldn't do it. He waited there, for what seemed like hours. He sat, not making a decision, resolute in his choice. However, the blackness did not fade, and the braziers did not vanish. As he sat, the allure of power played at the edges of his mind. It slowly turned him, corrupting his thoughts until he found himself standing before the brazier labelled sheut, shadow. Uriel had always hated the darkness. The darkness of the slaver's ship, the darkness of night, and the darkness of his life. His shadow could rot for all he cared. Once again, the voice spoke, telling him he had chosen well. The darkness faded, and he returned to the world of the living. The slavers told him to hurry up, as he had fallen far behind, and to be careful with the vase. Without his shadow, Uriel felt... strange. He felt suddenly paranoid, as if he were being watched. The feeling soon passed, driven out of him by the hoarse calls of his masters.
Still a slave, and unable to grasp how to use his powers, or even what they were, Uriel delivered the vase. No one asked about the glass box inside, and so, Uriel told no one. After that was finished, he was sent to the pits. During the first few weeks, Uriel was trained. He learned how to use a sword, and with it, how to take the life of another man. Uriel's first fight wasn't in the arena. It was just with another inmate over an accident Uriel had not caused. He killed the man with his bare hands. The flame had nothing to do with it, the accident had nothing to do with it. Uriel just wanted to watch him die. That incident earned him a week in solitary confinement, the darkest cell in the prison he called home. The darkness tore at Uriel's mind. His screams weren't answered. Uriel resolved to never be sent to solitary again. If he wanted to kill, he had to do it on the sand. His next fight was in the arena. He was given a simple sword and told to fight a vastly more experienced, better armed foe. The arena roared, and the viewers jeered. They wanted to watch Uriel die. Uriel, however, had other plans. With expert maneuvering, brilliant swordsmanship, and a bit of foul play, Uriel slayed his aggressor, driving the point of the blade through his opponent's skull. The audience cheered, and though the moderator wished to have Uriel put to death, the crowds loved him. He was allowed to live. The rush was indescribable. The adrenaline that pumped through Uriel's body compelled him forward. He was made to participate in smaller battles, in one on one contests, but he was never the underdog. Instead, Uriel was armed with two swords and given real armor. The proctors were grooming him to be an executioner. Uriel flourished. Each time he was finished with his opponents, Uriel couldn't help but want more. He wanted to do it again and again, to prove he was the strongest, the fastest, the greatest. After continued displays of his clear superiority in combat skill, the arena officials allowed Uriel more time to train, and took him off the roster for a few weeks. He honed his skills in mock battles, pushing himself to the limit, and well beyond the exhaustion of his opponents. Uriel became a ruthless, master of the blade, a dervish of the burning sands. He was set to make a grand re-entrance in a month, with only two fights between it. Since there was no one who could match him, they proctors were having an increasingly difficult time killing him off. At this rate, he might even earn freedom.
For his next fight, Uriel was given the falcata he now wields. They pit him against a man on horseback, armed with a spear and a shield. Facing down his fear, Uriel strode forward confidently. Though the man on horseback charged, the reach of his spear and the seat of his horse clearly advantageous to Uriel's pitiful swords, he was not afraid. Rolling between the legs of the horse, Uriel lashed out with his blades, slicing through the muscles and tendons of the horse's powerful front legs. It fell, it's legs crippled, and its rider was sent sprawling to the ground. Uriel stood, barely winded, and strode over to his would be killer, dispatching him mercilessly by cleaving his head from his shoulders. Though the crowd jeered, Uriel ignored them. The man had asked for it by standing against him. However, the horse had done nothing wrong, and for its trouble, Uriel had crippled it for life. It was put to death painlessly and quickly. That was the only time Uriel apologized for murder. His proctors began to feel a cold sweat at the backs of their necks. How could they kill him? He slew everything that stood before him, regardless of disadvantage or difference in arms. As punishment, his stunt in the arena earned him another week in solitary. Remembering his fear of the dark, and the last time they put him in solitary, the proctors hoped it would break him. This time, it nearly did, but his mind stood firm, and he emerged from the darkness unscathed, ready to bathe in the light.
Uriel's last fight as a slave was arguably his most brilliant. It was the moment he discovered his powers. Uriel had managed to work his way up from a disposable slave, to, arguably, the strongest arena fighter in all Egypt. Armed only with a pair of swords, the crowds roared in approval as Uriel dispatched his opponents time and time again. The proctors' only option, was to stage a murder. They had to assassinate him. Uriel's grand re-entrance was set in the capital of Egypt, and a number of royals were in attendance, though the king was preoccupied with the artifact situation. Just before the opening ceremony, his proctors slipped poison into his meal. It was a slow acting venom, one that would cripple him in the arena. Then he would be killed and it would all look like an accident. It was perfect. As Uriel strode confidently into the arena, feeling the hot sand beneath his feet, he unsheathed his swords, and awaited his opponent. Instead of a single opponent, the capital's strongest fighter, Uriel was greeted with half a dozen, heavily armed soldiers. Uriel silently understood. He was being put to death. The first soldier was put down quickly, Uriel sliced his neck open, aiming for the thin chink in the soldier's armor. The second took a little more finesse, and Uriel had to slice the spearhead off before the man would close to close combat, where Uriel dominated him effortlessly. However, by the time he got to the third, he was slowing down. Uriel's limbs felt heavier than boulders, and his vision was distorted, spinning and shifting. The poison was taking it's toll. Uriel was dying. He knelt, unable to stand, and the other soldiers closed in for the kill. Amidst the screaming, the jeering, and the roar of the crowd, Uriel head a single voice, clear as day. Gazing to the King's box, he noticed an old woman. Uriel would later learn she was the king's mother. She jeered, screaming, "Come then! Show me how you die, fool!" Enraged, Uriel felt something break within him. The voices that tugged at his sanity in solitary confinement were back. They jeered, and booed. The consigned him to death, laughing at him sickeningly. Uriel's fist struck the ground and the vices quieted. "Silence." He commanded, the voices vanished. He felt something crack within him. Some barrier inside his very soul had weakened. "I am the victor, not you." Uriel whispered. "I am the champion, not you." The crack widened. "I am the victor, not you." Uriel stood, and pointed his blades at the proctors, challenging them. "You poisoned my drink." He stated. It was not a question. It was a fact. "It will take more than that to kill me." Uriel said, and with that, the flame erupted all over his body. It covered him in seconds, and purified the poison within him. Uriel's hands tightened around the grips of his swords. "Come then." He said to the remaining three soldiers. "Show me how you die." With that, the wall inside his soul shattered, and the flames spread to his swords. Fearing for their lives, the soldiers threw their spears one by one, and Uriel dodged them all with precision, swatting the last out of the air with his sword. They closed to close quarters, and Uriel decimated them. The first was stabbed through his armor, the blazing blade pierced him effortlessly. Withdrawing the sword, Uriel spun, cleaving the second's shield in half, leaving a smoking line across the wood. Continuing to spin, Uriel's dagger caught the soldier's blind swipe of the sword, allowing his falcata to bite into the tender flesh of his shoulder, severing the neck artery and piercing the windpipe. The last offered up his blade and surrendered. Looking at his proctors, Uriel smote the soldier's sword, cutting it directly in half. Uriel then turned and left. The last was allowed to live.
With his powers awakened, Uriel fought his way through the slavers and armed guards, escaping the pit handily. Once he was freed, Uriel staged his own death by fleeing the city during a sandstorm, then sneaking back in through the sewers. His proctors' only hope to, "find," him now, would be by combing the desert. They wouldn't know that he's simply hiding out in the poorer district of town. As a free man, Uriel cast off his armor and other clothes, the most noticeable marks of his slavery, and sold them for the supplies he now carries, though he kept his belt and weapons. Uriel continues to hide from his proctors as well as the royalty and the city guards. He is sure that, after making such a menace of himself, there's a warrant out for his arrest. If he is captured, he'll most likely be put to death. However, he's managed to keep hidden for now, and plans to buy passage back to the country of his origin as soon as the next ship comes in.
|Other|
As a part of the price Uriel paid for power, he cannot recall anything about his lover. It was as if her existence was completely wiped from the face of the planet. He wants, desperately, to find her once again, but he doesn't know anything about her. Though he is hopeful, he knows that finding her again would be almost impossible.