Abaddon Godspell (アバッドン・ゴドスペッル, Abodon Godosuperu, lit. "Gospel of the Destroyer")
Abaddon is simply put, a man gifted with an unearthly amount of beauty, so much so that even men find him gorgeous. Appearing as a tall man his grace and posture hint at a noble heritage. His muscles while not large are well toned, are accenutated by the full body black leather armor he wears that tightly hugs his lithe frame. He has a smooth bridge of a nose, and beneath the black wide brimmed hat lies a pair of cold unyielding eyes with a gaze said to turn even the sun cold. Thin lips part and a voice resonanates with a crackling rasp, lower than most humans were capable of reaching. His skin an unsual pale with a hint of lavender, like the glow reflected off the moon, yet it does not detract from his appearance, but gives him an air of exotic beauty.
His features fey-like; smooth and angular yet there lies an undercurrent of masculinaty that amplifies the almost ancient aura he is surrounded in. His hair, shoulder-length in height is a wavy dark brown, almost ebony in its reflection depending on the light, glistens as though it were made of silk. Hung around his neck is a marvelous sapphire pendant that glows with dull dark blue hue. Shadows seem to dance with every step he takes, cowing at the soft jingle of utility belt drapped around his waist. Even at the brighest hour, his form seems to fade into the very darkness around it, his long black cloak swaying from a gentle breeze. Hands with long white nails quietly rap against the hilt of a long curved blade strapped to his back. Its length nearly equal to his own, but it is obvious to any warrior that he could draw it from its sheath with practiced ease. When he moves its as if he's floating, his feet barely if at all touch the ground, but the movements are sinous like liquid, there is a unique flow to them, deliberate, casual but cautious as though waiting to tense and spring into action if danger presents itself.
There is no doubt that this man is a warrior trained and honed into a razor edge, that he has seen and experienced countless battles beyond human comprehension. He is the very messenger of death, and should he turn his attentions towards you, the end is nigh. But as he greets you, the palpable fear that gripped your heart, the sinking feeling of approaching death vanishes the instant he smiles amusedly, offering a polite greeting in its wake. Those feelings are replaced by an aura of calm, a sense of relaxation that washes over your body with its subtle touch. Dread is replaced by awe, anxeity by admiration, even comfort. His voice is thick with an accent you cant quite place, but welcoming nonetheless. He bows his head respectfully, introducing himself with a single name, "Abaddon" and then, darkness overcomes you. Faintly as the last vestiges of conciousness leave you, a rasping whisper tingles at your ear. "May you find blessings in the embrace of the night mother." And then there is nothing.
Magic & Abilities
Master Strategist & Tactician: The essence of success lies in ones efforts and intuition in the field of strategy, for without knowing one's objectives, there can be no victor. As a member of a long-lived species, Abaddon and his people are immensely skilled strategists, afterall, one must be able to plan for decades, perhaps even centuries ahead. Their long-life span enables them to have a particularly broad view, which they then apply to the manner in which they devise their strategies. As a member of the Deathscythes, this skill is honed even further, to the point where any given Deathscythe subconciously observes thousands of small details, which their mind through constant training and experience decipher and reveal before them as a keen sense of intuition or natural genius. However, in order to carry out one's plans, in order to achieve any single objective requires an equal measure of mastery in tactics. The ability to change, adapt and innovatively create new opportunities or exploit existing ones is the trademark of an accomplished tactician. Abaddon's tactical acumen is beyond reproach, his mind analyzes the ever shifting vagaries of combat with machine-like precision, allowing him to devise a sutiable tactic or strategy to accomplish his goals. The essence of his tactics and strategy however are very simple, laid out in no more than four or five basic principles, but it is his knowledge and mastery of this foundation which makes him so immensely skilled. Coupled with his extraordinary physical prowess, Abaddon is one of the deadliest combatants in all of Fiore.
Master Assassin: Walking amongst the dancing shadows like those of a flickering candle, Abaddon finds comfort. The darkness is his home, it is here he is complete, where he reigns as king, for no greater assassin lurks beneath the canopy of the night. Seamlessly he drifts from one shadow to the next a phantom in humanoid form, the decadence of the silence his only companion. Like a butterfly hovering over a flower, he moves undistrubed of obstruction, leaving not nary a trace of his existence. Breathlessly he follows his target amongst his allies. He is close, within arms reach, yet no one is wiser, he strides along in step, waiting for the right moment. He sees it, he strikes. His target is dead before he even hits the ground. A flurry of noise and movement swirling to face their attacker. There is no one. One by one the enemies are overcome by panic, an enemy they cannot see, one they cannot hear, feel or touch preys upon them. In seconds another body drops, and another, and so on until all that is left is the last burning cinder of a single candle. After a moment its light dies, plunging all into darkness. Hours later, dawn approaches, its light illuminating the corpses of the fallen, over a hundred killed, no signs of battle, no signs of struggle. The reaper had come.
Fading Silhouette Dream (剥影夢想, Hakukage Musou): One of the first gifts betsowed upon a Deathscythe by Erebus, it is a magic that serves to connect its wielder to the infinite realm of the void. With it they may traverse the hidden pathaways and corridors of the world. Deathscythes do not have shadows, unlike the other denizens of the world, they are bound to the darkness, the necrotic energies that suffuse a Deathscythe have an even closer tie to death and the beyond than others. But such is their connection, while they claim no shadow as their own, they are free to merge with any other of sufficient size. Often this is incorrectly labeled a spell, however there is no casting, no words spoken to invoke this power. For a Deathscythe submerging and emerging from a shadow is no different than taking a single step forward. Furthermore by merging with a shadow, a Deathscythe is able to enter the very domain of Erebus of himself, a hazy parallel existence that is superimposed on the physical realm called the Shadowlands. In it the world is covered in darkness, the people of the physical world seen only by their shadows. In the Shadowlands, a Deathscythe finds haven, safety, and they may travel to a destination with haste, though they are still bounded by physical obstructions. Here they are completely and utterly undetectable by virtually any form of magic, unless said magic can cross interdimensional boundaries. Although time passes at roughly the same rate, distances can vary between two points, what could take days of travel in Earth Land could take only hours in the Shadowlands.
Immense Speed & Agility: Liquid movement, no other analogy exists to describe the way Abaddon moves. It flows from one form to the next, changing its cadence appropiately to the rhythms of his opponents, slipping through their attacks with masterful ease. There is nothing extraordinary about his movements, truly they are simple in design, lacking the flashy appeal most acrobats would have one believe to be true speed and agility. But in their simplicity lies the heart of it all, there is such comfort, such casual ease by which he dances around the whirling blades, fists and bolts of magic hurled on the battlefield. There is no sense of urgency, almost as if he can read anothers movements long before they are made, intuitively responding to their attacks with a well-placed step, or subtle shift in his frame to dodge within a hairs breath of an intended attack. So swift and subtle are his movements one would think he were an illusion; impossible to physically grasp. Only one word can describe the sheer complexity of his method; experience. There is in incalculable level of experience in his movements, as though he knows that anything more would be a waste, one cannot dodge too prudently, nor too hastily for there is yet another battle to face. His form blurs and melds into a haze that is all but impossible to track, what is frightening is not the sheer level of speed he achieves but the fact that this is merely the epitome of pure physical skill.
Enhanced Strength: Finesse, not strength is what characterizes Abaddon's lithe frame. His muscles, are tight and compact, lacking the mass required to inflict the monstrous damage he is capable of inflicting. Instead of strength from a single limb, Abaddon has learned to utilize the forces of nature, body mechanics and pure skill to supplement his strength. Drawing strength from the darkness, its coarse magical power flows through his body, circulating through it, then it is directed in a spiral fashion compressing the energy, amplifying it, then in motion of his physical movement this energy is released. The difference is staggering. Strength that would have required a mass ten times his own is produced, turning boulders to dust with a simple punch. In the deft hands of its wielder a sword no thicker than half a inch or longer than two meters can cleave through something that is over a hundred feet in girth. "There lies a distinction between strength and power", he would say. "One is a blessing bestowed by the gods at birth, the other must be claimed and earned by one's own hands." Abaddon was not blessed with brutal strength, it was forged in the heat of diligent training, tempered through flow of battle, and sharpened through understanding.
Enhanced Durability: The mighty cannot be stopped, but it can be diverted. An age old adage of the Deathscythes. Even with all of their skills, they are still very much mortal, they can be killed just as easily as any other being. Therefore they are trained to withstand punishment, a form of secondary training originating from their impressive feats of speed and agility. The moment there is contact from a blow, a Deathscythe is trained to "follow the wind" in other words their bodies instinctively react to follow in the same direction as the attack in order to lessen the impact. As a result, Deathscythes are notorious for withstanding assaults that would have felled any other mortal.
Swordsmanship & Sword Magic
Master Swordsmanship Specialist: Hidden beneath the bellowing cloak as shadows shift and the moon's light reflects off the drawn blade the swordsman leaps upon the unsuspecting behemoth. Despite the absurd length of his blade he handles it deftly as though it were a dagger, spinning it light in his hands. With a flourish his sword blurs into a long sheet of illuminated steel that slices with masterful precision. The incision bifurcates the gargantuan beast in two, and with another series of flickers what remained of its form is consumed by the darkness, his blade sheathed before he even touches the ground. Abaddon is one of the rare master of the sword, an art lost in the wave of magical power, but one that when honed to such levels of immense skill is deadlier than any display of magic. The moment the sword is drawn, death is inevitable, for his blade cleaves through the magical attacks of his opponents, slices through their barriers and finally descends upon them rending flesh from bone. His swordsmanship is truly an art, and his enemies are his canvas. With each stroke, he paints a gruesome but breathtaking image of beauty against the carnage that is life and battle.
- Iaido Master: He grips the hilt of his sword, watching with calculating eyes, waiting. His opponent charges. A flicker of light. His opponent stops ten paces away. Cuts intersect the body in a grid. He falls with a dull thud, pieces of flesh roll off the heap. No movement, no indication of the strike, the assassin fades away. Abaddon's skill and speed with the sword is immense, so much so that he instantly draws, strikes and sheaths all in the same motion. There is no indication of an attack, nothing to suggest it took place, it all happened faster than an instant. Positioning, angle, distance, meaningless concepts, his is a skill beyond such weakness.
Sword Magic (剣の魔法, Ken no Mahō): He strikes, his blade black as the night bends at impossible angles, weaving through the attacks, deflecting them as it passes. It surges forward uneeringly, regardless of distance or obstruction. Its target found it descends upon the heart. It strikes true. Suddenly the built up energy is released. Magic erupts from the tip of the blade. The target is consumed by darkness. Physical skill with the sword merged with the mystical arts, pushing one's swordsmanship beyond human limit, that is the essence of Sword Magic. It is an inherently complex art, as one must bridge the gap between the movements of the body, in conjunction with the strike of the sword. The gathering of magic, its distribution, and execution must occur in the same instant as the draw or stroke of the sword, requiring immense concentration and control over one's magic. Abaddon's skill is superb, honed by merging speed, precision, and magic until there is little else.
- Scene of a Temporal Moonlight (情景空蝉終景, Joukei Utsusemi Tsukikage): He glides to the right, narrowly missing the discharge of lightning from the large reptilian creature. Torrential rain, howling winds, thunder booming in the sky above. Abaddon is at peace. The creature roars gathering more power from the storm, leveling its large horn in his direction. It fires. He charges. The bolt of lightning draws near, he dips low bringing his sword to bear. Lightning ricochet's off the blade, and sparks fly as he shifts the blade upward. The spell is deflected. Angry the creatures unleashes wave after wave of lightning. Anticipation. Exaltation. A smile creeps across his face, arms blurs into action. A cascade of explosions dart the landscape, but the swordsman is unharmed. Temporal and fleeting like the moonlight, this spells primary function is the temporary disruption of magic. This is accomplished by an intricate rune etched into the weapons of a Deathscythe, which as a circuit for magical energy. When magic is channeled into the weapon, it creates a magical dissonance, however the effect is small and temporary, but long enough for a skilled warrior to capitalize on. When used effectively the practitioner is capable of deflecting magic, by using the motion of their swing to redirect and divert the oncoming magical energies composing the offending spell elsewhere. It is highly demanding, as timing is crucial requiring an immense level of precision to execute.
Darkness Magic (闇の魔法, Yami no Mahō): "Blessed are the Deathscythes for Erebus the God of Darkness is their keeper, shrouded in darkness, may they find sanctuary". Darkness Magic or as the Deathscythes call it, Shadow Evocation (影誘起, Kage Yuuki) is more than magic, more than a means to end. It is there very way of life, their faith, for only when they are in the embrace of darkness are they truly home. As his warriors the Deathscythes are blessed by Erebus with supernal powers over darkness, to influence, manipulate and command the darkness with such ease as though it were a limb. If magic is the physical embodiment of the spirit connected to the flow of nature, than to a Deathscythe, Shadow Evocation is the very same for their faith connecting to the god of darkness himself. Abaddon, a disciple of Erebus since he was a child, has risen through the ranks as one of the foremost practitioners of the art. He is a living embodiment of shadow, a reaper, an entity whose state of existence borders between the real and the phantasmal.
- Chorus of Purgatory (合唱曲の煉獄, Gasshoukyoku no Rengoku): Lips part as foreign words whisper in the winds, a pale hand gesturing towards his foe. Instantly a sheet of fire, black as the night itself erupts beneath his opponent, accompanied by a symphony of moans, as spirits of the dead wrench flesh from bone, sucking the very life from his opponent. In moments, all that is left is a pile of dried meat and broken bones. From the very homeplane of Erebus, a Deathscythe can summon forth its darkness, appearing as a wave of black fire composed of ghastly spirits. The flames are harmless to non-living objects and materials, but against living flesh, they are carnivorous, consuming the very life force of the creature, leaving nothing beyond a husk of dried flesh. The flames can be summoned at a range or in the case of most Deathscythes, sheathed around their weapon.
Behind the Scenes
This character was inspired by Thane Krios, a drell assassin in the game Mass Effect 2. Both are renown assassins of their fields and are both spiritual men.