Name: Aragon Tenbanto
Contact Info: Zenite3 (aim)
Age: 29
Physical Stature:
Aragon has a charismatic rough look about him with scruffy evenly grown facial hair that is only really apparent when he hasn't shaved in a week. His jade blue eyes can be alluring, but hides years far beyond his physical age in worry and stress. At one point his appearance was inviting to follow to a party with as tanned as his skin was. A fact he was proud of in his youthful vanity.
Still standing just an inch shy of six feet, some of his hair has started to turn from a raven black to hints of silver grey brought about by stress. He masks what aging due to stress has done to him by wearing dark sunglasses and usually a long black duster jacket. Typically he will only wear blue jeans and combat boots even just to get the mail. When he isn't wearing boots, he will always have a pair of socks on to hide the fact he only has nine toes.
Since the loss of his power, he still carries a deck of cards, but has long ago hung up his firearms being that he is unable to use them.
Persona:
Though only twenty-nine, his personality had drastically shifted. The loss of his powers had given him a bountiful amount of time to re-evaluate his life. Though he has retained much of his rebellious streak, the time of reflection has cooled his don’t mess with me attitude. That is not to say it still does not exist, but having lead a small army has made him realize that being political can open more doors than kicking them down.
Intelligent, Aragon is by no means a mass of brute strength and time has allowed him to further hone mastering the elements of playing poker. Not having to worry about mundane things while he lived off the grid for the most part since loosing his abilities has allowed him the time to increase his realm of knowledge. Much of his study time has gone into behavioral analytics.
Bio:
A legend in the Orpheus Chonicles, Aragon lost his spiritual abilities in a final all out fight with the then Leader of WHO. His final attack was a move that destroyed his abilities and unleashed a level of energy that obliterated his enemy and the building into little more than dust. Aragon vanished before recovery crews arrived, and calling in all his standing favors settled down in the high mountains of Idaho. Acclimation to the mountain man lifestyle was hard at first, but needed as it revived his soul as a human and not an advent.
The reprieve from advent life did not last long. By the end of his third winter in the mountain lodge of a house, he began feeling the old sensations he knew from his time in Orpheus. Mildly pissed would be a polite way of stating the feelings Aragon had when he was able to see the outline of a demon again.
Tidbits:
· Has only 9 toes
· Multilingual: English (Americanized), Spanish (Mexico), Japanese, Russian (a local dialect). He is working on learning German
· Has had 4 motorcycles (1st was destroyed, 2nd was stolen and stripped, 3rd Lost, 4th chop shopped)
· Adept at reading people especially when playing poker. Keys into the slightest twitch as a tell for a player.
· Has won enough money thus far from poker to safely pay the U.S. national debt and still be financially stable. (of course being thrown back in time to 1900s and investing helps)
Aragon Tenbanto – Initiative Orpheus
Reiatsu: 1000
Resonance:
Combat: 300
Agility: 300
Fortitude: 400
Sample Chapter: The Way Back (WC: 1,136)
The time had been nearly two years since he had walked away from the destruction. Well, maybe walked was not entirely accurate; it was more like he rode like a bat out of hell to get as far away as he could before hunkering down in the nearest town for seven months. It took him that long before he was able to safely board a trans-Atlantic shipping barge and still pull his weight as one of the crew. The part that had killed him was that he had to completely strip down his favorite motorcycle and sell off the parts through various markets just to be sure he could not be found. Anything that could be used to trace him would only create problems.
The truth was that even though he didn’t want to leave Orpheus, Aragon knew that in his condition, between the serum and the attack he used, he was a liability. He didn’t retain any of the power and strength needed to effectively defend his men in the manner he knew he needed to when the cards were down. To have his men put their lives on the line protecting him was against his very core as a leader and, more importantly, as a human. The only option he had was to disappear and sever all ties entirely.
Back then, Aragon could have never guessed, at the time, that in just a few short years, his soul power would resurface. He had no means or reason to think that they would; yet the unmistakable howl that woke him in the middle of one bitter cold winter night was unquestionably demon, or hollow as the shinigami called them. Aragon awoke in a cold sweat at the sound of the bellowing. The bellow woke him from a deep sleep. The former General had his axe for cutting wood, and a rifle he used for hunting, but such physical weapons were useless against a beast from another realm unless they became imbued with soul power. That was not what scared him; what scared him shitless was the fact that he could hear the creature. It meant that the world he thought he had left behind was coming back for him with vengeance.
Aragon spent the rest of the night, unable to sleep, staring up at the unmoving ceiling fan. Memories of old were rushing past his mind, yet he knew there was nothing he could do at this very moment. The demon had moved on much to his relief, had it not though Aragon knew well enough that he couldn’t effectively take it on in a fight and he would have been screwed. Even if the fight were a dirty fight, between him and the demon, he was destined to lose. Assuming that a fight between an Advent and demon could be anything but dirty. Two things he always made sure his men knew was how to pick a fight they could win, and how to make every hit count.
The morning sunrise found him where he had laid all night. It was a welcome relief, but unless the demon had been taken care of, Aragon knew it would be back again. Groaning as he rolled out of bed, he petted his faithful companion, a two-year-old German Sheppard, and lumbered into the kitchen. The day passed uneventfully as he stared at the blank page of his antique typewriter. Being without electronics, or a connection to the rest of the world in a full out attempt to stay off the grid, save but a landline rotary dial telephone, had given him time to try his hand at book writing.
The overfilled pile of crumpled up wads of paper had proven that his efforts were in vain. Every time he filled a page, it always turned out to read like a report or some debriefing of fight he had when he was leading Orpheus. Many of the schematic drawings that littered the study were designs of improvements or calculations of trajectories for firearms. As much as he desired and tried to move past his past, the world of fighting demons was in his blood.
Dinner rolled around to find Aragon still reading over a cold case file. It was not one of his cases, but from a local department that would occasionally consult him. He did the work without taking pay just for sake of having something to do in his retirement. In fact, it was usually when he was looking over cold cases that his mind raced with some idea for a mystery series, which helped him from going completely bat shit crazy. The only reason most of those drafts got canned in the circular file was that they came far too close to something that he really did or was a case that he had reviewed as the general of Orpheus. Granted the stories, when combined, would have probably been a best seller in the supernatural mystery genre; but it would have only been a matter of time before the book was seen by the wrong set of eyes and traced back to him.
Dinner involved eating what was at best a lackluster meal of grilled meat and homegrown vegetable. It was not that it didn’t have flavor; truth was it had tons of flavor, but it was that he didn’t have the heart for it. His day had been essentially ruined since the demon woke him, and Aragon knew that the rest of this shadow of a life would be the same way. He would never truly be happy again until he was back in the game. Merci must have sensed it, because she rested her head on his lap and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.
If it had not been for her, he probably would not have gotten up most days. She was the reason he got up in the morning and kept moving forward in life. Night fell quickly, and Aragon had just let Merci out for her last bathroom run when he heard her growling. For some reason unknown to him, he instinctively grabbed the splitting axe instead of the rifle. Most any other time, and logically speaking, he would have grabbed for the gun. Wolves and bears were known to roam this area, and an axe simply was not good enough for a normal human such as he.
When he stepped out on the back porch, Merci was growling at the open edge of the forest. The hair was standing up on her back and quite quickly as soon as he was near her, she ran behind him in blatant fear. Gripping the axe, Aragon could see a vague outline of what it was, and he knew he had grabbed his best chance at a fighting it.
Contact Info: Zenite3 (aim)
Age: 29
Physical Stature:
Aragon has a charismatic rough look about him with scruffy evenly grown facial hair that is only really apparent when he hasn't shaved in a week. His jade blue eyes can be alluring, but hides years far beyond his physical age in worry and stress. At one point his appearance was inviting to follow to a party with as tanned as his skin was. A fact he was proud of in his youthful vanity.
Still standing just an inch shy of six feet, some of his hair has started to turn from a raven black to hints of silver grey brought about by stress. He masks what aging due to stress has done to him by wearing dark sunglasses and usually a long black duster jacket. Typically he will only wear blue jeans and combat boots even just to get the mail. When he isn't wearing boots, he will always have a pair of socks on to hide the fact he only has nine toes.
Since the loss of his power, he still carries a deck of cards, but has long ago hung up his firearms being that he is unable to use them.
Persona:
Though only twenty-nine, his personality had drastically shifted. The loss of his powers had given him a bountiful amount of time to re-evaluate his life. Though he has retained much of his rebellious streak, the time of reflection has cooled his don’t mess with me attitude. That is not to say it still does not exist, but having lead a small army has made him realize that being political can open more doors than kicking them down.
Intelligent, Aragon is by no means a mass of brute strength and time has allowed him to further hone mastering the elements of playing poker. Not having to worry about mundane things while he lived off the grid for the most part since loosing his abilities has allowed him the time to increase his realm of knowledge. Much of his study time has gone into behavioral analytics.
Bio:
A legend in the Orpheus Chonicles, Aragon lost his spiritual abilities in a final all out fight with the then Leader of WHO. His final attack was a move that destroyed his abilities and unleashed a level of energy that obliterated his enemy and the building into little more than dust. Aragon vanished before recovery crews arrived, and calling in all his standing favors settled down in the high mountains of Idaho. Acclimation to the mountain man lifestyle was hard at first, but needed as it revived his soul as a human and not an advent.
The reprieve from advent life did not last long. By the end of his third winter in the mountain lodge of a house, he began feeling the old sensations he knew from his time in Orpheus. Mildly pissed would be a polite way of stating the feelings Aragon had when he was able to see the outline of a demon again.
Tidbits:
· Has only 9 toes
· Multilingual: English (Americanized), Spanish (Mexico), Japanese, Russian (a local dialect). He is working on learning German
· Has had 4 motorcycles (1st was destroyed, 2nd was stolen and stripped, 3rd Lost, 4th chop shopped)
· Adept at reading people especially when playing poker. Keys into the slightest twitch as a tell for a player.
· Has won enough money thus far from poker to safely pay the U.S. national debt and still be financially stable. (of course being thrown back in time to 1900s and investing helps)
Aragon Tenbanto – Initiative Orpheus
Reiatsu: 1000
Resonance:
Combat: 300
Agility: 300
Fortitude: 400
Sample Chapter: The Way Back (WC: 1,136)
The time had been nearly two years since he had walked away from the destruction. Well, maybe walked was not entirely accurate; it was more like he rode like a bat out of hell to get as far away as he could before hunkering down in the nearest town for seven months. It took him that long before he was able to safely board a trans-Atlantic shipping barge and still pull his weight as one of the crew. The part that had killed him was that he had to completely strip down his favorite motorcycle and sell off the parts through various markets just to be sure he could not be found. Anything that could be used to trace him would only create problems.
The truth was that even though he didn’t want to leave Orpheus, Aragon knew that in his condition, between the serum and the attack he used, he was a liability. He didn’t retain any of the power and strength needed to effectively defend his men in the manner he knew he needed to when the cards were down. To have his men put their lives on the line protecting him was against his very core as a leader and, more importantly, as a human. The only option he had was to disappear and sever all ties entirely.
Back then, Aragon could have never guessed, at the time, that in just a few short years, his soul power would resurface. He had no means or reason to think that they would; yet the unmistakable howl that woke him in the middle of one bitter cold winter night was unquestionably demon, or hollow as the shinigami called them. Aragon awoke in a cold sweat at the sound of the bellowing. The bellow woke him from a deep sleep. The former General had his axe for cutting wood, and a rifle he used for hunting, but such physical weapons were useless against a beast from another realm unless they became imbued with soul power. That was not what scared him; what scared him shitless was the fact that he could hear the creature. It meant that the world he thought he had left behind was coming back for him with vengeance.
Aragon spent the rest of the night, unable to sleep, staring up at the unmoving ceiling fan. Memories of old were rushing past his mind, yet he knew there was nothing he could do at this very moment. The demon had moved on much to his relief, had it not though Aragon knew well enough that he couldn’t effectively take it on in a fight and he would have been screwed. Even if the fight were a dirty fight, between him and the demon, he was destined to lose. Assuming that a fight between an Advent and demon could be anything but dirty. Two things he always made sure his men knew was how to pick a fight they could win, and how to make every hit count.
The morning sunrise found him where he had laid all night. It was a welcome relief, but unless the demon had been taken care of, Aragon knew it would be back again. Groaning as he rolled out of bed, he petted his faithful companion, a two-year-old German Sheppard, and lumbered into the kitchen. The day passed uneventfully as he stared at the blank page of his antique typewriter. Being without electronics, or a connection to the rest of the world in a full out attempt to stay off the grid, save but a landline rotary dial telephone, had given him time to try his hand at book writing.
The overfilled pile of crumpled up wads of paper had proven that his efforts were in vain. Every time he filled a page, it always turned out to read like a report or some debriefing of fight he had when he was leading Orpheus. Many of the schematic drawings that littered the study were designs of improvements or calculations of trajectories for firearms. As much as he desired and tried to move past his past, the world of fighting demons was in his blood.
Dinner rolled around to find Aragon still reading over a cold case file. It was not one of his cases, but from a local department that would occasionally consult him. He did the work without taking pay just for sake of having something to do in his retirement. In fact, it was usually when he was looking over cold cases that his mind raced with some idea for a mystery series, which helped him from going completely bat shit crazy. The only reason most of those drafts got canned in the circular file was that they came far too close to something that he really did or was a case that he had reviewed as the general of Orpheus. Granted the stories, when combined, would have probably been a best seller in the supernatural mystery genre; but it would have only been a matter of time before the book was seen by the wrong set of eyes and traced back to him.
Dinner involved eating what was at best a lackluster meal of grilled meat and homegrown vegetable. It was not that it didn’t have flavor; truth was it had tons of flavor, but it was that he didn’t have the heart for it. His day had been essentially ruined since the demon woke him, and Aragon knew that the rest of this shadow of a life would be the same way. He would never truly be happy again until he was back in the game. Merci must have sensed it, because she rested her head on his lap and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.
If it had not been for her, he probably would not have gotten up most days. She was the reason he got up in the morning and kept moving forward in life. Night fell quickly, and Aragon had just let Merci out for her last bathroom run when he heard her growling. For some reason unknown to him, he instinctively grabbed the splitting axe instead of the rifle. Most any other time, and logically speaking, he would have grabbed for the gun. Wolves and bears were known to roam this area, and an axe simply was not good enough for a normal human such as he.
When he stepped out on the back porch, Merci was growling at the open edge of the forest. The hair was standing up on her back and quite quickly as soon as he was near her, she ran behind him in blatant fear. Gripping the axe, Aragon could see a vague outline of what it was, and he knew he had grabbed his best chance at a fighting it.
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