onwards towards dawn [finished]

Subject: onwards towards dawn [finished] Tue Nov 04, 2014 6:42 am

Armsiael, Iouri

”It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.”

Quincy Encyclopedia

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Birth Name: Iouri Armsiael
Character Aliases: h w a
Gender: M
Age: 18
Birth Date: 21st of March
Rank Status:Stern Ritter

Vandenreich Epithet: Iouri is known as the H W A, which represents a new breed of Quincy.

Appearance: Here before you stands an individual average general height, elevated only a meager five feet and seven inches ( one-hundred and seventy centimeters ). An interesting being to say the least, the male has a strange aura about him as if a clinging of a set emotion has radiated around his core through traumatic or otherwise similar circumstances. No matter the state in which such cause has taken place, young Iouri is slowly establishing himself as an individual and is upon the climb to one day achieve a higher positioning amongst his peers. Through appearance alone, most are quick to notice how he stands out. Unafraid of the use of cosmetics, face paints, and gender bending the very clothing he dawns. In his profession and specific specialties, such traits only assist in his over all performance. It attracts the eye, shifts the focus, and makes them susceptible to his glamours and wrongful allusions. Out of these attributes, the lining of his eyes and painting of his fingernails into a pale violet shade. When it comes to generalized appearance without the clothing, Iouri really appears nothing outside of your average male. Attributed towards his ancestry, the bastard-ized descendent has inherited his parents pale skin and soft blue eyes. His hair has taken moreso after his father, turning into a warm shade of freshly brewed coffee. Appreciating the outgrowth of keratin- Iouri maintains his hair quite diligently to benefit his role within is family. Keeping it fairly long and styled in a number of varieties- although the most common one is a simple ponytail. To maintain its length, he schedules routine bi-monthly appointments with his favourite cosmetologist. As for the rest of his anatomy, there truly isn’t much to describe. Spending his earnings mainly on clothing, his diet has lead him to thinning out more so than your average ninja. It is of such a quality that his ribs are visible should one ever be granted the permission to see his chest. Musculature is limited to light tone and definition. He certainly isn’t the strongest individual out there. Brain over Brawn essentially is his calling and he is very much aware of that. It easily reflects his combative styling.

Personality: Iouri possess a rather remarkably personality in that he believes that he possesses the traits to rule, but knows that he doesn't have required stability for the task. He’s both prone to emotional instability, yet his resilience and determination are the very things that define his responses to these two failings. This very determination is often mistaken for outrageous arrogance and - it frequently is- an increasingly obvious superiority complex, however the male only does this out of his fundamental beliefs which are utterly malevolent - but that's a matter of perspective as he well knows.Growing up relying primarily on his own mental and physical prowess has made him a bit insensitive and cold hearted when social sensibilities are in question. Bluntness when socially inappropriate, even to the point of being offensive do not terribly concern him. This personality of his makes Iouri seem to be an enormous, ‘dick’ for lack of any better word. Alas, this is just his outside personality. Like every other person, the onion of a mask he wears is near infinitely thick. By the same token, his knowledge of social interactions also makes him painfully aware of the toes he treads on when he speaks without pause for thought.

Few have ever gotten a sensitive remark from Iouri, and even fewer have received thanks from him. Now this may seem ungrateful, but Iouri doesn’t believe in giving people free gratitude. One must earn respect and attribution, rather than be given it out of pity or simple existence. This may just seem like an excuse for his behaviour, however there is one other factor to add to the equation. His actual intelligence. Many in the world tend to look at things from a black, white grey and everything in between perspective. This is common in virtually all cases. It is what starts wars, and why the peace treaties last for only a short while - from a historical perspective. Iouri prides himself on being a man who sees only grey. No one is purely innocent and no one is purely guilty.He realises the differences between cultures, understands what causes conflicts, and knows that nothing is ever just black and white. Many intelligent men have figured this out for themselves, but what distinguishes Iouri from the rest is his thought process and personal experience.

Since he entered his teens, Iouri has been plagued by his unique cybernetic cognition. Being intimately familiar with nearly the entirety of information that humanity has bothered to record makes him a little single-minded in that regard. It is not that he chooses to be an asshole, but rather, he has no choice. However, Iouri is not at all a serious man. He may have serious emotional issues, and many strict codes of conduct, but he never acts this way. Around anyone for that matter. It is simply not the man he is. His ego and optimism are what contribute to his carefree and luxurious lifestyle. By having plentiful amounts of self determination, he simply has nothing to fear. Now, that’s not saying he has no fears. He does have those, but his only materialistic fear is that of insects. He does not even fear death, for he understands life is about accomplishing what one can while they are around, nostalgia over death is just another sign of weakness which he cannot behold. Now these other fears of his, are more revolved around him not finishing the task he has been given. This isn’t a shallow idea such as forgetting to sign a few peace treaties. No, this is on a fundamental level. Iouri’s greatest fear is that he won’t have enough time to accomplish his lifetime goals, and is the only thing that ever keeps him up at night.

His insatiable fear of insects hardly comes close to paralleling this fear, even though he does go a bit psycho at the sight of bugs.Unfortunately for the bugs, this isn't the, run away screaming psycho, it's more or less the fetish kind of psycho.Now Iouri, is a very adventurous soul. Even since he was little, he loved travelling. He is not at all a workaholic. In fact, Iouri devotes his weekends to simply partying, hooking up with girls, or attending local festivals just to have some fun. The man is so easygoing though, that he doesn’t even take serious threats, seriously- intimidation is also likely to fail. Many of his peers tend to hype up a situation beyond reasonable proportions, however Iouri is quick to notice these troublesome exaggerations, and is often times the first to call them out on their ignorance. He enjoys explaining philosophy, science and even politics to those who wish to listen.

Iouri typically to actually seems to have a soft side for, well, cute things. Whether it be adorably shaped pastries, cute animals or small people, he will simply fall in metaphorical love with them. When it comes to people, this weakness becomes even more evident. His captivation of adorable things makes him incredibly trusting of these very things, and could easily lead to his demise should an adorable assassin come and attempt to kill him. Even though he simply can’t say no to such things, he does have a brain. After only five or six backstabs will he finally realize the malicious intentions of this cute artifact. Since Iouri views malicious intentions to be very un-cute, the infatuation is usually lost, and the male has no remorse getting back at the foe.As for his actual fighting personality, it’s not very different from his usual personality. When in combat with any regular foe, he’ll remain carefree and usually toy with his enemy, not really having any attempt to kill them. In fact, whenever he measures someone to be weaker than him, his main strategy is to simply ‘wait it out’. He knows that the enemy would have far more to prove, and would therefore try harder.

Using a bit of psychology and manipulative words, Iouri usually attempts to force the enemy into overexerting by simply playing defensive and annoying. However, things become very different when he acknowledges a credible foe. The carefree attitude may show itself at the beginning, primarily to judge his enemy’s capabilities, however once their skillset is confirmed to be dangerous, he switches over to a more heartless set of tactics. His fighting style is incredibly bloody, though not in a literal sense. He’s just incredibly twisted mentally. He loves watching his enemies slowly suffer at his own hands, and will draw out a battle for as long as possible, simply to soak in their agony. Even when losing, Iouri will never try to simply win a fight. Instead, he will continue to torture his victims using all possible variables from within the environment.

Fighting Style

Combat Style Overview

Level (1, 2, 3)
—Handkampf
Level (1, 2, 3)
—Ginto
Level (1, 2, 3)
—Verbrauch
Level (1, 2, 3)
—Cross
Level (1, 2, 3)

Once Upon A Time

History:

The candle burned low in its wick, the pale wan glow lighting up the blank sheets of paper that lay bundled together on one corner of Iouri's desk. A few select slices of these bundles lay crumpled with the physical evidence of frustration. A few drips of ink pool at the corner of one, the liquid having failed to dry before it was subject to the dark haired man's fury. His most recent disposal already lay crumpled in his palm, but something gave him pause as he moved to throw it towards the growing pile of discarded stationary. Unfurling the page, something he had written on the alabaster sheets caught his attention and held it. And while his body did not physically relax, something changed within his bearing. Perhaps the lines on his face grew a little less harsh, the shadows receded and the candle burned a little more steadily. Pulling a new leaf towards him, Iouri began to scribe his thoughts with an odd amount of urgency onto the page. With all the haste of a man who knows every tick on the clock is another nail hammered slowly with all the painstaking precision of an artist. An artist of death. And for all that is was worth, his hand moved faster. Tracing his thoughts onto the page.
As I begin to write this, the questions I would ask myself in your position would be foremost in regards to my upbringing, parentage and childhood. This seems a reasonably proposition, so allow me to sate your curiosity. Let it be said that I was an only child. Let it be said that for what it was worth, my family never wanted for another. Let it also be said that we were happy. Said thrice and done. But the details of my youth are a little more open and shut then many would think. I did not come from a traditional home, the Denna Usma were a travelling troupe. Of many different branches, all of whom bore different names to us, we were one family. The isolated life of the road is not one that many city folk care to share the experience of. So I grew up solely in the company of adults, and quickly grew to prefer the company of them to that of children my own age. After all, it was normal for me to sit at the table with the men, the women of the troupe and talk and laugh. Perhaps it is a wonder that my mouth is not more uncouth then a sailors. It was these folk, Tiny Tim, Ardilean, Feruliean, Desmond. A thousand and one names, but they're all gone now. Every last one. But that's a different part of the story.

My exploits within the troupe began small, but when you are brought to live and breath music and acting. When you spend morning, noon and night thinking about how music works. How to sound like a princling noble and the humble pariah. Wicked was my word, gilded was my tongue. Let none say that for my relative youth, that for my worldly inexperience, that I did not earn my keep amongst my family. But sadly, all good things must end. All things in general, actually, but that kills the melancholy somewhat doesn't it? Since I've gone and shown my hand, lets indulge this opportunity of ours. Someone leaving before you have had time to resolve your regrets leaves an awful mar upon your heart. It eats away at you. Different people use different analogies for the heart, but I like to think of it as a patchwork quilt. All are varied, none quite the same. Whilst they all serve the same general purpose, each is individual. Each unique. Negative emotions are like closet moths, nibbling slowly away. Wearing the seams down. Day by day. Week by week. My first altercation with my parents happened, perhaps predictably, over theatre. There is a play called the Lay of Sir Illien. You will probably have heard of it if you are the type of enjoys plays. If not, then allow me to explain the Lay of Sir Illien in the simplest terms I know. It is the standard, by which we measure other plays of greatness. It is, by no means the best in all aspects. The Battle of Lausenfied is well known to have the best world building in any play. Lady Lackless' Loose Lion is a comedy of unparalleled value. But when we judge these great plays, we compare them to the Lay of Sir Illien. It has everything. Written by one of the greatest playwrites of her era, it has endured with us 'til today. I wished to audition for a particular role, considered to be the most challenging within it. Sir Illien himself, who has a particular song, halfway through that has changed the lives of men. It is a song of such incredibly difficulty and manual dexterity that only my father was considered to have the ability to play the role. In some ways, it was a territorial role, my father was accustomed to playing Sir Illien. Accustomed to having the spotlight. I theorise that some part of him saw this as me stepping on his garden - so to speak. Whatever the case, harsh words were exchanged over the matter. I was annoyed that he did not believe I could hold the role. Let us speak no more of it. Leaving the grounds were my troupe had been camped, I left for a long while; thinking. Would the lone road be better for me? I knew my way around a cast of instruments by now. Obtaining a position as a minstrel in a bar would not be hard. The next big town we came across, I remember deciding. It would bare me through 'til that time. Conviction hardening my heart, I rose from the ground and continued, allowing my feet to retrace my steps without thinking where I was going. Until the smoke nearly choked me in its fierce embrace as I emerged from the forest. Looking around, a young boy, of no more then fifteen sobbed as he considered the world around him as his whole life slowly burnt around him. The strewn corpses of his family blackened and charred. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can still see the flames dancing on the insides of my eyes. But only sometimes. If you know that's what is waiting for you in the deep dark of your mind, it isn't much motivation to sleep.

There had been nothing to salvage from the wreck of my troupe. Their wounds were...unnatural. Life on the road had accustomed me somewhat to death. I had seen a man slain by sword. But never, never by Hollow. It was hardly common in my small corner of the world. Still, within due order I found the true nature of those who had slain my family. It was not an easy truth to discover, the dark creatures who hunt humanity are by no means the easiest of folk to kill. Let alone those who are as ruthless to slaughter with digression. And so I began to make my study under a man called Edmond Sloid, who speci -

A knock on the door caused the pen to jerk to an abrupt halt, the rest of the story would have to come later.

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