tripping over my own failure.

[Archetype00x]

Name: Alphonse ‘Al’ Bryant (Lemegeton Luciferius Solomon Jormungand)

Title: The Avatar of Hades, King of the Eight Beyond, Utgard Hades, Hermetic Lord of the Shadowed Dawn.

Age: 14.

Gender: Male

Race / Species: Hell Prince; Commander of the Legion.

Appearance: The runt-of-the-litter of his kin, he stands at a meager 5’5”, and weighs in at an equally meager 97 pounds. His complexion is naturally pale, with a curious expression seemingly cemented onto his face. He is quite a large fan of slim-fitting shirts and sweatshirts, typically in a warm color scheme; reds, oranges, yellows, etc. He’s never seen without his worn, green bomber jacket (adorned with many useless, many hidden pockets.) He likes his hair shaggy and typically hanging over his eyes, dying it many wacky colors on impulse. Born with a pair of abnormal red eyes, he insists on using a glamour to change them a bright, livid green. He wears baggy cargo pants (again, many useless, hidden pockets) usually in olive green with studded black belts supporting them. On his feet he wears fashionably cheap red sandals, over black socks. Wrist contents include one studded gauntlet on the right, and on the opposing wrist, a red beaded bracelet and chain bracelet.

Personality: Al is a puzzle, being oblivious to most of the events occurring around him. He’s typically nonchalant and callous, with little passion for anything- except, of course, for battle, writing, and an expected obsession with the occult. Beneath his ignorant, juvenile appearance lies a deeper sense of being, with wisdom and intellect that far surpasses most of his kin. He rarely gets into arguments, resolving to keep his opinions to himself and not let the pointless squabbles of lesser beings infect his self. Considering his origins and race, Al is an oddity, with not only extreme power but compassionate and caring at times. However, get him angry, and while he may not show it, wrath can and will overtake his senses.

Abilities: Taking root in the abyss of hell, his powers stem from the beings residing within him. His demon summoning, while a bit cliché, knows no limits, and using himself as a catalyst, he has access to every last member of the Legion, the army of soldier demons, great and small, that swarm in the pits of the Ninth Circle. He can summon this army without use of a circle, and they will rise and attack wherever and whenever. The demons, while not nearly invincible, are quite capable of doing anything; biting, slashing, stomping, guarding, rending, cooking, cleaning, washing, flying, etc. Despite these demons, he constantly keeps a weapon on him, typically a meteor hammer, heavily laden with reinforcing magicks so that the steel is invoked with the power of a frost giant, immobilizing anything it touches.

Notable Demons;

Ed-Rash-Teh-Kar-Es-Ket - A small, balloon like creature that lacks any kind of legs and wears a long, oily black top hat. He's essentially Al's right-hand man, and can do most anything from attacking with razor sharp fingers to defending at lightning speed. His dialect is a cross between Latin and German, and it's almost impossible to understand; somehow, Al is able to decipher what he wants. Despite his size, he's the sixth most powerful demon in the Legion.

The Dream Eater - A creature made in Asgard who's duty was to guard the gates of Jormungand. However, it was deemed to unstable and given to Al as a servant. It takes the form of a ragged shadow wearing a featureless white mask, and a single touch from it's form can wither away anything to dust.

The Harpies - Dubbed the Hounds of Zeus, they are another gift from an otherworldly source; this time, the Greek Pantheon. They are a group of five vicious bird-women who follow Al's commands without question.

Likes: Video games, writing, philosophy, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, Carl Jung, big dogs.

Dislikes: Loud people in movie theatres, cigarette smoke, pompous people.

Biography: Alphonse, avatar of the darkness of Hell’s story is one of danger, Pokemon, and Hell. That about sums it up. I’ll edit later.

Theme Song: "The Barracuda," by The 5, 6, 7, 8's.

Quote: "Tea, actually."

[Chariot of Fire]

You owe me a battle

Title
Manifestor of the Word

Name
Artemidorus of the Word

Gender
Male

Age
A little under 2000 years old as of now, although most consider him timeless.

Appearance
Artemidorus of the Word is a strange sight to be sure. Standing at only four feet tall, he falls far short of the height of normal humans. His build is of average nature, not extremely muscular, but not incredibly skinny either. He is cloaked in black baggy pants, which reach down to his ankles, revealing a pair of curved, black shoes that cover his size five feet. A small black shirt covers his upper body, completely plain as it is covered by a dark purple vest, royally hued and trimmed with various curvy golden lines. These lines wrap themselves in strange patterns around his purple vest, and sometimes seem to glow with a mysterious golden aura. Dark, tan, brown skin appears from under his clothes, and from his vest, a matching purple hood comes up to enshroud his head. The hood cast a shadow over his face, so that only his mouth and chin are visible… Through some mysterious enchantment, no light can pierce the confines of this hood, so that all one has ever seen is the mouth of Artemidorus… moving as he chants the mighty Word.

Personality
Artemidorus is a mysterious fellow. He loves to speak, speaking with a fancy and beautiful language that seems to flow through the air like a rich autumn wind. He never appears sad, nor extremely happy, instead showing a sort of dulled content, being satisfied with the way things are. He does not enjoy playing games, and takes things seriously, not having much of a sense of humor. Enigmatic to a certain degree, he doesn’t like to talk about himself, instead simply speaking, whatever happens to flow into his head. He speaks with eloquence about God, and about the faith of the Abrahamic God, but does not attempt to convert. He simply says the Word.

Powers/Abilities
Artemidorus has the power to manifest the Word of God into reality. His power is rooted in the words inscribed in the Holy Bible, those ones that have been inspired by the Almighty to lead his followers into a life of faith. He manifests these biblical texts into reality practically literally, although there is slight room for his own interpretation. He can manifest these words orally, as the easiest option, through mental concentration, or through reading them. When he ‘summons’ a verse into existence, the verse is sustained by the power of God himself, and can only be stopped in certain ways, also found within the Word of God.

Weapons/Items
Artemidorus of the Word carries the entire biblical text upon an apparently endless scroll, which he can control telekinetically at will. This scroll has golden handles, and is inscribed on plain faded paper with a shining gold ink. This scroll has no individual value without Artemidorus, but acts as a medium through which he manifests the Word into reality. It rolls up to about three feet in length, and fits snugly onto his back, hanging from Artemidorus’s chest strap, while several other, smaller scrolls hang from a sash around his waist. These scrolls are blank, yet when Artemidorus concentrates on a verse or speaks it aloud, they are instantly inscribed on one of these blank scrolls. They act as medium's of concentration as well, and are all telekinetically controlled by Artemidorus. While they are destructible by magical means, they are replaced after few minutes.

History
His history, is now that of the Word. In order to understand Artemidorus, one must understand the Word.

[Archetype00x]

Ahh, yes. Of course. o:

I changed the character I'm using, so if you'd like, you have the freedom to as well.

You want the first post?

[violent_anger]

if you have space, could ya squeeze me into this battle somehow. I'll be using spider-man.
Spider-Man& - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
ignore brand new day, and he can control the stingers.

[Chariot of Fire]

You can have it, since its your thread. I don't think I'll change characters- since your using demon summoning, it makes sense that I use him

[Archetype00x]

Apologies are in order - I went off to Florida for a few days and I forgot to let you guys know. I'll make the post tomorrow, since I'm wiped from the trip.

[Chariot of Fire]

Here's a post then, so you don't have to double post. Filler filler

[Archetype00x]

It's been much too long since I took a vacation.

The bliss of the pure, unbridled sunlight against his pale skin had put Alphonse in a state of ecstasy. Mere days of seclusion on the Isle de Negra had shifted his hair color from a chesnut brown to a near blonde shade of colour. His bare feet wriggled in the soft, cool sand that sent shivers up his spine as he basked in the beauty that was the island. Before him was a vast, blue sea, accented with the occasional island and the shimmer of reflected rays of sunlight. The waves rose and crashed, cascading onto the beach and then receding back into the ocean. "Beautiful," he told himself.

He turned as a gust of wind made his baggy t-shirt writhe like a flag in the middle of a vicious storm. He spat into the sand as he the gales died down and from among the brush emerged a rickety old lean-to. Supported by three fairly vigilant gargoyles (whom, just in case, had been glamoured to appear as stone pillars), it was draped with a few too many blankets and afghans, causing a slight depression in the ground. Inside was a sleeping bag, a charred fire pit, a few discarded fish bones, a prepaid cellphone, a Nintendo DS, a few shelves full of fruits and vegetables, and many, many playful imps and faeries. They came with the package.

As he swiped up a golden apple from one of the food shelves, his heart skipped a beat, shocked, just for a moment, as a surge of incredible energy crackled through the air, leaving a stale scent. His chest thumping with the frantic rythm of his heart, he bit down onto the flesh of the sweet fruit, letting suspiciously black juice run down his chin. Chewing thoughtfully and then swallowing slowly the chunk of abnormal apple, he whispered into the air, "Miki."

The shack seemed to get darker, as if the sun were being eclipsed by a cloud. However, beyond the borders of his make-shift home, the sunlight bared down on the island with the same intensity. Slowly, from the shadowed dirt floor, a hand rose, one that had been submerged in some kind of seething, black oil. Eventually, another arm pierced the pool of black, and lifted up from the darkness a slim, curved figure of a woman completely covered, head to toe, in the oil. Steaming, it looked to it's master with fiery red eyes, awaiting it's command.

"Summon the others.


We've company to entertain."

[Chariot of Fire]

“What a magnificent panoply of golden salts lie upon this eternity of sunlit glory!”

Artemidorus smiled broadly as he walked upon the beach, his Arabic clothes dispelling the heat rather effectively as he walked amidst the ‘eternity of sunlit glory’ as he so poetically put it. The beauty of the Lord’s creations still amazed him. The wind was lovely, the sun was not too hot, and the ocean splashed wonderfully beside him as he walked alongside the endless sapphire beauty. He was wandering aimlessly… one of his favorite pastimes. He hummed slightly, only his mouth showing from beneath the shadow of his hood. The beautiful violet colors of his clothing sharply contrasted to the golden sand, and several tan scrolls bounced along his waist as he moved along. Standing at just four feet, he seemed almost like a child, walking joyfully down an island beach. However, one word out of his mouth would reveal to all that listened that he was in fact, no child.

“What curiosity is this?” asked Artemidorus aloud, to nobody in particular, as he gazed down the golden sands. Far away, less than a mile or so down the beach, he saw a strange building of some sort. Building was an overstatement though, it appeared to be some kind of shack. Someone lived on this island? Artemidorus had known nothing of that when he had started his wandering here. “Politeness is in order,” thought Artemidorus aloud, patting the large scroll which hung from his back, “I shall greet the tenant of this island and request his permission to continue wandering.” And with that firm decision, Artemidorus continued walking forward toward the shack, whistling now as he felt the weight of the scrolls moving back and forth upon his body.

[Archetype00x]

Sitting with his back to a small, cool rock with a straw hat pulled over his eyes, Alphonse dozed in and out of sleep for a good while until the sound of an old, booming voice and shuffling foot steps drew his attention. Yawning lazily, he tipped up the hat and glanced, intrigued, at this crooked traveler. No way. Really? He thought to himself, but then quickly smiled. "First lesson in combat," he mumbled under his breath. "Never underestimate your enemy." And Alphonse of all people knew that to be a useful tip.

Brandishing a broad grin and putting on a face that he hoped looked like a tired but friendly face of a native farmer, or fisher, or some other rural occupation like that, Al waved at the man. "Hello, friend," he said in a warm voice. He pushed himself up off the ground, and drew closer to this new stranger. Though his appearance would've led the untrained eye to make him appear odd and wayward, perhaps even weak, Al saw the truth - the scroll on his back, the way that he covered his eyes and mouth. This was the source of the fluctuation of energy earlier.

"How may I help you?" His visage of friendliness and warmth remained like a mask of plaster over his typically apathetic and curious look, but there was more than that at work at the moment - in his ears, and in his head, he could hear them; the forces of the Legion. Stirring. Swarming. Shouting.

Cheering.

[Chariot of Fire]

Ah, a friendly face.

As Artemidorus drew closer, his mouth; the only visible part of his body, twisted into a small grin. It appeared to be a local, a fisherman or farmer by the looks of it. Perfect! He would inquire within about this tropical paradise. He approached the small shack with a smile on his face, the large scroll which was almost as tall as him, shifting against his back. The purple garments which he was clothed in, fit perfectly around his body, as if designed specifically for him, and he bowed slightly as he spoke to the farmer that was standing before him.

“Salutations my friend,” he said, his voice ringing with the beauty and poetry of the Word of God, “A felicitous morning to you, good sir. Such a wondrous day doth set upon this patch of paradise, does it not? I mean not to trespass, but I would inquire if I may continue wandering upon your little sliver of heaven? Perhaps we could traverse this panoply of wonders together?” However, as Artemidorus spoke these words, he felt a slight tingling in his nose. He ignored it for a bit, but the tickling went on, and unable to suppress it, he sneezed slightly, covering his mouth, and smiling apologetically to the man before him. “My apologies sir,” he replied, covering his mouth as he coughed again, “I seem to have come upon some type of ailment in the air. Such a reaction usually only comes up in the presence of Hell’s brimstone. Haha, but such demonic essences could not be present on such a magnificent place, of course.”