Post by Jacque on May 19, 2004 22:14:38 GMT -5
Name: Chalon, Jacque
Age: 28
Race: Human, French
Gender: male
Alignment: religious affiliation, a fanatic who believes himself to be the hand of the Christian god
Occupation: Artist, religious fanatic (but that’s really more of a life consuming hobby), and also dose odd jobs
Weapon: His weapon of choice is a sword that he claims to be the blade of Saint Michael. He also carries a small pistol tucked away in his belt just incase the riotous blade proves unwieldy for a certain situation.
Stats: intelligence:100
Strength: 200
Charisma:200
Spirit: 100
defense: 150
endurance: 150
speed: 100
powers: Riotous fury, he becomes ignorant of pain in his pursuit of heavenly justice.
Light of the Holy Spirit, Jacque knows he fights in the eyes of god, so he fears no mans blow, for if he dies he dies knowing he lived his life as he was meant to. AKA: no fear.
appearance: He is tall, and well built with a bronze colored skin. Though he comes from France he has more the appearance of a man from Spain. He usually dresses in black and white and wears a small cross on a chain around his neck.
Personality: His personality seems light at first, though his mood swings soon become painfully apparent. These moods depend upon those around him greatly. When he is in nature and around good kind people, he in turn is happy and content, but in the city he becomes surrounded by sin and often turns violent, angry, and homicidal.
story: Born in France, Jacque was orphaned at the age of 7 when his parents went to a local government building to turn in some registration papers. His mother had gone in to take care of the paper work while his father waited outside with him. Suddenly a revolutionist protesting Red Infinity opened up fire, killing dozens.
Out of fear for his wife, Jacque dad ran into the building, telling his son to stay behind. No sooner had he entered the building was he too shot. Before the door swung shut, Jacque was able to see his father fall, his mothers corpse among the others, and the last thing he could remember before the door closed, an image that would remain within his dreams for the rest of his life, was their eyes; their glassy, lifeless eyes.
After he was orphaned, Jacque was adopted by a group of nun’s who take care of children with no where left to go, and was taken to a monastery in northern Germany, one of the few of it’s kind left. There, Jacque grew up in a peaceful setting, free of the world’s evils.
And while he was there, he found the two greatest loves of his life: God, and capturing the beauty of the world on canvas. So it was that he left the monastery as an artist. However he kept the memory of his parents with him, a hard lesson he would never shake.
Jacque was 18 when he left, and determined to make it on his own in life. He kept up his art as a personal hobby, even though his pieces where a think of antique beauty, capturing the world in a light that made it seem to be a marvelous place of endless possibilities.
However, Jacque discovered that though his art was made the world out to be a wondrous place, this was not so.
Joining the army, he fought against the rising revolution for the next 5 years, seeing horrible and heinous acts committed against humanity, receiving a front row seat to the dark side of civility, and what he saw was a primal evil that befalls all who live by sin. Politicians, soldiers, murderers, fanatics, and men of greed and power, all these things he saw, and somewhere he along the line he snapped.
He took his leave of the army and disappeared for 5 long years.
Recently though, a string of murders are appearing all across Europe, the victims them selves have no connection; some are politicians, military heads, or just commen rank and file soldiers, others are common workers, though some of these later proved to be wanted criminals.
The only connection is that every victim was found with an exquisite painting lying beside their body. The painting shows the victim as the police find them; in whatever fashion they died, wither it be by gun shot, or, more commonly, a long slice along the neck by some sharp tool. And across the face of the portrait is written the words, in bright red jagged letters:
May your creator have mercy for your tainted soul, for I have none.
Age: 28
Race: Human, French
Gender: male
Alignment: religious affiliation, a fanatic who believes himself to be the hand of the Christian god
Occupation: Artist, religious fanatic (but that’s really more of a life consuming hobby), and also dose odd jobs
Weapon: His weapon of choice is a sword that he claims to be the blade of Saint Michael. He also carries a small pistol tucked away in his belt just incase the riotous blade proves unwieldy for a certain situation.
Stats: intelligence:100
Strength: 200
Charisma:200
Spirit: 100
defense: 150
endurance: 150
speed: 100
powers: Riotous fury, he becomes ignorant of pain in his pursuit of heavenly justice.
Light of the Holy Spirit, Jacque knows he fights in the eyes of god, so he fears no mans blow, for if he dies he dies knowing he lived his life as he was meant to. AKA: no fear.
appearance: He is tall, and well built with a bronze colored skin. Though he comes from France he has more the appearance of a man from Spain. He usually dresses in black and white and wears a small cross on a chain around his neck.
Personality: His personality seems light at first, though his mood swings soon become painfully apparent. These moods depend upon those around him greatly. When he is in nature and around good kind people, he in turn is happy and content, but in the city he becomes surrounded by sin and often turns violent, angry, and homicidal.
story: Born in France, Jacque was orphaned at the age of 7 when his parents went to a local government building to turn in some registration papers. His mother had gone in to take care of the paper work while his father waited outside with him. Suddenly a revolutionist protesting Red Infinity opened up fire, killing dozens.
Out of fear for his wife, Jacque dad ran into the building, telling his son to stay behind. No sooner had he entered the building was he too shot. Before the door swung shut, Jacque was able to see his father fall, his mothers corpse among the others, and the last thing he could remember before the door closed, an image that would remain within his dreams for the rest of his life, was their eyes; their glassy, lifeless eyes.
After he was orphaned, Jacque was adopted by a group of nun’s who take care of children with no where left to go, and was taken to a monastery in northern Germany, one of the few of it’s kind left. There, Jacque grew up in a peaceful setting, free of the world’s evils.
And while he was there, he found the two greatest loves of his life: God, and capturing the beauty of the world on canvas. So it was that he left the monastery as an artist. However he kept the memory of his parents with him, a hard lesson he would never shake.
Jacque was 18 when he left, and determined to make it on his own in life. He kept up his art as a personal hobby, even though his pieces where a think of antique beauty, capturing the world in a light that made it seem to be a marvelous place of endless possibilities.
However, Jacque discovered that though his art was made the world out to be a wondrous place, this was not so.
Joining the army, he fought against the rising revolution for the next 5 years, seeing horrible and heinous acts committed against humanity, receiving a front row seat to the dark side of civility, and what he saw was a primal evil that befalls all who live by sin. Politicians, soldiers, murderers, fanatics, and men of greed and power, all these things he saw, and somewhere he along the line he snapped.
He took his leave of the army and disappeared for 5 long years.
Recently though, a string of murders are appearing all across Europe, the victims them selves have no connection; some are politicians, military heads, or just commen rank and file soldiers, others are common workers, though some of these later proved to be wanted criminals.
The only connection is that every victim was found with an exquisite painting lying beside their body. The painting shows the victim as the police find them; in whatever fashion they died, wither it be by gun shot, or, more commonly, a long slice along the neck by some sharp tool. And across the face of the portrait is written the words, in bright red jagged letters:
May your creator have mercy for your tainted soul, for I have none.
