Post by Osmadiel Monnsionnus on Aug 29, 2015 2:21:36 GMT -5
Osmadiel Puriel Monnsionnius
theme song:; Snake Eyes by Feint
description:; Osmadiel is a very well-built looking human being that seems to have been chiseled from an ethereal flesh that only God could present. From his strong features in his face, to the well-built muscles that hug his human body, he seems to be quite the enforcer. However, one would be remiss to be forgetful in his mysterious and oftentimes reserved outward demeanor. This would not mean that he does not share in his emotions, as angels do not have the proper human connection to natural sets of emotions, but Osmadiel's missions remains true. This ability to reflect his strong-willed temperament to keep his emotions in check, his mission in mind, and the power in his hands, he often gives off energetic waves that he is not one to be trifled with during his ordeal in this earthly realm. One could simply look upon him and determine without the use of mere words what his existence on this realm truly reflects. However, where there is a strong willed empowerment to do right by his Father, his people, he often forgets the limitations that Angels must maintain. In a better lack of words, his time on Earth has made him soft and much to his father's potential dismay at this discovery, he too, keeps this close to his chest. A well kept secret that only other Angels could possibly pick up on. There is only one goal. There is only one mission. And despite the Angel's outward personality, that is etched on his demeanor and features, he will never forget what he is or who he is. A perfect soldier.
playby:; Stephen Amell
age:; sweet 1'200
gender:; Male
race: born an Angel - Nephilim
should we put bricks on your head?:; Osmadiel is six feet tall
no place like home:; Chicago, Illinois
getting lucky with ~someone~:; Heterosexual
babies coming?:;Single, for now 
abilities:; 
Crusade, Detect Invisibility, Heal Level 1
weapon(s):;In possession of a hunting knife for close quarters, and a bow and arrow for medium - long distance combat.
whatcha~wearin?:;He usually wears a hooded leather accouterments that he has sewn for himself. It was made for small skirmishes, and can be upgraded easily for larger battles. From the shoulders down to his elbows are hardened leather plates that can deflect blows of normal grade weapons such as swords, but more importantly they exist to protect his forearms from disarmament. Around the hips are small pouches used for tonics and a small flask that he keeps strong alcohol based properties for consumption, and medical purposes. And finally on the back is a leather holster sewn together from cured straps that hug his left shoulder, slant downwards at an angle around his torso, with a buckle on his upper back for the quiver.
transportation:;He is a foot soldier as he can not use the power of flight. He possess a motorbike in which he uses for quick insertions/exfiltrations. The bike is a dark, almost drab olive green much like his suit.
anything.else.you'd.like.to.share?:;He has a slot on his waist for a sheath. In this sheath rests a hunting knife. It takes a simple wrist maneuver to detach it from the moorings.
disposition to the law:; LAWFUL/NEUTRAL/CHAOTIC
alignment:;Good
likes:; Fighting the good fight for what matters, the almighty Father, Protecting the innocent/weak, Love and passion, other Angels who do what is right by their creed
dislikes:; Evil beings and creatures, Killing, Interference to the law of Righteousness
phobias:; Failing the good people
obsessions:; Serving the good people
background:;Osmadiel had once been a good citizen to society and the work force. He was once a businessman that helped non-profit organizations reach out to people and countries in dire need of support. Whether those aids came from affiliated disaster relief agencies, he was a good man with a noble heart. And that is why perhaps the Angel entity had awoken in him. The man that formerly served the people as a philanthropist, now can no longer remember his name. The former had gone to to the Chicago Insitute of Business acquiring his degree in law and educating himself in the world's problems. He joined an organization that was created to help countries find their way. He was trained in the war of art and grew an intense passion for other human beings. There was one thing that he hated in this world; which was the ability for human beings to administer unrelenting pain and misery and suffering on other human beings. He trained his body, mind and soul to prepare to combat this invisible political issue that was a virulent disease plaguing the world. More importantly, it was not the world that needed saving, but the inhabitants that needed to be taught a lesson. He trained, educated and fought his way to a position of importance in non-profit disaster relief programs. With intentions to even create his own business. This would never fulfill his dreams, as tragedy...
Tragedy always wins. The existentialism that he thought existed would all but shatter at his feet. For all the good that he had done, it was only inevitable that the bad would soon wind its way and seek him out. It was here during a routine expedition in Sierra Leone when his group had gone out on just another mission. They were supposed to recon a village in the hills and report their findings. Some thing they had done numerous times in the past and without fail. They were quite good, efficient, at their jobs. And so, as they made the drive amongst the sandy, dusty unpaved roads seeking out the town they came across an overturned truck, engulfed by roaring flames. This was not uncommon for the area as piracy and raids happened quite often. The driver, a nice South-African man by the name of Makeer, had pulled the truck to the side of the road. He had started to say that the road was impassable and the only way to the village was in finding another way. Osmadiel had never gone back in his life, and so he told the driver to press forward. And so they wound their way among the wreckage and up the hill. But when they got to the top their engine sputtered out; and with a dying plume of grey whisp, the engine gave out as the jeep came to a slow halt. Furious, Osmadiel had yelled at the driver for hours. Proficiently.
It wasn't that they had gotten stranded in hostile territory, but the fact that the driver said he had checked his maintenance list before the trek. That was if he even had a maintenance list. So for the moment they were stuck. Amanda, one of Osmadiel's associated, had gotten on the satellite phone and radioed home base. It took for a few hours for the connection to be established. So while Osmadiel, and two other associates, made a quick hike up the next hill to see what they could see they stopped for a break under a tree. Then reveling in the shade from the merciless environment they retrieved their noon-day snacks and began to nourish themselves. And then all at once they heard the sound together. Gunfire. Osmadiel shot to his feet and walked to the dip in the hill to see that another truck had pulled up. Six men all carrying AK47 assault rifles. They were surrounding the truck, the driver, and Amanda. The men forced them to their knees, placed their rifles to the backs of their heads and from this distance, Osmadiel could hear their voices being carried over the dunes. But he could not understands their dialect. He did not need to understand their words. He watched as the driver was the first one to be executed. He could hear Amanda's wails as they grabbed her by the hair and yanked her this way, and that way. Despite himself Osmadiel pressed his hand to his mouth. Then he was at a run down the hill. There was some thing inside him that hoped beyond hope that he would be able to reach them in time. Then take on all six men before they would all die. He ran as fast, and as hard, as he could until he reached them. But one of the sentries had spotted him first. He shouted something and they all turned and immediately began to open fire. Instinctively, Osmadiel dived for cover behind the truck. And they were still shouting in their language. This time it was harsh, almost as if one of them were giving orders. He saw their feet as two came at him from two different sides and to this day Osmadiel can recall everything of what happened next. Amanda went down with a single shot. Then four men kicked and punched and eventually stabbed Osmadiel until he felt the life bleeding from his soul. But what happened hours after that, or was it days, weeks? Osmadiel could never explain the phenomenon. From where he lay defeated, a new man would rise a man unscathed.
The flashing white-blue light resonated from behind the truck with a soft thrum, bringing an emotionally dead man to his feet, with no visible wounds, was unearthly. He could not explain what had overcome him behind that truck. Had he died and gone to a heaven, or was he left behind to discover his limitations in a hell of his own design? Perhaps the tragedy has morphed him in o a morbid angel - a demon in his own eyes. Like a man possessed, Osmadiel tracked the killers to their camp. He felt more powerful than anything imaginable. From the power that thrummed deep inside his soul, filling his emptiness with a warmth that burned away the darkest of dark, he could not explain what had over come him on his dying breath. Why had this power existed now? Why had this energy chosen him and how? These questions are what plague his very new-found existence. A path he struggles with constantly. He had found their camp within hours of waking up. His sense of direction, skills, and attributes - he felt faster, stronger, hungrier. The passion inside him burned unrelentingly.
The last one to escape was a 14 year old kid clutching his rifle to his chest as if it were a basket of puppies. Osmadiel stood emotionless over the young boy staring down. Osmadiel reminded the kid of all that he had witnessed here. Which sent the kid running in to the hills never to be seen again. And as for the rest of Osmadiel's friends. They had been taken to the camp, beaten, exhausted, raped, starved until they perished. And the man that walked into Sierra Leone was no longer human.
His name is Osmadiel Monnsionnus.
Tragedy always wins. The existentialism that he thought existed would all but shatter at his feet. For all the good that he had done, it was only inevitable that the bad would soon wind its way and seek him out. It was here during a routine expedition in Sierra Leone when his group had gone out on just another mission. They were supposed to recon a village in the hills and report their findings. Some thing they had done numerous times in the past and without fail. They were quite good, efficient, at their jobs. And so, as they made the drive amongst the sandy, dusty unpaved roads seeking out the town they came across an overturned truck, engulfed by roaring flames. This was not uncommon for the area as piracy and raids happened quite often. The driver, a nice South-African man by the name of Makeer, had pulled the truck to the side of the road. He had started to say that the road was impassable and the only way to the village was in finding another way. Osmadiel had never gone back in his life, and so he told the driver to press forward. And so they wound their way among the wreckage and up the hill. But when they got to the top their engine sputtered out; and with a dying plume of grey whisp, the engine gave out as the jeep came to a slow halt. Furious, Osmadiel had yelled at the driver for hours. Proficiently.
It wasn't that they had gotten stranded in hostile territory, but the fact that the driver said he had checked his maintenance list before the trek. That was if he even had a maintenance list. So for the moment they were stuck. Amanda, one of Osmadiel's associated, had gotten on the satellite phone and radioed home base. It took for a few hours for the connection to be established. So while Osmadiel, and two other associates, made a quick hike up the next hill to see what they could see they stopped for a break under a tree. Then reveling in the shade from the merciless environment they retrieved their noon-day snacks and began to nourish themselves. And then all at once they heard the sound together. Gunfire. Osmadiel shot to his feet and walked to the dip in the hill to see that another truck had pulled up. Six men all carrying AK47 assault rifles. They were surrounding the truck, the driver, and Amanda. The men forced them to their knees, placed their rifles to the backs of their heads and from this distance, Osmadiel could hear their voices being carried over the dunes. But he could not understands their dialect. He did not need to understand their words. He watched as the driver was the first one to be executed. He could hear Amanda's wails as they grabbed her by the hair and yanked her this way, and that way. Despite himself Osmadiel pressed his hand to his mouth. Then he was at a run down the hill. There was some thing inside him that hoped beyond hope that he would be able to reach them in time. Then take on all six men before they would all die. He ran as fast, and as hard, as he could until he reached them. But one of the sentries had spotted him first. He shouted something and they all turned and immediately began to open fire. Instinctively, Osmadiel dived for cover behind the truck. And they were still shouting in their language. This time it was harsh, almost as if one of them were giving orders. He saw their feet as two came at him from two different sides and to this day Osmadiel can recall everything of what happened next. Amanda went down with a single shot. Then four men kicked and punched and eventually stabbed Osmadiel until he felt the life bleeding from his soul. But what happened hours after that, or was it days, weeks? Osmadiel could never explain the phenomenon. From where he lay defeated, a new man would rise a man unscathed.
The flashing white-blue light resonated from behind the truck with a soft thrum, bringing an emotionally dead man to his feet, with no visible wounds, was unearthly. He could not explain what had overcome him behind that truck. Had he died and gone to a heaven, or was he left behind to discover his limitations in a hell of his own design? Perhaps the tragedy has morphed him in o a morbid angel - a demon in his own eyes. Like a man possessed, Osmadiel tracked the killers to their camp. He felt more powerful than anything imaginable. From the power that thrummed deep inside his soul, filling his emptiness with a warmth that burned away the darkest of dark, he could not explain what had over come him on his dying breath. Why had this power existed now? Why had this energy chosen him and how? These questions are what plague his very new-found existence. A path he struggles with constantly. He had found their camp within hours of waking up. His sense of direction, skills, and attributes - he felt faster, stronger, hungrier. The passion inside him burned unrelentingly.
The last one to escape was a 14 year old kid clutching his rifle to his chest as if it were a basket of puppies. Osmadiel stood emotionless over the young boy staring down. Osmadiel reminded the kid of all that he had witnessed here. Which sent the kid running in to the hills never to be seen again. And as for the rest of Osmadiel's friends. They had been taken to the camp, beaten, exhausted, raped, starved until they perished. And the man that walked into Sierra Leone was no longer human.
His name is Osmadiel Monnsionnus.
Read more: distension.proboards.com/thread/24/character-application-template#ixzz3kBKNYpKA
