Post by FreudTastic on Apr 2, 2023 18:30:25 GMT
"And he sees naught but war."
General Information
Name:
Jericho Swain
Alias:
The Grand General - The Raven Lord - The War Visionary
Age:
60
Origin Game:
League of Legends
Homeland:
The Kingdom
Faction:
The Blackstone Legion
Noxus
Gender:
Male
History:
They say that one should fear a man with nothing to lose. But what if a man has something to lose, yet does not fear losing it himself? For decades, Jericho Swain has had his life at stake, but has always emerged victorious, for he has never once feared losing that which he holds dear, which is his own mortal life. For even if he dies, war and strife will still reign supreme. Fear and despair will still lay thick like an ailing fog across the Kingdom, and suffocate those he leaves behind. He knows this, for he has foreseen it. And thus, he strides ever onward, across carcass-laden battlefields where ravens scrounge and scavenge eternally, onward to newer battlefields still, never fearing what he has to lose.
In his youth, Swain was the son of an aristocratic family from the eastern borders of the Kingdom, where the rich thrived and the poor squabbled on the streets, lest they were brought in as slaves and servants for the nobles. He lived a life of safe excess and debauchery, his father enabling his selfish and impulsive desires, and his mother coddling him beyond his infantile years. Never did he have to fear to be 'exposed' to the 'sickness of the commoners', for he was a special child. A noble child, judged to live out his years in unspeakable luxury. But as the years grew onto Swain, even with the best private tutors, instructors and sitters, he felt it wasn't enough. The teachings he were given were indeed extensive and exotic... but also restricted, and diluted. He needed to feel the raw, unfiltered experiences. So he defied his parents, exposing and calling them out on their selfish treatment of him, and joined the army of his country.
He was exposed to the harshness of reality, having his rich and pompous personality stripped from his being and kicked to the muddy soil, replaced by a grim, grizzled visage of the real world. He became cold, and indifferent, not even fearing the loss of his own life, which his parents would've previously bent the Heavens themselves for, if it meant sparing him the harsh realities of life and death. He became brutally efficient, and unquestioning in terms of loyalty to his country and comrades, even sacrificing his own left arm to save a platoon of his own men in an engagement gone south. But after that very same engagement, he was deemed 'unfit for duty', only due to the bled-out stump that was now the remainder of his left arm. They did not wish for a 'cripple' among their ranks, and so he was stripped of his previous honorifics, and cast out into the world.
But it did not stop him. Utilizing all of the knowledge he'd accumulated through life, he would wander the fringes of his country, gathering those same unfortunate soldiers who had been branded the same as him, as 'unfit and non-viable' for minor discrepancies and injuries, and he gathered them under a unified banner; a banner of a black raven upon a crimson-smeared tarp. As their group ever grew in size thanks to more and more 'rejected' soldiers and generals joining their ranks, Swain felt that the momentum had been given to them, and all that was left now was to make it iron-clad. Scouring old texts and tomes pillaged from some smaller settlements and townships, Swain deducted the location of an ancient, evil entity only known as the 'Raven Lord'. Striking a bargain with this demonic entity, Swain was able to bind its power into his very being, replacing his left hand with one of pure demonic energies, whilst gifting himself with immense, demonic magics, and other occult powers.
Now, his dominion was absolute.
He struck back upon the city that had once fostered him, and attempted to shackle him and his purpose in chains of spoiled entitlement and ignorance, and he unleashed proverbial Hell upon its walls and gates. Legions now, of reinvigorated exiles, cripples, war-criminals -- even bodies and spirits of the afterlife, conjured to life by Swain's newfound powers -- hurled themselves upon the city's defenders, and whilst they died by the dozens, the city and its private army fell by the scores, unable to hold back the tidal wave of bodies throwing themselves at them. As he watched, with nothing short of sadistic bemusement, as his old home-city stood burning before him, a vision was laid before him by the demonic Raven Lord; a vision of a large, circular table all colored in blackest of stone, with seven other entities surrounding it. There, they would create a most unstoppable union of war and all that it stood for.
Swain would heed these visions, and gather his throngs of warriors and travel to the location from his visions, and arrived upon the Obsidian Circle, where the other seven individuals soon arrived themselves, or had already arrived. There, after many a tribulations and discussions, it was decided that they would show the Kingdoms all the horrors and strengths of war, and bring forth war eternal upon the realm. And that is how the Blackstone Legion was formed, with Jericho Swain as one of the Eight. The Eight Warlords.
Drive: To spread war and strife eternal, to show the Kingdom the terror of soldiers and 'rejects' with nothing to lose, and to gain leadership of the Obsidian Circle.
Visuals
Image:
Visual Appearance:
Swain is a lean, toned man around 6'1 tall, body riddled with scars of his old soldier days, but still in healthy and well-kept condition. Without his demonic left arm and hand spawned, there is only a healed-up, scarred stump of an arm, whilst his right arm and hand are intact. His hair is long and elegant, colored a starry silver-white, and his eyes are like black coal, except for when he utilizes his powers, where an ember-like, red glow can be seen within them.
Clothing/Armor:
His attire is elegant, yet intimidating, dressing in a suit of wine-red cloth with black trims and designs sewn into it, adorned with a dark breastplate of iron, and black leather boots. His right hand wields a spiked iron gauntlet, and over his uniform he dons a large, billowing black coat which he wears by letting it hang on his shoulders, sleeves left empty. Large dark iron shoulder plates weighs down the coat and keeps it on his being, and from these plates extend metallic protrusions in the likeness of wings.
"They are blind to the cold logic of this world."
Personality
Swain, after his years of exposure to both coddling wealth and gruesome reality, has become cold and indifferent to both ends of the spectrum, treating both with callousness and even with an air of apathy, not really being too concerned about neither. All that matters to him is the cold, harsh, reality of the world that he himself has come to grasp; and that reality is that life is nothing worth but war. More specifically, however, as is catered to his personal beliefs of war, he focuses a lot on war against those who would be so ignorant of a soldier's worth, and war against those who would judge others, rather than let a person judge their own worth. Those who would be deemed unworthy and unfitting in another's eyes, these individuals do Swain see with potential and proper experience. His favorite saying is that 'only in death does one's duty end', and with his powers, he can make it quite literal.
If one were to approach Swain normally, they would be met with a seemingly stoic, calm, and sophisticated man, one who would seem how to behave with the courtesies of a nobleman, and yet with the disciplined gaze of a war veteran burning in his eyes. He can be courteous enough when approached by allies or guests, but he can be curt, crude and silver-tongued to those he deem unworthy or begging for his attention. However, even after his years as a spoiled rich-man's child being left behind him and forgotten, Swain will admit that he would not pass down a banquet or ball if he were to be invited to one, for he does love to indulge in the aristocratic life from time to time, even though it's only for a moment.
Weapons/Items
Swain is not usually seen wielding any weapons of his own, mainly utilizing the powers of his demonic pact, but he does sometimes brandish a worn, weathered, but still functioning and sharp longsword under his coat, its scabbard attached to his belt.
"The monsters of today... will be the conquerors of tomorrow."
Abilities/Powers
From his life as an aristocratic youth, Swain picked up on a lot of things that his private scholars and mentors taught him, educating himself a lot on the world of the Kingdom, and its history. He was also taught a lot of higher-grade subjects, and became quite proficient in some, drama being one of them. With this, he has become quite adept at 'masquerading' his true intentions and feelings for others, to the point where people actually believes he is the person he acts out to be. From his military life afterwards, he was rewarded and honored for being a quick-learning, and quick-thinking soldier, and a pragmatic tactician and commander of small battalions, leading to many of his decorative titles, the biggest one being his declaration of 'Grand General'. He is an adept soldier and warrior as well, and is quite good at handling his longsword.
But the true powers of Swain now lies in his demonic pact, and the occult sorceries and magic powers he possesses. Being a vessel for the Raven Lord and his powers, first and foremost, Swain is capable of 'reading' a person's soul and mind by claiming 'soul shards' from their bodies upon death, granting him no small amount of foresight for his battles to come as he is able to tap into these soul shards and 'read' the memories and thoughts of the person prior to his death. He is also able to call to him flocks of ravens to do his bidding, either to use as a means of attack or defense, by sending swarms of ravens to peck and claw at his opponents, or covering himself in a cloud of ravens, and using teleportation magic to disappear within. He is also able to infuse the Raven Lord's powers into a raven's eye, utilizing the creature as a scout for mile-long range reconnaissance.
Aside from that, the more common usage of magical powers can be seen within Swain's repertoire as well, such as sending out surging shocks of electric eldrich energy, summoning demonic hands to claw and clutch opponents, and a lot more. Ultimately, he can infuse himself with the power of the Raven Lord directly, summoning its powers to this plane of existence as he grows huge, demonic raven wings upon his back, and both of his arms changing to demonic, clawed ones, as well as twisting and transforming his head into that of a demonic, six-eyed raven's head.
Roleplay Sample
"Your ambush was well thought-out, Captain, and I admire your usage of your environment of choice... but I will be honest--"
Another mundane attempt on his life, swathed away like a pestering fly, as only the captain of this little Hylian brigade remained, his men all around him, eviscerated and decapitated, charred burns upon their leather armor that pierced through armor and flesh alike, and with ravens now pecking away at their corpses. And in the midst of it all, he stood. Black cape billowing in the gentle breeze of the woods, blood-splatter coating parts of its otherwise ebony sheen, and his left hand brandished, formed as a demonic, clawed hand, red sparks flying off of it. The captain himself was worse for wear, too; his own left arm severed at the shoulder blade, his remaining right hand clutching his spear in desperation, as Swain merely stared him down. Calmly. Unfazed.
"It was easily seen through. Many men like you have come for my life, and though I do not blame them for seeking my head... you'll need to train them a bit harder." a self-satisfied smirk crosses his face as the captain raises his spear. "Unless-- you mean to throw away your life here and now, in a feeble attempt at vengeance? I would advise against it..." but alas, as predicted, the man just cried out his loyalty to his kingdom, and rushed at Swain, prepared to skewer him with his weapon. Swain merely raises his left arm, foul occult energies crackling from it once more.
"How predictable... perish, then."
