Sylvan

Appearance
A charr always seen clad in a stylized set of red armor. Sylvan is a towering example of a soldier born of two blood legion. While not as muscular as other charr of his size, His muscles are more compact and robust designed for quick bursts of strength. He could never be seen without a gigantic greatsword saddled on his back, a gladius slung just under his waist hidden behind the huge sword.

Under all that metal lies a tiger like coat, a vibrant red orange coat of fur crisscrossed by darker stripes of brown with his underbelly taking a lighter yellow hue. A lighter colored golden mane follows the length of his head down his neck in between 4 horns stand proudly in a "V" shape a top his head, a second smaller pair on the sides of his head followed by two more smaller chin horns. His top horns stand decorated by protruding spikes and a few missing chips here and there acting as small reminders to his experiences.

The more eye catching features among his large robust head is scale like calluses now covered his dewlaps uncannily making him look like a drake to some people, some even jest he looked like a dragon himself. His eyes looked scarred, claw marks dragging down from the bottom of his eyes down to the rim of his upper jaw.

His vibrant red fur was a canvass of sorts, not for oil and paint but for the marks of war. The front half of his body carried the tell tale signs of a long cut streaming down the side of his neck down to his collar bone. A patch of pale furless scar tissue held just under his diaphram remnants of a deep thrust. Sylvan's back fared no better, a long horizontal cut ran the length of his back shoulder to shoulder serving as a bitter reminder to something he'd rather just forget.

Miscellaneous
Aside from the various markings on his body, Sylvan adorns himself with a crystal necklace cut in the image of a howling wolf. Delving deeper into his past it would be from one of his mentors as a guardian he had met. He then would train under this master for a year before inevitably dying in a campaigh in Orr in a bid to save his platoon where Sylvan was a vigil crusader working under him. To mark his passing he had given Sylvan his necklace, "Remember me.. as you go forth and build your legend!" were his final words. From then on the crystal and him would be inseperable.

Personality
A contemplative charr at best, often found brooding somewhere in peace but this fact is primarily held well hidden by his apparent cheery optimistic nature as he always speaks in a calm and collected manner, almost noble in fact. This was well characterized during his stay in Divinity's Reach as a gladium working for a tavern as a bartender. He shines truly amongst his comrades and family alike, a trait he started to develop early on as he met his first mate. This would continue on developing as he spent his life as a gladium taking on a more fatherly approach in life. On the most extreme cases he can be overprotective to the point of obsession, often overdoing everything thanks to his overflowing devotion much to his cub's embarrasment. The two had known each other it from quite some time now with Sylvan enjoying every bit of time spent with the cub.

Even amongst the jeering crowds he had served them with a grin and utter devotion, not shy of throwing any troublemakers outside outcold or being an ear should one of the patrons be laden with problems.

Except only to a few of his closest friends he is one to never show any sign of distraught or trouble keeping to himself as he thinks there are more important things to than worry about his own problems though on the contrary to his own predicaments he has no qualms about diving into anothers. This way of thinking came about during his younger time with his now fallen warband back at the legions. It might not seem apparent at first, he was deeply traumatized by this, his worst critic would always be himself. Every little thing or mistake he would start blaming himself whilst trying to carry everything on his shoulders thinking himself responsible.

Further down, during the times had his life sunk to rock bottom, he did what any charr desperate charr would do cling to anger and fury. His life as a gladium was not paved in gold but in blood. Whatever remnants of that anger still affects him today, it left him cold, numb to those around him showing complete and utter aggression to anyone or anything foolish enough to even as simply taunt him in this state of mind.

Childhood
A cub born of 1285 AE in a town nearby the Black Citadel. A fahrar of 7 lead by an old primus. Sylvan in his youth led the semi typical life of a cub born of two blood soldiers. The cub was brought to the fahrar, wide eyed fire burning in his eyes even the primus secretly held expectations for the cub which was indeed realized but unfortunately it was nothing like he had in mind.

He had always questioned his ways, that whip he always carried shut snouts quicker than how fast a devourer could sting and the sight of the sword he always had in his hand would be more than enough to instil fear into the young group. Month after month rolled by uneventful until…

A whip crackled into the air one last time as it flew cut in half burning into the air as a cub stood proud bleeding huffing blue fire behind him laid a cub sprawled onto the dirt. “Learn your place you spawn of flame!”'' a voice angrily growled as the other cubs gathered in a circle keeping distance between the primus and the two cubs caught in the middle. The primus was furious, only a grey blur would flash across his eyes as a resounding clang echoed through.

The primus would never forget that day, he drove the group even harder after pressured himself as talk among the soldiers watching rumoured of him and his apparent fahrar of cubs that used magic. He was not pleased at all. Years passed by, the cubs had to endure brutal exercise after exercise. Two of the cubs would be seemingly lost as the primus pushed them harder aiming to  “Beat the magic out of them.”

Not all would be lost to the group it seems as the remaining five banded closer together but amongst them Sylvan had taken it harder than most already harboring a deep seethed hatred for the primus. He could not believe.. nor did the others about what happened to the other two. They endured not really having a say.

The time came.. The Myst warband was formed with Sylvan as their Legionnaire. He challenges their old primus to a duel to the death no longer able to contain his anger.

''They watched in silent approval, as blue fire engulfed a body torn.. a figure walked to the gates victorious it seems. A charr roared, his golden mane bloodied raising his sword high into the air.''

The Myst Warband
Things looked promising despite the heckling, the blaming, the branding. They took it all with clenched teeth, heads held up high as they served the legions unwavering under the banner of blood. "Win whatever the cost." It was paid in earnest, with blood.

Approximately 1310 AE... This would be the start of a grueling time for the warband itself and would continue on. Having been transferred to what would be the fields of ruin now, sent to fight in the front lines against ebonhawke. It would not be the war that would take its toll but...

"Free her at once! You coward! You traitor!" Sylvan snarled, shouting to no avail his breath heavy with exhaustion as he looked on in total disbelief as a dark slender figure leaped her claws tensed with the familiar crackle of lightning stained with the blackness of blood magic.

Two died that day.. One who he considered a brother, the other his half. Funeral pyres were quickly made and lit not really caring if it gave away their position. They wanted it. In blood would they let out their cries of anguish slaughtering any human scouting party that would take notice of the pillar of smoke. In light of their deceased members and information regarding the events they were given new orders. Their hearts were heavy that day.. but the legion called so off they marched. Towards the Blazeridge steps.

10 more years would the warband have to endure already lost two of their members the three trudged on. Tyria would deal them one last card. Kralkatorrik rose from his quiet slumber, a ray of pure destruction would follow as it flew south towards the Crystal desert forever scarring the the steps cursing those caught in the blast to be turned into crystalline monsters.

''The sound of crystal cracking, muffled coughs echoed as she took her few final breaths slumping motionless on Sylvan's arms. Another voice trembled filled with fear, confusion and anger. "V-Vera's dead.. S-She's dead... Ahahaha...hahaha..HAHAHAHA! They're all dead!" Azma pointed frantically looking about, laughing maniacally as he clutched his head falling to his knees.''

A crazed grin slid across his face, a sword hummed as it was drawn."Ahahah..hahaha... None... None of this would've happened..They could have been still alive if it wasn't for YOU!"

Strengths

 * From his days in the fahrar to what he is now, he had used that mystical blue fire. A constant companion then and now. His mastery shines in his control over cleansing flame like it would be his second breath, able to summon and wield it as he whims. Whether to cleanse or immolate, the blue flame bent to his will unwaveringly.
 * The gigantic sword he always carried around was never for display. Its size and weight would surely hamper anyone wielding it to a snail's pace except its conventional use was the last thing on Sylvan's mind. Using the blade's own leylines Sylvan channels his fire around the blade's edge, its blaze propeling the blade to harrowing speeds able to cut down or smash through anything or anyone who would get its in way.
 * Preferring a more static stance in sword fighting, he keeps a gladius hooked behind his belt. He draws both in full fledged combat, like a shadow to a burning candle the gladius "dances" around the the great blade undoing those who'd foolishly approach thinking the bearer grounded and slow.
 * One would assume that the best weapon would be made out of finest metal or the hardest wood but to Sylvan, his undying determination is his greatest boon. Taking to heart Blood Legion's famous motto. "Win, Whatever the cost."

Weaknesses

 * Despite the potential power of his cleansing fire, the explosive nature of his magic still leaves him heavily taxed with long successive uses. He constantly paces himself in battle knowing all too well though he has a penchant of going berserk given the right circumstances pushing him dangerously to his limit as his fire reacts alongside emotions.
 * The sword for all intents and purposes is undeniably heavy, even for charr. Drawn, it restricts his movement to a crawl. To counteract all this while idle, he enacts a small enchantment lessening its weight to help him move around without any trouble. In combat the spell is nullified, with Sylvan opting to take full advantage of its size and weight.
 * Under all his professionalism around the members of "Blade Company" hides a more unstable persona of his brought by a stigma he developed early on in his life triggering through events he associates with himself. It manifests through sudden bouts of anger, desperation, dispair or hopelessness from Sylvan.

ETC
Please do note this is still a WIP and remember, this is OOC information Thanks! ;D

My original post of this