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Name: Dal'Mori Cestrol Menne
Age: 26
Sex: Male
Home Continent: N. America

Line Bank: 327
T.A. Bank: 2
Quest Count:
C: 3
B:
A:
S:
Kill Count: 8

Appearance: The only alteration made to the image above, is a white trench coat that wraps around him. held together by a few belts and licks the back of his feet but doesn't quite reach the ground.

Personality: Dal'Mori is incredible in combat, calm and collected to the point of seemingly being born for it. Outside of combat, he is awkward and even somewhat clumsy. He tries to be friendly, tries to be more 'normal' than he actually is off the battlefield, but it's a lot harder than it seems for him.

That said, there is a darker part to who he is. It is a boiling need for revenge. It drives his every movement, his every breath. It almost seems like he desires to push himself to the point of death.

Bio: Dal'Mori was raised in a small settlement well outside the walls of the surviving cities, in a village that was full of warriors and warriors to be. Honestly, one had to be to deal with the 'outside' world, filled to the brim with beasts as it was. Even with assistance from the ones who called themselves the Baiters. They did help, do not mistake this as speaking down about them, however sometimes things didn't always work out for the best and there were several times they were left to their own devices, left to fend for themselves as there were those who were in much dire need. As such, this settlement strove to be able to survive even without those higher trained individuals. driving itself to become one with each other. Driving itself to bring back the ways of old, the ways that bound a community to itself in such a fashion they lived for each other.

However, being untrained in the arts of combat with these things, they had no true idea of what they were getting into, or what to expect. At first, the death tolls were high. Their small village became smaller, going from almost a thousand to just a few hundred. They eventually learned basic tactics to combat these monsters, group fighting being the key to it all. Keep it's attention shifting until one could get in and make the kill shot, few were brave enough to do so, fewer still had the necessary talent. Dal'Mori was one such individual.

For a few years, it seemed to work out well for them. The attacks would come, be dealt with, and when things started to get too dicey, the Baiters would show up and handle it efficiently, leaving them with short times of peace. With the balance of several skilled warriors, and the Baiters being around more often than not, everything seemed well enough for them to live where they desired as they desired with no consequences. Little did they know how wrong they were.

It happened on the very day Dal'Mori's 26th birthday. He was celebrated as one of their very best, boasting more 'kills' than any of the other warriors, given some of the highest praise any could imagine giving. Despite this, he was humble, knowing those kills would not be on his hands were it not for the operations of the fighting force they worked so hard to cultivate. He was only even alive due to the lives of those men who fought along side him, even if they too saw him as a legend. He knew better, he was but a man, no better than them, just slightly more accurate with his weapon of choice.

Regardless, he was still celebrated and loved by many. Thus, a huge party was set up. Everyone was present, being a small village everyone knew everyone, was the lifeblood of everyone else. It was a happy place to be honestly, so long as you ignored the monster attacks.

In hindsight, they should have held off for another week or so, when the Baiters were to return from their harder mission. The reasoning to ignore that bit of logic was that it was a huge day. It marked the day he would be moved up the ranks to the leader of the armies! The day he would become the equivalent of a General! A glorious day indeed!

He was against the idea. He knew he was only good when on the battlefield, as a soldier, not a leader, but his village would hear nothing of it, telling him time and again he would grow into the role. Time grants ability, and it was stated he would live long after the rest of them, being so skilled with his Bo Spear (A mixture of a Japanese Bo staff, and your average spear, made out of a special metal that allowed it the same flexibility needed for the Bo motions, but also the same stabbing power of a spear.)

Hours into the party, with the sun bathing the world in the beautiful orange glow of a sunset, is when the screaming started. Apparently, the things they had been killing? Hadn't been dying at all! They'd simply been broken apart and reforming elsewhere to regroup and plot their own revenge upon this village. It was nightmarish! The militia had managed to hold them back for a while, but was easily overwhelmed in due time. The sheer numbers that drove themselves into the village alone was terrifying, let alone what they looked like. It was a night of blood and death, to be marred into the memory of any who even saw the remains of the village let alone any who might somehow survive.

Dal'Mori was holding his own as best he could, the terror and adrenaline allowing him to access portions of muscles reserved for those in the most dire of situations, but even that was not enough. He was able to get in one or two lucky shots, but soon even he was overwhelmed. However, instead of killing him, to his horror, the monsters had other plans. They held him in place, keeping his somewhat beaten form standing, as if at attention, while one that was easily bigger and clearly the leader to these smaller ones walked up to him. It glared down at him with baleful yellow eyes, and stripes of lava red running down it's grotesque muscular body. It spoke no words, but the look in it's eye was enough. It was furious.

In it's anger it decided that their greatest hero would bare the greatest burden. Witnessing his village be destroyed. They made him watch. Kept his eyes open as everyone he had spent his years get to know, grew to love, fought along side of, killed for die. They made sure he heard every scream of pain, every holler of terror, every syllable of them begging for his help. They made him watch as every building he had spent hours in, every place he enjoyed spending time at, every little nook and cranny of his village was trampled to the ground and destroyed.

Then, as he was held in their arms, limp as a wet noodle and sobbing uncontrollably at the sight before him, begging for death so that he may join them all in the afterlife, the beast decided. Life was what awaited Dal'Mori, living with the knowledge that he failed to be who he built himself up as, living with the knowledge there was nothing even he could do to stop them. So they left him there, broken and alone.

For days he lay there, unable to move, drink or eat. He just stay there, cursing his own weakness, his own inability to stop this atrocity from occurring. The moments, the sounds playing over and over again in his mind. Finally, after almost six days of nothing, darkness finally claimed him, and he thought himself finally free of the binds of life.

It was not to be.

Several days later he woke up to find himself in the Baiter's HQ, to the knowledge that he had been found in the ruins of his village by the returning defenders of their village. They said they were unable to find the group that had laid waste to his home, and that out of respect for their people they brought him back to their HQ in Toronto. He didn't know where that was, nor did he care. When they offered him the ability to honestly kill those monsters, to actually be able to do something with his talent, he vowed then to do everything necessary to kill that beastie, no matter the personal cost, no matter how long it took.

He would get his revenge.