Information
Morale has a minion!
Ether the Constellation
Ether the Constellation
Morale
Legacy Name: Morale
The
Storm MontreOwner:
TiramisuAge: 8 years, 9 months, 3 weeks
Born: July 25th, 2015
Adopted: 8 years, 9 months, 3 weeks ago
Adopted: July 25th, 2015
Statistics
- Level: 108
- Strength: 276
- Defense: 288
- Speed: 217
- Health: 268
- HP: 153/268
- Intelligence: 384
- Books Read: 353
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Personal Graveyard Florist
"What... Am I supposed to do now?"Born into nobility as the oldest son of the ruling family of the largest vampire coven in Europe, Jason was born important. He died even more important.
In a childhood structured with complex educational programs and training; sword training, basics of combat, riding, archery, hunting, controlling the bloodlust that lives within all vampires, etiquette, and more, the prince quickly grew to be studious, quiet, and respectful. From his nurturing mother, whom he admired, he learned to cherish all life, and to have compassion for others, especially those not born into good fortune such as his. Baffled by his arrogant father's selfishness and willingness to trample on others, a rift grew between them as the boy moved toward his late childhood and began to demonstrate independent will.
Ashamed of the "weak" son he had produced, King Maximus made a very final decision.He would purge his family.
At eight years old, Jason was the only one that escaped that manor, running away into the woods beyond.
For the years that came after, Jason traveled freely among humans, living humbly and often starving himself of blood. He worked under the table, serving drinks in a bar, and occasionally played guitar for some extra cash. A full decade he lived this quiet life, until one day word reached his ears of his homeland. King Maximus had gone mad.
A century's war his people had waged against demonkin, trying to keep the foul spirits from their ancient ground. Maximus had turned on them; sending his own men to die beneath their blades and claws while he cut a deal with their marquis for power. A deal that would result in the annihilation of their people. All the while, he tortured them with harsh laws, harsher punishments, and high taxes. He had become their jailor, rather than a monarch.
Though many years separated him and the memory of the people of his coven, these were still people with families and lives. Whether or not he knew them, knew their stories personally, didn't matter. With the reluctance of a man who stood to attain nothing, but loose everything, he took up the mantle of their cause. Beneath it, he raised a rebel army of ragtag beings of talent; of varied background and creed.
And it was they, and the thousands he had freed, that chanted his name when he died on that battlefield, and took the tyrant king with him.
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Something burned against his eyelids. The warmth wasn't harsh, it was a pleasant radiant glow, but the bri--
Wait. Eyelids?
Carmine colored eyes fluttered open slowly, laboriously, as though they had long forgotten their proper function, the darkness giving way to a shaded, grassy knoll, lit in watercolors by what appeared to be a rosy sunrise. His body felt heavy; much heavier than he was used to, even with his lanky six foot nine frame. Heavy, and stiff. As the sun warmed the pale skin of his bare back, Jason gathered himself and clumsily pushed up into a sitting position. Brushing black hair from his eyes, keeping a hand in the grass to steady himself, he scanned his surroundings. It was grassy and lush, almost like a private orchard out of a corny romance movie, the grass around him scattered with flowers.
Jason's musings were interrupted by the somehow familiar sound of light but eager footsteps. At a loss for what else to do, he simply turned toward the sound of the approach. It had to be him, the boy who had been talking to him and telling him stories for months now. No one else came out to this lonely little grave.
"B-Ballantine?"
Powers: Entropy. Transformation; black panther. Lightning manipulation.
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Ballantine
That voice... I know that voice.