Cynathrax

Name: Cynathrax
Self-given Title: The Blood Lord
Age: 5,000 years
Apparent Age: Early 30's

Sex: Sexless (appears male)
Race: Demon
Height: 6'7” (201 CM)
Weight: 220 pounds (99 KG)

Eye Color: Light gold.
Hair Color/Style: A dark silver. It protrudes from the back of his helmet and falls onto his shoulders.
Skin Color/Complexion: Pale
Voice: Click.

Appearance:
Cynathrax stands at 6'7". His helmet covers most of his face, and just barely has enough room to allow him to look forward. His body is a very pale color that is comparable to the moon. He has long, silver hair that goes down past his shoulder blades. He has wings which allow him to fly, and they also share the sharp and pointed features that his armor has.
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Weapon(s): Shezmu, a glaive. The weapon is roughly nine feet in length with the blade being three of the nine feet. The blade is made out of sphalerite. On the bottom of the hilt is a clear orb three inches in diameter. The orb is filled with some of Cynathrax's blood. Because of this there is a magical bond established between himself and the weapon. He can call it to him no matter where it may be (similar to Mjölnir and Thor), in addition to being able to feel where it is (he can feel he's “getting warm”, so to speak). It can only travel on a direct path back to him and so it's possible for objects to block its path. Shezmu is used to rip a portal into the shadow realm and call forth the Shadow Imps.

Since the blood is not actually within Cynathrax, he must replace it every 72 hours or else it loses its power. He is not forced to, but without blood in the orb he cannot summon the imps nor call it back to him. Shezmu requires two cups of blood.

Armor: On his head he wears a helmet with three spikes on each side that curve outwards. Two of them curve out, come down, and then curve forward to his face. On top of his helmet is one spike that goes straight up. Cynathrax wears a silver and black breastplate, decorated ornately and with shoulder pads. This armor provides little protection as it's mostly for show.

Carried Possessions:
A black-hilted, Rutile-bladed dagger. It has a straight, six-inch blade and is used exclusively for cutting himself to extract blood.
A leather Grimoire containing detailed information on his summoning powers, in addition to his notes on important things he has chosen to write down.

Powers/Magic/Skills:

Skills/knowledge: Has knowledge of demonic and dark magic, especially that which involves blood. He has wings which allow him to sustain flight at 50 mph for hours upon hours provided that he isn't carrying a heavy load.

Passive Magic

- Can see in the dark, though with the lack of light things appear in black and white. (When this happens his eyes will start to glow a dim yellow.)
- People usually find it uncomfortable to make contact with his eyes.
- Does not need to breathe, eat food, drink, or sleep. Instead, he enters a meditative trance for about four hours per day and subsequently feels fully rested.
- His strength is the equivalent of being able to lift two tons with moderate effort (i.e. he could throw an averaged sized car about two hundred feet).
- Doesn't feel temperature


Magic:

Spoiler:  

Cynathrax's magic is directly linked to his blood, which he gets from feeding off of and siphoning the blood of creatures. He prefers to actually eat the flesh rather than simply cut them and drink the blood. As long as he has blood flowing through him, he has no problems and can function normally.

However, as he gets low on blood, his hunger for it increases. When he has only twenty cups left, the hunger becomes something he has to focus to quell, meaning he cannot concentrate fully on anything else, but can otherwise function normally.. At ten cups it constantly nags at him and he feels a strong desire to satisfy it. Finally, when only five cups remain in his body, he loses control and will go into a frenzy. Cynathrax must find the closest source of blood and devour it to fulfill his needs. He may attack innocents, children, friends, etc., without thought, as the only thing he cares for at that point is feeding. He won't stop until he has at least twenty cups in him.

When no blood remains in his body, his passive magic ceases to function. He becomes like a powerless human and must eat, drink, sleep, etc. His strength diminishes to that of a human as well.

Performing magic is the most common way for him to lose blood. However, an opponent cutting him or somehow draining him of his blood can also induce the hunger and/or frenzy.

His body holds 40 cups of blood.

Utilities/misc,

Spoiler:  

Using up a cup of blood increases his strength for five minutes, to the point of being able to lift an extra 500 pounds. (AKA, four cups per ton).
He can put a cup of blood on a surface, and for the next 24 hours (or until it's cleaned away) he can gaze into the orb on his glaive and see through the blood like a scrying orb.
Cynathrax can use up blood to heal his wounds. The amount needed varies depending on the severity of the injury.

Summoning:

Spoiler:  

All creatures that he summons are able to speak. Imps in a low chattering, Lukkoth Fliers make clicking noises that only Cynathrax understands, Wraiths with ghostly whispers, and Blood Golems by vibrating their rocks to produce a voice. They are all bound to him and obey him until he dismisses and dissipates them. Each has their own individual weaknesses in addition to the severe weakness to holy magic, items, and places.

Summon Shadow Imp:

Cynathrax can open a portal to another realm and can bring forth up to thirty Shadow Imps. These imps are merely a foot tall and do not have much physical prowess. They are black with no features, save for their glowing yellow eyes. They carry with them three-pronged spears that they can use to jab. However, they are cowardly and won't engage in combat unless Cynathrax is there in their sight. Because they lack any formidable combat ability, he prefers to use them for other tasks. They can be slain quite easily.

Limits: Requires Shezmu, only thirty at one time.

Summon Lukkoth Fliers

After drawing a symbol on the ground and having blood to pour onto it, he can summon Lukkoth Fliers. These bat-like creatures are roughly five feet in length. They have four arms in their front that end in claws. Their pair of legs end in massive talons, and their head is adorned with multiple attenas that cover their insectoid face. These monsters are able to fly and swoop about, using their claws to cut and slash their foes. However they are clumsy and mindless, so they can be killed by anyone who is cautious and precise.
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Limit: Requires two cups of blood and two minutes to perform the summoning. Limit of ten at any given moment.


Summon Wraith

This summon requires that he, personally, kills a humanoid creature first. If he slays a creature, drains all of their blood, and uses some of his own blood, he can draw out the soul of the creature and create a Wraith. The Wraith appears as a partly incorporeal robbed figure, with no noticeable body features save for their glowing yellow eyes. They fight with a single short sword that shares the Wraith's ghost-like aspects. Due to not being entirely physical beings, they have a good resistance to physical attacks, but are susceptible to magic and magical items.
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Limit: Must have killed a living creature first. Requires 5 cups of blood. Limit of five.

Summon Blood Golem

Cynathrax pours and splatters his blood onto rocks. The rocks then converge and form a towering, burly figure twelve feet in height. The blood swirls and flows across the rocks as though it's being pumped by a heart. They're roughly humanoid in shape, having what appears to be a face, torso, two arms and two legs. Their appearance, strength and resistances depend on what type of rock was used to form them. Regular boulders found on mountains and such wouldn't make as strong a golem as iron or steel would. These golems are slow and not terribly accurate, but their blows are strong. If the rocks should somehow get separated from each other, the golem will lose power and crumble to dust.

Limits: Ten cups of blood. Only two at any given time.

Battle Strengths: Cynathrax can use imps as cannon fodder, as well as other summoned creatures in order to have a formidable fighting force. Cynathrax himself is strong and has a tough body. He is fairly skilled at using his glaive but is not a master at it. His wings help with his balance and in making quick, short movements in order dodge attacks.

Battle Weaknesses: He and his minions all lack any sort of ranged attacks, forcing them to have to close the gap. While he can make quick movements with the help of his wings on occasion, he is not a naturally agile creature. He can become extremely weakened when presented with holy objects. Depending on how powerful it is he may just feel a little weak or his powers might become completely nullified. Those with strong, firm beliefs in a deity(ies) who strike him deliver much more powerful blows than normally. He and his summoned creatures are prevented from entering holy ground. If attempted they would be violently repelled.



Personality: Cynathrax thinks very highly of himself; his arrogance is usually quite noticeable. He likes to over-exaggerate his accomplishments. He enjoys taking charge and leading others. Cynathrax has a problem accepting that he might be wrong or otherwise show any sort of flaw and will go into denial or make up any number of excuses.

As a demonic entity he has a fear of holy objects, holy grounds, and to a lesser extent, holy people. He doesn't vocalize this fear, but he would avoid these things if it were possible.

Having a very dominant personality makes him despise the idea of being led by another.

There are a few things that bring peace to an otherwise bitter and scornful being. Places of isolation bring comfort to him, especially if the night sky is involved. He is impressed by people who lead armies of thousands upon thousands of soldiers. It isn't often that he finds someone who shares the same views and thoughts as he does, but when he does he will easily confide in them.


Autobiography:

It is from I that vice originates. It is I that death answers to. I am the primordial warden of life. I am of perfect competency. I am flawless bloom. It is to me that existence submits to. It is I who governs every stretch of the cosmos, and it is I who bends each dimension. I am the holder of the strings. I am the all in one.

In endless eons I reign, and countless eternities shall pass by with me as the supreme. A millennium for mere mortals is but a minute for me. Let dread befall the dead and death be brought unto the living. There is no place that my piercing gaze cannot illuminate. If I so wish I could turn an entire galaxy into nothing but dead planets and black holes.

I do, however, indulge myself with my own twisted humor. My thirst for blood has me drawn to the deplorable planet that the insects dubbed Earth. It is here that the humans breed like vermin and infest their puny world. But all sheep require a shepherd, and that was a role that I grew oh so fond of.

They amuse me with the words they use to identify me. Mortals have called me God. They have called me Lucifer. They have called me Death. They have called me the embodiment of evil. Some say that I transcend this world as a celestial king; some say that I am the ruler of all rulers.

I allow them to call me whatever they wish. What would be the fun of instantaneously slaughtering their planet for their insolence? Surely nothing. That is why I put up with misconceptions of who I am and let them wade through fictitious beliefs.

I often took the appearance of a humanoid creature, though I of course presented my skin in the most beautiful fashion. My skin shone like a pale moon. A deep scar on my right cheek did not detract from my appeal, rather, it served to enhance it. I wore a finely created suit of armor. My long shoulders were adorned with ornate markings. Below them was the breastplate, and below that a dark shirt with small bright designs on the collar. On my limbs the light-gray armor linked and from them protruded sharp ends.

My helmet just barely covered my eyes. It came over my nose, and went straight up back. On each side it came up to my face and then swept back behind me. There were four on each side. The two furthest from my face curled outwards and then came down and pointed in front of me. My virile wings enhanced my omnipotent visage.

It is I who sits on the throne of the universe. Deep in my citadel in the frozen arctic, I preside over the mortals. Unsurprisingly I did not obtain my authority the moment I presented myself before my subjects. No, I had to demonstrate my power. They had nothing more than flimsy metal swords and arrows. Those who charged into melee with me were overcome with fear and froze. They were not even able to remove their eyes from my gaze. With a swipe I penetrated the first's hand and with another swipe I removed it. As he screamed in agony I cut the arm from the shoulder and brought it to my mouth. I bit into the tender flesh and licked the blood from inside the arm. The warm blood satiated my hunger.

From that point forward they dared not oppose my legitimacy. They knew that to disobey me, meant they would face my wrath. As I slaughtered the sheep I made sure that the ones who I spared would know the name to tell their kin. It is I, Cynathrax, who allows every breath taken to transpire. It is I who determines the laws of the universe and chooses to change them when needed. I am unlimited and unrestricted, as I am the one who destines reality. I am the Blood Lord who stands ascended before you. I am the beginner and I am the ender, who lords over the threshold.

I am Cynathrax.