Mordenn Demonaxe

Biography for Mordenn Demonaxe

Full Name: Mordenn Demonaxe.
Nicknames: Demonaxe the Wanderer.
Age: 286
Gender: male.
Race: Lycan.
Affiliation: Aurela, formerly served in a predominantly human army made to fight Orcs and Noth.
Rank: General (No longer officially serving)

Hair & Eyes: Dull grey fur flecked with brown, deep brown eyes. Where many Lycan would have a mane of longer fur, his is secured in a tight braid that runs down his back.
Height & Weight: Very tall, standing at almost 7 feet, with a heavy muscular build..
Specific Details: His body entire body is a patchwork of scars and burnt skin where his fur has been burned off. The most distinctive is a scar across his right eye, which is milky white and likely blind..

Place of Birth: Aurela, in a small Lycan village named Kra'Shol.
Place of Residence: None- he still has a small room reserved for him in a barracks somewhere but he preffers to travel.
Parents: Mother- Shelenn, Father- Dargo, both deceased.
Siblings: Younger brother-Tarrok, deceased.
Children: Son- Korren.
Other Relatives: Was formerly mated to the Lycan Nishrik, now deceased.

Likes: Killing demons, hunting, his axe, honourable warriors.
Dislikes: Sleeping, demons, alcohol.
Personality: Mordenn can come across as rather gruff and cold. He has the mindset one would expect of a lifelong warrior in that he tends to think very literally and efficiently. He generally remains focused on the task at hand and doesn't have a lot of time for small talk.
This does not mean he is unfriendly. In fact he can be very warm towards people he trusts. he simply tries not to get close to people, partly out of paranoia but mainly because he feels that close relationships generally only lead to pain on one or both sides, because they always have for him.
This has led to him becoming a rather haunted individual. He feels guilt for many things he had no control over and suffers from terrible nightmares, meaning he sleeps as little as possible. In fact, he can only sleep restfully when under the influence of powerful sedatives, which he is loathe to use. His nightmares only continue to grow worse with each kill he makes but he feels compelled to keep fighting, partly because he only feels a sense of belonging when on the battlefield but mainly because he knows he is old and wishes to die a warrior's death in battle.
His axe, Deathsong, is of huge importance to him and he has been known to commit dangerous and even foolhardy acts just to retrieve it when disarmed. He considers it a personal insult if anyone touches the weapon without his permission. He is also extremely superstitious and believes firmly that various spirits have a hold on the world. He distrusts magic as he views it as a force only spirits should wield, and he has little understanding of it.

History: Mordenn was born to a small hunting village of Lycan and should have lived a hard but simple life. He was trained as a hunter and according to his tribe's tradition, crafted his weapon with the aid of his father when he became a man at the age of 15. Naming the huge axe Deathsong, the tribal shaman chose to bless the weapon so that it would never break or dull. This came as a shock at the time, though in hindsight he has come to wonder if the shaman saw something of his future.

A few short years later, his world collapsed around him. Through some twist of fate a small group of demons managed to materialise near his village and his people were completely unprepared for them. He was forced to watch as his family and friends died around him- in particular he could never escape the guilt of being unable to save his younger brother Tarrok. While he had trained in using his weapon before, it was only now that Mordenn truly realised his aptitude for battle, as he almost single handedly destroyed the unnatural invaders. One of only a handful of survivors, he was forced into the wilderness as his home burned around him.

For several decades he simply wandered the land, being more than capable of surviving by himself. Eventually though he came across a human city that did not instantly attack him. It was a large place, and while it was rare there were a few others of his race living there. Though still haunted by what had happened to him, he reached the conclusion that his duty as a survivor of it was to continue to fight the evils of the world, and to that end he demanded to join the human army. It took a lot of convincing, but eventually he was accepted.

Much to the surprise of his superiors (most of whom assumed him to be just a brutish killing machine) Mordenn began to demonstrate a remarkable natural grasp of tactics and leadership, and was quick to learn more at every oppurtunity. He advanced through the ranks, gaining a position of command with impressive speed. It was during this time that he met and fell in love with the Lycan named Nishrik, fathering a son he named Korren. Sadly though his success had attracted the attention of some of the more xenophobic elements of the city. His family were the targets of a brutal attack while he was away fighting, and he returned to news of his mate's murder. The body of 5 year old Korren was never found, but he was presumed dead.

Knowing that he risked losing himself to grief, Mordenn threw himself more than ever into military service. He earned the nickname "Demonaxe" from fellow soldiers on account of the savageness with which he fought, for over time he had learned to consciously induce a berserk-like state by willing his heart to beat faster. He became a terror on the battlefield and gained great respect amongst his peers. He continued to serve for over a decade, reaching the rank of general. Now in his late fifties, Mordenn wasalready remarkably old for his species, yet he maintained the same strength he always had. At least on the outside. Inside, he knew he was slowly weakening, and his mind had never fully recovered. After years of loyal service he elected to leave the army, leaving the city and returning once more to his wandering.

After spending time alone, he has begun to come to terms with his guilt. He is still haunted by his past and finds it almost impossible to sleep restfully on account of the nightmares that plagued him ever since he first saw the demons, but he has devoted his life to tracking and hunting the demonic forces that he knows can slip into his world.

RP Sample: The young soldier stood hunched, the freezing cold rain running down his back. Around him the camp bustled with life as other warriors prepared for the coming battle. on the horizon he could see the faint light from the Orcish bonfiires, giving the sky a bloody look.

Karson had never seen combat before. He had joined the army to earn money for his young family, never expecting to be dragged off to war. He was lost here. He wandered through the boggy camp, the mud seemingly trying to suck his soul out through his boots. Presently he noticed a figure towards the edge of the camp. It was difficult to see clearly through the haze of rain but he could see the figure was alone, the other soldiers seeming to give it a wide berth. Curious, he approached.

Sitting on a boulder, oblivious to the rain soaking through his fur, sat a heavily battle-scarred Lycan. Karson had seen wolfmen before but never one this large. It sat still and calm, and as he approached Karson could hear him murmuring softly in his own rather harsh sounding tongue. He held a huge and primitive axe, the likes of which the young man had never seen.
"Why do you stare?"

Karson blinked and backpedaled a few steps, caught off guard. "M-me? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
He froze as he saw the look in the wolf's eyes. The right was dull, blind, a void and yet still full of emotion. The left was deep brown, sorrowful, like it had seen far too much of the world. The look struck him deeply, for he had never seen such pain in a man before.
"I can smell your fear boy. Do not be so. The spirits will chose who lives and who dies tonight, but I do what I can to protect those under my command."

Command! Then this must be...Demonaxe! He was serving under the great Demonaxe! Stunned but filled with a renewed sense of confidence, Karson turned and ran back through the camp to his tent to prepare for the battle.

The next morning Mordenn stood over the pyre, one of many dotted across the plain. They had won the battle, but the cost...He stared into the dead eyes of Karson as the fire took hold. Another soul failed. Another face burned into his dreams.