Azem
 |
Given Name: Heracles Epithets: The Traveler, Azem of the Convocation of Fourteen Gender: Masculine Species: The Ancient Race Class: Shepherd (WAR/MNK/WHM) Occupation: Errant do-gooder Favorite Color: Fiery orange Favorite Food: Honey and wild strawberries Likes: Laughing, Wrestling, Making love Dislikes: Being stifled or scolded Best Traits: Brave, Radiant smile, Soft spot for all weak creatures, Has a lot of love to give Worst Traits: Stubborn, Smug, Macho, Reckless in his heroism, Hedonistic |
||||||||
Appearance
In his time, Azem was known for being very handsome and uncommonly strong. Big, lusty, and hirsute, with an olive skin-tone that tanned readily. As to be expected with the amaurotine uniform of full-body robes, he had V-shaped tan lines at his collar and tan lines at his wrists; but the rest of him was far from pale.
His hair was dark brown, curly, and naturally a little oily. It would sometimes grow rather long before remembering to trim it again, unless his curls began to break and fray, at which point he would get a little vain and made sure to fix them. He was similarly vain about his body hair, especially his beard, which he made a point of maintaining even when he traveled.
His eyes were just as dark as his hair. The same rich brown, framed by long, dark lashes and heavy brows.
Wild and Pure and Forever Free
More than anyone else in Etheirys, Azem seemed aware that he lived in paradise. It wasn't without hardship, that's why his bravery and strength were so valued, but it was a beautiful world full of simple pleasures. He loved to sleep deeply after a tough battle, he loved to sample the local cuisine wherever he went, he loved to entertain and impress both strangers and friends.
He was overwhelming to have around, but missed whenever he was gone. To old friends each goodbye was a promise that he'd be back sooner or later, when his whims bid him return. He was the sort of man who would be a wonderful uncle, and a terribly irresponsible father. (Sure enough, the ancient world was full of father-less children that had features much like his.)
His passion and sworn duty was to travel the world and help the helpless wherever he went, so when he needed to, he could be very focused. He was a forced to be reckoned with, even with just his baseline muscular strength. He carried only a simple cane and liked to fight unarmed, but on some occasions he'd improvise a weapon or conjure up a thick, spiky club.
When a situation called for it, his favorite tool at his disposal was the art of Transformation. In a great blast of aether, his body would erupt into the great Aegipan. A beastly shape with eyes of fire, eyes that burned as brightly as his soul.
Such a flamboyant display was as shocking as tearing off one's robes and streaking in broad daylight, but Azem always was a show-off.
Azem's Legacy
The Etheirys of old is no more. When a world-ending calamity struck, two opposing gods were summoned in the hopes of restoring peace: Zodiark, the Eldest God, whose dark embrace held their crumbling world together, and Hydaelyn, the Rebel Goddess, whose piercing light would shatter their world and all life on it. Two feuding gods born in sacrifice, grief, and love, each with a once-mortal heart at its center.
Nigh on every still-living soul in Etheirys was torn in fourteen parts by Hydaelyn's great Sundering, sent to live out countless lifetimes in a world that was no longer paradise. Azem was one such soul.
There were few remaining who remembered Azem. Sad, undying ghosts, the last gasps of the Convocation, who labored to restore Zodiark and reclaim the world they lost, no matter how many more lives had to be sacrificed.
Unfortunately for those that mourned Azem, his passing was one thing that could never be reversed. He was dead and gone. Even if they stitched every scrap of his soul together, reminded him of what he used to be, convinced him into stand with them the way he should have in another life, this fact would stand. He would only ever be a man with ancient memories and grief.
Still his legacy lives on. Echoes of echoes of echoes of his life pervaded myth and folk-lore, in the stories of mythical patriarchs and heroes. His most beloved creations, his Paneides, joyful little nature-spirits which served as his familiars, went on to be called "moogles", and populated the worlds of Hydaelyn's making.
The man his soul one day became, the Warrior of Light, would not have likely gotten along with the man he was. Not on a personal level. It would've made it all the worse that this was the man that the Unsundered were comparing him to, treating him like a sub-human piece of a more perfect whole. To him, it didn't matter how alike they were, either in their mannerisms or on some spiritual level, he was his own man.
As their plans and motivations and history became clearer to him, his resentment burned hot, and he fought them all the more fiercely – Even when some part of him felt he was face to face with an old friend.