Gabriel D'Archange

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• Vital Stats

  • Nicknames: "Gabe" or "Bastard"
  • Race: Demonic Werewolf
  • Class: Mercenary; Selective Slaver
  • Alignment: Chaotic Evil
  • Deity: None
  • Age: Centuries, but appears 27
  • Body Type: Shifter; Warlock
  • Height: Fallen: 7'11"; Were: 8'16"
  • Weight: Fallen: 300+; Were: 500+lbs
  • Hair: Blue-Black
  • Eyes: Sapphire
  • Handedness: ambidextrous
  • Scars: Two, parallel, equal length on his backside
  • Relationship Status: Unknown
  • Personality: Sadistic; Manipulative; Masochistic
  • Mannerisms: Stoic and composed; vicious when required
  • Likes: Alcohol; inflicting pain; innocent, living toys; diamond, platinum, or titanium bobbles; silence
  • Dislikes: Not much worries him

• Description

  "Yea though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil: for I am the personification of chaos; this land is my home and I, its Master."
  
  Brief:
  Angelic features, soft and pale. Figure tall, whip-cord lean, with visible definition. Dark, contrasting hair cut short at the back, with longer bangs drifting over sapphire blue eyes. The orbs once glancing in one's direction could pierce right through, forcing a shudder of bewilderment. Clad in a dark gray duster that hung down to his ankles, it flowed with his movements, like bat wings sailing through the air. Plain, white shirt is unbuttoned part-way to reveal the faint outline of pectoral muscles. Black trousers and leather boots complete the look of a dangerously handsome rogue. Weapons hidden from sight.
  
  Expanded:
  An eerie hush descended on the patrons. Not a molecule stirred from the dense air to the guilty shadows in the corners. Even the lamplight failed to flicker in anticipation of the new arrival. Something wicked this way comes. The doors swung open, permitting the shorn beams to trespass through the cracks of a dark male’s silhouette of which only his head could be seen clearly. What stood in the arc was at once vile in its masquerade of angelic beauty and alluring as it was clothed in sin. This prince of the night stepped forward in marked silence only a scowl bespoke his mind. His boots thundered with each methodical stride as waterlogged wings were rustled and head tossed aside glistening onyx bangs. He cast the soiled appendages over his shoulders in a scatter of tears; the droplets skimming down over the long black leather to rain on the dirty earth, leaving stains wherever they landed. On closer inspection, when the candles dared alight on his menacingly handsome features, this untruth of his form was exposed as truly a gray wolven hound garbed in a duster, the ends of which had a mysterious way of drifting, as if they were touching the floorboards and skipping alongside their master.
  
  He moved to occupy a seat before the pens, doing so with the air of a King. Beneath him, the cushion groaned, feeling the weight of his inwardly vile disposition, though those nearby could notice nothing more out of the ordinary save the break in his eyelids. Twin orbs of cool sapphire blue peered past Cupid black lashes with mild disinterest. The scowl that was his welcome upturned in a smug, knowing smile. It was the look of a male who knew his lot and was keenly aware of the self-deception of others. This gross assessment was deplorable to those who couldn’t help but be attracted to his God-awful truth.
  
  He lifted a glinting flask to his lips, taking a swig at his leisure. When lowered, his forearms came to rest against his thighs, the tin can laxly dangled between his parted legs. His shoulders stooped forward to accommodate this new posture, giving him the appearance of a panther on the prowl. Perhaps he was, for that moment he looked right through the bars and at a particular individual. The arrow was direct and true, wavering not a mite as it bore down on its prey. It would seer into the back of the victim’s cranium; senses surrendering to a presence known to be lurking behind, though it was that figure in the dark your nightmares loved to envision. This demonic entity smiled though, finding the whole hunt rather amusing in its futility.
  
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