Aurel de Bouvere; 9th Squad Captain

Aurel de Bouvere was born to nobility in France in 1297. The fifth son to diplomats within the grand nation, his experience of life has been the best anyone could hope for at that era. In his position, he had all the possibilities in the world for the time, and his physical aptitude and early intelligence insured such features were possible. As were all families of the century, his was in close connections with that of the Church of the time, and under its grace they remained showered in wealth. While his siblings stayed with in the political business his family was known for, Aurel took a different route and became squired to a Templar, aspiring to join their ranks.

At the age of manhood, he was knighted by the Pope himself, and inducted into that of the Templars, and while they so no action after the final crusade years back, they still operated and remained functional while its final grandmaster remained at work. With such prestige available, and a life of luxury and respect before him, leave it to the same thing that he desired to be the bane of his life. Aurel was pompous with his status, and over-confident to the likes of causing unrest with the civilians around him. While he remained vigilant to his duty, he lacked the compassion for those beneath him, in which case, was the majority of France. Even as a conditioned practitioner of the code of chivalry, and the teachings of the church, he held no respect for the poor and needy, and only served them as it was his duty. A bad tongue was the leading ingredient for a recipe for his demise, and when he spoke out towards a poor man delusional with hunger and injury, Aurel would have his eyes staring at a six inch blade with red pooling around its base from the gaping wound in his stomach.

It wouldn't even be the injury that caused his death, but with an exposed stomach, disease found him, and his wound festered. Several weeks of agonizing pain is what he tried to sleep through, deeper and deeper he dove into the grasps of such wicked bacteria. There were days where he had the courage to continue, but it took just one rough morning for him to decide that he didn't want to go on any longer. His body was already permanently affected, and he'd be unable to fully operate again - or that is what the priests told him. With a final prayer, he gave into the pain, and stopped protesting death's beckoning.

Aurel awoke among a foreign land that he matched with the descriptions of the Far East, descriptions familiar only by the tales that merchants brought back. The people were dressed well enough, and the place itself was in an appropriate condition. The details of what happened he only vaguely remembers, but it had to do with a group fascinated by his Western appearance taking him in and feeding him. Whatever the words were that were exchanged, he found himself living with these people, and while they called themselves a family, each looked just as different from the last, and with a house of fifteen, that was a lot of variation.

Over time, Aurel learned what this new experience was, and how he was in the glory of Soul Society, attributed to District 7. They spoke of luck, and how most are delivered to harsh slums, though he could hardly remain modest about it. Aurel bragged, and he bragged often about the palaces he was from in France. He shared legends that his "siblings" were fascinated with, yet others received agitation from. Even in a world he knew nothing of, Aurel had the tendency to act better than everyone, and it only took a beating from some neighboring kids, and a back-hand from the "mom" of the household to put him in his place. It wasn't a solid change, but over time, his eyes opened up to how much modesty was appreciated, or at least a lack of arrogance. And when it came down to it, he didn't have that rank that he possessed in his prior life. All that former wealth was gone, and he only had value in the skills he could bring to the table at that very moment.

For almost a century, Aurel lived in complacence. There were moments where he was almost pressured into joining the Shinigami, but hesitance paralyzed him each and every attempt. All he could remember from before was a life a duty, and here he was able to just lounge about and relax. Sure, it wasn't what he imagined Heaven would be like, but it had its charm. Eventually, over time, that same fascination with justice and virtue came back to him, the same motivation he had for joining the templars. Except this time, he didn't possess that cockiness that spoiled his spirit to begin with. Fortunately for his former sword skills, Aurel faired easy in all preliminary tests, and he was admitted into the academy with little effort.

It could be assumed that Aurel was gifted to an extent, and could have easily graduated ahead of time, as whenever tested, he excelled; however, there was a lack of motivation to continue with that route. Even if he could cut corners, he failed to see the reasoning behind it, and felt it was necessary to attend the full curriculum. Maybe in his younger years he would have jumped at that opportunity, but a hundred years is enough to wisen a soul.

While he lacked the flair of some of the upper-echelon students in first class that received a quicker graduation date, he matched their skill nonetheless. In fact, he was one of few that was already being sought after by different division. A skill within the art of kidou even opened many opportunities for the kidou corp, but something brought him back to his days as a Templar. He was a defender, the shield of the Lord above, and that's what he felt most comfortable with. While many offered him spots, he applied for one of the few divisions that didn't seem interested, the 9th Division.

While not sought after, Aurel's prodigal status earned him the thirteenth seat of the division upon being accepted in, giving him a junior officer rank, and political power within the division. Despite his rank, he preferred stationary work, and being sent to the Human World to operate. There existed a longing for returning home, and this was as close as he got, able to bask in the development of his old home, and watch France rise and fall through the years. Unfortunately, after two hundred years at this work, and being advanced to the 3rd seat of the division, he was finally pulled from the job. He had become the senior officer of the division, and would only be allowed to look through the looking glass as Earth developed without him.

Eventually, the former Captain saw promise in this young man, and enjoyed his company to much to not have him as Lieutenant, and he eventually promoted Aurel to the rank, though pushing the limits of his power just a bit to allow for two lieutenants to exist. Aurel was pushing 400 hundred when the former Captain's position was in question. He himself even lacked the motivation for the role, and wished for a successor to take over. While all shinigami practice becoming in-tune with their zanpakuto as from the get go, Aurel was just years away from awakening its potential, and in that short time, he'd reveal his achievement and take over as the 9th division successor.

The errands on the job varied little from what he was used to as a Lieutenant, and his first major order as captain, was to redesign the structure of the 9th division, with intentions of solidifying its presence as a security force. There was a fire within in to live up to all that he had hoped going into the squad centuries ago, and if asked, he would not deny that he had eyes set on the captain's throne from the start.

Little did he, and could he know that being a Captain kept him furthest from the action. Decades past with little activity, and most of his work was political, dealing with the ins-and-outs of Seireitei, and strictly Seireitei. It was a game of kings and pawns from his perspective, and he just played the hand to shift their positions against whatever foe found themselves competent enough to compete against the shinigami.

Complacence kicked it at some point, and that drive had once again diminished. Aurel would remain dutiful and duty-bound, but would lack the innovation and spirit to press for further transcendence; he stopped himself from the training he was once used to, the advancement of his own personal skill, the work to become the best that he could be. It could even be seen as a willingness to give up his spot, waiting for a suitor to best him in combat, or reveal their bankai, none of which happened.

This contempt led to curiosity to get him by at times, diving into the mysterious unknowns that even the shinigami possessed. It was rare to face a problem of the true unknown, and the only thing he could wonder about was the process of a visored. Albeit possessing the abilities of a hollow, their conscious primarily remained in-tact, and the Soul Society had ruled them a non-thread to the infrastructure. If that was the case, why hadn't all shinigami undergo the process. To fully understand their enemy would be key in this war, and the augmentation from such would greatly enhance their battle prowess.

It was too late to turn back when it happened. Despite how much Aurel felt he had changed, and advanced beyond such barbaric roots that put "being the best" on his pedestal, and feeling genuinely greater as a person than the next, something inside him was bottled up. There was that thirst for more power, and even if his mind didn't want to admit it, the thirsting sliver of hollow deep within his heart did. Aurel was conscious enough to seclude himself, though in retrospect, wished he would have brought those he trusted to stop the darkness from overwhelming him. In the forest he couldn't remember what had happened, or if any wandering souls were slaughtered as they came across him. All that he could recollect was the most intense battle of his life, the battle over his own consciousness. He might have gave into temptation at first, but with conviction, he finally struck down his blackened fragment, and awoke as the body of his hollow-self fleeted from existence.

To this day, Aurel protests the usage of that darker power, and thankfully only scarcely been forced to use it. And while he wishes to rid himself of the demonic piece of trash completely, no matter what he does, the mask finds itself protecting him. It remains a constant reminder that Lerua might have bested him in the battle, but the war is not over. The one promising feature achieved from the battle isn't the hollow power, but the reaffirming of his change, and that in itself reignited his will as a captain.

PULLED FROM OPRD; EZEL

Hector made the initial move, and Ezel glowered at the silver that carved cleanly through the ripe throat. Crimson drapes cascaded down the flesh, and the potent aroma of human blood caused the fishman to smirk in delight. The body collapsed to the floor, and he remained stationary, recognizing that his partner had dibs on the corpse first. Of course the heart would be the first to go, thankfully he had no appetite for such body parts. He wanted the tendons and brisket slices. The arms would provide a toughened and hardy taste for more rugged meals, while the belly and chest were best served for delicate meals. Perhaps sauteed in a mix of vegetable oil and red wine would richen the flavor of it all.

By the time Hector was done, Ezel's mouth was watering, ready for a more exquisite dish in the world. Not as flavorful as fishmen, but humans had so much more restrictions on them, and it wasn't every day that he was able to come across such a slice that would hardly go missed. The village was probably quipped with subjects disciplined by hard work and labor, and that was definitely no fun to eat. In addition, children weren't developed enough in flavor and size, and were much more trouble than they were worth to cook.

When the body was abandoned, Vida gave him the go, and he voiced to his captain, "Sweet~ I'll catch up later, I'm going to take time with this. Gotta make sure the muscles don't absorb the lead." His smile was malicious and bending down, he opened a mouthful of ivory fangs and bit down. The front four teeth didn't aid in cutting through the flesh, but his back tigerfish teeth cut through the meat like melting butter. The With a hang, he tore a piece of the shoulder bone, and the meat around it from the body, and spent the moment chewing around while he navigated the body, and removing all the man's equipment to be stored later. The meat was gum in his mouth, and kept his concentration acute as he carefully used a provided saw to tear through the upper thigh, and femur on the leg that was shot. The blood was unnecessary, and only a pint or two would be used, so he left most pieces to drain into the salt-stained sand.

Seconds turned into minutes, and with a quarter of an hour, the body was situated in thirteen pieces, carefully intersected into three pieces for the arms, two for the chest, three for the legs, and one for the head. Fifteen was the usual number, but one leg was useless. He shouted to the other men, "Keep the head in a fuckin' container this time, and placed in ice. The brain is much more susceptible to decaying that other parts. The rest bagged, and put the jar of blood in room temperature, the shit is hard to work with cold." A few stomached their fears and began organizing the body, clearly not welcoming the idea of handling a body in such a way.

Ezel puckered his lips, and finally began to spit out the remains of the chunk he bit into earlier. With the tip of the porcelain bone pointing out, two delicate fingers pulled the rest of the object out so the fishman could inspect it. Turning in place, heel carving a hole in the stand, he started off towards the village, with the sounds of screams already prominent in the distance. With the sounds being music to his ears, he twirled the chunk in place a bit, until sliding it into the pocket of his jacket, Yeah, that would make a good necklace piece.

EL-2

HAN: 16
REI: 21
HAK: 14
SEI: 15
BUK: 20
HOH: 12
Points Earned: 0
Total points: 98

winter.

none.