The Dread Lord Bolton

Dread Lord or Dread Lord Bolton

761.

Mid Thirties

15

Second in Command

Adjuchas

A Song of Ice and Fire -- Roose Bolton

6' 5"

175 lbs

The Dread Lord looks as one might expect, dreadful. He is a slender and lithe man who looks as though he has been bled dry. His skin is ghostly pale and his features are sunken. His eyes are circled by dark bags that seem to make him appear exhausted. He has thin lips that are always pulled into a utterly neutral expression to match his eyes. His nose is straight and Roman though not very drawing. Bolton's face is accented by high and pronounced cheek bones that give him a nearly skeletal facial structure. His deathly face though holds two things that speak otherwise, hs eyes. Each eyes is a glittering blue orb of ever watchful energy. They ever seem to tire or droop, only look on into the world without end.

His clothing is something of an oddity. He does not wear what most Arrancar do. His clothes as from another place and time. He dons a well tailored satin shirt with fine embroidery on it's breast, the image of ebony Wynn spreading it's wings, and his shoulder's are covered by a long cloak of bright red with an old lining of fur around the collar. Over his shirt he wears a shirt of ring mail to protect him from blades, though, it is mostly worn out of habit. His feet are covered in thick black leather riding boots perfect for stomping obedience into the minds of those who question him. His hands are covered with fine black leather riding gloves to match his boots and have a inner line of fur to keep his hands warm on cold nights or days. Crossed at his waist are two thick belts that carry his sheathed Zanpaktou and a thin stiletto dagger

The Lord's hair is nothing to comment on truly. It is just past shoulder length and shoulder length. The hair itself is completely black and straight as a poker. He normally just throws it back out of his face or lets it fall where it may.

-Obedience
-Courage in his subjects.
-Facing a mental challenge
-Bloody, red meat
- Crushing a foe beneath his heel
-Being trusted
-Quiet people and places
-Women with long hair
-Being bowed down to

-Cowards in the ranks
-Well cooked red meat
-Women who think they are in control
-Men who think they are in control
-Overly aggressive individuals
-Failure
-Not being able to learn from a mistake
-Being manipulated
-Being forced to depend on others
-Noisy people and places
-Rice and noodles
-People who don't read
-Easy victories

-Treacherous
-Ambitious
-Views the world as a game of chess
-Sociopath
-Enjoys the pain of others
-Is insubordinate to those he feels are beneath him
-Manipulative
-Cares little for the "pawns"
-Doesn't fight if he can't win
-Rarely believes people have earned his loyalty
-Can be horridly cold or emotionless

-Always gets the job done
-Undying loyalty to those who have "earned it"
-Always has a back-up plan
-Very independent
-Great at keep order
-Always willing to do things personally
-Soft spoken
-Slow to anger
-Excellent tactician
-Doesn't let emotions cloud his judgment

He's in it to win it. Whatever his goal is he will perue it to the end, no matter what that end might be.

Lord Victor Bolton carries a small dagger on the opposite hip of his Zanpakuto

name: Sombra de la Muerte (Death's Shadow)

sealed form: Death's Shadow is an ornate French long sword about three and a half feet in length.

release command: Shapeless

description:
Every ounce of Lord Bolton's reserve and nobility is lost when he releases his true form. His mouth gapes open as a wicked white knight's helm take's it's place over his face. Then, from his open mouth, a torrent of rancid stinking black and grey ooze begins to pour out. In seconds he is surrounded in the horrid and moist fluid. The exposed surface of the amorphous blob becomes covered in the the melting faces of all those that the Dread Lord has devoured in the past. The thousands of souls that he has made a part of his power return to serve him. Their skeletal thin and liquid arms reach out on all side groping for anything they can grasp. Often the flood that is the Lord is pulled forward at unsettling speeds by this sea of dead reaching arms. Perhaps the strangest thing about this mass is that it makes no sound as it slithers along to find it's prey.

This mass has no set form. If it were an orb it would have a diameter of twenty feet, however, this mass can become anything from a flowing sea of reaching hands to a smooth pillar reaching up above the ground. Only the Baron's imagination limits this shapeless mass of pain and death. While in this state Victor can move to any part of the mass with amazing speed as long as the portion of the blob could physically contain him. The Lord himself seems to just be a dripping black man shaped ooze himself with a solid knight's helm for a head and a bleeding sword grasped in his right hand. The eyes and faces that cover the outside of the mass can be used by Lord Bolton to see, speak, or even fire his cero from. Victor may harden the skin of his mass in the same way he could harden his own, alternatively, he could allow the strikes to sink into the mass trying to pull the attacker in.

type: Defensive Aberration

stat upgrades:
HAN:17+4
REI:21+2
HAK:12
SEI:21+2
BUK:15
HOH:12

techniques:
For: Resurrection
Name: Tireless Death
Type: Offensive
Cost: High
Range: Mid
Description:
Lord Bolton separates up to five of the bodies that make up the majority of his body. These mindless forms of mostly liquifies flesh dash forward at the directed target. These former living beings have only one purpose: kill the target. They dive in combat without reserve and try to grapple the target in any way they can. Once the target is in their grasp they begin trying to squeeze their oily and liquid body into the foe's mouth. Normally starting with the hands and then the shoulders and head the being of rot and death crawl down into the body of the foe. Not only is this process revolting to hear, see, experience, and is horrendously painful, if the creature manages to pull their whole body into the foe's stomach it begins to sap away the energy of the target. In a short time they are reduced to a drained and exhausted enemy (Taking four posts, draining approximately a quarter of their strength per post). This process can be stopped by taking the time to stop and vomit up the terrible black liquid. Thankfully these creatures are decrepit and weak. They defend themselves poorly and are easily cut down. However, they can be overwhelming in their full numbers. Also, if these beings are killed they burst like a puss filled sore. The rancid black ooze coats everything around them in ten a ten foot radius.

For: Resurrection
Name: The Un-Lidded Stare
Type: Defensive
Cost: Moderate
Range: N/A
Description:
One of the many eyes that line the surface of Victor's true form opens wide and angels to receive an energy attack directly in the eye. The energy attack is pulled into the mass of corpse ooze and then returned at slightly increased power as a cero attack that contains the effects of the attack absorbed. The Lord can not perform this technique on an attack delivered by the foe with greater energy control, also, he must be aware of the attack.

For: Resurrection
Name: Death Finds Us Alone
Type:Passive/ Lasts for six posts unless dismissed
Cost: High
Range: Short
Description:
Sometimes fighting at a distance and with little tricks or hiding does not suit the relentless death. When this moment comes the Dread Lord rushes in. The mass slithers forth and quickly envelopes a foe, never touching them. The form creates a dome of dripping liquid death around the target and the physical body of Lord Bolton. The eyes open on the inside giving the whole dome a ambient red light. The duel then commences. In this form Victor can not use his defensive technique however he may still fire his cero attacks from any eye that is looking in on the fight. He may not sink into the walls of the dome either. He may dismiss this arena at any time during the duration causing the formless mass of dead bodies to fall down around the combatants, this can envelope the foe if they do not move quickly enough. Those who are contained inside of the arena may not leave it's walls through any means other than it's dismissal. The only other exception is if an energy attack strikes it from a foe with greater energy control than Victor.

For:Resurrection
Name: Death of the Obsidian Butterflies
Type: Offensive
Cost: Moderate
Range: Mid
Description:
The ooze that is the manifestation of Lord Bolton becomes hard as crystal. It shimmers in the light for a second just before it becomes and explosion of death. The whole mass shatters flying in all directions up to eighty hard. These shards moves faster than the eye can see and coat the air in blades. The shrapnel shreds anything that doesn't move out of range or pull up some sort of powerful shield to protect themselves. These shards devastate anything they touch just before immediately turning back into their normal liquid state. Once they are fired they take one post returning to their master and are once again a whole piece. Before these shards reform Lord Bolton can not use his resurrection abilities that rely on his corpse ooze.

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description: explain how the appearance of your character changes during segunda and their basic ability. It should build upon the appearance in resurreccion.

type: either list an element, or something else that clearly represents the abilities this character will gain in segunda etapa. Be aware that abilities do not stack (except stat changes), so all resurreccion techniques are replaced with the segunda etapa techniques upon release.

stat upgrades: which stats increase in res and by how much? Only fill this out after you have been given your class/level.

techniques: may have 4 to start. Register these through creation before adding them to your application.

The world is full of darkness and evil. Evil men doing evil things to those around them. This has always been true, though, other times in the world have been more conducive to this behavior. The early thirteen hundreds were one of those times. Men and women lived on the whim of those who were born into a life of luxury. Lord Victor Alistair Norman Bolton was one of those powerful people in his life. He inherited his power and position from his father. His father was a man of straightforward action and thought. He taught his son many things. He taught him about when one should speak up and when to keep quiet. He taught him etiquette and manners, swordsmanship and literature. He taught him everything. The greatest lesson he taught him though was not one he did intentionally. He instructed this young boy that people are tools, even him. He beat the ideals of the lord into the boy's mind. He saw his father execute traitors and punish those who would not obey. He learned how to tell a perfect lie and what the truth really meant. He took these lessons to heart.

These lessons led to his father's untimely death. The young man had planned the whole thing. He knew he needed power to be anything but just a Baron's son, so, he became a Baron. Just a drop of poison and he had his own manner and servants. It was perfect, he had power. Then he began to use his power. He made his people do what they could to improve the fields and drilled the soldiers to exhaustion. his farms were full and his men had a loyalty as strong as iron. It then became time to have a son of his own. A son to teach everything he could. A son to take his place. This would never be though. As it turned out, his iron discipline and forceful nature had turned some of his closest servants against him. One night,m as the lord slept, they entered his room. In a few short minutes the sheets were stained with noble blood and the house of Bolton was gone.

The spirit of Victor was horrified. He had done everything right. He had made sure that his people feared him. He made sure that they would obey him. It was then that it dawned on him, his father had done that to him as well. His mind had been changed. No longer would he be so direct about what he wanted and expected. He would make those in this world and the next fear for a different reason. He would make sure that he was silent, that he would listen and wait for the right moment. Never again would he be at the mercy of servants again.

Life had been abandoned, he made up his mind to become a demon. He would not be a servant himself, only pretend to be. He would stalk though the night and hunt people and others of his kind. He would make himself strong and take control of the situations around him. This was exactly what he did. Over two centuries of his unlife passed by as he grew in strength. His command over the powers of spirit and the ways of the hollow. Soon enough he had his servants again, this time they would not disobey. They would not disobey because when they showed hesitation or traitorous thoughts he would devour them, he made them a part of his power.

Eventually he became something totally new. He tore the white mask from his own face with all the power he had in his form. His true power erupted from him as he became a force he never knew existed. He gained every ounce of his knowledge and sanity back, maybe even more. He felt as though he'd been given another chance. He had become the nobility of death.

With his sword at his side and his mind set on true power he began to align himself with the forces that sought power. He would play the helpful little servant and the leader whenever it suited him to be either. He was always in the center of the plotting and never the focus. He deflected blame and truth where he could. He became a side character, never the true leader but always the manipulator. His ambition was growing every year. Soon enough he found himself at the side of someone who just may be something greater than even he, or at least greater than he was currently. He would be her confidant, he plotter, he shield if need be. He knew his place was here, for now.

One of the most interesting things man ever did was create time. Now people seemed to think that time has always been and always would be. However, the entire idea was abstract and even unnecessary. In the early years of man we only looked to the sun to find out how much more daylight we had left. The only thing that mattered to early man was night and day, cold and warm. Later we began to give names to these things. We called the seasons by name and told them when they should start and finish. We needed to know what time of year it was so that man could farm and harvest. Farming was not where we stopped though. Soon technologies began to demand we devise a system to tell them exactly what time of the day it was, and which day it happened to be. Then this concept became part of man's life. time was one with everything we did. Time became our god. We worshiped it and everything was compared to it or organized according to it. Our own artificial god. In other lands men made more gods and even killed and died for them. Yet here was a woman, an artificial woman, who was said to be an abomination of god. A product of playing god. Yet, these gods were all manifestations of man and she was created by man as well. How could one be an abomination of a construct when they both had the same creator?

The light whirling crystals of new frost took flight around the laced jackboots of a tall slender woman. The razor edged Winter cold swept up a thousand tiny gems that clung to the think gray wool of a long coat. Light Hair, light of weight and color, shifted and twisted like tendrils of gold as the wind pushed up past the woman's head. The one contrast to this scene was the flickering orange flame of silver lighter held close to the woman's face. The chilled wind did it's best to extinguish this point of heat in a world of cold but to no avail. The flame licked at the end of a tightly rolled cigar and made the tobacco come to life. Snick-snack! a gloved hand flicked the lighter closed as the cherry of the cigar bloomed into a smoldering glow. Cyrillia pushed her old zippo into her left pocket and brought her right hand up to draw the cigar from her mouth. Pink lips pursed for a second and a stream of blue smoke escaped her mouth with a swirl. Cyrillia's gloved hand reached up and pushed her long blonde hair back behind one ear, exposing her crystal blue eyes shielded by the reflective lenses of eye glasses. The chimera turned her gaze up to the gray sky as she took another pull from her cigar. It was cold for late March. A Spring frost had settled across her great country. A sign of evil to come perhaps. The woman strode forward, out of the door of the small hotel she had been staying at. She needed to walk among her people. No matter what they might think of her if they knew the truth.

Minutes turned to hours as her long legs carried her around the twisting side streets of Moscow. Most people were going about their usual business and didn't pay her any mind. Then again she was just some woman wandering about in a long gray coat. Maybe they thought she was military? She often gave people that impression, sometimes intentionally. After some time she brought her walk to a halt in front of a small shop. The shop itself wasn't anything special, just some red brick with a window in the front. Sitting in the display window was a shelf filled with hats. From different wool caps to ushankas. Cyrillia drew out her cigar case and lighter once more and lit herself a new cigar. The flavor filled her mouth as she stood looking into the window. As she blew out her first puff of smoke the wind picked up again. The ghostly voices of the dead could be heard howling through the allies and off the slick walls of this city as the wind rustled everyone's hair and clothes. The wind pushed by Cyrillia's face causing her cherry the glow brightly and her cheeks to redden with the cold. She hadn't spoken to a single person today. That was either good or bad, never in between. Which it was though she could not decide. She would know once she remedied this fact though. Without a second thought she stepped into the store, intent on talking to someone.

EL-2

HAN:17
REI:21
HAK:12
SEI:21
BUK:15
HOH:12

Just call me Dread.

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