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Full name- Deugrashimbatekete Kurogami (Deugaro)

Age- 25

Gender- Male

Height- 6 ft 2 in

Race- Human.

Alignment- Neutral Evil "Malefactor"

Class- Rogue
Subclass- Assassin
Multi class? weaponsmaster/assassin= “Duadark”

Occupation-
Stationary: Repair: Officer's Headquarters, Recruit Training, Armory and Barracks
Roaming: Assassin for hire

Weapons- one 10 bolt hand-crossbow. 30 extra bolts.
Two boot knives 3" long.
“Dakoon”
Burrika= Golden, thick bladed, Shamshir

Appearance- Tall and sleek with a noticeable air of professionalism following in his silent footsteps, one could believe he would disappear if you blinked. Deugaro wears a pair of black pants that fit loosely providing freedom of movement, a matching shirt that sags slightly from it's tucked in position. A pair of black boots that look rather clumsy and heavy cover his feet and he has the skill to run silently in them all the same. His long onyx hair flows freely down his back stopping just below the shoulder blades, while stray hairs hang limply over his tattered red headband and into his red eyes, once brown. His gaze is dull and uninterested, giving everyone he notices a bored passover. He is a light tan, caused by the warm sun upon his body at a young age.

He wears no armor except for his left hand that is encompassed by a gauntlet. This piece of armor is the only container for his tainted left hand, that holds such a strong poison that he can cause someone to rot with a single touch, but it is rarely used as it hurts him more than any dakoon or human and he hates unnecessary pain. It is a simplistic black color with only a small hood of metal reaching up to the middle of his forearm. Underneath that hood is a series of spinning locking mechanisms that ensure the metal stays on.
He prefers his summoned weapons instead of what he carries. Deugaro uses whatever is best for the situation, though more commonly using his "Darkchains".
Being dakoon weaponry he can control their trajectory and force them to perform incredible and physics defying feats.

He also wears a dark crimson cloak that has a button at the top to hold it together, an additional strap underneath that and thick buckles on the shoulders to hold weaponry and traveling gear.
His eyes are a deep red and are sunken in both exhaustion and pain.


Bio- From his childhood he has been on his own, surviving where he could and fleeing from public notice. His young self wasn't clothed nor was he clean. Deugaro pilfered and stole what he needed to survive. There was a mass of dried mud on his left hand, hiding the malformed limb that held a potentially god-dangerous poison. Still he robbed people of bread, milk and various meats, occasionally pickpocketing a particularly easy target. After his 8th birthday, at least what he claimed as his birthday November 1st, which was the day he had almost died. A mass murderer has slit his throat and made off with his ill gotten money. But somehow Deugaro had survived, a wicked scar gracing his neckline.
From then on he had fallen into a state of numbness, his body rarely registering touch or taste, and marked the day as important.
Anyways, after his eighth birthday he began travel, after earning enough cash to clothe himself, and notice things while he did, such as strange weather, such as water stones falling from the sky.

As he reached his first destination he felt a strange feeling in his feet. It was a white powdery substance that melted into water as he walked over it with his... black feet? Deugaro never remembered walking through any black mud. He was informed quickly that he had extreme frostbite and that he should be in incredible pain for possibly the rest of his life, unless he could have them healed. What they said was true, like walking over hot coals and needles, they burned with such a pain he contemplated cutting them off, but stopped as soon as he heard of a healer being in town.
“Maybe the healer could help?”
He ran to the priest like man, refusing to scream in pain and explained his situation.
Things were starting to look up for the young boy.
That was until the priest cast a powerful healing spell.
His body buckled and thrashed about wildly, as his body refused the healing magic. With tears of pain in his red eyes, he ran from what he now perceived as a threat even further into the frozen wasteland.

He was a huddled mess of half melted snow and ice as he had curled himself up inside his worn clothes, hungry and too tired to move.
"If I die now what will happen?", he raised his pained eyes to the gray sky. "Why, in the end, am I still alone?"
His small body shut down as he finally lost the will to stay conscious.

Miraculously he awoke inside a small cave with a fire burning brightly near the entrance and a person sitting across from his blanket wrapped position. It was an elderly man, wrinkles adorned his face and he looked like he was sleeping.
Deugaro moved to his feet carefully, taking a lighter blanket with him and wrapping it around the flesh that was still cold. As he was just about to flee, readying himself mentally for his torturous task of running, the man spoke.
"Where do you think you're going boy?", he wheezed, lifting his silver head. "You will not survive if you head out like that, not even that blanket can protect you from this cold at your age."
D' turned and looked at him, red eyes questioning possible intent of harm.
"Come now boy, If I had wanted to hurt you I would have done it already... you know, you look like an old friend of mine."

He fell to the ground, feet already throbbing and listened to this person.

He caught the questioning look coming from the scraggly child.
“Do you know what a Duadark is boy??”
Deugaro shook his head, and gave the old man his attention.
"Duadarks are the combination of a weaponsmaster and an assassin, often having fits of uncontrollable rage, accompanied by a unique and dangerous ability and mixed with cunning and efficiency.”
Deugaro noded his head, he was aware of his strange power "Dakoon" and his odd gift of pickpockting.
"I had a Duadark with me once, his name was Garode Kurogami, he could decimate entire armies with his power...hmm what was it called again?... ah, Dakoon."
The boy's head shot up at the word, he had the same power. Once he had used it on accident when attempting to read. It had hurt so much in so little time that he gave up on reading and never used it again.
"Garode could have been the next King of the Last Bells had he not become infatuated with that girl."

"He threw his life away in revenge... It was the most horrifying thing I had ever seen. He ripped out pieces of his foe's body and weaponized them, before beating them to death with their own organs and bones. He boiled their blood with magics that would make the sun seem like a firecracker. He even weaponized a mountain far away, and impaled his last enemy, driving him through the ground into a such a deep grave he probably stabbed the devil... he never did anything after that, nothing, he just waited for his time."

There was an awkward silence between them.

"Ring the bell....", the child muttered, strange memories joining his few.
King, as the old man was called, snapped to attention, focusing on the child that had recited the original Deugaro's line. Garode must have spoken the line to his child, when he was a newborn.

King offered this child a choice that he had offered only once before.
"I have a name and a home for you if you will accept it, I will even teach you the art of combat and assassination.", he offered, knowing truly who this child was... or belonged to.
'But who'd have thought that he and her would have a family... it didn't last long, but they were happy.'
He nodded his head anxiously, an inner voice telling him it was safer than staying here.

"Welcome to the Last Bells, Deugrashimbatekete Kurogami."

At ten years he had harnessed most of his powers in terms of understanding his limits and the rules that went with Dakoon.
On this day, King had assigned him a teacher.
This assassin had been one of those trained by Garode, his name was Skeith or by his work name "Ballisatas".
Skeith himself stood at about 5' 10" and was lean and fit. His head was a scraggaly mess of brown hair and a carefully maintained five o'clock shadow. There was a strip of blue cloth wrapped around his head from the right chin, across the nose and past the forehead. The reason being he had made a pact with a wind elemental when he had failed a mission and ben severely injured. In that wound across his face was pure wind essence. The rest of his clothing was Garode's personal uniforms for his students. A dark gray cloth under clothing with scuffed black rubber armor: gauntlets, chest piece and knee-pads.
A golden bell hung from his left ear, a symbol of a captain and a large cross bow was slung over his shoulder, gray bolts lining it's obsidian frame.
Deugaro saw him walk into the clearing where they were supposed to meet. There were eight white and red targets set at different distances and two one-inch diameter steel discs hanging from wires on trees.
"Ey brat, heard about yer pro-gress from the geezer and now I some how ended up teachin' ya about ranged.", he spoke with a slurr caused by the bolt in his lips, refusing to smoke around children. "I even got you a bow."
The taller male tossed an average sized crossbow at the young assassin, followed by a box of bolts.
"Ya do know how to load it don't ya?"
As Deugaro shook his head Skeith sighed heavily, wind essence leaking out and ruffling his hair.
"Watch an' learn brat."
He swung the large weapon off his shoulder and


As he turned 15 seven years later he was sent on an assignment. His feet still hurt, but he subconsciously suppressed the pain along with his humanity. He also had clothing that matched his now grim attitude. Loose black pants with a tucked in black shirt and boots that were basically padded and disguised, metal plated boots. Along with a crimson headband that was supposedly his predecessor's... it worked well enough and it hid his second deformation and scar, which was a horizontal cut across his forehead, reaching from temple to temple with bone covering most of his forehead. His eyebrows had grown bushy and were almost hawk-like now. A gauntlet covered his deformed hand, another hand-me-down from the deceased assassin, it was heavy yet sleek. The gauntlet fit around his talon nicely, a metal hood stretched over his forearm with three rings that held it close to his arm, and three spinning locks secured it to him..
His assignment was to sink a ship that was ferrying soul containers for some illegal operation, more than likely they were to be used as disposable spies or soldiers.
His current employer didn't want any of them to survive or to be salvageable... It was a simple assignment.
His silver bell clinked quietly.

Deugaro flew through the stormy skies, his powerful dakooned wings cutting through the raging winds ensuring he would arrive on course. He landed safely and quietly on the large slave-ship, rain battering against his tall form Deugaro reached behind his back and grasped the hilt of his Shamshir Burrika.
It glinted brightly, even with only the moon reflecting off of it. While the deck-crew looked to the light that had vanished, Deugaro was already amongst them.
"Die.", he whispered in his new light baritone voice.
He spun and hacked his scimitar into the side of the man's neck, while sliding around to his front and delivering a diagonal, two-handed slash to the man on his right. He readied his blade and charged the rest of the deck-crew, the sea drenched surface of the ship only aiding him in slipping around his targets and attacking their vital areas. He spoke calmly while doing so.
"Spine, trachea, heart, solar plexus, inguinal area, liver, kidneys, carteroid artery, temples, lungs... so many to choose from, I will just have use them all."
They screamed in surprise as the golden blade cut into pink flesh. They cried in fear as his talon tore muscle from their bodies with a resounding snap.
“Eventually they go quiet though, nice and quiet, calm and serene, cold and still... oops that one slid off the boat. Heehee bye-bye.”, a voice giggled inside his head, it sounded somewhat aquatic.

“I'll give you aquatic sounding!”, it yelled inside his mind arrogantly.

Deugaro sheathed his Shamshir, securing it with a special cloth that wrapped around the blade quickly and twice around his torso from right shoulder to left armpit. He forcefully ignored the voice inside his head.
'Enchanted cloth... worth every penny.'
The assassin teen traveled below deck, and, after discovering how many layers there were, began to scuttle the ship... by tearing it in half.
"DAKOON!", he yelled running back up to the deck, putting his hands together and pulling them apart savagely, the ship complied with his actions by breaking in two and allowing the assassin to escape by stealing a boat.
He then forced both his hands down, shoving the large ship beneath the waves and ensuring that no one could recover the cargo. A mass of something boiled up from where he sank the ship. It was a tattered crimson cloak... in fact, it looked like the one King had described to him, the one that his predecessor had owned. He paddled over and nabbed the cloth out of the water, claiming it as his.
With his mission complete he paddled back to base, his instincts telling him the correct direction, and the after affects of dakoon screaming for relief.
However the storm had increased in severity and lowered Deugaro's chances of survival.
“Dakoon.”
He felt the dark particles flow out of him and slide into both the water and air, creating an invisible dome that stilled the sea below him and created a shield from the wind.

Kurogami... Blackpaper.
A material that is useless unless used in conjunction with other materials to create something new.
That, essentially, was him.
A person who had next to no purpose, that existed only to change another's life.

He was 25 years old now and he hadn't a care in the world.
Then again, he couldn't care in the first place so there wasn't much weight to that statement.

He finally exhausted his journeying and left his original country, his adventuring and explorations had run dry. Word reached him of a place called Bith, an island country of some sort. There were highlands with a city located upon it, dotted with stones and boulders and coated in fertile green grass. Close to the highlands are the lowlands, but their name was not easily memorized. Low flat plains were what he was supposed to expect from from this area.
The island sounded interesting so he had purchased a map and studied an artists painting that had supposedly come from there.

After four months of planning, cross checking, interviews with those that had lived there he began a newer, more specific dakoon.
By actually attempting to decypher where the particles come from, he could pull out an image of that place.
'Bith has plenty of “Paradox particles”, the place is almost completely flooded with them.', he thought to himself, preparing this special dakoon.
“Dera Dakoon! Bith!”
Excruciating pain blinded all his senses as the “Dakoon particles” flooded out of him in a massive torrent, and solidified a moment later as an onyx rectangle in midair.
“...I hope this works, or else I am really going to screw something up.”, Deugaro said slowly, his mind still recovering from the recoil of a powerful dakoon.
The assassin stood up, all his belongings that were essential in a tan travelers bag that was slung over his shoulder, and leapt through the portal and into Bith.

He landed roughly in the middle of a large grassy plain, missing a marsh by only a couple inches. He laid there for a few seconds, taking a look around for witnesses.
Deugaro pushed himself up off the ground, groaning while he did so. He sniffed the air, catching a strange scent.
'Salt... saltwater, I landed near the shoreline.', Kurogami pulled his map out of his bag and checked his possible position. 'The nearest city is... Caary, and from there I will head off to Baile-Mòr.'
He paused in his planning, from what he heard Caary was a place of thieves... but he didn't own anything of value, unless you counted his bell.
But what if he were to be forced to Dakoon?

That clinched it, he would avoid the confrontation and instead go around Caary.
As he began walking, he checked his supplies and sun position. One pound each of, cheese, crackers, jerky and a bag of clear looking pebbles. A canteen hung from his hip, about a half-gallon.
'More than enough.', he confirmed satisfactorily, walking south after confirming his direction.
No one saw him load his hand crossbow, slipping it up his sleeve.