<strong>Puppet Master:</strong>Shihong<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Warriors/Oni3.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name: </strong>Hettún<br/><strong>Age: </strong>184<br/><strong>Race: </strong>Oni<br/><strong>Sex:</strong>Male<br/><strong>Height:</strong>11'7"<br/><strong>Weapons of choice: </strong>An exotic weapon that appears to be a fusion of the Shaolin Spade and a massive cleaver<br/><strong>Magic:</strong><br/><em>Blessing of Strength:</em>A racial ability that Hettún has mastered over his comparatively long lifespan.  As he becomes increasingly angered, excited, or wounded his strength (and eventually his size) will also increase exponentially.  As this ability is supernatural in origin, there is theoretically no limit to how physically powerful he can become.  However, barring the protection gained from increased muscle density, Hettún's defensive capabilities do not increase along with his strength.<br/><em>Blessing of Grounding:</em>Simply put, when Hettún plants himself in place there is little beyond the power of the Gods themselves that can force him from his position, and the ground beneath his feat will likewise refuse to give way.  On its own this ability has limited usefulness, but when combined with the Blessing of Strength it keeps his increased weight and mass from simply sinking into the dirt.<br/><em>Regeneration:</em>Like many demons, Hettún is capable of recovering from serious wounds that would otherwise cripple or kill most mortal beings.  However, though he can heal shallow cuts in the midst of battle or halt the blood flow from deeper ones, he must be in a state of restfulness to heal from more grievous wounds.  Additionally, Hettún is able to reattach severed limbs, but unable to grow new ones.<br/><em>Fire Resistance:</em>Though not entirely immune to fire attacks, all oni possess above average defenses against heat-based strikes and are almost impossible to burn.  They are, however, more susceptible to cold-based spells.<br/><strong>Trademark:</strong><br/><em>Bloody Carnage:</em>When death seems near, Hettún completely loses himself to the carnal bloodlust of his race and finally lets himself go.  When in this state his Blessing of Strength goes into overtime, and he reaches peaks that he would normally be completely incapable of reaching otherwise.  His body doubles in height, and his nails transform into claws capable of rending stone and scarring metal.  This is the force that shatters mountains and causes the earth itself to tremble, and there are few capable of taking a direct blow from such a beastly creature.  However, in his rage Hettún loses all sense of rationality and self-preservation, relying entirely on instinct, and is literally blind to everything around him.  He is forced to rely on smell, hearing, and touch in order to find his opponent.<br/><strong>Skill: </strong><br/><em>Iron Whirlwind:</em>The name of Hettún's self-made style, he excels at using both hands to deftly swing his cleaver about in wide arcs that mimic the spinning motions of windmills.  This wild motion often catches lesser opponents off-guard, and is generally more than enough to swat aside smaller foes with ease.<br/><em>Drunken Boxing:</em>As if an Oni wasn't dangerous enough sober, Hettún becomes all the more volatile and unpredictable when thoroughly intoxicated.  For the most part he is forced to abstain from drinking before a fight to avoid unnecessary collateral damage, but on special occasions he is allowed to drink as much as he likes beforehand in order to make a match more interesting.  When drunk he fights bare-handed, and is considerably more agile.<br/><strong>Win/loss record:</strong><br/>234 wins / 3 Losses<br/>Though a seemingly impressive record, it should be noted that the vast majority of Hettún's fights have been exclusively Exotic Rounds, pitting him against dragons and other suitably monstrous foes instead of fellow sentient beings.  Though he has won a fair dozen or more fights against fellow warriors in the ring, his three losses can be attributed to the fact that sufficiently talented combatants are more than capable of outsmarting him or using his titanic physical strength against him.<br/><strong>Crowd's response:</strong><br/>Hettún is quite the crowd pleaser, as there are very few gladiators capable of wrestling giants, boxing with krakens, and decapitating hydra by themselves.  Nicknamed the "God Killer" by ardent fans, the oni is at his best when it comes to brutally gutting supernatural abominations and painting the walls red with their blood.<br/><strong>Allies:</strong>Dust; Desmond Saddler<br/><strong>Enemies: </strong>Many, but most notably the Ace of Pins.<br/><strong>Personality: </strong><br/>Hettún is a simple person with simple needs, and does not pretend to be anything more than that.  He prefers his alcohol by the barrel full, his women obedient and easy to please, and his fights as gruesomely violent as possible.  He enjoys relaxation as much as battling, and considers both to be of equal importance.  Though the oni is notorious for being a womanizer and a drunkard when relaxing with the other gladiators, he is also surprisingly good-natured and non-confrontational.  He holds no grudges against anyone outside of the ring, though there are a number of individuals that would no doubt relish the chance to mount his head over their mantles.<br/><strong>Background: </strong><br/>Not exactly being the sort of person to linger too long in memories of the past, not much is known about Hettún before he arrived at the Arena.  His spectacular entry into the games will never quite be forgotten however, nor will it be forgiven by certain bitter individuals.  During a high profile Exotic Battle in which a single gladiator was put up against no less than two dozen ogres, Hettún forced his way into the ring in a drunken stupor, batted aside the warrior in question, and proceeded to dismember the enraged ogres in what would come to be known as the bloodiest display of alcohol-infused carnage ever before seen in the history of the games.  Suffice it to say that the roar of the crowd was more than enough to gain him admittance as an official gladiator, a role that he gladly accepted under the promise of fine wine and his choice of women.<br/><br/>Seemingly content to remain at the Arena indefinitely, Hettún considers most of his fellow gladiators to be as good as family, including those that utterly despise him.  Of the slaves, he took a particular liking to a rather downtrodden young woman whose family had been slaughtered for treason.  Though she was nothing more than a sex slave at the time, the wily old Oni spied the talents that the woman had gone to great lengths to conceal and encouraged her to put them to good use, rather than simply allow her body to be used and to waste away in the darkness of a cell.  Though caught in the grip of despair his attentions seemed to stir the prisoner into action, and it was not long before she proved herself to be a capable combatant in her own right.<br/><br/><strong>Theme song:</strong><br/><br/>Force of Nature - Death Wish (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fggOUrvGwdo#)<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Warriors/SpearswordWoman.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Dust<br/><strong>Age: </strong>23<br/><strong>Race: </strong>Human<br/><strong>Sex:</strong>Female<br/><strong>Height:</strong>5'9"<br/><strong>Weapons of choice: </strong>The Black Thorn<br/><strong>Magic:</strong><br/><em>Alter Perception:</em>Those who are so much as pricked by Dust's weapon will find themselves affected by a particularly unusual power.  Simply put, Dust is capable of controlling all five senses of whosoever is wounded by her unique blade.  This curse essentially allows her to "change the reality" of her opponent, making them see and feel whatever she wishes them to and otherwise putting her at a great advantage in combat.  However, this skill will quickly exhaust her if not used creatively and sparingly.<br/><em>Rip Quake:</em>Another weapon-based spell.  Harnessing the strange magic lurking within the obsidian blade, Dust is able to literally "shake apart" whatever object The Black Thorn is currently making contact with.  This can be anything from stone and metal to human flesh, but contact must be maintained for longer than three seconds for the spell to take effect.  It is considered unwise to lock blades with her for more than a second at a time, as the results do not tend to be pretty.<br/><br/><strong>Trademark:</strong><br/><em>Blackout:</em>By sapping her own body of most of its energy, Dust completely robs her opponent of all their senses simultaneously for the next five minutes.  Though drained, this is usually enough to cripple most opponents and allow her to make a finishing blow.  It should be noted that this only pertains to<em>physical</em>senses; those with the ability to see by supernatural means will still be able to do so while under the effects of Blackout.<br/><br/><strong>Skill: </strong><br/><br/><em>Fencing:</em>Dust prefers a flurry of forward jabs to broad slashes, and is notoriously fleet-footed in battle.  Lacking the raw strength of supernatural and male gladiators, she is forced to fight defensively and use her sword's unnatural powers creatively to stay on par with superior foes.<br/><em>Acrobatics:</em>Jumping about the field is a particular specialty of hers, and there is nothing the woman enjoys more than back-flipping away from an opponent's strike at the very last moment and feeling the wind off of another's blade.<br/><br/><strong>Win/loss record:</strong><br/><br/>32 Wins / 24 Losses<br/><br/><strong>Crowd's response:</strong><br/><br/>Though relatively new to the Arena, Dust has already garnered some attention for her strange abilities and status as an underdog.  It is a sorry soul that dares to underestimate her; though far from the Big Leagues, she is tenacious, crafty, and desperate to earn her freedom and seek justice against those that killed her family and sold her into slavery.  She is by and large an honorable woman, but will not hesitate to take advantage of every flaw in an opponent's defense.<br/><br/><strong>Allies:</strong>Hettún; Desmond Saddler<br/><strong>Enemies: </strong>The Ace of Pins<br/><br/><strong>Personality: </strong><br/>Dust comes across as excessively cold and withdrawn towards most of the other gladiators, and becomes entirely mute around Arena officials.  Her voice rarely rises above a hesitant mutter, and she staunchly refuses to meet the eyes of anyone she speaks with.  The woman holds herself without even the slightest bit of confidence, often rubbing her arm behind her back and otherwise looking as uncomfortable as humanly possible.  This is completely at odds with her stance in the arena proper, which is where she displays a keen knowledge of swordplay and tactical maneuvers.<br/><br/>Only Hettún is able to get a real rise out of her, and there are times where she becomes positively animated in his presence.  Her priceless smiles are reserved solely for him, as is her tinkling laughter.  Their relationship is strictly platonic, though Hettún has a habit of becoming somewhat raucous when drinking and getting intrusive enough to turn her face red with embarrassment.  Otherwise they generally act like family, with Hettún acting as the fiercely protective elder brother.<br/><br/><strong>Background: </strong><br/><br/>The woman that is now known only as Dust was born within an enclave dedicated to the practice of a religious doctrine that particularly offended the ruling class of the region, forcing them to hide within the shadow of an ancient mountain range.  It was a harsh and cold place with little comforts, but to her it was simply home.  She found beauty in the frozen rock and stubborn mosses, and the way the sun glinted off the snowfields often brought tears to her young eyes.  The girl was raised to survive, both the trials that the World set against humanity and in the heat of battle.  She practiced the religion of her parents dutifully and without question, believing fully in its tenants with only a vague knowledge of the prejudice she would have received elsewhere.<br/><br/>One day during a sojourn through the vast hollow caverns lurking deep within the mountains, Dust came upon a demon cradling what appeared to be a newborn child in its arms.  Unsheathing the knife from her belt, she demanded to know where the demon had stolen the babe from and that it return it to its rightful mother.  The demon smiled at her with eyes like dying coals, and in a voice like burning parchment it told her that the child was none other than her own.  Bewildered (for she was yet untouched by a man), Dust found the demon offering the baby to her with a bowed head.  Warily did she stow her blade away and reach out to take the child, only to flinch backwards as a sharp point embedded itself in her forefinger.  Before her very eyes both the demon and the child transformed into a rosebush filled with blackened, thorny vines, with a single flower blooming from the drop of blood that had spilled.  The girl fled from the sight of this witchery, and refused to look back until she had returned to the safety of her room.<br/><br/>There she slept for a day and a night without pause, and upon waking she did find a solid black blade of unknown make resting firmly over her abdomen.  Though she felt an awful curse throbbing within, upon grasping the hilt such a feeling of<em>rightness</em>overcame her that she could not bring herself to toss the wretched weapon aside.  From that moment onwards it was the only weapon her hands could hold, and any other would violently throw themselves from her grip as though revolted by her touch.<br/><br/>It was several years later that the enclave was finally discovered and its inhabitants butchered.  Only Dust was spared, for in her impudence and raw skill her attackers saw a value that her family and friends had been unable to provide.  Overwhelming her with sheer numbers, the girl was beaten within an inch of her life and taken to market as a slave.  That the strange black sword could not be pried from her hands was a curiosity that could not be explained, but it soon became apparent that the only place that would buy a woman that could not be disarmed was the Arena, which often bought droves of slaves for its bloodsport.  For a time she refused to fight, growing despondent in a cell and turning her gaze from those that peered in on her.  That is, until a rather stubborn Oni took a shine to her.<br/><br/><strong>Theme song:</strong><br/><br/>Amon Tobin-Easy Muffin (full version) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDmbKzaCkGY#)<br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Warriors/DarkKnight.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>Desmond Saddler<br/><strong>Age: </strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Race: </strong>Dullahan<br/><strong>Sex:</strong>Male<br/><strong>Height:</strong>6'4"<br/><strong>Weapons of choice: </strong>Longsword<br/><strong>Magic:</strong><br/><em>Immortality:</em>As a soul cursed to inhabit a hollow suit of armor, Desmond is understandably freed from the normal restrictions that bind most mortal creatures to this world.  To put it simply, what was once a man has now become a deathless warrior of unnatural power.  Though the armor itself is not indestructible, he is unable to suffer from physical wounds of any sort or succumb to a fatal blow.  So long as a mere scrap of armor exists, Saddler's consciousness will remain intact.  He does not require his helmet in order to see or hear, but he is incapable of feeling any physical sensations and has been robbed of both his sense of taste and smell.  Victory against him is a difficult matter indeed, but dismemberment will cripple him as much as any other warrior; it's simply considerably more difficult to do so.  Beyond his durability and tenacity in combat, Desmond possesses no other supernatural abilities.<br/><br/><strong>Trademark:</strong><br/><em>Headless Onslaught:</em>More for intimidation purposes than anything else, Desmond will often allow himself to be decapitated by combatants that are unaware of his condition (which the Arena Officials go to great lengths to keep a secret from newcomers) and engage in some particularly ghoulish laughter upon seeing their shock and horror.  Otherwise this offers absolutely no tactical advantage whatsoever.<br/><br/><strong>Skill: </strong><br/>It should be noted that Saddler is not a particularly skilled swordsman, or even a very good fighter.  If he still had his flesh and blood he would have surely died in the Arena ages ago, another unremarkable piece of fodder to quench the blood lust of the screaming audiences.  It's quite a relief to him then that he<em>doesn't</em>have any flesh and blood, for that is the sole reason that he's even a contender to begin with.  As he cannot grow tired, cannot be wounded, and cannot die by any known means, he resorts to simply wearing down his opponent until they are too exhausted to put up a fight any longer.<br/><br/><strong>Win/loss record:</strong><br/>52 Wins / 7 Losses<br/><br/><strong>Crowd's response:</strong><br/>The crowd doesn't quite know<em>what</em>to make of Desmond Saddler, the so-called "Headless Knight".  Most of his fights are played up purely for their entertainment value, quickly degrading into comedies involving the utter humiliation of otherwise skilled fighters as they make futile attempts to kill him, or setting various terrifying monsters on him and watching him run away screaming and get batted around like a ragdoll.<br/><br/><strong>Allies:</strong>Hettún; Dust<br/><strong>Enemies: </strong>The Ace of Pins...only because of his association with Hettún and Dust.<br/><br/><strong>Personality: </strong><br/>If one had to describe Desmond in two words, those words would most certainly be<em>Lovably Ineffectual</em>.  Though he certainly looks quite fearsome, one need only talk with him for a few brief moments before realizing that he is far from the warrior that he claims to be.  His voice is wavering and infectiously cheerful, and though he tries to put on a scary front to intimidate others he is far too polite and friendly to be convincing.  His immortality has turned him into a bit of a thrill seeker, but though he's impervious to pain and unable to die he's every bit the coward that he was before being cursed.  He treats every battle like a performance, and wastes absolutely no opportunity to ham it up in front of a cheering audience.<br/><br/><strong>Background: </strong><br/><br/>Though he has countless different tales of his origins prepared for anyone who asks, most of which involve such daring feats as saving an entire harem of princesses, slaying mountain-sized dragons, and spitting in the face of some Emperor from a faraway land whose name changes with each retelling, his actual past is far,<em>far</em>more pathetic.  The son of a baker and a seamstress, Desmond was always cursed with unfathomably bad luck.  It's quite honestly a wonder that he lived long enough to become immortal in the first place, such was the number of times that he nearly fell to his death or broke every bone in his body.  He took clumsiness and raised it to an art form, constantly getting in the way of everybody he knew and earning the ire of all that crossed his path.  Besides causing more destruction and pandemonium in his village before the age of twelve than most normal citizens will ever instigate in their entire lives, his childhood was entirely unremarkable.<br/><br/>Though he was an aspiring actor, he had an atrocious habit of forgetting his lines and improvising new, gut-wrenchingly awful ones that were often complete non-sequiturs.  The only reason he was even allowed onto the stage in the first place was because his Uncle managed the locale theater, and because allowing him to work behind the state always resulted in broken set pieces and shattered limbs.  He was universally despised by most everyone, and grudgingly loved only by his parents.<br/><br/>It is little wonder then to learn that his cursed state is a direct result of his own habitual ineptitude.  Wandering into what he believed to be a costume shop to order supplies for the theater, he unceremoniously tripped over a suit of armor and brought an entire set of shelves crashing down about him before he had even so much said a single word to the moldering old woman behind the counter.  Aghast and enraged, the crone revealed herself to be a witch (coincidentally, she just so happened to live right across the street from an<em>actual</em>costume shop), and in a fit of anger she blasted the poor boy with every ounce of magical energy she could muster.  Though the intention had most likely been to simply vaporize him on the spot, Desmond found himself trapped within the very armor that he had stumbled into, while his old body crumbled to ashes beside him.<br/><br/>Though understandably distraught (after having run until he'd put a good three miles between himself and the shrieking witch), the young man decided that this twist of fate was exactly the opportunity he had been waiting for.  His prior clumsiness seemed to have vanished with his physical body, and after a time he even grew used to the lack of sensation.  From that day forward he played the role of the Cursed Knight, challenging mighty warriors and besting them in front of crowds or otherwise scaring the living daylights out of random pedestrians by popping his head off and making spooky noises.  It was only a matter of time before his exploits garnered the attention of the Arena.  He has since become close friends with Hettún and Dust, both of whom seem to genuinely enjoy his company.<br/><br/><strong>Theme song:</strong><br/><br/>Samurai Champloo Soundtrack: Absolute [ Playlist OST] (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZug21MJKtk#)<br/><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v296/rcburner/Horrible%20Things/TricksterGod.jpg)</div><strong>Name: </strong>The Ace of Pins<br/><strong>Age: </strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Race: </strong>Devil<br/><strong>Sex:</strong>Male<br/><strong>Height:</strong>6'2"<br/><strong>Weapons of choice: </strong>Spells<br/><strong>Magic:</strong><br/><em>Runic Constructs:</em>The Ace of Pins possesses the ability to create whatever weapons he chooses via the cursed markings tattooing his flesh, which tear themselves away from his body and melt together into a solid form.  These inky blades are every bit as deadly and real as any steel weapon, and are honed to an unnatural sharpness.  This same power can project multiple limbs, wings, or whatever else the foul devil can think to conjure up, but in his current state he does not possess enough power to create such constructs indefinitely.  His current limit is ten at any given time.<br/><em>Wasting Breath:</em>As a demon of Pride, he is able to cause other living things around him to weaken and grow ugly via the inhalation of noxious fumes.  This effect is only temporary, and the affected will revert back to their normal selves once their lungs have been purged of the gasses.  Beings that do not need to breathe are immune to this power.<br/><em>Mirror Defense:</em>The Ace's ultimate defensive spell, Mirror Defense renders him completely impervious to all harm and reflects non-physical attacks.  However, he is completely immobilized and incapable of attacking for the duration.<br/><em>Snap-Freeze:</em>The atmosphere immediately surrounding The Ace of Pins is instantaneously lowered to -70°C.  This effect lasts three seconds before reverting to normal, and has a range of two feet.<br/><em>Heat Burst:</em>The atmosphere immediately surrounding The Ace of Pins is instantaneously raised to 200 ºC.  This effect otherwise has the same properties as Snap-Freeze.<br/><em>Needle Storm:</em>Thousands of hair-thin needles suddenly project themselves out from The Ace's body in all directions, attempting to impale anything within the immediate vicinity.  These needles can also be focused in a single direction instead.<br/><br/><strong>Trademark:</strong><br/><em>Ultimate Vice:</em>The Ace of Pins projects 10 limbs from his body and grasps his opponent with them, swiftly snapping the victim's bones apart and compressing them into a tiny, gruesome ball.<br/><br/><strong>Skill: </strong><br/>The Ace of Pins enjoys making his extremely rare battles look completely effortless, often going so far as to tie his hands behind his back or impose other ridiculous handicaps in order to give his adversaries the illusion of an advantage.  At close range he is a terrifying force due to his various temperature-based spells and needle projections, to say nothing of his hand-to-hand skills, and at range he is capable of simply hiding behind his defenses indefinitely.  There is a reason why The Ace of Pins is only allowed to battle once or twice a year: it goes without saying that he will not lose.  At least, it<em>used</em>to.<br/><br/><strong>Win/loss record:</strong><br/>Unknown Wins / 1 Loss<br/><br/><strong>Crowd's response:</strong><br/>The Ace of Pins is the sort of gladiator that everyone loves to hate.  They despise his flawless victories as much as they enjoy watching the cold precision with which he slaughters his enemies.  He is as much a spectacle as he is a force of nature, and ticket sales shoot through the roof whenever he is scheduled to make an appearance.<br/><br/><strong>Allies:</strong>None.<br/><strong>Enemies: </strong>Just about every single other living being.  Hettún especially.<br/><br/><strong>Personality: </strong><br/>As one would expect from a demon of Pride, The Ace of Pins is extraordinarily vain, arrogant, and infuriatingly pompous.  He views everyone and everything with hatred, but reserves the vast majority of his spite for a certain Oni that once aroused his ire.  Everyone else may as well be as annoying gnats in his presence, and he is liable to ignore anyone that actually tries to address him without first kneeling or otherwise showing their respect.  He possesses absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and is loathed or feared by all.<br/><br/><strong>Background: </strong><br/>It stands to reason then that the only reason The Ace of Pins is even present in the Arena is because he is there against his will.  In ages past, back when the Arena was first founded, it is said that The Ace was summoned from the Ninth Plane of Hell to serve as the ultimate opponent for those wishing to earn their freedom from the games.  Though the mages that bound him to this world severely limited his powers to keep him from breaking his bonds, this plan quickly went awry when it became apparent that no normal gladiator could ever hope to possibly best him in battle.  So it was decreed that The Ace would be used sparingly, to rile audiences up on particularly special occasions, fight high-ranking gladiators that proved themselves powerful enough to at least stand in the ring with him for more than a minute, or to clear out hordes of lesser gladiators that the crowds voiced their dislike for.<br/><br/>Suffice it to say that The Ace is none too happy with this arrangement, considering his current position as nothing more than a glorified janitor.  He will not hesitate to make it known that he is suicidally bored to anyone within earshot, or otherwise mutter hateful things towards Arena Officials and goad them into breaking the spells currently binding him.  His is a restless existence, and for many long years he had no other goal beyond finding some way to release himself from his bondage.  That is, until the day that, during a high profile festival, a drunken Oni barged into the stadium and swatted him aside like so much trash.  Before he could even recover from the blow the ogres he had been tasked with killing had already been defeated, and he had been cheated out of another win.  Because he was technically unable to defeat the opponents himself, a single notch was scarred into the<em>Losses</em>side of his record, permanently displaying his humiliation for all to see.<br/><br/>He is<em>not</em>a happy Devil.  No he is not.<br/><br/><strong>Theme song:</strong><br/><br/>Silent Hill: Shattered Memories [Music] - Devil's Laughter (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKwRm4SYu68#)