Gae'thal Gungnir

Name: Gáe Bulg Gungnir

Nationality: Erish

Religious Views:  Zzecsisiya the ungrasped/the ancient demon lord of forbidden knowledge

Age: 24

Personality: Gae is a rather sadistic man, taking pleasure in extracting pain from others, wanting to see the intense emotions they have while coming close to death. He also values knowledge over any trivial, mortal need, seeking it from all sources, even if he hast to pry it from the brain and soul of a person itself. Knowledge is power, power is control, and with control, even death may die.

Appearance: Gae is a large man, with straight dark hair, draped down onto his shoulder with a rough cut. He has a large, jugged face, with a short beard, knotted slightly at the end with a red tie. He has a large, pale-white, muscular body with hair over his chest and arms and countless scars, some from just experimentation on his own body.

Equipment: Jotunn: A large, blood red spear that channels mana, with a demonic sigil at the end, it has an extended blade made for slashes, and a short-spiked end, slightly weighted end useful for bashing. The spear blade itself had two horns that jut out to act as a pommel at the end of the spear, as well as as a spike to penetrate bodies or armor. When activated, the spear itself will draw on the blood of the fallen or Gae'thal himself to reconstruct it's form.

Backstory:
	Gae'Thal was born within a small tribe, in the forests of the Erish lands, within one of the smaller islands. His village was the only people that traveled the land, and have done so for many years. However 50 years ago, the government of Erish finally have taken interest in the town, and found a raving band of hunters, sacrificing their dead to Old Gods, now known as demons. They were swayed to switch to a new pantheon. Some were taken in by words. Others however, they were taken by force.
	While under the new religion, the tribes of the people ostracized the worship, with the new generations falling into the zealousy of the new gods. However, an old legend, a boy born under the stars, would be given skin as cold as ash, eyes tinted grey, a window into the empty soul, and hair as dark as the night. In old legends, he would be marked to save the people in a time of great anguish. Now he was taken as a warning to come. He was to be slain, but the hesitation of the aging midwife, remembering their old customs, saved his life.
	He grew up in the village, never allowed to play with the children, and ignored by the adults. Most wished he would simply die from disease or accident. He found one break, on person who would take his company. He found a man that lived within the forests, an older man, nearing the end of his life. He was known only as The Wicker Man. He wore the skin of an elk, and his horns as his crown. He was a keeper of knowledge, new and old, and continued the customs that died within the village. He knew the kid's potential, and the destiny the Old Gods had marked him with. He taught the boy magic to bolster his skills, as well as the way of the spear and staff, so he could defend himself.
	When the boy grew to a teenager, he had wanted to protect his people with how he had grown. He wanted to prove his worth, through his own muscle, bone, and blood. A pack of wolves, rather more aggressive than they should be. Normally timid animals, that would rather scavenge from the kills of the village than attack them directly, but now they were attacking the people directly. Something was off, asking the aging Wicker Man, the boy pondered if his curse was true, if the wolves was the first to smite their village. The man retorted back, "Or it is your destiny calling, pulling at the strings of fate."
	So the boy, taking his spear alone, to the forest, to join the hunt on the wolves. He knew no one would willingly allow him to join with them on the hunt, rather to leave him for dead than let him assist them. Coming up, over a cliff, watching from afar, he saw the men come to the wolves. He saw the red glow of their eyes, though honestly this could just be an illusion, of adrenaline and the light of the fires shining off their eyes... though this is also what the boy has told himself to this day. The men, fighting against the wolves, were taken back to the edge of the cliff wall, cornered... Trapped. It was as though the wolves were controlled... Wanting to help, the boy shoving his spear in a crack of the cliff wall, he summoned them might of the abyss, and broke free the rocks, crashing down on the wolves. However, the men were buried as well...
	Years later, with the boy now a man, he was bullied, and beat from all, with the children and adults throwing rocks at him in the street. He ran away earlier from his actions in the forest, but soon after the bodies were discovered, his name was tarnished forever. They had no way to connect it to him, but all misfortune of the village was blamed on him soon after. If a child grew sick, he was to be blamed. Lost and confused, he wandered the night, when all were asleep and came onto the lit hut of the village elders. Sneaking by, waiting under the window, he heard them speak. They talked of how they would slay him, in the old rituals of the gods, and sacrifice him to the new, to show them they will take any cost to take on the new pantheon... Scared and alone, the boy ran to the only person he trusted...
	For the next few months, he hid with the Wicker Man, studying with him, to become his apprentice officially. The village grew angry though, and searched through the forest for the man. Every day, they knocked and demanded to search his home, but he told them no. They only left out of fear of the powers he held, and the old knowledge he had held over the years, but they kept pestering everyday. Coming on a ritual of blood, of sacrifice to the Old God Zzecsisiya. He must sacrifice someone of great wisdom and knowledge, and once again looked towards his master. He was a keeper of old, and new, and so in a crest of blood around the old man's bed he drew. The Wicker Man awoke, to see his apprentice looking over him, a knife in hand. He drew a breath to scream...
	The Ritual done, a man slain to the gods, his blood boiled from the gashing wound in his throat. A spear of crimson rose from it's emptiness, made from blood itself, and a voice spoke in his ear that said, "Knowledge for Power... Knowledge is power, and power is fit for only that know how to wield it." Then on, he knew he had the strength to leave, and find his own destiny, and have the knowledge to know how to wield it.

Magic(If any): Demonic Arcane -