Lysander Stoltz (WillowTheWhisp)

Name: Lysander Stoltz

Age: 37

Gender/Sex: Male

Appearance:

Lysander stands at just below six feet, his Germanic blood apparent in the height and build of his body. With naturally broad shoulders, compounded only by the significant amount of muscle he has, Lysander is a fairly imposing man. His muscle, however, is lean and toned, rather than bulky, a testament that it was hard won through hours of combat and battle training. With hands and feet that are only appropriate for his size, he is clearly a warrior, his movements fluid yet concise. That said, his body does show the signs of the rigors it has been through, though his age is not quite as prominent as one would expect. Both his hands and feet are heavily calloused, and just as the rest of his body, they are riddled with scars, varying from small in size, to as long as his hand.

Just as his race is easily apparent in his height and build, so too is it seen in the color of his skin and the features of his face. Lysander is quite simply an aryan. Steel blue eyes, platinum blonde hair, there is no mistaking his ancestry. He wears his hair cut relatively short, leaving them out of the way of his eyes and easy to manage, though he rarely attends to it, aside from routine washing. Most men his age would be jealous of his hair, considering he has a rather full head of it, with no signs of balding. While he may not particularly care much for his hair, he puts a surprising amount of time ensuring that his facial hair is well trimmed. Sporting both a beard and mustache, as well as the connecting sideburns, it would be nigh impossible to make out the rest of his facial features, if they weren't so clean cut. Kept at a short length, just as his hair, the color of the hair on his face is slightly darker than that of on his head.

Some might consider him ruggedly handsome, but the tribulations of his life have taken their toll. Once bright and clear eyes are shadowed by dark circles, lines of worry forming valleys on his forehead. There is no evidence of laugh lines, nor wrinkles caused from smiling; it seems as if his face is perpetually frozen into a scowl. Pursed lips, of a deathly pale color, never relax, always drawn tight, ready for inevitable disaster. If hard times are not apparent in just his face, one need only look at the disrepair of his clothing. What once might have been something like a business suit has dissolved into nothing more than rags. Dusty, riddled with holes, it is a wonder his clothing even manages to stay together. Black tie, jacket and pants, are now an ugly dark brown, so worn and covered in grime. His shirt, once white, seems closer in color to his jacket. Brown leather shoes, that once glistened in the sunlight, are covered in scratches, their soles almost completely worn down.

One item remains unsullied. A wool hat, knit from black and white string, sits upon his head. With a black puffball sitting on its crown, and earflaps with tiny tassels that hang down to his shoulders, this hat is the one article of clothing that looks almost brand new. Of everything he wears, Lysander takes the best care of this hat, going so far as causing harm to anyone that would dirty, or otherwise sully it.

Personality & Backstory:

Lysander was once known for being a boisterous and jovial man, compassionate and loving. Despite being alive during the events that led to the apocalypse, he had nonetheless managed to escape without being emotionally scarred; both of his parents survived, and although they led a poor, and meager life, they were a family, and thus they were happy. Still, they had to face the harsh realities of the world. Stuck in Japan from their vacation, the family did the only thing they could; the settled down, with many others like them, in what was one of the first colonies. And while they would have loved nothing more than to see their son enter elementary school in the following years, they acknowledged that the world was now at war.

Whether it was against demon or human, it was imperative that one knew how to defend themselves. For the former, that usually meant fleeing, as only the newly emerged Demon Busters were capable of truly fighting the demons. The latter, however, was another matter entirely. In a time where chaos ruled supreme, anarchy and crime ran rampant, and the rule of law belonged to those who had the strength to take it. For Lysander, that meant strength of body over strength of mind, though he was by no means dull. For years, each day he would rise in the morning, and each night he would fall into bed, exhausted from both manual labor and physical training.

Those were the good years, that time when his life seemed idyllic, imperfect though it was. But it seemed that fate had other plans. A disease, contracted from outside the colony, was brought in. His parents were among the first to contract the disease, being some of the few doctors available. It spared the young and hearty, but claimed the old, the infirm, and many of the younger children. As the executioners axe fell, chaos flowered as the blood flowed, the leadership of the colony taken in one fell swoop.

The same young that had been spared by the disease began to live out their parents' nightmares. Turning upon themselves, the colony did not last a fortnight. Seventeen at the time, Lysander fled, leaving everything behind. He barely survived a week, before a patrol from another Home found him, shivering in the ruins of an old building. From that time, he always looked up to the Demon Busters, always wondering if he could ever be one.

Taken in by the officer who'd led the squad that had saved him, Lysander found that the pain in his heart, from the loss of his parents, began to fade away. It left only a gaping hole of emptiness, yet, as it grew, his adopted family began to fill it. Incapable of having their own children, the captain and his wife took him in as their own, and treated him as such, and in many ways, Lysander found that he had parents once again. Working as a personal guard within the city, he spent his time training and studying in his spare time, though in the wee hours of the night, he wondered why he bothered at all, if he lacked the power to kill a demon.

His worries were quickly settled once he met her. Immeasurably beautiful and utterly enchanting, he'd only been assigned to protect her. But he fell in love, passionately and completely, his heart consumed by its intensity. It was not long after seeing her that he began to court her, and an even shorter time before he proposed. She accepted. She was pregnant only a month after their wedding, the following months passing by in a whirlwind. A girl named Rose. The next few years were the happiest he'd ever lived, and likely he ever would.

Lysander came home one day, and as he recalls it, it was the day that everything changed. It had been a good day at work. He'd been given a promotion within his firm, and he was so filled with excitement that he left for home immediately. His life shattered, as he opened the door, crashing to the ground like crystal chimes in the wind. She was in the arms of another man, writhing, laughing, too wound within her own passions to notice him at the door. His heart was crushed in that instant, as he fell to his knees, too stunned to cry. Instead he laughed, a broken, hollow laugh, at the cruel joke fate had played upon him. Here she was, the love of his life, and he'd come home only to find that she did not feel the same, that she'd found another man to have on the side.

Wandering aimlessly, listlessly, Lysander barely remembers that time. He knows only that she had left him, taking everything, and his daughter. When he came to himself, he was in an alley, passed out in his own filth, identity gone, with nothing but his clothes and his daughter's hat upon his head. Since then, he has spent his life in quiet contemplation, wondering when fate will strike next. Working only to survive, and for drink, he spent many nights without sleep, wasting away in the shadows. Wandering out of the Home, he hoped for death to descend upon him quickly. But it seemed that, somewhere deep in his heart, he still wanted to live, for as a demon descended upon him, something awakened. Fighting for his right to live, not against the demon, but the chains of fate that were so tightly wrapped around him, he became a Demon Buster.

While he may never be the man he once was, Lysander is once again among the living, watching and waiting. For the next time Fate threatens everything he has worked for and all that he is, he is resolved to not go quietly, to seize his destiny with his own two hands and wrest it away from whatever cruel god watches over him.

Weapon of Choice:

• Spear

Arcana:

• Tower
• Death
• Hermit

Strengths:
Attack ******* - 7
Magic ***** - 5
Vitality ***** - 5
Agility ***** - 5
Luck - 0

Gear:
Crude Spear
Power - 35
Accuracy - 90
Ragged Suit
Defense - 10
Leather Shoes
Evade - 4
Inventory:
___

Macca:
500