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BC entry beginning 30th January, Spare some votes Loves ^3^




~ must have read a thousand faces
must have robbed them of their cause
sickened thirst, sickened thirst
keeps it together ~

Armoton is one of the few remaining Daemon's believed to still exist. His creation is shrouded in deep mystery as each Daemon is born from the same Queen; very much the same way as a colony of Bees or Ants choses one queen from it's ranks for the job of reproduction. The Daemon Queen, (who goes by many assumed names, but is often referred to in ancient texts as Imperatrix~ "The Empress") progeny records leads to speculation whether Armoton was actually the offspring of the Queen or from a different Daemoness, which would have resulted, (if speculated upon) in Armoton being either killed or exiled.

Daemon's are to blame for the darker side of mortals thoughts; They are the opposite of Light, Pure and Good and wherever there is a seed of doubt, a hint of malice or spite, A Daemon will thrive. Ancient Myths and Folklore's tell of the Daemon, They believe that each mortal has a guardian angel and also a demon who sit on opposite shoulders. The Angel and the Demon will try to influence the mortal into making a decision based on what they believe to be the right choice, Angel~Good - Daemon~Bad, But the outcome is the mortals own decision.

The myth's are somewhat true, however Daemon's can move from mortal to mortal at will, and they do not rest on mortals shoulders (as Daemon's tend to range 5-6 foot in height). They enter mortals thoughts telepathically instead and seem to have an acute sixth sense, as they are able to detect which mortal would be easily corrupted. They will feed until they are adequately satisfied and can live on collected impure thoughts for months until their next feed, However, the satisfaction Daemon's obtain from exploiting mortals means that even if a Daemon is satiated they will continue to wreak havoc.

Armoton's appearance is youthful and he emits an aura of complete innocence, however his personality is anything but what you first perceive. Working in the local bowling alley, Armoton uses this cover to feed his hunger for mortals thoughts and feelings, especially dark and malevolent thoughts. The heightened state of emotions in the bowling alley, sulking, cheating, jealousy whether hidden or on show is a excellent source of sustenance for Armoton to survive.

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// Full Name: Armoton Deiter
// Preferred Name: Armo
// Species: Skeith/Demon-Dragon
// Paint: Ghost
// Gender: Male
// Age: 3000 Years
// Apparent Age: 18
// Height: 5'8
// Weight: 9 St.
// Build: Slender
// Skin: Lilac/Mauve
// Markings: Dark lilac
// Eyes: Black/Oval
// Ears: Long
// Mouth:Wide/Overbite
// Nose: Flattened
// Hair: Dark Puce
// Other: Short Goatee
// Resides With: Tan
// Petpet: Viha

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Armoton is very intelligent, although he uses mortals as a food source, he needs to live amongst them in order to survive. He has the experience and knowledge not to take dangerous risks that could jeopardise him being seen for what he really is.
He tends to give off the impression to mortals, that he is a friendly and happy go lucky sort of individual, But he shares neither his past or any other details about his life other than what it is completely necessary, If questioned he fabricates lies easily.
Armoton does find it hard to stay behind this facade, but remains constantly aware that if he were to let this fake persona slip, it could have disastrous consequences. He is however completely ruthless, and will stop at nothing to protect his real agenda, and this means he thinks of no-one else but himself.

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Armoton never travels alone, he is always accompanied by a small creature by the name of Viha. Viha is a young and unpleasant carmariller, a creature often bred and sold as pets because of their sociable and loving nature, Viha; however is neither of these.
Viha uses Armoton as a host, staying close to him out of necessity, not fondness. Using Armoton's shadow, Viha can travel around and not be detected by mortals, he can manipulate his body's colourings to change to those shades around him, thus being invisible to the normal eye.
Many times early on in their companionship together, Armoton tried to rid himself of his flying pest, yet every time, failed. Over the years, Armoton has grown accustomed to Viha's strange attachment to him, even talking to him telepathically, Viha seemingly plays along to keep himself amused, yet also seems to find his interaction with Armoton not unpleasant as he first thought it would.
Now, years later, both Viha and Armoton have grown so used to having the other around, they would never consider parting ways, yet this is something neither would admit.

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~ must have read a thousand faces
and all these voices won't give up
sickened thirst, sickened thirst
glues it together ~

Salvaged extracts from Armoton Deiter's Journal

Foreword:It is believed that several pages of the Journal are missing, the existing pages are as follows.

The date is Thursday May the 4th, the year being that of 18__. Travelling several miles on foot today has left me weary and in need of sustenance. The only accommodation to be found in this minute village, is above the public house which is as grimy and filth infested a hovel could get. I therefore sit contemplating my dilemma, whilst watching dirty faced children in rags, race through the narrow winding streets. A man approaches.

For several days now, I have been residing with the man I mentioned in my last entry, Word seemed to spread like wildfire in such a small settlement, and he was the first to offer his residence to me at a small fee. The cottage, is not what I would call accommodating, but it has done me well for the time being. His wife, however, seems extremely cautious, I have the feeling that she senses my real reasoning behind travelling here, or possibly the fact that I always decline her offerings of food has raised her suspicions. This village is rife with bitterness and darkness, that I am tempted to stay for longer than I had first intended.

I left the village during the early hours the first day of September, the chill was bitter and my travelling cloak became heavy from the dew that lingered in the air. I turned once I was some distance away and looked upon the small community which I had spent the past few months. In a village as small as this, it had become apparent to me that my influence over the villagers had caused in want of better word, mayhem. Brawls and bickering broke out daily amongst the mortals, there was bloodshed over the smallest of disagreements. Do not misunderstand me, I feel neither guilt nor remorse for my actions, but the fear that I could be caught and my true identity being discovered was too much of a chance I was not willing to take. I remember that morn very clearly, the heaviness of my cloak made my journey east over such hard terrain all the more time consuming. It took a further two days on foot to reach my destination.

I arrived with relief after a tiring journey, my limbs sore from the excursion, I rested a while in the comfort of the towns hostel, its atmosphere far more welcoming and hygienic than the village previously. After adequately rested, I went in search of a meal, sitting in the corner of the hustling bar, I am drawn to how many of my kind are here, I feel their presence even though they are not detectable by sight, I hone in on a mortal, wedged up clumsily against the bar, blinded by drink. His thoughts are on the money he has stolen from the local church collection, frittering the coins away on more alcohol. I feed from his emotions, feeling a sense of elation as I see the man sink a few inches down the bar, his legs finally giving up long before his appetite for ale has been satiated. He is roughly manhandled away from the bar by two burly men, a chain of abuse uttering from his lips as he is thrown into the street, After the upheaval, the bar returns to an odd state of normality. I keep my head down as I have the strong feeling I am being watched.

September 9th, The date of the death of the Imperator ~ "The Emperor". Many of my kind have congregated in this town instinctively knowing that the Emperor was dying, I have not visited the Empress, but have took to pacing around the perimeter of the fenced grounds. I paid my respects just like every other before me, cutting a small incision on my index finger and smearing the blood along the bar of the metal gate, I watched the blood dry and stared up at the mansion windows for possibly hours until the sun began to set, tinting the windows with gold.

There is a cove on the other side of town, word has been passed around telepathically that is the place where the funeral will take place at midnight. I have had to stray away from the public house for search of nourishment, Viha has become restless which leads me to believe my senses were correct and someone has been watching my actions closely, I feel fear for the first time and my instincts tell me I should leave this place, but my moral obligation means I must stay to pay my lasting respects to the Daim�n who gave me life, like every other.

Viha stayed unusually close to me today, even going so far as to be more of a pest than usual. He continues to speak to me using telepathy in broken english, but his words are often cryptic and frustrating. I assure him that I need to pay respects to my creator which unsettles him more. It was after midnight when I made my way towards the sea. The tide was in and from the rocky cliffs above where I stood, I saw the small portion of sand that was left was populated by a large group in black cloaks. A Rogus ~ funeral pile had been constructed from dried bracken and wood and in the middle lay the muslin-wrapped body of the Emperor. the Rogus was lit, the flames jumping to life to consume the heap and body that lay on it, it was then pushed into the waiting waves which buffeted and carried it out to sea. The flames from the pyre shone brightly against the blackened sea and sky and the smoke rose in a acrid swirling shape, the last tribute to our almighty Emperor.

I woke up early the next morn, packing my few belongings I made my way down to the courtyard behind the hostel I had been staying. Checking the stables, I found an old grey horse, its head drooped and its eyes lacklustre, Leading the horse out of the stable was comparatively easy than I had first thought, I saddled the horse and led it out towards the main streets. However the horse which had seemed docile was now straining at the bit, with some difficulty I swung onto the saddle and trotted into the townsquare, from there I headed North towards the coast, my steed finding a new lease of life as we cantered away from my birthtown and the questions I had been longing to ask but now could never be answered.

It has been near fifty years since my last pilgrimage to the place where I was born. I find myself residing in a large town known as London, thoughts of that day still haunting my memory. I am invisible in such a over-populated area, which suits my needs completely. I hunt at night, finding it easier to get around the streets without the hustling crowds, it also seems that mortals with evil tendancies seem also to favour the night-time. I feel a impulse to re-visit my birthtown, the feelings seem to tug at me and it takes all my effort just to remain here. I remind myself that it is safer to stay away from my past.

Another year on and I now live in more comfort than I can remember, Although the years have aged my memory and my experience, I find that I have stopped ageing, my looks remaining the same, never ageing or changing which means I will have to move regularly for fear of speculation on my apparent immortal youthfulness. I have took to working at the dockyards, handling importing and exporting of goods, the money, which I have never needed nor wanted before, certainly has its advantages and have now aquired a permanant residence.

While out hunting last night, I had the strange feeling of uneasiness, I stalked the darkened streets alone, Viha's eyes shining like pale orbs illuminating the street with light that only I could see. I stopped dead in my tracks more than once, my stomach clenching as I heard soft footsteps behind me, though each time I turned, the alleyways were often deserted or some drunken beggars were lying comatosed in doorways. After sustaining myself, I travelled back to my dwellings, this time taking a different route than usual, The scent that hung in the air was not altogether foreign to me. Something had come to London, though what it was exactly I was yet to discover.

Months have passed in relative quiet for me, although this worries me more. I cannot shake the feelings that something is about to happen - I am unsure if this will effect me, but even with the strong impulse to leave here, I also have the strange fascination to stay.

My feelings were once again accurate, The year is 1888 and London has been gripped by a seemingly senseless killer. Although I do not fear my own life as the perpertrator seems to only target unrespected women, I fear that my night time excursions to feed will have to put to an end incase my actions are questioned. I have therefore taken to feeding during the days, It is harder to latch onto one mortals thoughts and my head often aches with the effort.

Taking a risk, I resorted back to hunting at night, The air is rife with the mortals panic and distress. There is no question now what this thing I sense is, I was within a few feet of him last night. I know of the long running and continuous feud mine and his kind have, and although I feel the instictive hatred for his species, reading in the newspapers about his skillful murders I feel an odd attraction to meet with him. I find myself drawn to finding out how his mind works.




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Since the beginning of vampiric existence, Daemons have scorned their names. Legend has it, that Vampires actually descended from Daemons, their thirst evolving from just feeding from mortals dark emotions to actually acquiring a taste for mortal blood.
Daemons are the first to dismiss this claim as pure fallacy and that they are in anyway related to Vampires is inconceivable. The truth is that it is yet to be proved or disproved, But how much evidence is there to back-up the legendary belief?
Evolution could in fact have produced a new strain of Daemon. They have existed for thousands of years and it is only natural that over the years, a rouge gene could have caused a Daemon to mutate into a whole new sub-species, now thought to be Vampires.
Like Daemons, Vampires only feed off mortals, they are said to drink the blood of the living to stay alive. This is the main reason for the centuries of the conflict between Vampires and Daemons is mainly down to both species competing for the same food source.
Some Daemons have also put the hatred down to repulsion at the fact that Vampires are sloppy predators, non-deserving of their place at the top of the food chain. Their uncontrollable thirst for blood, leading to them being hunted by the very things they need to feed from to survive.
The rising number of Vampires is also suggested to be the reason for the decline in Daemon numbers. Daemons are said to be highly proud creatures, preferring to starve or fight to the death than to share their "territory" with a vampire.
Daemon's have survived for centuries with mortals remaining oblivious to their existence, although it is thought that those involved in a near-death experience, can in fact see Daemons and all supernatural or hidden entities. This is backed up with myths surrounding the actual existence of guardian Angels and Demons.
There has been no recent sightings in the last few hundred years, and now Daemons remain as mythical and imaginary creatures as werewolves are, they keep it this way by fitting in with mortals and leading seemingly normal lives.

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