Rondél, Anzidon

Name: Rondél, Anzidon

Age: 239

Visual Age: 17

Gender: Male

Division: 2 (I’d also like to apply to be captain again)

Personality: Anzidon is a lighthearted individual who has trouble taking just about anything seriously; life is merely one big playground to him, and it’s because of this that he’s dangerous. In the battlefield he’s reckless, when it’s his own life he’s gambling, but when someone is depending on him, he’s careful to assure they live another day. His outgoing and laid back nature is often confused for lack of manners, or being downright obnoxious, though he never means to offend. Under pressure he is not liable to lose his cool; in fact, some would argue he works better under pressure. It’s because of this that he’s able to get away with constantly procrastinating. Anzidon is also notorious for two things; one: being an absolute pervert and two: constantly having a bottle of sake in hand. The two typically go hand in hand.

Appearance: Anzidon's build is far from impressive, he is not completely scrawny, but bench pressing a few pounds would definitely do him some good. His ice-silver hair cascades over his shoulders, and eyes, though it is usually kept in a long flowing ponytail. His big, sea foam green eyes are very intense, as they pierce through the veil of his hair.

History/Background: 222 years ago, France was in political turmoil. For years before the great incident, the country was bubbling with suppressed tension. The people simply weren’t happy with the way they were being treated by the aristocracy. Everyone knew that soon enough the tension would be too high for the system to remain stable, and the impending upheaval would appear sooner than expected. This rupture that would rivet all of France manifested through the storming of the Bastille. Seventeen years before this, a boy was born to two posh aristocrats. This boy, the boy that was fated to be the vexation of his parents, and all of France’s nobility was given the title Anzidon Rondél, a name that was to be forever immortalized through the hushed whispers of France’s everymen.
But before Anzidon the revolutionary, Anzidon the leader, Anzidon the hero and Anzidon the martyr, there was Anzidon, the child. The boy had a generally enjoyable upbringing, being a member of the upper class his family had wealth to spare on luxury and leisure. His life was generally mindless frolic and wasting away until his brother was born, the boy that would give his life meaning. The boy’s name was Alet Rondél. Alet and Anzidon were as close as any two brothers could be, as most of their years were spent together due to the frequent absence of their parents.
Often as young children the two would find themselves frittering moments away in some sumptuous courtyard finding means of entertaining each other as their parents discussed important political matters in an overly grandiose manor. This was their life, and from their point of view, there was no hint of change. That was until the day that the two privileged parents decided they wanted their children to be adept at the art of masonry, which proved to be their most foul mistake. They searched until they found an artisan who was looking to make a dime off of teaching their children his trade.
Now this man was of a much lower class, to Anzidon, this was a negligible hobby, but to this man, masonry was a living. For the next years of his life, Anzidon had found something meaningful to spend his time on, and over time they found themselves seeing this man more than they saw their own parents. It would only make sense that he found himself growing attached to this man, as his warm personality was far more appealing than his cold, distant parents’. Gradually, Anzidon was let into the man’s social circle, and he became acquaintances with his friends, and even family over the years.
One of Anzidon’s best traits is his intelligence, and because of this he was very perceptive. He began picking up on hints and whispers of some sort of plan. Anzidon had known very well about the social and political unrest, but he had only known about the tip of the iceberg. He had also picked up on the fact that something was being hidden from him, most likely due to his aristocratic origins. The information slowly piled up until Anzidon had concluded that the whole lower class was planning something not only massive, but something seemingly impossible. They were planning a revolution. Anzidon processed this thought, deciding the best possible course of action. He didn’t want to be too rash, but he wanted to be sure.
Anzidon came to a decision. He would confront his mentor, and find out the truth of what’s happening. He waited for the next session, in which he, his mentor, and his younger brother, Alet would be inscribing some text into a stone wall. As they were working, Anzidon called the mentor into private conversation. As he brought up the subject, the man immediately seemed panicked, that is until Anzidon mentioned that he wanted to assist in this revolution. Immediately the relief kicked in. Anzidon had related more to the lower class than his own aristocratic roots, and wanted what was best for all of France, rather than the small percentage.
The next few (and last few) months of his life were spent gathering materials for the day everybody had been anticipating; the storming of Bastille. His parents never noticed his increasingly long absences, although the observant and impressionable Alet did. Alet had some traits that were so similar to Anzidon’s it was uncanny, for example; his bullheadedness. Anzidon had tried as he could to get the idea of participating in the revolution out of the ten year old’s head, but the boy was too stubborn. Anzidon knew the dangers of this, knowing he could be giving his life for a New France, but he did not want the same fate for his only brother.
Try as he might, the boy insisted, and Anzidon had no choice to let him in on the plan. By the end of the planning face, Anzidon had gained some popularity among his fellow revolutionaries, leading small groups. On the night of the storming, he gave the men an inspiring speech, knowing that it was all he could do to fuel the fires of the men’s hatred. He and his groups poured out in large numbers and everybody soon rendezvoused at the final destination. The great fortress, Bastille Saint-Antoinne.
The horizon was dotted with men and women, furious at the trials they’ve had to live through, and for every group of people were heavy loads of artillery. Anzidon gripped his rifle, and called his group to charge at the very hard to miss cue, the explosion of gunpowder. As his men charged like a herd of beasts, he felt his brother grab his arm as he tried to move forward. The boy wanted to charge in, side by side with him. Anzidon had turned Alet away, telling him that if he’d died, it would be on his shoulders. Anzidon simply couldn’t live with that. At that, Anzidon charged forward, and that was the last time he’d ever see his brother.
Anzidon fought hardily, knowing that the fate of France was held partly on his shoulders, as he was a major unit in the storming. He was to meet his demise when he charged, pumped with adrenaline into a cloud of smoke. He had no way of seeing the bayonet that was to find its home between his ribs. In his final dying breaths, Anzidon had appointed his younger brother to take his place, and see this revolution to an end.

I DEMAND YOU LEAVE THIS POST, ADMIN OR NOT.

APPROVED. For the 2nd division not for the captain spot yet. Someone was reserved for it.

Alright, then. If any spots open up, can ya let me know so I can test for em?