Character Name: Logan Blackfeather
Nickname: Fallen (by other angels, it is a name of disgrace)
Age: 3264
Gender: Male
Grade: Townie
Subject: n/a
Race: Angel
Play-by: Ben Barnes
Appearance:

With long hair as dark as sin, one wouldn't believe Logan to be a true angel. He has the gruff appearance of a darker creature with crueler intentions, though that isn't true of him at all. He stands at six feet and one inch with brown eyes that rival the color of dark cognac. He has no piercings, no tattoos, nothing that make him stand out from the crowd save for his shoulder length hair. He is of average weight, though a bit on the lighter side due to his race. Despite Logan's age, he looks to be in his late twenties.

His feathery wings are as black as a raven's, though there had been a time when they'd rivaled the white of a swan. Like the story of the white-feathered raven who'd angered Zeus, Logan had been punished with the same and more when his wings were given their darkened color and he was tossed from Heaven. They have a twelve foot wingspan; rather expansive compared to most. With their now black color, it can make him seem rather intimidating. More than once, he has been mistaken for a demon hellbent on bringing about ruin to all who pass. On other occasions, he has been called out for exactly what he is: a fallen angel.

Personality:

Before the Fall:

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Protective: Logan was born with a duty to protect the innocent and stand for justice. He has a warrior's heart and a rather heavy hand when meriting out judgement to those who do wrong upon those without defense. It is exactly that which landed him so hard upon the ground in the first place.
Forgiving: Despite his penchant for justice, Logan is not blind to those who fight to change for the better. Like the God he serves, he can forgive a lot, especially undo action upon his person. However, there are always points to which he draws a strong line.
Soft: He had a gift for seeing good in people who couldn't find it in themselves. He was drawn to those struggling in life and while remaining hidden in his own magic, gave them a nudge in the right direction. Sometimes it was naught but a whisper. Other times, it was a feeling of good will. Something to help the person stand tall to go on again.
Devoted to the Call: His duty was everything to Logan. Aiding others, practicing altruism on a daily basis, he would put his own existence on the line to protect a mortal from supernaturals and demons alike.
Loving: There was no doubt of that, neither by his cohort, nor the woman he came to love. She was mortal, a mere human. While once upon a time, such associations were cause for one to Fall, the Man upstairs had come to make exceptions after exception until it seemed quite common. With humans starting to accept supernatural existence with their own, there was no need to hide the winged warriors anymore, and thus Logan was free to love and live, so long as he continued to protect and serve.

After the Fall:[/b]

Volatile: While not necessarily violent, Logan has developed a mean temper that can be rather explosive. When enough is enough, it really, really is enough. With a lot of pent up frustration, it can often be hard for him to control himself, especially during times when he is at his lowest and feels more alone than any human possibly could.
Lone Wolf: In every sense of the word, Logan truly is a lone wolf. Nothing but a rogue to his people, his very name is trod upon and he hasn't a soul to look kindly upon him. Even a God to whom he'd devoted his life to bothered not to grant him a word of comfort or bit of compassion. While he worked on a team as an angel, now Logan chooses to close himself off even from the mortal to which he'd promised to care for and protect. While he does still strive to protect and serve the Call to which he was born for, Logan doesn't seek out the company of others in ways a lonely person would. When he drinks, it's not to be around others, but to drown out sorrows and surround himself with people who often need the most help.
Distrusting: Without the gifts he'd had as a full-fledged angel, Logan can no longer sense beyond any doubt the intentions of others. Now, he must rely purely on instinct and his understanding of human nature to help others and decide who to help. With more failures in that department now than successes, he has begun to give up entirely on his quest and on humanity altogether. As far as he's concerned, it's every damn person for themselves.
Compassionate: Despite having been stripped of his heavenly titled and tossed down to Earth, Logan still has that innate kindness. For the truly down and out, he has no need to rely on instinct. He will help regardless of their position. As it is in his blood to drag others out from the mud and back into the light, he always has and will continue to do so, even if he himself remains in darkness.
Longs for purpose again: He needs to be needed. Though he puts on a brave face and tells himself he needs nothing or no one and he sure as hell wants no help from anyone, Logan is in dire need of a shoulder to lean on so that he may protect it without question. The loss of his love put a crater in his heart that is struggling to heal, but so long as he keeps everyone at arms length, it will take tremendous effort to save him from himself.

[/blockquote]History:

When he had more than three centuries under his belt, Logan had the angel gig to a T. He'd helped countless mortals in their day to day lives and rather enjoyed his time doing it. He kept himself hidden as was demanded back in those times before humans learned they weren't the only humanoid species in existence. He had it all figured out: a job he loved, a life he was devoted to.

Then he met Eve. No, not the Eve. But her name was ironically Eve. Eve Mira. Life no longer made sense. At three thousand two hundred and fifty-nine years old, one would think a woman couldn't possibly be a puzzle. Certainly not for an angel who was supposed to see into the very hearts of mortals.

But threw him, she did. For the largest loop that ever existed. It's name was Love. That's right. The capital L kind of love. The kind that made intelligent beings stupid and giddy with the mere mention of a name. The kind that made a killer of a saint.

And so this tale of love and devotion takes a dark turn.

It was five years ago when Logan found her. Four years ago when he lost her.

The day had been like any other. Well, any of the last six months. He'd taken to living alongside her rather than in the clouds as he had all his life before. They'd found a way to make it work, this odd love. She'd been one of the humans to accept supernaturals with welcoming arms. Her curiosity and intrigue constantly inspired him, for she saw kindness even in a snarling werewolf or a grouchy ghost. She saw them as people, unlike so many others. They weren't to be feared to her. Respected, certainly, but never feared unless she gave them reason to. It was with childlike naivety that she trusted them so blindly. How else could he not be drawn to her? She didn't judge him, not fear him, nor drop to his feet and pray. Eve treated him with a welcome kindness that wasn't prejudiced in the least. What he felt around her was home.

But back to how the light was snuffed out.

All it really took was a shot from a gun. A simple bit of metal. A bullet. And there it was: ended. The purest life he'd ever come across, one he'd come to covet more than life itself, was destroyed just like that.

While he cradled her in his lap, her blood seeped through both his fingers and her own even as his tears fell unhindered. He was this great, immortal being able to protect and help so many. And yet, for the one who mattered most, he'd failed.

For the One who should have mattered most, he also failed. When he let himself become so enraged for the life so selfishly stolen from him, Logan did what was bid no angel do. Thou shalt not kill.

It had taken nothing, really. With strength he'd always been so careful to keep in check around Eve, he'd snapped the neck of her killer. The man had aimed the gun at him, nervously demanding money while he watched the angel grieve openly. With unnatural speed, he'd gone to the man and mercilessly killed him.

Had he taken the time, the moment of pause, he would have known the man for what he was: a human at the end of a lynching rope doing what he had to in order to feed his family, keep them alive. Granted, it wasn't the only way possible, but the only way he felt he had left. Logan had been blind to it. Still remained blind to it even after he heard an Earth-shattering cry that all others seemed deaf to.

Agony had shredded through him. As if his very heart had been ripped from his chest, Logan had fallen to the street where run-off had carried his lover's blood to pool between his feet. It stained his pants a dirty red that faded to brown in minutes while his feathers furled upon themselves and shook with what seemed to be pain of their own. When next he could see, the white was gone. Black feathers had replaced what had once been unmarred, pristine white.

The message was clear: he was Fallen.

A disgrace to his race, he was cast out of the Order and left to walk among mortals as one of them. No more could he sense their intent, their will, their hearts. No more could he hide his presence from them. If he wanted to help, he had to do it as a human.

And yet, he couldn't even pretend to be human. His wings were still retained, yet marked him as something to be feared. Someone to hate. Someone to call demon. Even the demons who'd chosen to walk among humans in a gentle way looked down upon him. On him! He who had been so devoted to the cause!

Four years now, he has struggled for life in a world he wasn't sure he wanted to exist in anymore. Suicide hadn't worked. He'd tried. Another cruel punishment. He wanders like a ghost with unfinished business, and yet one without a way out. Trapped, Logan is lost to himself and struggles to live as death has been denied to him.

Name: Vet
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