Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing? If so how far have you gotten? About half the OVA and most of the manga.
Name: Imperator Damiano Braego
Age: 48
Gender: Male
Physical appearance: A priest should be unassuming and humble in appearance. Head bowed in meditation, gaze turned inwards towards the heart. Braego is none of these things. How he stands and carries himself speaks to the pride and hubris held tight in his heart. Short shorn platinum locks crown his head in a sharp widow's peak, and cold, suspicious sky blue eyes peer out from pale brows. His lips are thin and generally pressed tightly together in a scowl. His nose is narrow, as are his cheeks, and no hint of stubble can be seen along his jaw. A strong chin and perfectly straight, immaculately white teeth complete this visage of utter superiority.
The shape of Braego's body is not easily visible under his layers of robes, but his stature is still obviously lean and strong. He stands right around six feet tall and his weight could be said to be slightly less than average. His fingers, which are often clasped before him in seeming prayer, are long and nimble, like that of a pianist's. Below those robes, there is no ink, no real discernable scars that would set his body apart from the average man's. His back is crisscrossed with very thin pale lines from times in the past where he believed corporal punishment was the way to God. Since that time, he has evolved to viewing his body as a temple, and treats it as such.
Clothing of choice: Certain rainments are expected of a Cardinal, and Braego does not disappoint, though he does drift towards the medieval. Instead of the common black vestments trimmed in red, he adorns his body totally in scarlet silk and velvet. He enjoys the feel of the fabric against his skin, and a Cardinal should look regal, in his eyes. Closest against his skin is the cassock, an ankle length robe that fits just loosely enough to allow for any martial movement the Cardinal may require, but still outlines the shape of his body. The cassock is buttoned from hem to neck, and the shirt cuffs are embroidered with thread-of-gold, creating an elegant filigree that rises to mid forearm.
Resting on his shoulders and falling down to his mid abdomen and elbows is a short hooded cape known as a mozzetta. It too is buttoned down the middle, and the underside of it is lavishly imprinted with florets and filigreed fleur de lis'. Resting on his shoulders is a golden chain of office, bedecked in ebon jems. As appropriate for a man of God, the chain holds a pectoral cross, jewelled in ruby and gold. A golden ring encircles the fourth finger on his left hand, depicting the crucifixion of the Christ.
The vesture of a cardinal generally requires a Zucchetto, or the small cap worn towards the back of the head, and Braego proudly touts one. Amazingly, even in the middle of combat, the little cap keeps its place, which leads one to wonder if it is actually super-glued to his head. Occassionally, he is even seen to wear a Galero, the traditional scarlet wide brimmed hat that has fallen out of use with the Catholic heirarchy since the Second Vatican Council.
Braego's feet are laced into black leather combat boots, possibly the only part of his wardrobe that isn't scarlet or gold. However, they are consistantly hidden by the long hem of his cassock, so no breach of fashion is visible.
For reference as to the appearance of this entire ensemble, below is a picture of Cardinal Wolsey in The Tudors.
Cardinal Garb
Weaponry of choice: Since becoming the unwanted child of the mighty and powerful Church at the hands of Enrico Maxwell, Braego has chosen his weapons with the hope that one day he might face Alexander Anderson in battle. He must be just as big and just as bad as the famed fighting priest. Thus, he carries two swoop bladed khopeshes. The blades are steel, embedded with with bits of silver in the unlikely event he encounters any less than living entities. The blades are also engraved with Latin runes one reading: "Latina Rex Gloria Venit" on one side and "Omnes Malum Desperat" on the other. (The King of Glory Comes, All Evil Despairs), while the second reads "Daemonium Vivit Intus" and "Deus Nisi Me A Ipse" (The Demon Lives Inside, God Save Me From Myself". The hilts are a gold and steel compound, and not wrapped with any leather or traction adding material. This is to facilitate conduction from the metal foil on the inside of his gloves to the hilt and down the length of the blades. The same electrical impulses that help enhance the ex-Cardinal's reflexes are also used to electrify the blades. The shock off one of the khopeshes is not enough to completely incapacitate a foe, but it certainly enough to throw them back on their heels.
Race: Human
Abilities: All of the member of the Zealots can be considered normal humans. However, technology has enhanced them to a higher level. The organization is split into three groups: the Politicos (the diplomats and workers of espionage), the Militis (the soldiers), and the Sicarius (the assassins). Each have their particular strengths. Each also has a level. New recruits are considered Level I. After contributing several years to serving the Zealots, they rise to Level II. Finally, after ten years of service, they can rise to Level III. (Technological enhancements for each level are detailed below.)
The Politicos: Implants are the name of the game here. An implant behind their right ear feeds them data and current events at lightning speeds and exports information at the same rate. Each Politico has a veritable library at their fingertips thanks to this. Contacts worn in both eyes assess body temperature, small body gestures, horomones and other unconscious emotions of those around them and sends these signals to the embedded chip. In turn, this transmits the information to the Section XII headquarters, where it can be run through supercomputers and transmitted back. All of this happens almost instantaneously, allowing the agent to read their subject nearly unerringly. A micro insert in the ear allows them to hear conversation from behind closed doors or across a crowded room. This can then be recorded and stored for further review.
Level I: Chip implant
Level II: Enhanced chip implant, ear insert
Level III: Ultra-enhanced chip implant, ear insert, contacts
The MilitisAn advanced close fitting set of armor protects these men. Shear-thickening fluid sandwiched between kevlar sheets forms the protective layer. This special fluid is flexible and unrestricting until it is met with a force, such as a bullet, knife, or fist. The fluid then hardens instantly on impact, providing protection to the surface below it. Because of the thinness and flexibility of this armor, it can be almost worn like clothing, protecting every part of the body. Most commonly, it's worn like a wetsuit, including hood and gloves, leaving nearly no body part unprotected. In addition, electrical impulses run in a web throughout this form fitting suit, sending signals to nerves and muscles more quickly than even the brain can. This allows for lightning fast reflexes that can help a soldier to dodge even a vampire's blow. In addition to this basic suit, jointed enhancements in the form of cuffs about the limbs connected by small hydraulics cylinders to allow for extreme strength. These devices are a bit cumbersome, but can be applied to the arms and legs for the correct situation.
Level I: Traditional kevlar body armor
Level II: Shear-thickening kevlar body armor, reflex enhancers
Level III: Shear-thickening kevlar body armor, reflex enhancers, strength enhancers (commanders get temporary impants per Level I Politicos)
Sicarius: The Sicarius have the same sort of armor as the Militis, sans the strength enhancers. An even more sophisticated set of electrical impulses enhance not only reflexes, but dexterity as well. A chip behind their ear allows them to interface with nearly any security system and the algorhythms stored within the Zealots' remote mainframe give them access to some of the most sophisticated encryption systems.
Level I: Shear-thickening kevlar body armor
Level II: Shear-thickening kevlar body armor, reflex and dexterity enhancers
Level III: Shear-thickening kevlar body armor, reflex and dexterity enhancers, security chip implant
Braego decks himself in all of this and more. Flex armor clings tightly to his body below his scarlet robes. All of the implants used by the Politicos and Sicarius are stuck inside his head, as well as the listening devices in his ears and contacts in his eyes. Braego also wears a set of strength enhancing braces, but his are of a next generation design, easily hidden below his robes. They create the same amount of kick with a smaller footprint, but are too pricy for general production at this time. The exiled Cardinal hopes that these many enhancements will allow him to one day stand toe to toe with Iscariots favorite pet, Father Alexander Anderson.
Organization: Cardinal Braego is the leader of Section XII, the Zealots, so named for the twelfth apostle - Simon the Zealot. They are also known as the Simion Prophets, the Orthodox Rebels, the Knights Templar, the Malcontents, the Ignatians, the Living Martyrs, the Inquisitors, and many others. Founded subsequent to Section XIII, the Zealots were intended to combat the Church's greatest threat - other religions. They were created to ensure that Catholicism forever kept its hold on the peoples of the world, by whatever means they considered necessary. Assasinations, poisonings, even wars were the realm of the Zealots, and true to their name, they excelled at their mission.
Though the organization was rarely mentioned by name, their presence was well known in the Vatican. Members of the Section led such sordid affairs as the Crusades and the Inquisition. They also engaged in less publicized conflicts, where the Church attempted to eradicate the threat of the Eastern Church and even assassinate Martin Luther prior to the posting of his 95 theses. For several centuries, the selection of Pope was widely directed by Section XII and there are at least five known Zealots that sat the Seat of Peter.
However, as it became less acceptable to wage open war with the Church's political enemies, the approach of the Zealots morphed. Gone were the days of open warfare. Subterfuge, espionage, and political manuvering became their specialty and their focus extended from simply religious matters to those of the politics of the nations. It was common to see a Zealot at or near the right hands of kings, queens, presidents, and tzars. Their organization, when observed as such, guided the path of many world changing societies, some very familiar: the Freemasons, the Rosicrucians, the Knights Templar, Opus Dei, Hashshashin, the Knights of the Golden Circle, the Sons of Liberty.
Things began to fall apart for Section XII during the Second World War when Pope Pius XII was seen to have questionable interactions with Adolf Hitler. When Pius passed away in 1958, the Church heirarchy began to distance themselves from the Zealots. In turn, the Section became ever more radical and rebellious. They utterly ignored the implementation of the Vatican Councils and generally refused to speak any language but Latin when in the presence of any priest or Church member.
Eventually, the agitation and dissent caused by the Zealots forced the Holy See's hand. In the late '80s, John Paul II excommunicated the entire Section, including their leader, the young Cardinal Braego. An infuriated Braego cast the blame of this on the leader of Iscariot, the then Bishop Enrico Maxwell, who was considered to be the one pulling the strings of the Papacy, and subsequently, the entire Iscariot faction.
Rather than immediate revenge, however, the Zealots seemed to completely fade away. Vatican agents were sent to ascertain their location and motives but either returned empty handed or not at all. Using the Zealots' incredible connections around the globe, Braego began to plot his revenge. Employing the best researchers and neuro-scientists, he put together a team to enhance his Section so that they might be a match against the bio-enhanced Iscariot super soldiers.
To this day, the Zealots have lurked in the shadows and faded to obscurity. It is widely believed by the Vatican that the group has simply fallen apart, but those who are wise know that the Section named for Simon are simply biding their time until they are certain victory will be theirs.
The heirarchy of the Zealots is rather simple. For its entire existence, the Section has been led by either a Cardinal or Pope, called the Imperator. Below him stands a legion of priests. Contrary to Iscariot, to command, one must be ordained, not just a deacon, but as a full priest. When one enters the brotherhood of Section XII, they take vows of obedience to the Cardinal that supercede that to the Church as well as vows of secrecy and silence. Below the Cardinal are five Superior Generals, who are just that, generals. On down the line, the Zealots branch, and are no longer required to be ordained. The lowest level of leader heads up groups of four, used for covert infiltrations.
Personality: One, single, overwelming trait has governed Braego's behavior and life since his birth - ambition. Every action, every step has been in the pursuit of that next level and that next bite of power. Being born in Rome, it was a simple thing to see that the Vatican was a great seat of strength. And the Pope...he answered to no mortal. No one stood above him except for the Almighty himself. And he ruled, for life, the entire Church, all 1.2 billion followers. There was not another man in existence with more influence or power.
That was what Braego wanted, therefore, that is what he pursued. His singled minded passion and drive had more than one grammar school teacher concerned, but the local priests loved his devotion to the Church and encouraged his enthusiasm for Latin, theology, history and philosophy. There was no time in Braego's life for the normal interests of boys. He cared nothing for girls or puppies or machines with engines.
Becoming a member of the Zealots at a very young age added something else to Braego's fierce attitude, entitlement. The world is his for the taking and, by God, he
will take it. But to rise to the top of the Church, he needed to show something completely opposite, humility. While perhaps not his most convincing trait, Braego can pull it off. Years in politics, both within the Church and on the worldwide stage has given him the experience to appear the thoughtful, introspective, and spiritual priest when the situation calls for it. But, behind that demure facade is a devious, plotting shark of a man who is willing to cut the throat of his father if it would give him that last bit of power.
Rank: Imperator, Excommunicated Cardinal
Biography: The Church was a part of Braego's life as soon as he was born and possibly even prior. He was born in a Catholic hospital in the small city of Foligno, Italy. Several days later, he was baptized at the Church of the Suffragio. First penance and communion shortly followed and by the third grade, he was faithfully serving as an altar boy. By this point, little Damiano was infatuated with the Church. The tradition, the gold and expensive cloth, the priest and his ability to hold sway over every parishoner in every pew. There was so much power...
Of course, Damiano attended a Catholic school so he spent nearly every moment either studying or at mass. The parish priest, Father Francisco also encouraged that every boy be involved in some sport or outside activity, so Damiano participated in soccer and fencing. Damiano had become attached to Father Francisco from the age that he could understand what a priest was. Francisco was thrilled to have a boy so engrossed in the Church, so he took the boy under his wing.
Thanks to that nurturing hand, Damiano was allowed access to all manner of religious and philosophical texts. He was having discussions about the meaning of certain passages and debating metaphysics at the level of college graduates by the age of ten. By the age of twelve, he was participating in international fencing competitions. Everything Damiano did seemed to turn to gold around him.
He entered the Almo Collegio Capranica two years earlier than most students were allowed and trained to become a priest. After six years, he became a deacon and was sent to Pontificla Ecclesiastical Academy to train in diplomacy. While there, a Vatican group known as Section XII contacted him and quietly began training him. When he graduated from the Collegio, he held doctorates in both philosophy and theology, and was built like a world class track star.
Shortly following graduation, Damiano was ordained a priest and inducted into the Zealots. He loved the secrecy and insane power that the Zealots held and so quickly rose through the ranks. Though he started as Politicos, he spent times as Militis and Sicarius as well. Such was required of any man who hoped to attain the rank of Imperator, and Damiano expected nothing less.
Ten years after induction, he attained the highest position in the Zealots and a Cardinalship to boot. He then set his sight on the only man who held more power than he, the Pope. But during his time studying and working his way up the Zealots, something had gone amiss at the Vatican. Section XII were no longer the prized warriors of the Church. Protestantism and other religions were no longer considered her greatest enemy or even worth waging war against. Rather it was the undead and unearthly that had drawn her attention. That, and the wooings of Enrico Maxwell, the conniving bastard. While Damiano was thousands of miles away bringing a number of the far eastern countries under the Holy See's control, Enrico Maxwell was whispering into the Pope's ear.
First, the Zealots were quelled, their numbers decreased and their missions drastically reduced. We do not make war on our fellow man, we do not try to deceive them. On and on it went. Finally, Damiano and all his remaining Zealots were cast out of the Church. Disenfranchised, excommunicated, they were not only no longer Catholic, they were condemned to rot in Hell. However, this did not dissuade Damiano. No, he had not spent his entire life in devotion to the Church to have her cast him out. He would kill Enrico Maxwell and his pet, Alexander Anderson, and he would set himself on the Holy seat. He would rule the masses, he would bless or damn, he would bring the nations of the world to their very knees.
RP sample:The cavernous thumping of boots on marble echoed the hollow beating of Braego's heart as he strode down the great hall behind a duo of black clothed priests. His gaze travelled across the intricately veined floor up to the beautifully detailed frescos that lined the walls and ceiling. He was in what was possibly one of the most magnificent places in the civilized world, but it all seemed so bland.
Cardinal Braego had walked this path many times and each subsequent trip had been less pleasant than the previous one. The last had ended in Braego and his entire contingent stalking out as the Holy Father condemned them for their sins. It had not been so long ago that the Zealots had been the most revered of the Vatican's sects. The evil that they did in order to preserve Her Holy Church was respected and the Pope had always forgiven them their ghastly sins. After all, everything they did was in the name of Jesus Christ the Savior.
But not that day. That day, their
Papa had castigated the Zealots and their entire mission. He had railed on about the blasphemy Braego himself had allowed to take place and spoke of corruption in their ranks.
Corruption! Braego almost choked on the memory. How dare that man speak of such things to him. How
dare the Holy Father belittle the sacrifices Section XII had made for the gain of the Church!
A drop of sweat rolled down the side of Braego's face. He quickly wiped it away with the cuff of his crimson cassock. He mustn't allow his escort to see him so perturbed by this summons. Ahead, the gilded doors drew near. He took a deep, calming breath and forced a mildly bemused expression on his severe visage. The Cardinal kept this demure facade for as long as it took that heavy gateway to open.
In the center of the brightly lit room sat the Holy Father in all his immacuate garb upon his gilded seat. This was expected. What was
not expected was the slender figure standing at his side, hands folded behind his back. Pale hair and smug expression, Bishop Enrico Maxwell seemed quite satisfied with himself. Him. The upstart leader of Section XIII. Braego knew the man had been whispering in His Holiness' ear, but this was not completely expected. The Cardinal quickly schooled his expression of shock, but the smirk across Maxwell's face indicated that he had seen the waver and was enjoying it immensely.
Slow steps brought Braego to stand before the representative of God on Earth. He knelt jerkily, down on one knee, then the other. He reached out with sweaty palms and took the frail, shaking hand of his
Papa. Braego kissed the ring upon his finger as he felt the scorn from Maxwell rain down on him. It was humiliating to kneel below that scum.
"Oh my son. My poor lost lamb. I think you know why you are here." The old man's voice was tremulous, wavering with every syllable. Braego looked up sharply into his rhemy gaze. Yes, he knew now. He had really known the entire journey here. But he was not going to say so. He was going to make the old man say the words.
"No, Holiness. I do not understand. Have I not served you well? Have my men not aptly persued every directive given them by your most holy seat?" He gazed earnestly into the Holy Father's eyes.
He saw sadness there. A deep anguish at...something. "I have failed you, my son. I could not show you the way. I..."
Papa's voice broke, and Maxwell lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezing it in reassurance. "You, and your...your Zealots, I cannot call you sons any longer."
Yes, he had known. He had hoped that perhaps he was wrong, but no. Not at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a disgusting grin upon Maxwell's face. Well, if this was the way it was going to be, so be it. Rome would soon realize; the Zealots did not need the Church. The Church needed the Zealots. With an abrupt motion, Braego sprang to his feet, a snarl on his face as he gazed down at the simpering old fool. "You have called the Inquisitions a mistake. You have called the Crusades folly. Well this I promise you," he looked up sharply to Maxwell, a cruel smile curling his lips, "This,
this, will be the most regrettable folly of the Church in all her millenia. Her great triumphs, they would be but grains of dust in a sandstorm without
my Zealots! You will regret this." His voice fell to a hiss with his last words. Before the Pope could speak, he turned on his heel and stalked away. The two priests at the doors gaped at him, but opened the barriers quickly enough at his glowering gaze. As he stalked down the hall, he could hear the Holy Father calling out to him in that quivering voice. But it was too late now. Far too late.
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"Do you want to be an elephant or a tiger, Damiano? Hmm?" Master-at-Arms Breggio paced around Braego as his fingers caressed a pistol. He smacked the young man against the back of his head. "A bullet will kill, true enough, just as a hippopatamus can trample a gazelle. But where is the elegance, the grace? Not at the end of a muzzle, boy."
Braego narrowed his eyes at the older man. White whiskers gathered around his upper lip and chin gave him a regal look, though with this depricating lecture, Braego considered him more of an old fool.
"Ah, but a blade, Damiano. It's sleek and elegant. Refined. A backyard rogue uses a gun. A gentleman uses the blade." The old man gestures to a wall, filled with swords of every shape and size. "You know your way around an edged weapon, I have seen you fight. Pick your arms, boy. Which one calls to you?"
Braego puts the firearm down and looks up at the wall. His attention is drawn to two crossed blades, looking like stretched sickles. He walks up to the wall and can feel them almost pull at him. He looks to the master, who nods. He turns back and carefully takes them from the pegs they are hanging on. He gives them an experimental swing, marvelling at the perfect balance.
And then, quite suddenly, the old man has drawn his own sleeker blade and is whipping it toward Braego's shoulder. With honed reflexes, Braego brings one blade up, then steps toward the man, swinging the other blade around in a swift arc. The old man ducks under the attack and steps in, jumping almost vertically and stabbing downward with his flexible blade. Braego hardly has time to counter, jamming the hilt of one blade up to deflect the blow just away from his body.
Before the old man can retreat, Braego jumps forward, body checking him halfway across the training room. The old man dances back, never losing his footing as Braego pursues, attempting to capitalize on his advantage. Braego was an expert fencer, but he was not adverse to using blunt techniques to take gain an upper hand. He slashed and a flurry was exchanged, reposte following reposte until both men were flushed. Braego spun to the left and feinted low, striking with both blades high. A sudden blossom of pain in his shoulder revealed his error. By the time his blades met their target, the old man had danced away and a spreading flower of red was growing on his houlder.
The old man smiled. "Not bad, boy. But to be a Zealot, you must be the best." He presented his side, whiplike sword pointed toward Braego. "Again."