Starting at the year of Albel's birth (SD 748 [2834 AD]). Elicoor's deep-rooted history of competing interests is once again repeating itself. Airyglyph, with its yearly onslaughts of disastrous blizzards, food shortages, and political upheavals, is economically struggling and in a state of societal torpidity. Aquaria, on the other hand, is in a state of prosperity. Both countries, vying for control over the Aire/Kirsla Hills — a bordering land separating the two countries. Airyglyph desires the land for crop-growing, but Aquaria refuses, taking interest in the region primarily for hidden resources. Airyglyph turns towards aggression and military power — boating it's own version of nationalistic pride in the three main infantry unites that which made up an impenetrable army: the combat-trained Black Brigade, the aerial-assault Dragon Brigade, and the terrain-based Storm Brigade. When Albel, the son of Glou Nox (Previous Captain of the Dragon Brigade) becomes Caption of the Black Brigade, relative peace officially shatters.

Airyglyph attacks the Aquarian town of Arias, triggering a Third Elicoorian War. This age would follow with a select few individuals (Albel included) learning of the presence of the 4D Beings (and an awareness of their own existence), but that is a story for another time. 
Personality:

More having to do with nature and nurture than a simple string of unfortunate events, Albel has always exhibited some sort of an extreme form of Type A personality from the start. Born and raised in Kirsla, a mining town residing on the Airyglyph soil, his environment was nothing short of cruel and unforgiving — expected for a land whose means to an end usually involved war. His father, Glou Nox, was the Captain of the Dragon Brigade, and his reputation as a strong but well-to-do citizen was a large shadow looming over the young boy's head. 

Coming of age, Albel was a mischievous, rascally brat. Glou Nox would not have his young son belittle and demean his parenting habits in front of the a blooming king and his fellow associates, and thus, whenever there was an important meeting to be held, Glou left Albel to the care of Count Woltar, the aged, yet seasoned Captain of the Storm Brigade. Woltar would later serve as a father figure to Albel for the rest of his life.

Pains of tender age aside, Albel lived an average childhood. At least, he lived what was deemed as 'average' for his rank and sex — he enlisted in the military young (assumed somewhere around the preteen years), aiming to work his way up the ranks. And although he was hard-headed and reckless, the slow progression leading up to a sudden onset of a harsh, nasty demeanor towards other individuals took shape when Glou Nox died, a direct culmination of Albel's ego rearing it's hideous head.

To gain prestige and autonomy from his mentors, Albel took part in the Accession of the Flame on the eve of his fifteenth birthday. The Accession was a ceremony in which the participant becomes a true Knight by bonding with a dragon. (The success rate was about 30%, and a failure resulted in a quick and grievous death.) Yet, overestimation was strong, and Albel’s cockiness did not please the beast he was attempting to court. Disgusted by the privilege of a undeserving noble, the dragon breathed incinerating fire in Albel’s general direction. Not about to let the only pride of his life breathe it’s last, Glou Nox immediately stepped in the flame to shield his son.

Albel watched his father burn before his very eyes as a result of his own incompetence, and lost his own left arm in the process. Duke Vox, the power-thirsty, warmongering uncle to the king, took Glou’s death as an invitation to fill in his boots and grant himself unrestrained power over the Dragon Brigade whilst Albel had his arm amputated and replaced with a metal prosthetic.

Albel’s inner sleeping giant was soon awakened. Finding his own tune with the art of the katana, Albel used the hate he had for Vox, (justified, too. Vox had taken away the position that his father rightfully owned) and used it to fuel his desire to get stronger.

Much stronger.

Before anyone could bat an eyelash, the swordsman soon rose to the top, managing a spot as a fearsome military captain, taking rule of The Black Brigade, which bore the help of Shelby, his snarling second-in-command lieutenant who often attempted to pilfer his glorified position. His leadership, gruesome tactics, and taunting ways thrown at his victims fed the swordsman's once established, shaky reputation as “that-man-who-failed-the-Accession-of the Flame-and-didn’t-die” into “Albel the Wicked” — a larger than life persona that was both to be feared and respected. Albel began to understand the way the game worked into his favor; there was pride to be won in his strategic warfare despite his deceiving exterior and sleek appearance — far off from what people typically envisioned as the gruff, bulky Glyphian General. More often than not, those who were courageous enough to challenge him were met with an untimely, unmerciful death. Aquarian or Glyphian mattered very little when Albel’s personal dignity was at stake.

Albel’s unfortunate decline was only to be expected, but definitely not to the extent of which it took shape psychologically — Albel stores a hefty weight of hatred toward humanity on his shoulders, as well as a collection of carefully-stored insecurities, including a terrible feeling of guilt that frequently haunts him in the form of gut retching nightmares. (In-canon, it is shown that his nightmares get so bad that he inhibits the sleep of his comrades with his vocalizations.) To avoid the onlooker’s shame of his sins, Albel is reluctant in listening to any reasoning but his own and cannot stand being considered weak. Just to regain his shattered pride, he’ll challenge who he deems worthy enough to a battle, or spit venom in their direction, surely with insulting words. (Most notably — maggot, fool, or worm. Aquarian scum is a specialty if you come from the enemy country.) Albel has a knack for crackling any icy exterior, most likely because he is so familiar with his own weakness.

He is often silent, observing and speaking when he desires. When he does choose to toss his two cents in, Albel does not beat around the bush, nor does he sugar coat the matter at hand. He plays not with euphemisms and is outright hyper-honest to the point where he can be easily mistaken for a rude, uncouth social nightmare. This refusal to lie at any cost can be attributed to the Captain’s slightly skewered perception of knight’s chivalry, although Albel’s own set of rules is certainly the most unconventional in all of Airyglyph.

He can be somewhat respectable if the situation need be, but that is an extremely rare occurrence, and often just a means of getting something that can benefit him. Despite what some might claim, Albel does not terrorize the weak, the ail-stricken, or the poor, preferring to acknowledge them with indifference or ignore them completely. This can also be attributed to somewhat of a moral compass, but Albel would have to be as good as dying to ever admit it.

Albel is cautious with others he is not familiar with, and participates little in getting to know a person if their first impression did not perk his interest or expectations. Said expectations are high indeed; he delights in the battle of wits almost as much as he delights the battle of physical strength. Independence and self-sufficiency impress him, along with reasoning head. Caution is to be taken heed, although: too much of a stubborn personality can make Albel aggravated. 

He no way is guilty of betraying those he gains a considerable amount of trust in; however, even this is a difficult task, as the swordsman fears loss. He’d profusely spout off insults to the very same people he’d end up risking his hide over to save three times over, and his harsh words may oftentimes counteract with his actions. Responding in a way that benefited his warring enemy got Albel accused of double treason, and had him imprisoned in the darkest catacombs of the Glyphian dungeons. This did not hinder the offhand chance of Albel providing aid in the future — he later risked his life to safe the very same group of people once more (acquiring a bullet wound in the process). As corny as it sounds, he may as well just actually care about those around him. Of course, his is something he will vehemently refuse, as his honor is definitely more precious.

What of the news that he is trapped in a metaphysical limbo? He'll be thrown off balance, no doubt: his epic journey into the dimensional realms of 4D Space lead him to believe he destroyed the Gods of creation. Regardless, shock is not something that he will exhibit upfront. Following the allotted time to mull on the situation, the initial blows of will be replaced with more or less of an 'disinclined concession'. He'll be guarded around the kedan, of course: experience has taught him, especially considering the past months of his life, that it is best to keep wary around foreign bodies. If anything, he will attempt to find loopholes in the story, searching out for a more biddable history of Tu Vishan slowly, piece by piece. 

Abilities:

Albel Nox is one of the most recognized and renowned swordsman fighters in all of Gaitt, due to good genetics, his father’s early presence, and his voracious consumption and obsession with building, fine-tuning, and improving his own training method. Albel’s technique is commonly referred to as the Edarl Blade Arts — customary sword techniques passed down through generations for as long as swordsmen were around, often allowing for those who specialize in one-on-one combat to excel in battle of large groups. As such, this sword-fighting style is dominantly used by the soldiers of Albel’s kingdom, and even by the captain himself. However, it has been demonstrated that Albel has developed his own attacks, his own abilities, far more unique and advanced than the original Edarl Blade Arts. These Arts resemble those of the samurai in Earth’s knowledge: armor prepped on the shoulders or other vital parts of any soldier if chosen to wear. He rest of the body’s vital points, including the abdomen, are left bare as a tempting target for a particularly naive opponent.

Although he is Elicoorian, he has little familiarity with runology. Runology is commonly associated with Aquarian nobles as a part of their tradition or culture, but sooner or later there came a time where Glyphians, with their predictable chauvinistic notions, disregarded the practice as a cheap and ineffective means of obtaining true power. Granted, Albel has special powers of his own that require some sort of basic magic ability (one can consider this ‘basic runology’ that all Elicoorians are born with — in particular, creating a small energy fields and mild gusts of wind). These are generally combined with specialized sword techniques to create truly exclusive attacks based off both raw strength and shock power.

He is also ambidextrous.

Inventory:  Albel will take with him the Sword of the Crimson Scourge, which was passed down from his father’s wielding of the weapon, but mostly because of the sword’s own choosing. It is said only those who can handle the madness harbored in the blade are fitting enough to use it, but only at the expense of their sanity. 

His gauntlet arm, if considered a weapon, can be removed at Albel’s will if need be. Preferably he likes to keep it on to hide the past behind it. Besides these, nothing else will be taken with him.

In-Character Samples:
Third Person:

Damn.

A smirk, then a wince, then the teeth of one of the bandit’s short swords nipping at his skin was enough to brutally knock Albel back into reality, his heels digging into the soil as he skidded back, snarling in animalistic fervor. His dark eyes studied his enemy’s small form and it was then that he would greatly prefer the cleanliness of it’s face to be tainted with splatters of red.

Aggression took home inside of him now, enveloping him in anger, riling the captain to release his energy which he harbored all too often. Albel used his infamous air slashes as a starter, hurling the mass waves of air in the bandit’s direction —not only one, either. He bled his anger through his moves, forcing the opposition to face a pack of the slashes, each coming from multiple directions, eastward, westward, and straight-ahead.

While he finished the man off, Albel remained fairly silent, save for his growling and heaves of breath. Iron scraped iron as he moved about, crimson eyes swift and steady to capture the enemy in his act. He preferred wrapping his metallic talons around it’s neck to choke the man in such a way that was far from merciful —but Fayt had ordered that the group “take it nice and easy on the enemies.” It was a pathetic request, one that Albel greatly opposed, but he had no say in the matter on how the blue-haired boy decided to lead the pack. The swordsman swiped forward using his katana’s get-go and the grasp of wind to gain speed, his lean build kneeling as if he were about to engage in prayer, the muscles of his legs pouring energy to allow Albel to begin a relentless pattern of crazed, yet timely, slashes as he hurled himself in another bandit’s direction. This particular one was Cliff’s prey —the blonde one with the exaggeratedly large muscles —but Albel had knocked the wind out of his own man and was not about to stand by and watch his comrades receive all the glory.

Cliff’s protests were ignored as Albel’s whole front remained guarded with horizontal fury; but however… as he neared closer, he effectively halted all action and kicked a bountiful amount of sand in the enemy’s direction. It would cause blindness if successful, or would at least promote enough of a distraction to allow Cliff to plummet away all he wanted. Whatever the case, the Glyphian only proved he would stick to mischievous play. He had gained a nick at his midriff, a reddened scrape in its wake; they were not that cruel of wounds after all.

“Albel, didn’t I tell you not to mess around with other people’s game? If you’re going to help us, then you might as well give everyone a chance.”

“Hmph.” A slick whoosh as he sheathed his sword, Albel rolled his eyes in ire. There was the Leingod boy again, always prattling off guady lectures, always trying to tell him what to do. Albel cared not about what hidden powers Fayt possessed; the child couldn’t even manage to control them yet —why should he be afraid? “Fittir was the one fishing for help, so I merely thought I’d participate. That’s not offensive to you maggots, is it?” As if he’d truly care if it was, after all. It was obvious by now that Albel favored pestering their nerves just for spite. Frankly, he had not the slightest idea on why Fayt wasted his time trying to teach him otherwise.

The boy pursed his lips to the swordsman’s back, utterly at a loss for what to counter back. Good. Silence —that was exactly the way Albel wanted it.

“Just…whatever. Fine.”