Post by + :Soul:Sight: + on Jun 21, 2007 9:40:55 GMT -5
Name:
Koss Valanttrik
Race:
Unknown Humanoid
His lineage is old and as ancient as he is, and his parents—whatever they may be—were never a part of his life. He never knew them, and thus he does not know exactly what specific breed or species he is a part of. He exists as is, and many have come to see him as a demon or wraith. So that is as he is to the world.
Gender:
Male
Age:
592 years experience
Description:
He is a very dark character; he travels by night and during the day remained hooded and cloaked, hidden from the blinding light of the sun. His face is worn and rugged, aged by time, but not absent of a youthful handsomeness. His hair is black and he lets it fall in unkempt waves to the brink of his shoulders. Yet, his eyes are his most noticeable trait. They have no pupil; they have no iris, nor white outer lining. They are pure black, jet and cold, beady and unreflective. They do not see from the perspective of normal living, they do not function off the light of the sun—in fact they are harmed by its harsh brightness. These eyes see a different spectrum of existence, one beyond what everyone else sees and knows even about themselves. His eyes force him to live in a world of ghosts. A world where he sees in black and white and everything that moves is shrouded in a fog, everything he notes is inverted and livid with white fire. He can see all, even in the dead of night, and his vision is not hindered by the absence of that which many need to see. He does not need light. He sees people’s spirits, their souls, the pulse of life in every living thing and the dead grey mass of that which is not. And yet, his vision shows him details many cannot even imagine. He is not hindered by atmosphere or visual obscurities such as fog or rain. It is a most magical perspective that he wouldn’t trade for the world. Now beneath one such eye is a long ragged scar that he attained through a battle he did not fully intend to engage, honestly he didn’t get much out of it except a boatload of trouble and unwanted responsibility. Nonetheless it stands there beneath his left eye as a testament to his isolation.
His stature is thin and lithe, pertaining to muscle and muscle alone. He is proportional and stands a good size of 6’2”. His stealth lies in his agility and he very versatile when it comes to battle and quick travels. He’s swift and moves with an eloquent grace.
Personality:
Koss is a very secluded young man. He prefers the wilderness to busy village towns and likes the silence of the world to the bustle of companionship. He’s never been regarded kindly by others. They see his unnatural and “evil” black eyes and they label him as a demon or wraith—a black hearted, devilish soul that only comes to feed of their energy and spirit. Luckily, he can do no such thing, plus he has no desire to do such thing. But people shun and isolate him on site, because they fear what they do not know, nor understand. He is strange to them, and they cannot trust him. Likewise, he has never been on good terms with any stranger. Those who do offer “friendship” are usually a vast assortment of cut-throats and merciless vagabonds. He finds no interest in their alliance and wants no association with people like that… as it was an occupation he long ago escaped. Overall, he’s happy alone and will almost fight and argue to keep it that way.
Koss is also a split sort of person. Back in his earlier years he knew the youthful rage and anger that ruled many young immortals—back when the world was their footstool and they could pillage and devastate anything they desired with little consequence. Those days will never fully leave him, and it reminds him constantly of the strange killer he once was—what he still is. He bears a certain malignancy that arises every now and again when he becomes lost in the heat of a fight. Yet at the same time, he rejects that black-heartedness and though he knows how it feels to become lost in that insatiable lust for blood and death, to lavish in the conniving desire to deceive and manipulation, and to find ecstasy in the downfall of others… he does not act on it. Unless…
Dare say, do not provoke him.
Now on the rare occasion that he does associate with others, he is often brisk if not rude, and all his words are filled with a heavy sarcasm. If you’re lucky and you find his respect, you may interact with a rough, experienced and methodical man—a tactical genius with a hard dry humor. He knows when to press the advantage, and has the head to know when defeat is immanent and retreat wise. Fighting is his last resort, and he can react violent in his defense. He always works with a clear, calm, and tactical mind, and never again will he let reckless rage drive him as it did earlier in his life. In many ways, he has matured… but do not be foolish and think him as no longer dangerous. Oh contraire… he is all the more.
Magic:
Obviously his eyes are his most magical innate ability. As stated before, they see a different spectrum than the one that forms off the light from the sun. He can see the essence of life in a person and can see the world in the utmost details, details not hindered by atmospheric obstacles.
Now, besides that which is a part of his natural skeletal construction, Koss is a celestial entity. He gathers his power and strength from the breath of the stars—their cosmic, often radical, proportions. Because of this relation, he can form, manipulate, and project rays of dangerous and harmless radiation—whatever he sees fit. Due the wild and unpredictability of radiation in itself, in order for it’s dangerous effects to be useful, Koss must manipulate—or contain—the rampant particles in a steady beam, of which he can direct where he desires, harming the target alone. Due to the fact that to contain these molecules and project them at the same time takes large, substantial, and even draining amounts of energy. Koss does not often use such a power. He refrains from it, until it is absolutely necessary.
Still, in relation to his “missiles” he can emanate radiation through his skin, making him dangerous to touch and or be around. This attack he lets run free, and does not contain it, making all within a relative proximity susceptible to poisoning. Often times, he does not release a large amount, but in rare cases, he can be used to create a blast of almost atomic strength. Again this array has dangerous limits. Emitting radiation takes large amounts of reserved energy. He cannot risk releasing too much; else he’ll wind up with nothing left to burn.
Again, there is one last thing. He is what many come to call a “seer”. Using the stars, he can fall into a deep meditation—at which point he is extremely vulnerable as he has no perceptiveness in his mortal body once he reaches the meditative state. His spirit then ventures into the heavens where it can sit and “see”. From this celestial point he can observe things halfway around the world, he can see anything he desires, less hindered by a magical barrier. However, though this would seem a grand ability, it is very vague. Though he can hear and see all things, they are muted. The visions are fogged, the words are slurred as he gets farther and farther away from himself. The closer he is, the clearer things are.
Talents:
He is and always will be a talented fighter. He excels in long distance weaponry and can project an arrow or spear as well as any marksmen. He is dangerous in distance fighting. Close hand combat… not so much. He can wield a sword, but it was must be thin and it must be light—else he becomes sluggish and it slows down his versatility. With such a thing blade, he finds they break easily—luckily he is also a smithy to some extent, though he does not have the facility to advertise this fine art. Given the right circumstances and equipment he can furnish and repair his own blade and even create fine metal work for others who are willing to pay high expenses.
History (Sample Post):
Accidents—no one likes it when they happen, no one expects them when they come, and surely no one wants to deal with the consequence. So it is no hard story to believe that one child, a newborn, could be so easily forgotten during a time when peace was only a thought in progress if it was lucky enough to be even that. Two sinners, isolated by society or their own foolishness…? Nobody really knows, nor cares. Even their own son doesn’t care to hear the tale of their demise or why they abandoned him like they did. He never knew them, no one did. He didn’t know the circumstances of his birth, the vagrant who raised him didn’t know. All anyone knew was that he was strange, and many believed he was blind—abandoned due to this unfortunate defect. Oh how wrong they were, for his eyes had yet to develop into what they would undoubtedly become—the most beneficial aspect of his life. At birth, they were milky, pasty and white. They lacked any and all color and had no pupil or cornea, yet it was quite obvious that the child could see. Even as a growing infant, he had a knack for understanding and recognizing those around him. He knew who cared for him, and he knew who hurt him.
Indeed, he was not one of those unfortunate orphans who found a loving parents or guardian to care, raise, and nurture them as they grew. He was born nation less, from a sire and dam that no one knew. He was a large question mark to the world, assumed to be left for dead—again because of reason no one knows… because of reasons, I don’t feel inclined to share. The soul who found him, the “kind,” the “generous” man who adopted the “poor” infant was an old vagabond who lived in an unruly town just off the skirts of the Cursed Waters. The time of war had left many miscreants out on their own, and this wild unmanageable town was no different. Forged from an assortment of misfits, cut-throats and thieves… Koss was raised in some of the worst conditions and the town became his prison. By the time he was twelve, his caretaker stopped caring—once again, he was orphaned.
He was soon enslaved by the town’s virtues and lived under its moral, learning that to steal and kill for survival and pleasure was a necessary part of life and no one would ever care enough to stop him. As he grew, his milky white eyes darkened and grayed finding solace in a deep dark, impenetrable black hue that made even the stoniest of faces shy away in distrust and discomfort. No normal, natural creature had such eyes—only beasts. They claimed he was soulless and never tried to understand him. They allowed their apprehension to create their opinions and the chills he rendered upon them made them fear for their sanity. They isolated him, leaving him to his wild and reckless behavior—allowing his nature to imprison itself further and further into a deep abyss of young hate and rage. It didn’t help when he stopped appearing in the light of the day.
By the age of fifteen, his eyes had become all that they would be. They began to see what others could not, they could see without assistance—the light became an enemy. Secluded to the dark, he owned the night. He could see without problem and that made him dangerous. The shadows could no longer cover the hidden. He was unchained and reasonably free.
Faced with a new challenge—a new aspect of life—he recklessly abandoned the degraded hubble he’d called home for fifteen years. He felt inclined to challenge the world, and it nearly got him killed.
Within two years he’d come across more beasts, more mercenaries, more bandits—more dangerous than three-fourths of the wretch he left behind him. Some he managed to ally with as an underling—a useful pawn in many an instance. It was from these cold, hard, powerful killers that he learned how to truly fight, how to wield weaponry, how to kill without hesitation, how to turn any situation into an advantage, and how to wield the magic—the radiation—that was so harmful and so unpredictable. He learned quickly and picked up on even the smallest hints. He was intelligent, cunning, conniving, and manipulative to a point that even his “mentors” grew leery of his potential. Some threatened to kill him when he made even the smallest of mistakes, some actually tried, and then there were the few that simply left him. He escaped through it all, evading what life pressed on him and moving steadily onwards, towards a higher rank that he could never attain. Why could he never get it? Because there was always something more—every time he found success, he found something new, something more challenging, something else he had to accomplish to better himself.
For nearly a hundred years he lived his life, day by day—never looking ahead, always naïve, reckless and unchecked, wild and dangerous, malicious, and trained by some of the deadliest men to grace the uncharted plains. Chances are good he would still be that same dangerous killer, that deadly contemplator, that tactical deviant out for the next challenge—more blood, more money, more lust. The lust made him foolish and made him less. As he hates to admit it now, his captivity was the only thing that saved him—was the only thing that kept him from becoming that black assassin in the dark, the nightmare in travelers’ dreams. It happened when the neutrality and ragged peace finally settled in. For over a hundred years he lived immortal, nation less, and without boundaries. With 324 immortal years behind him, he was finally out done.
Successfully accomplishing a raid on a traveling caravans—a weapons train of Earth. He was later tracked and assailed by a small cavalry of earthen soldiers, sent out to investigate the missing train and elevate the problem. Koss’s capture was his own unlucky demise, but what followed his sentence was quite unexpected. Deterred from an execution sentence he was instead committed without option into the military, where he was kept at arms length from any important information and or positions. He was a foot soldier, a pawn once again—now trained to be the forefront in battle or the first to die. He was not alone, as many prisoners suffered similar fates, but many preferred it over death. At least in battle there was a chance one could survive if not escape during the heat of a fight. Koss was good at what he did, even here, and amazingly. His servitude began to instill new morals that he began to feel strongly about—as if they had always been there, just dormant and seduced by his wild nature which had been the only personality any had ever nurtured as he grew. Slowly, he shed his rough, dangerous skin and became a new man—man enough to decide, he was done.
He outcasted himself, escaping during the throws of a raid, escaping once again into uncharted regions. Forcing himself to ignore his old calling, he took on a new personality—one still harsh and crude, but morally sound. He began anew… an outcast from earth. If Satazian knows he’s gone…? He doesn’t know, but he can’t return to earth… he can’t risk it.
Koss Valanttrik
Race:
Unknown Humanoid
His lineage is old and as ancient as he is, and his parents—whatever they may be—were never a part of his life. He never knew them, and thus he does not know exactly what specific breed or species he is a part of. He exists as is, and many have come to see him as a demon or wraith. So that is as he is to the world.
Gender:
Male
Age:
592 years experience
Description:
He is a very dark character; he travels by night and during the day remained hooded and cloaked, hidden from the blinding light of the sun. His face is worn and rugged, aged by time, but not absent of a youthful handsomeness. His hair is black and he lets it fall in unkempt waves to the brink of his shoulders. Yet, his eyes are his most noticeable trait. They have no pupil; they have no iris, nor white outer lining. They are pure black, jet and cold, beady and unreflective. They do not see from the perspective of normal living, they do not function off the light of the sun—in fact they are harmed by its harsh brightness. These eyes see a different spectrum of existence, one beyond what everyone else sees and knows even about themselves. His eyes force him to live in a world of ghosts. A world where he sees in black and white and everything that moves is shrouded in a fog, everything he notes is inverted and livid with white fire. He can see all, even in the dead of night, and his vision is not hindered by the absence of that which many need to see. He does not need light. He sees people’s spirits, their souls, the pulse of life in every living thing and the dead grey mass of that which is not. And yet, his vision shows him details many cannot even imagine. He is not hindered by atmosphere or visual obscurities such as fog or rain. It is a most magical perspective that he wouldn’t trade for the world. Now beneath one such eye is a long ragged scar that he attained through a battle he did not fully intend to engage, honestly he didn’t get much out of it except a boatload of trouble and unwanted responsibility. Nonetheless it stands there beneath his left eye as a testament to his isolation.
His stature is thin and lithe, pertaining to muscle and muscle alone. He is proportional and stands a good size of 6’2”. His stealth lies in his agility and he very versatile when it comes to battle and quick travels. He’s swift and moves with an eloquent grace.
Personality:
Koss is a very secluded young man. He prefers the wilderness to busy village towns and likes the silence of the world to the bustle of companionship. He’s never been regarded kindly by others. They see his unnatural and “evil” black eyes and they label him as a demon or wraith—a black hearted, devilish soul that only comes to feed of their energy and spirit. Luckily, he can do no such thing, plus he has no desire to do such thing. But people shun and isolate him on site, because they fear what they do not know, nor understand. He is strange to them, and they cannot trust him. Likewise, he has never been on good terms with any stranger. Those who do offer “friendship” are usually a vast assortment of cut-throats and merciless vagabonds. He finds no interest in their alliance and wants no association with people like that… as it was an occupation he long ago escaped. Overall, he’s happy alone and will almost fight and argue to keep it that way.
Koss is also a split sort of person. Back in his earlier years he knew the youthful rage and anger that ruled many young immortals—back when the world was their footstool and they could pillage and devastate anything they desired with little consequence. Those days will never fully leave him, and it reminds him constantly of the strange killer he once was—what he still is. He bears a certain malignancy that arises every now and again when he becomes lost in the heat of a fight. Yet at the same time, he rejects that black-heartedness and though he knows how it feels to become lost in that insatiable lust for blood and death, to lavish in the conniving desire to deceive and manipulation, and to find ecstasy in the downfall of others… he does not act on it. Unless…
Dare say, do not provoke him.
Now on the rare occasion that he does associate with others, he is often brisk if not rude, and all his words are filled with a heavy sarcasm. If you’re lucky and you find his respect, you may interact with a rough, experienced and methodical man—a tactical genius with a hard dry humor. He knows when to press the advantage, and has the head to know when defeat is immanent and retreat wise. Fighting is his last resort, and he can react violent in his defense. He always works with a clear, calm, and tactical mind, and never again will he let reckless rage drive him as it did earlier in his life. In many ways, he has matured… but do not be foolish and think him as no longer dangerous. Oh contraire… he is all the more.
Magic:
Obviously his eyes are his most magical innate ability. As stated before, they see a different spectrum than the one that forms off the light from the sun. He can see the essence of life in a person and can see the world in the utmost details, details not hindered by atmospheric obstacles.
Now, besides that which is a part of his natural skeletal construction, Koss is a celestial entity. He gathers his power and strength from the breath of the stars—their cosmic, often radical, proportions. Because of this relation, he can form, manipulate, and project rays of dangerous and harmless radiation—whatever he sees fit. Due the wild and unpredictability of radiation in itself, in order for it’s dangerous effects to be useful, Koss must manipulate—or contain—the rampant particles in a steady beam, of which he can direct where he desires, harming the target alone. Due to the fact that to contain these molecules and project them at the same time takes large, substantial, and even draining amounts of energy. Koss does not often use such a power. He refrains from it, until it is absolutely necessary.
Still, in relation to his “missiles” he can emanate radiation through his skin, making him dangerous to touch and or be around. This attack he lets run free, and does not contain it, making all within a relative proximity susceptible to poisoning. Often times, he does not release a large amount, but in rare cases, he can be used to create a blast of almost atomic strength. Again this array has dangerous limits. Emitting radiation takes large amounts of reserved energy. He cannot risk releasing too much; else he’ll wind up with nothing left to burn.
Again, there is one last thing. He is what many come to call a “seer”. Using the stars, he can fall into a deep meditation—at which point he is extremely vulnerable as he has no perceptiveness in his mortal body once he reaches the meditative state. His spirit then ventures into the heavens where it can sit and “see”. From this celestial point he can observe things halfway around the world, he can see anything he desires, less hindered by a magical barrier. However, though this would seem a grand ability, it is very vague. Though he can hear and see all things, they are muted. The visions are fogged, the words are slurred as he gets farther and farther away from himself. The closer he is, the clearer things are.
Talents:
He is and always will be a talented fighter. He excels in long distance weaponry and can project an arrow or spear as well as any marksmen. He is dangerous in distance fighting. Close hand combat… not so much. He can wield a sword, but it was must be thin and it must be light—else he becomes sluggish and it slows down his versatility. With such a thing blade, he finds they break easily—luckily he is also a smithy to some extent, though he does not have the facility to advertise this fine art. Given the right circumstances and equipment he can furnish and repair his own blade and even create fine metal work for others who are willing to pay high expenses.
History (Sample Post):
Accidents—no one likes it when they happen, no one expects them when they come, and surely no one wants to deal with the consequence. So it is no hard story to believe that one child, a newborn, could be so easily forgotten during a time when peace was only a thought in progress if it was lucky enough to be even that. Two sinners, isolated by society or their own foolishness…? Nobody really knows, nor cares. Even their own son doesn’t care to hear the tale of their demise or why they abandoned him like they did. He never knew them, no one did. He didn’t know the circumstances of his birth, the vagrant who raised him didn’t know. All anyone knew was that he was strange, and many believed he was blind—abandoned due to this unfortunate defect. Oh how wrong they were, for his eyes had yet to develop into what they would undoubtedly become—the most beneficial aspect of his life. At birth, they were milky, pasty and white. They lacked any and all color and had no pupil or cornea, yet it was quite obvious that the child could see. Even as a growing infant, he had a knack for understanding and recognizing those around him. He knew who cared for him, and he knew who hurt him.
Indeed, he was not one of those unfortunate orphans who found a loving parents or guardian to care, raise, and nurture them as they grew. He was born nation less, from a sire and dam that no one knew. He was a large question mark to the world, assumed to be left for dead—again because of reason no one knows… because of reasons, I don’t feel inclined to share. The soul who found him, the “kind,” the “generous” man who adopted the “poor” infant was an old vagabond who lived in an unruly town just off the skirts of the Cursed Waters. The time of war had left many miscreants out on their own, and this wild unmanageable town was no different. Forged from an assortment of misfits, cut-throats and thieves… Koss was raised in some of the worst conditions and the town became his prison. By the time he was twelve, his caretaker stopped caring—once again, he was orphaned.
He was soon enslaved by the town’s virtues and lived under its moral, learning that to steal and kill for survival and pleasure was a necessary part of life and no one would ever care enough to stop him. As he grew, his milky white eyes darkened and grayed finding solace in a deep dark, impenetrable black hue that made even the stoniest of faces shy away in distrust and discomfort. No normal, natural creature had such eyes—only beasts. They claimed he was soulless and never tried to understand him. They allowed their apprehension to create their opinions and the chills he rendered upon them made them fear for their sanity. They isolated him, leaving him to his wild and reckless behavior—allowing his nature to imprison itself further and further into a deep abyss of young hate and rage. It didn’t help when he stopped appearing in the light of the day.
By the age of fifteen, his eyes had become all that they would be. They began to see what others could not, they could see without assistance—the light became an enemy. Secluded to the dark, he owned the night. He could see without problem and that made him dangerous. The shadows could no longer cover the hidden. He was unchained and reasonably free.
Faced with a new challenge—a new aspect of life—he recklessly abandoned the degraded hubble he’d called home for fifteen years. He felt inclined to challenge the world, and it nearly got him killed.
Within two years he’d come across more beasts, more mercenaries, more bandits—more dangerous than three-fourths of the wretch he left behind him. Some he managed to ally with as an underling—a useful pawn in many an instance. It was from these cold, hard, powerful killers that he learned how to truly fight, how to wield weaponry, how to kill without hesitation, how to turn any situation into an advantage, and how to wield the magic—the radiation—that was so harmful and so unpredictable. He learned quickly and picked up on even the smallest hints. He was intelligent, cunning, conniving, and manipulative to a point that even his “mentors” grew leery of his potential. Some threatened to kill him when he made even the smallest of mistakes, some actually tried, and then there were the few that simply left him. He escaped through it all, evading what life pressed on him and moving steadily onwards, towards a higher rank that he could never attain. Why could he never get it? Because there was always something more—every time he found success, he found something new, something more challenging, something else he had to accomplish to better himself.
For nearly a hundred years he lived his life, day by day—never looking ahead, always naïve, reckless and unchecked, wild and dangerous, malicious, and trained by some of the deadliest men to grace the uncharted plains. Chances are good he would still be that same dangerous killer, that deadly contemplator, that tactical deviant out for the next challenge—more blood, more money, more lust. The lust made him foolish and made him less. As he hates to admit it now, his captivity was the only thing that saved him—was the only thing that kept him from becoming that black assassin in the dark, the nightmare in travelers’ dreams. It happened when the neutrality and ragged peace finally settled in. For over a hundred years he lived immortal, nation less, and without boundaries. With 324 immortal years behind him, he was finally out done.
Successfully accomplishing a raid on a traveling caravans—a weapons train of Earth. He was later tracked and assailed by a small cavalry of earthen soldiers, sent out to investigate the missing train and elevate the problem. Koss’s capture was his own unlucky demise, but what followed his sentence was quite unexpected. Deterred from an execution sentence he was instead committed without option into the military, where he was kept at arms length from any important information and or positions. He was a foot soldier, a pawn once again—now trained to be the forefront in battle or the first to die. He was not alone, as many prisoners suffered similar fates, but many preferred it over death. At least in battle there was a chance one could survive if not escape during the heat of a fight. Koss was good at what he did, even here, and amazingly. His servitude began to instill new morals that he began to feel strongly about—as if they had always been there, just dormant and seduced by his wild nature which had been the only personality any had ever nurtured as he grew. Slowly, he shed his rough, dangerous skin and became a new man—man enough to decide, he was done.
He outcasted himself, escaping during the throws of a raid, escaping once again into uncharted regions. Forcing himself to ignore his old calling, he took on a new personality—one still harsh and crude, but morally sound. He began anew… an outcast from earth. If Satazian knows he’s gone…? He doesn’t know, but he can’t return to earth… he can’t risk it.