Post by slipknot on Sept 29, 2006 21:22:45 GMT -5
[Name] Ezmeralda Kiri of her father, Ciaran Pantaleon—meaning Emerald Flower, fathered by the Black Lion
[Gender] female
[Race] human made, human born
[Corner Preference] don’t have one
[Age] 24 years old—cursed as a mortal
[Description] She is of a simple beauty. Like the turning leaves of autumn, her presence is silently magnificent and can only be truly appreciated by a man who does not judge with lust, but with a heart. Silken brunette bangs fall around and frame her unmarred face, and the longer tassels drop just a couple inches below the blades of her shoulders. Often times it is held back in a tie or braid with her bangs hanging freely on the sides of her face—framing her brilliant green eyes. Her eyes, of course, are the most standoff characteristic on the simple model. They glitter and glimmer like emerald gems against her copper complexion and dark brunette locks. She expresses herself through such eyes, and they’re brilliance rarely goes unnoticed.
Her stature stands average at about 5’5”. Her hourglass figure is curved and fit—made lean and well toned by muscle after years of early conditioning and constant work. Her arms and legs are limber, yet still chiseled to a feminine extent with stored stamina and a prolonged endurance. Her body is built like a fighter’s, but it will always retain its slender grace. She is no stunning beauty, but the elegance and poise is there. It only takes the right eye to see it to its breath-taking extent.
[Skills]
Prelude:
The raw touch of life. Every living soul has it, and every living soul needs it. It is the very strength with which the living survive, and without it a person becomes little more than an empty hollow shell. This pure energy of life living breath is magic in itself and isn’t very different from the manipulative magics that many people of Algaësia possess. However, none dare challenge it, and fewer even understand its true potency and raw strength. And out of the minute few who do have a knowledge and understanding of “life,” not even half of them dare to attempt to channel the overpowering essence—the quintessence of our very breath. For the raw life source within every living creature is too potent, too… well… raw, to be easily handled and used to an advantage. Even if one knew how to probe into the deep magics of life’s great circle, to take from life would be to take from the living—the person. When their life source is gone, there is no more breath, no more light, no more life; and the magics of death are far less beautiful and gracious. And even when portions are taken… it shows in the person. Thus it is established that those who play with life, are ironically sentence to death by ignorance or a slow one by denial. Therefore, it is best stated that many who do know of the potential that lies beneath the surface of a Life Source, do not fiddle with it—they do not experiment, and it is wisely so. Stick to the gifts of the Gods, for life and death reach even beyond them. Indeed, it was their hands that taught us how to breath, but life and death were seeded long before the idea ever crossed their minds.
The Explanation of her Talents:
She is what some would call a Green Mage. She handles the magic of the plants—speaking their language, understanding their pains, and manipulating their life. However, a mere flower does not interest her. Her interest lies primarily in the growth and care of carnivorous and venomous foliage.
However, her magic is difficult to explain in depth, and can be seen as complicated to an inexperienced mind. Her magic is a wilder, less standard form of the expected. The plants do not hesitate to follow her voice, and she is not bound by reality. With her magic, she can feed and even “teach” young seedling how to grow—even going beyond what the plant breed “should” know and learn. For example, she can take the seedling of a dandelion, and with a little coaxing, turn its spores from harmless to toxic. The plant life is more than willing to bend to her desires.
And of course, working with herbs and plants, and having an understanding of life and its sources, she has honed her abilities to focus on the healing art. Like her other abilities, it can be heightened by her the energies of her life source, thus making it more successful and more effective against deep and damaging wounds, and on certain occasions it can even settle the soul, and ease the mind. Overall, her healing gifts can save a dying body, and revive a dead or dying soul. She uses a mixture of herbs and medicine alongside the power of magic. However, she does not make a job out of her healing abilities, and if she doesn’t use the assistance of her life source to power her healing magics… they aren’t even half as effective, and are really only good for surface wounds. She also cannot heal herself—since using her source of life on herself is like a reverse effect, and it almost seems to cancel itself out. She can’t really explain it, she’s just never been able to effectively heal her own injuries by magical means, and when’s she’s tried its always resulted in overwhelming fatigue and a stiffness throughout her entire body, and leaves a tiredness inside her soul.
However her strength is often times underestimated. For many would not take the strength of the vegetation seriously, and normally that could be understood and such confidence could be understandable. However, Ezmeralda has found a way to heighten her strength and use her skill by tapping into her own life source. It is a secret mystery that was revealed to her by her mentor, and what her own curiosity opened up for herself. What the elders had warned her against had turned into a dangerous advantage. Of course, she can’t just use it a whim. She uses it when necessary, and when she does she doesn’t use it strictly. She punches minute portions—taking away some of her own energy (note, it is a barely noticeable amount, but an amount nonetheless)—and mixes it with her gifted earthly magic. This adds a pure quintessence of raw untainted power to the potency of her talents—making them twice as effective as they would be without it. However, with great power there is always a catch and hers unfortunately is the fact that like all raw powers, her life source can add a touch of unpredictability to her magical abilities. Therefore, she practices controlling it often, and only uses the reserves of her dearest life source, when it is absolutely necessary, and when she uses more than she should she is left in a phlegmatic state for several days—needing time and rest to recuperate the lost reserves. At such times, she is vulnerable and weak.
So OVERALL: she can manipulate and create plant life, she has minor healing abilities without the help of her life source—with its assisted strength, her healing capabilities increase drastically and become very effective—, and she often uses small amounts of energy from her life source to help increase the potency of her earthen magics.
[History] Thus, I have completed my mention of her talents’ point of origin. (the prelude)
Now, the youth have never been known for their deep understanding of the world and its workings; nor are they smart enough to heed the warnings of their patrons and elders. With that note, I begin…
Born a magling of sorts, her father was a mage General of the earthen army—a 31-year-old human of course. His skills were of soil and stone, which he used to his advantage in war. He also had the grace, poise, and skills of an experienced swordsman—which he passed undoubtedly to his offspring. A young woman of 24—beautiful in an idyllic manner and the unconditional lover of their father—mothered Ezmeralda and her brother. It was by an unfortunate twist of fate that when bearing their father’s third son, their mother ascended to Borran from the blood of her bed—dying in childbirth. The small newborn child was underweight and malnourished—born too early to be as developed and healthy as he should. Thus, though he was born alive, he died nearly a week later. Stricken by the death of his wife and youngest son, the father extricated himself from the armies and devoted himself to the raising of his eldest daughter—now 14—and younger son—now 11. Life without the constant and dependable pension of the army led them over rough and tumble roads, and often times, they found themselves worse for wear. Yet with the guidance and support of their sturdy iron father, they learned and progressed through life. Their father taught them the ways of the sword, and taught her brother how to manage the powers that he was fast developing. They were the same powers of her father with only a few variants. However, though she easily conquered the art of swordsmanship, adding a level of grace and agility that distinguished her gift of swordplay—more gifted than even her brother—, she just could not grasp the talent of “playing with rocks.” The soil and stone was beyond her, and though she could manage to shift a few pebbles, she was easily frustrated by it and gave up without trying. However, her father wasn’t disappointed, for Ezmerelda held such an innate understanding of life and the beauty of the plants that he knew she held her mother’s touch—something that saddened him and thrilled him. He saw so much of his love in his little “Ezzy.” However, as a teacher he knew nothing that could help advanced the young skills and advanced power that he could read within the spirit of his headstrong eldest. Thus when she turned 17, he felt it was time to let her go. He just couldn’t stand to know what she could be, without being able to help her get there. So, spending some of his reserved coin, he sent her with a kindly old woman who was experienced in the magics of life and herbs. He hated to see her go, but knowing of the woman that she would become, he was comforted a touch.
It was this kindly mentor that helped hone Ezmeralda’s powers, and explained this unknown mystery of the source of life in every creature. However, the old woman never taught Ezmeralda how to use her raw energy, and had actually warned Ezmeralda never to experiment. Yet the ignorant youth did nonetheless—enticed by curiosity. However, she was wise enough not to try anything to large or foolish, and thus her fiddlings only led to an individual advantage that strengthened her maturity, experienced, and magical strength. When she was 23 years old—experiencing six years of tutelage under the wise wing of her wise mentor—she took her leave when the old woman and nothing more to teach her. She returned to the home of her birth—expecting to see an elderly father, and young son still living happily in their little valley. However, this was not to be. For when she returned to her quite home, she found it ransacked and most everything burned. The ashes were cold and the smoke had long dissipated—the days had passed… at least three from what she could tell. It saddened her, and she feared what else she would find. Indeed, her discoveries left her tearful and heartbroken. She stumbled among the rubble, noting the evidence of thieves and bandits—damned scavengers—and eventually her steps left her to the outer edge of their property. And it was there, on the edge of the wood line where she found them. Her brother was sitting, slumped against the trunk of a tree, his legs crumbled beneath him as his head slumped forward against his chest, a broken shaft in his unclenched hand, and a second still lodged near his heart. His clothes were torn, and there were wounds across his chest and arms. The arrows were what killed him, but they were not start and end of the battle. His sword. She didn’t see it on him or around him, but when she looked to his right, she found the grave of their father. The grave was shallow—dug by a wounded and dying man. But it was dug nonetheless, and her brother’s brave sword was plunged into the sod at the head of the mound—a memorial to their father. If it was not for the three days of decay that had already drawn her brother’s skin taunt and turned it gray, she would have held him to ease the pain—to stop the inner suffering that was tearing her apart. But, she could only build a second grave for her dear sibling—through tears it was built, and through tears the blessing was made. She honored the earth, and bade them farewell—planting the seed of a giant oak, the symbol of tranquility, between them. The plant would grow, and as the last of her family returned to the ashes of the hearth, the tree would grow—nurtured by their passing—and with it their essence would live on. Their souls, forever graced by the rest and peace the giant oak will provide.
A year has passed since then, and she doesn’t really seek vengeance—she understands that to attempt to find the exact bandit troop that committed the crime would be near impossible, so she lives with a greater more satisfying goal in mind. To plans to either become the healer of her mother’s dreams, or the soldier of her father. Perhaps she’ll tread the line between—an option she might prefer. For the life of a swords master is equally appealing to the desire to assist in the protection of her country. Only time and experience will tell in the end.
[Personality] She’s a very head-strong young woman, and can have a sarcastic and humorous attitude towards people she is comfortable with. More often times than not, however, she can be secluded and shy—untrusting—to strangers that are a bit disconcerting. If she feels uncomfortable in a situation, she draws herself tight and becomes defensive in an offensive kind of way, and if she’s ever backed into a corner, she’s not afraid to lash out and bite. She mostly polite to strangers unless they unnerve her, and she has a deep noble heart—never wishing death upon another…. Unless… they really piss her off, or drastically betray her trust. She is also not the kind of girl that likes to spill her past to just anyone. Her brother and father are still a sore spot in her present, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get past the guilt of leaving them. People from the village called her foolish, that if she had been there, she would have died as well… but they didn’t know that, another sword was always better. One might not have been enough, but two…? It could have been the difference. Ahh… oh well. She still feels guilty every now and then, but it isn’t a self-pity that drags her down. She’s pretty happy with life, and isn’t like all those sad saps who dwell in their past and cloud their future. She’d be more than happy to leave that dark ashy day behind her if she could. But she can’t… so she moves on as best she can.
[Sample Post] Can’t you take all the other stuff, I’ve written and accept that? I just don’t have any muse left to right another long thing…
I’ll tell you that the only possible difference in my style is the fact that I write in first person, to give the character a more personal feel for the reader, but that’s pretty much it. Can I just count my… hmmm… how bout the history… as the sample? Hope I can, cuz I really don’t think I’m going to type a sample, at least not for a while – my muse is on a down-low and the next post I write, I can hopefully use whatever gathered muse I have on a post in the boards. So if this is good, that’ll be great… if it’s not… *shrug* we’ll see…
[Gender] female
[Race] human made, human born
[Corner Preference] don’t have one
[Age] 24 years old—cursed as a mortal
[Description] She is of a simple beauty. Like the turning leaves of autumn, her presence is silently magnificent and can only be truly appreciated by a man who does not judge with lust, but with a heart. Silken brunette bangs fall around and frame her unmarred face, and the longer tassels drop just a couple inches below the blades of her shoulders. Often times it is held back in a tie or braid with her bangs hanging freely on the sides of her face—framing her brilliant green eyes. Her eyes, of course, are the most standoff characteristic on the simple model. They glitter and glimmer like emerald gems against her copper complexion and dark brunette locks. She expresses herself through such eyes, and they’re brilliance rarely goes unnoticed.
Her stature stands average at about 5’5”. Her hourglass figure is curved and fit—made lean and well toned by muscle after years of early conditioning and constant work. Her arms and legs are limber, yet still chiseled to a feminine extent with stored stamina and a prolonged endurance. Her body is built like a fighter’s, but it will always retain its slender grace. She is no stunning beauty, but the elegance and poise is there. It only takes the right eye to see it to its breath-taking extent.
[Skills]
Prelude:
The raw touch of life. Every living soul has it, and every living soul needs it. It is the very strength with which the living survive, and without it a person becomes little more than an empty hollow shell. This pure energy of life living breath is magic in itself and isn’t very different from the manipulative magics that many people of Algaësia possess. However, none dare challenge it, and fewer even understand its true potency and raw strength. And out of the minute few who do have a knowledge and understanding of “life,” not even half of them dare to attempt to channel the overpowering essence—the quintessence of our very breath. For the raw life source within every living creature is too potent, too… well… raw, to be easily handled and used to an advantage. Even if one knew how to probe into the deep magics of life’s great circle, to take from life would be to take from the living—the person. When their life source is gone, there is no more breath, no more light, no more life; and the magics of death are far less beautiful and gracious. And even when portions are taken… it shows in the person. Thus it is established that those who play with life, are ironically sentence to death by ignorance or a slow one by denial. Therefore, it is best stated that many who do know of the potential that lies beneath the surface of a Life Source, do not fiddle with it—they do not experiment, and it is wisely so. Stick to the gifts of the Gods, for life and death reach even beyond them. Indeed, it was their hands that taught us how to breath, but life and death were seeded long before the idea ever crossed their minds.
The Explanation of her Talents:
She is what some would call a Green Mage. She handles the magic of the plants—speaking their language, understanding their pains, and manipulating their life. However, a mere flower does not interest her. Her interest lies primarily in the growth and care of carnivorous and venomous foliage.
However, her magic is difficult to explain in depth, and can be seen as complicated to an inexperienced mind. Her magic is a wilder, less standard form of the expected. The plants do not hesitate to follow her voice, and she is not bound by reality. With her magic, she can feed and even “teach” young seedling how to grow—even going beyond what the plant breed “should” know and learn. For example, she can take the seedling of a dandelion, and with a little coaxing, turn its spores from harmless to toxic. The plant life is more than willing to bend to her desires.
And of course, working with herbs and plants, and having an understanding of life and its sources, she has honed her abilities to focus on the healing art. Like her other abilities, it can be heightened by her the energies of her life source, thus making it more successful and more effective against deep and damaging wounds, and on certain occasions it can even settle the soul, and ease the mind. Overall, her healing gifts can save a dying body, and revive a dead or dying soul. She uses a mixture of herbs and medicine alongside the power of magic. However, she does not make a job out of her healing abilities, and if she doesn’t use the assistance of her life source to power her healing magics… they aren’t even half as effective, and are really only good for surface wounds. She also cannot heal herself—since using her source of life on herself is like a reverse effect, and it almost seems to cancel itself out. She can’t really explain it, she’s just never been able to effectively heal her own injuries by magical means, and when’s she’s tried its always resulted in overwhelming fatigue and a stiffness throughout her entire body, and leaves a tiredness inside her soul.
However her strength is often times underestimated. For many would not take the strength of the vegetation seriously, and normally that could be understood and such confidence could be understandable. However, Ezmeralda has found a way to heighten her strength and use her skill by tapping into her own life source. It is a secret mystery that was revealed to her by her mentor, and what her own curiosity opened up for herself. What the elders had warned her against had turned into a dangerous advantage. Of course, she can’t just use it a whim. She uses it when necessary, and when she does she doesn’t use it strictly. She punches minute portions—taking away some of her own energy (note, it is a barely noticeable amount, but an amount nonetheless)—and mixes it with her gifted earthly magic. This adds a pure quintessence of raw untainted power to the potency of her talents—making them twice as effective as they would be without it. However, with great power there is always a catch and hers unfortunately is the fact that like all raw powers, her life source can add a touch of unpredictability to her magical abilities. Therefore, she practices controlling it often, and only uses the reserves of her dearest life source, when it is absolutely necessary, and when she uses more than she should she is left in a phlegmatic state for several days—needing time and rest to recuperate the lost reserves. At such times, she is vulnerable and weak.
So OVERALL: she can manipulate and create plant life, she has minor healing abilities without the help of her life source—with its assisted strength, her healing capabilities increase drastically and become very effective—, and she often uses small amounts of energy from her life source to help increase the potency of her earthen magics.
[History] Thus, I have completed my mention of her talents’ point of origin. (the prelude)
Now, the youth have never been known for their deep understanding of the world and its workings; nor are they smart enough to heed the warnings of their patrons and elders. With that note, I begin…
Born a magling of sorts, her father was a mage General of the earthen army—a 31-year-old human of course. His skills were of soil and stone, which he used to his advantage in war. He also had the grace, poise, and skills of an experienced swordsman—which he passed undoubtedly to his offspring. A young woman of 24—beautiful in an idyllic manner and the unconditional lover of their father—mothered Ezmeralda and her brother. It was by an unfortunate twist of fate that when bearing their father’s third son, their mother ascended to Borran from the blood of her bed—dying in childbirth. The small newborn child was underweight and malnourished—born too early to be as developed and healthy as he should. Thus, though he was born alive, he died nearly a week later. Stricken by the death of his wife and youngest son, the father extricated himself from the armies and devoted himself to the raising of his eldest daughter—now 14—and younger son—now 11. Life without the constant and dependable pension of the army led them over rough and tumble roads, and often times, they found themselves worse for wear. Yet with the guidance and support of their sturdy iron father, they learned and progressed through life. Their father taught them the ways of the sword, and taught her brother how to manage the powers that he was fast developing. They were the same powers of her father with only a few variants. However, though she easily conquered the art of swordsmanship, adding a level of grace and agility that distinguished her gift of swordplay—more gifted than even her brother—, she just could not grasp the talent of “playing with rocks.” The soil and stone was beyond her, and though she could manage to shift a few pebbles, she was easily frustrated by it and gave up without trying. However, her father wasn’t disappointed, for Ezmerelda held such an innate understanding of life and the beauty of the plants that he knew she held her mother’s touch—something that saddened him and thrilled him. He saw so much of his love in his little “Ezzy.” However, as a teacher he knew nothing that could help advanced the young skills and advanced power that he could read within the spirit of his headstrong eldest. Thus when she turned 17, he felt it was time to let her go. He just couldn’t stand to know what she could be, without being able to help her get there. So, spending some of his reserved coin, he sent her with a kindly old woman who was experienced in the magics of life and herbs. He hated to see her go, but knowing of the woman that she would become, he was comforted a touch.
It was this kindly mentor that helped hone Ezmeralda’s powers, and explained this unknown mystery of the source of life in every creature. However, the old woman never taught Ezmeralda how to use her raw energy, and had actually warned Ezmeralda never to experiment. Yet the ignorant youth did nonetheless—enticed by curiosity. However, she was wise enough not to try anything to large or foolish, and thus her fiddlings only led to an individual advantage that strengthened her maturity, experienced, and magical strength. When she was 23 years old—experiencing six years of tutelage under the wise wing of her wise mentor—she took her leave when the old woman and nothing more to teach her. She returned to the home of her birth—expecting to see an elderly father, and young son still living happily in their little valley. However, this was not to be. For when she returned to her quite home, she found it ransacked and most everything burned. The ashes were cold and the smoke had long dissipated—the days had passed… at least three from what she could tell. It saddened her, and she feared what else she would find. Indeed, her discoveries left her tearful and heartbroken. She stumbled among the rubble, noting the evidence of thieves and bandits—damned scavengers—and eventually her steps left her to the outer edge of their property. And it was there, on the edge of the wood line where she found them. Her brother was sitting, slumped against the trunk of a tree, his legs crumbled beneath him as his head slumped forward against his chest, a broken shaft in his unclenched hand, and a second still lodged near his heart. His clothes were torn, and there were wounds across his chest and arms. The arrows were what killed him, but they were not start and end of the battle. His sword. She didn’t see it on him or around him, but when she looked to his right, she found the grave of their father. The grave was shallow—dug by a wounded and dying man. But it was dug nonetheless, and her brother’s brave sword was plunged into the sod at the head of the mound—a memorial to their father. If it was not for the three days of decay that had already drawn her brother’s skin taunt and turned it gray, she would have held him to ease the pain—to stop the inner suffering that was tearing her apart. But, she could only build a second grave for her dear sibling—through tears it was built, and through tears the blessing was made. She honored the earth, and bade them farewell—planting the seed of a giant oak, the symbol of tranquility, between them. The plant would grow, and as the last of her family returned to the ashes of the hearth, the tree would grow—nurtured by their passing—and with it their essence would live on. Their souls, forever graced by the rest and peace the giant oak will provide.
A year has passed since then, and she doesn’t really seek vengeance—she understands that to attempt to find the exact bandit troop that committed the crime would be near impossible, so she lives with a greater more satisfying goal in mind. To plans to either become the healer of her mother’s dreams, or the soldier of her father. Perhaps she’ll tread the line between—an option she might prefer. For the life of a swords master is equally appealing to the desire to assist in the protection of her country. Only time and experience will tell in the end.
[Personality] She’s a very head-strong young woman, and can have a sarcastic and humorous attitude towards people she is comfortable with. More often times than not, however, she can be secluded and shy—untrusting—to strangers that are a bit disconcerting. If she feels uncomfortable in a situation, she draws herself tight and becomes defensive in an offensive kind of way, and if she’s ever backed into a corner, she’s not afraid to lash out and bite. She mostly polite to strangers unless they unnerve her, and she has a deep noble heart—never wishing death upon another…. Unless… they really piss her off, or drastically betray her trust. She is also not the kind of girl that likes to spill her past to just anyone. Her brother and father are still a sore spot in her present, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to get past the guilt of leaving them. People from the village called her foolish, that if she had been there, she would have died as well… but they didn’t know that, another sword was always better. One might not have been enough, but two…? It could have been the difference. Ahh… oh well. She still feels guilty every now and then, but it isn’t a self-pity that drags her down. She’s pretty happy with life, and isn’t like all those sad saps who dwell in their past and cloud their future. She’d be more than happy to leave that dark ashy day behind her if she could. But she can’t… so she moves on as best she can.
[Sample Post] Can’t you take all the other stuff, I’ve written and accept that? I just don’t have any muse left to right another long thing…
I’ll tell you that the only possible difference in my style is the fact that I write in first person, to give the character a more personal feel for the reader, but that’s pretty much it. Can I just count my… hmmm… how bout the history… as the sample? Hope I can, cuz I really don’t think I’m going to type a sample, at least not for a while – my muse is on a down-low and the next post I write, I can hopefully use whatever gathered muse I have on a post in the boards. So if this is good, that’ll be great… if it’s not… *shrug* we’ll see…
