Post by Promise Broken /2/ on Mar 9, 2006 16:28:29 GMT -5
Name: Ivalia Atalopai (ancient for Ivory Snake)
Gender: Of the Fairer Sex
Race: Enchantress (elf X human)
Corner Preferance: None
Age: Years are endless - living for near 3 centuries - appears around 25
Description: Long Elegant black hairs, hang in loose curls about her shoulders. Full and lush the long locks curl delicately and frame her porceline face with a fragile grace. The skin, touched lightly by the sun - is like smooth light copper. Her eyes are dark and shaded by thin purple light - near maroon, yet clad in a dark lavender shine. Her lips full and sit below a slim proportionally set nose. Her face, in its entirety is like something from a dream.
Her skin treated by daily oils and ground roses, mixed with herbs and water. Thus making her skin shine, with a gentle glow. Her scent like that of a summer rose.
Her body structure is slim, and elegant- toned slightly upon the arms, without destroying her slender grace of the female figure.
Personality: Lustful and decietful. She plays the enchantress role well. Her eyes behold the inner beauty and danger that lurkes within the life of the seductress. Her heart is supposedly stone - atleast that's what she grew to make it. That's how she was in essence - that was her conformation. However, occasionally she finds herself yearning that which she strives against. To be honest, in these recent years - she's found her world slightly fogged. Without any real direction. Most times she feels as an Enchantress should; poisonous, deadly, sharp, seductively beautiful. And above all Heartless; the only intent being to destroy and mutilate the lives of others. However, contradicting thoughts have flitted across her mind more than once, and now in these present times, she is finding herself becoming more confused. However, do not mistake this confusion as a loss of her character. She is and always will be an Enchantress, with a cold heart. But perhaps there is something more she had yet to find to make her complete. It's these conflicting thoughts that plague her now, on rare occasions. It is almost as if she is two persona's - locked within one person.
History/Origin: Her mother was an elf and her father was a human wizard. It was lustful love, and the collision of two world did not go unnoticed. Her life was torn from any normal life she should have had. Her mother and Father held no true love for one another it was a mere consequence of love at first site, and it turned into a fickle love. With four sides at war, the meating o mother and father had been an act of war. Her mother being a rebellious elf maiden, was off wandering - when the human scouts had caught her off guard taking her as prision. Lust led fragile, fickle love to form between human wizard, and elfin maiden.
Love was made between them, and Ivalia was conceived. Upon the days to follow after that night, War drew them further apart. And her mother was still considered a captive of war. Her father offered no aid to make her life better. For he'd found new love in the form of a woman of his own race - and her mother fell from favor in his heart. Tossed about reckless hands she was a prisioner of war and only her true beauty saved her from any form of death. She endured toruture of a worse kind, by hands of men - but eventually a war brought her people close to the campment of her captors, and she was freed back into the hands of her own nation. Bearing a daughter, Ivalia - it was known umongst the people that it would be a child of an abomination. Half elfin, with the blood of a man coursing through its veins. It was decided that should the child be born male - it was to be left behind to die; so that the father's name would not continue. However, should it be girl. It would be offered a chance at life - to grow in the ways and knowlegde of the elfin people. Her mother did not approve of killing a boy - for it was still her child, and by default she would always love her children, whether they be a monster or not.
However, there was releif a plenty when in fact it was a girl and Ivalia was born. Taking the last name of her mother - she had the beauty of her ma' and the grace of the elves. In appearance she was tall like them, slender like them, and overal graceful with a fragile glow that eminated an elfin woman. However, She had the face of a human - and though they attempted to teach her the ways of the elves. The kindness and pledge of all life - the ways of the Goddess of Water, Ivalia still had the blood of her father flowing through her veins and as such she became what she was. The Enchantress. With minute powers of the wizard father and the grace and closeness to nature as the elves. She was pledged to water, there was no doubt. The elves were her people and she respected them. But there was still that second nature to her that took after the ways of the human race. She was who she had become, and that was the Enchantress - a breed all of its own. Made from two worlds, but living from one that accepted her. All else as her enemies, she had no true friends, merely allies that passed through her lifespan like any other. Being of elfin blood she is immortal - and natural death will never take her life.
That was in the earliest years of her existance. Between then and now - is not a memory worth taking the time to tell.
Sample Post:
Why does the sky grow dark when the storm approaches? Why do the birds refuse to sing before the sun rises? Such questions should not need answering, but who was Nyxatian to deny such terms. The brown haired youth was hardly young and foolish as he had once been. A rough boy of 19 had now turned into the hard man of 29. He was still young, but did not have the exact same immature nature as he had at that time. He was a tired soul, but had every bit of rebellious nature in him yet from his hatred for the alliance systems. The wide open space that looked back at him, the stars that surrounded him; it was all so empty so alone. The ultimate black upon the canvas as though the artist had grown bored with his art and finished the outer rim with mere white spots, which had flickered from his brush to speckle the edges of the painted worlds. There was not reality here and one could easily lose oneself into insanity. A man could never be sure of what was real and what was fantasy. Yet Nyx was alive and fair, patient as always and knowing that there was something out there in the Black gave him hope.
The silence of his ship was stunning and he found himself listening to its deafening roar. The utter cold of the vacumn of space seemed to scream against the hull of the Saracine, his beloved boat of the black. His life line. The illegal Salvage ship of the alliance. It was his life and his world. He owned it and that was all he needed. His ship would never fail him, until the day she died and when that day came he too would flunder and fall to the great black hand of satin's corruption. Perhaps heaven would save him, but he had fallen away from god a long time ago. God hadn't saved his familt, nor had god eased teh suffering. Call Nyx forsaken, but he wasn't. Mislead perhaps, sinful - most likely. But he had morals and he knew justice. As twisted as it may be, it was a justice that was fair to those who knew him, to those who would give their lives for him; for those who would follow him to the end, without risk of mutiny. Those people were few, if any were alive. His crew had stayed behind in Persephone to catch up on news and get some land work; while scrounging for some legal contacts to help them get past the toughest of the alliance blocks. It was amazing how easy it was to traverse within the galazy when one had money to pend. He meanwhile was heading back out to finish scavaging their last find upon the outer reaches of the Independent Systems. The Planetary Dictator nearest to the scrap would be near and Nyx knew he would be forced to be cautious. With a sigh, this thought and wariness grew stronger in him until he began to grow nervous and traversed back up from the viewing bay up to the bridge, where the many dials, radars, and navigation systems blinked happily back at him. All were Green and pleasant and showed no sign of negativity.
Atleast... all but one. At first glance he would not have noticed, but the red light was hard to miss and upon closer inspection he sat and studied the marks. It was a hailing from a cruiser. A large missile ship from the looks of it. His heart rising in his chest he searched the network and transmission waves for signs of coding that would register the ship and identify her. But none came up and she became a sudden threat. Blood thinning in his veins he ran a calloused hand through mohoghany locks and gathered his breath. Engaging the visual and awaiting it to appear upon the overhead projector. It dissipated in slowly. Materializing from the corners in, growing blured, then sharp. Then becoming speckled before focus was regained. The visuale was a radar imagery and thus displayed in a light green grid. The ship that had suddenly appeared in range was now detailed and outlined before Nyx. But it did not please him with what he saw. *Vulture's!* he muttered to himself as it followed with a small string of curses. The raiders of the black they were... these fiends. Picking upon dead ships and throwing any survivors out into space to see how fast the blood could boil from their ears. They were malicious and cruel men, who pushed themselves close to insanity. They plagued and pilfered. Like pirates they lived off the misfortune of others. And Nyx's lone ship was new fodder for this devilish cat. Vultures would tern Sarcine apart, mutilate Nyx himself then toss him out into the infinate black; who's chill was colder than the darkest of winter nights. Where the shadows meant death and to freeze took only seconds if your blood didn't rise up out of your pores first. He shuddered and wasted no more time. They obviously had not expected him to find them, for they were taking their time and toying with their new found prey. Nyx would not wait. Dragging himself with remarkable speed for a man who was stiff from teh limitations of space. Setting navigation coordinates to exit Quadrant X and reach the nearest planet He set hyperdrive for 50 seconds, so as to give him enough time to reach the missiles bay and grab the cannon seat to protect his armory. He'd not go down without a fight, but he needed his crew. Oh how much easier this would have been.
Racing down from the bridge, the grey metal coridors seemed to grow cold and close. Like the walls of a tomb as his heart pounded against the rim of his chest and his breath came quick and ragged. The breaths short and pressured to get to the destination the body needed to be within. Adrenaline coursing through his body as he raced across the paneling of the catwalk that stretched across the loading docks. The loose grating rattled warningly beneath him, but he paid it no mind. He had less than a minute to reach the weaponry. He could already hear the growing whir of the sucet engines as they warmed themselves up from the jump into hyperspace. The realm between here and there. Like a worm hole created by man, one could get left behind if not careful. Ships could be torn apart in Hyper space, and to make an uncalculated Jump was dangerous. However, it was nessecary. He needed to be rid of this quadrant and escape from the Vultures. For those forgotten men loathed people and civilization. They dare not wander near, where military could grab hold of their ships and their lives. They pilfered from loaners, not groups.
Fainlly he turned down a long dark hallway, basically screaming out the entry code he barreled into the cyllindor that was the weapons coridor. Already he could feel the drag of hyper entrance, and the spin it was starting to add to his world, made his stomach whirl and wind as his head seemed to grow to sizes too large and weigh down upon his shoulders. He didn't know how he made it to that chair, or how he managed to gather the leather seat belt around his torso. But it was done - and then it was black. Cold... and numb he tried to open his eyes and only saw the lightless black of hyperspace. His ship dead around him as it launched itself through the empty black between here and there. Nothing could run within the between, and the ship had to rely on that first thrust of intense speed to push itself into and out of the between space as it predicted. That was what made Hyper space so dangerous. Nyx didn't like the effect. Time seemed to last an eternity... and he felt his life seem to flee from him as a woe and forsaken emotion encased him. He was not going to pull through. He hadn't given enough thrust. He was lost, stuck here... hung up between the here and there, and forever trapped. Until the day his hunger drove him mad or his thrist broke his soul. Yet just as all hope seemed to vanish from his eyes, he was out. Out of the black, the deadly black silence, the roar of inferior cold, and here was the warm and welcoming site of the Planet Sartopa. The blue planet seemed to lure him in and he snapped back to reality. Starting up the weapon's engines he rotated the cyllindor and cocked it the way he had come, waiting for the vultures to follow. Yet the black sky remained dark and empty, and he soon let himself relax. His limbs so tired, no more strength, no more energy. He chuckled to himself, the silence murdering him, for he could only feel the joy at surviving an undetermined jump alone, and could share it with no one. And thus the first chronicle of his insanity began...
The silence of his ship was stunning and he found himself listening to its deafening roar. The utter cold of the vacumn of space seemed to scream against the hull of the Saracine, his beloved boat of the black. His life line. The illegal Salvage ship of the alliance. It was his life and his world. He owned it and that was all he needed. His ship would never fail him, until the day she died and when that day came he too would flunder and fall to the great black hand of satin's corruption. Perhaps heaven would save him, but he had fallen away from god a long time ago. God hadn't saved his familt, nor had god eased teh suffering. Call Nyx forsaken, but he wasn't. Mislead perhaps, sinful - most likely. But he had morals and he knew justice. As twisted as it may be, it was a justice that was fair to those who knew him, to those who would give their lives for him; for those who would follow him to the end, without risk of mutiny. Those people were few, if any were alive. His crew had stayed behind in Persephone to catch up on news and get some land work; while scrounging for some legal contacts to help them get past the toughest of the alliance blocks. It was amazing how easy it was to traverse within the galazy when one had money to pend. He meanwhile was heading back out to finish scavaging their last find upon the outer reaches of the Independent Systems. The Planetary Dictator nearest to the scrap would be near and Nyx knew he would be forced to be cautious. With a sigh, this thought and wariness grew stronger in him until he began to grow nervous and traversed back up from the viewing bay up to the bridge, where the many dials, radars, and navigation systems blinked happily back at him. All were Green and pleasant and showed no sign of negativity.
Atleast... all but one. At first glance he would not have noticed, but the red light was hard to miss and upon closer inspection he sat and studied the marks. It was a hailing from a cruiser. A large missile ship from the looks of it. His heart rising in his chest he searched the network and transmission waves for signs of coding that would register the ship and identify her. But none came up and she became a sudden threat. Blood thinning in his veins he ran a calloused hand through mohoghany locks and gathered his breath. Engaging the visual and awaiting it to appear upon the overhead projector. It dissipated in slowly. Materializing from the corners in, growing blured, then sharp. Then becoming speckled before focus was regained. The visuale was a radar imagery and thus displayed in a light green grid. The ship that had suddenly appeared in range was now detailed and outlined before Nyx. But it did not please him with what he saw. *Vulture's!* he muttered to himself as it followed with a small string of curses. The raiders of the black they were... these fiends. Picking upon dead ships and throwing any survivors out into space to see how fast the blood could boil from their ears. They were malicious and cruel men, who pushed themselves close to insanity. They plagued and pilfered. Like pirates they lived off the misfortune of others. And Nyx's lone ship was new fodder for this devilish cat. Vultures would tern Sarcine apart, mutilate Nyx himself then toss him out into the infinate black; who's chill was colder than the darkest of winter nights. Where the shadows meant death and to freeze took only seconds if your blood didn't rise up out of your pores first. He shuddered and wasted no more time. They obviously had not expected him to find them, for they were taking their time and toying with their new found prey. Nyx would not wait. Dragging himself with remarkable speed for a man who was stiff from teh limitations of space. Setting navigation coordinates to exit Quadrant X and reach the nearest planet He set hyperdrive for 50 seconds, so as to give him enough time to reach the missiles bay and grab the cannon seat to protect his armory. He'd not go down without a fight, but he needed his crew. Oh how much easier this would have been.
Racing down from the bridge, the grey metal coridors seemed to grow cold and close. Like the walls of a tomb as his heart pounded against the rim of his chest and his breath came quick and ragged. The breaths short and pressured to get to the destination the body needed to be within. Adrenaline coursing through his body as he raced across the paneling of the catwalk that stretched across the loading docks. The loose grating rattled warningly beneath him, but he paid it no mind. He had less than a minute to reach the weaponry. He could already hear the growing whir of the sucet engines as they warmed themselves up from the jump into hyperspace. The realm between here and there. Like a worm hole created by man, one could get left behind if not careful. Ships could be torn apart in Hyper space, and to make an uncalculated Jump was dangerous. However, it was nessecary. He needed to be rid of this quadrant and escape from the Vultures. For those forgotten men loathed people and civilization. They dare not wander near, where military could grab hold of their ships and their lives. They pilfered from loaners, not groups.
Fainlly he turned down a long dark hallway, basically screaming out the entry code he barreled into the cyllindor that was the weapons coridor. Already he could feel the drag of hyper entrance, and the spin it was starting to add to his world, made his stomach whirl and wind as his head seemed to grow to sizes too large and weigh down upon his shoulders. He didn't know how he made it to that chair, or how he managed to gather the leather seat belt around his torso. But it was done - and then it was black. Cold... and numb he tried to open his eyes and only saw the lightless black of hyperspace. His ship dead around him as it launched itself through the empty black between here and there. Nothing could run within the between, and the ship had to rely on that first thrust of intense speed to push itself into and out of the between space as it predicted. That was what made Hyper space so dangerous. Nyx didn't like the effect. Time seemed to last an eternity... and he felt his life seem to flee from him as a woe and forsaken emotion encased him. He was not going to pull through. He hadn't given enough thrust. He was lost, stuck here... hung up between the here and there, and forever trapped. Until the day his hunger drove him mad or his thrist broke his soul. Yet just as all hope seemed to vanish from his eyes, he was out. Out of the black, the deadly black silence, the roar of inferior cold, and here was the warm and welcoming site of the Planet Sartopa. The blue planet seemed to lure him in and he snapped back to reality. Starting up the weapon's engines he rotated the cyllindor and cocked it the way he had come, waiting for the vultures to follow. Yet the black sky remained dark and empty, and he soon let himself relax. His limbs so tired, no more strength, no more energy. He chuckled to himself, the silence murdering him, for he could only feel the joy at surviving an undetermined jump alone, and could share it with no one. And thus the first chronicle of his insanity began...
