Post by :x: Paradox :x: on Jul 6, 2006 22:45:50 GMT -5
Name: Zerion Calylpsin
Gender: Male
Race: Blood Elf -- mostly elf, however there is some demonic ancestry deep within his lineage.
Corner Preferance: Water
Age: One-hundred-thirteen years old -- immortal age
Description: Long haired, cropped just above the bottom of the rib-cage--it is colored a natural silver with silken sheen and slate dark lights. His eyes are a mixture of ash and sea--creating a dull shaded aqua tinge. He normally wears his hair back--either tied within a wrapped chord, hung in a ponytail-type, or occasionally braided. He has muscular proportions, but still remains lithe and agile with the grace and composition of the elves. His handsome face is made up of strong cheek bones and a long slender expression. His eyes represent the cunning and mastery of a trickster, and his face almost always holds the facade of humor or sarcasm.
He usually prefers to wear darker linens—mostly black, navy blue, and gray silver. He is most often found wearing a dark navy—almost black—tunic with breeches of the same matching color. He wears a gray silver sash around his waist, and occasionally over his shoulders and wrapped around both arms. He also wears twin pairs of wrapped cloth around his lower arms from wrist to just below the elbow, to help protect his arms from shaft burn.
Personality: To easily sum it up would be to merely state that he is murderous, deceitful, conniving, and manipulative. He enjoys the company of death's lurking hulk, and finds sick joy in watching the cold hands of death's embrace rub out the life and soul of a victim. It is just how it is, and it is this demonic personality that puts him aside from the elves. He is only one of them in appearance, but not in way of mind. He is a touch reckless, sadistic, and sarcastic... but amazingly enough he finds humor in what he does... and almost always has a smile upon his face. He's a cruel joker and loves to play games. However, though inwardly he's a deadly and venomous killer that loves to concoct different ways to kill a new acquaintance, when he wishes to he can appear as quite the charmer. He easily fits into a "normal" life and is devious enough to slide by without assumption that he in fact could have any reference to a murder or murdering kind. Illusive and resilient, he has a strange persistence and relentlessness when he goes after something he wants. He is willing to wait until the "perfect" moment before he makes his move--and when he moves... he goes for the "end game." He does have a respect for power; however... he is and always will be unwilling to be merely a pawn. Though he may seem like an insane murderer, that always laughs maniacally after a kill, he is far from that general stereotype—he is perfectly sane. In fact, there is a part of him that can find a serious tone, though it depends upon the gravity of the situation. Cold and hard his seriousness, is often lined with sarcasm—thus his personality still remains fairly close to the light hearted killer.
Skills: Being most primarily of elfin lineage, he has the innate abilities of stealth, agiligty, keen eyesight and hearing, and other such elfin talents. But above all that he also has an innate perceptiveness that is sensitive enough to pick up on the emotions of those around him--giving him a small advantage when he needs it most. However, this is not all--his largest strength lies within the ability to manipulate the mind--also refered to as illusion. He can bend and twist what the mind sees to his will. He is very good at it, and can hold an image to up to an hour, but this time may vary depending upon the depth of the illusion. His skills are also hindered by distance; the farther he is from his targeted illusion, the weaker it becomes.
Choice Weaponry: His primary weapon is his beloved longbow and quiver. His accurancy is highly efficient and his speed to the draw is quite formidable. He also has a small skill with a single-edged thin sword, which he carried upon his hip for close-hand combat.
Sample Post: Zerion reached his hands down into the refreshing waters of the small creek. The cool crystal liquid ran across his palms with an icy chill that sent pleasant shivers up his spine. He wondered how long it had been since the last time he had washed blood from his hands—too long. He smiled sinfully to himself and continued to wash the back of his palms. The water was slowly turning an inky red, and seemed to race the current to the finish line downstream. Though he was cleaning his hands of blood, it did not give him the same satisfaction as a victim’s would. For some reason the blood of a stag did not give him the same pleasurable rush. Pulling his hands up out of the water, her dried them off upon his cloak and stood to raise his head to the dying sun. Oh how, the horizon did dance with many colors—even a killer had to pause to observe the absolute beauty that played across his vision. With a disgruntled sigh, Zerion picked himself back up onto two legs, and moved elegantly through the underbrush. The forest around him was not as dense in this area, for he was right at the edge and the wide open space of the meadows, was not far from where he had laid camp. Honestly, he didn’t know where his feet would lead him, but the winds were strong and flowing south east—towards Earth. He smiled wickedly. It had been some time since he had stepped upon earthen grounds. His mind whirred with a thousand different things he could do there; what kind of chaos he could stir, and what unsuspecting innocent would either be blamed or be killed. He chuckled to himself at the strain of thoughts which flowed through his mind. Many would think of him as insane to conceive pleasure out of such tactics, but weren’t there others out there with similar emotions such as his? He shrugged—not his problem.
His mind returned to his path of travel. He would need a new identity once he got closer. Surely, his silver locks and blue eyes would be a dead give-away that he was of more watery terms. He wanted the image of someone close… someone who others knew—someone that could get close to the important people of Earth. It was unfortunate that such a person would have to be eradicated first. Couldn’t have two of the same person wandering about, now could we?
Running his hands, along the smooth bark of one of the white birch trees, the silver haired rogue slid his body weight down upon the sod—comfortably resting his elbows upon bent knees, as he sat upon the chilled earth; a smile softly resting upon his face. Glancing once more towards the dying sun, Zerion felt a strange calm, but nothing he thought uncanny. He had a plans to concoct and ideas to play out in his head. Certainly, there was much to think about. Closing his eyes while the firelight played across his eye-lids he wondered how easily the Master of Soil was to get close to. Curiosity asked the question, he merely entertained the possibility. He wouldn’t do anything reckless—it would be inviting death upon himself… but the thrill of getting close would at least alleviate some of the boredom which was ravaging his essence. With a nod of agreement he placed that new objective in his head. To get close to the one called Satazian. Thus, while dozing off to sleep with his bow resting loyally at his side and his quiver at his feet, he would let himself ponder the plans while his dreams walked among the dead.
one eye, one horn, flying purple people eater
Gender: Male
Race: Blood Elf -- mostly elf, however there is some demonic ancestry deep within his lineage.
Corner Preferance: Water
Age: One-hundred-thirteen years old -- immortal age
Description: Long haired, cropped just above the bottom of the rib-cage--it is colored a natural silver with silken sheen and slate dark lights. His eyes are a mixture of ash and sea--creating a dull shaded aqua tinge. He normally wears his hair back--either tied within a wrapped chord, hung in a ponytail-type, or occasionally braided. He has muscular proportions, but still remains lithe and agile with the grace and composition of the elves. His handsome face is made up of strong cheek bones and a long slender expression. His eyes represent the cunning and mastery of a trickster, and his face almost always holds the facade of humor or sarcasm.
He usually prefers to wear darker linens—mostly black, navy blue, and gray silver. He is most often found wearing a dark navy—almost black—tunic with breeches of the same matching color. He wears a gray silver sash around his waist, and occasionally over his shoulders and wrapped around both arms. He also wears twin pairs of wrapped cloth around his lower arms from wrist to just below the elbow, to help protect his arms from shaft burn.
Personality: To easily sum it up would be to merely state that he is murderous, deceitful, conniving, and manipulative. He enjoys the company of death's lurking hulk, and finds sick joy in watching the cold hands of death's embrace rub out the life and soul of a victim. It is just how it is, and it is this demonic personality that puts him aside from the elves. He is only one of them in appearance, but not in way of mind. He is a touch reckless, sadistic, and sarcastic... but amazingly enough he finds humor in what he does... and almost always has a smile upon his face. He's a cruel joker and loves to play games. However, though inwardly he's a deadly and venomous killer that loves to concoct different ways to kill a new acquaintance, when he wishes to he can appear as quite the charmer. He easily fits into a "normal" life and is devious enough to slide by without assumption that he in fact could have any reference to a murder or murdering kind. Illusive and resilient, he has a strange persistence and relentlessness when he goes after something he wants. He is willing to wait until the "perfect" moment before he makes his move--and when he moves... he goes for the "end game." He does have a respect for power; however... he is and always will be unwilling to be merely a pawn. Though he may seem like an insane murderer, that always laughs maniacally after a kill, he is far from that general stereotype—he is perfectly sane. In fact, there is a part of him that can find a serious tone, though it depends upon the gravity of the situation. Cold and hard his seriousness, is often lined with sarcasm—thus his personality still remains fairly close to the light hearted killer.
Skills: Being most primarily of elfin lineage, he has the innate abilities of stealth, agiligty, keen eyesight and hearing, and other such elfin talents. But above all that he also has an innate perceptiveness that is sensitive enough to pick up on the emotions of those around him--giving him a small advantage when he needs it most. However, this is not all--his largest strength lies within the ability to manipulate the mind--also refered to as illusion. He can bend and twist what the mind sees to his will. He is very good at it, and can hold an image to up to an hour, but this time may vary depending upon the depth of the illusion. His skills are also hindered by distance; the farther he is from his targeted illusion, the weaker it becomes.
Choice Weaponry: His primary weapon is his beloved longbow and quiver. His accurancy is highly efficient and his speed to the draw is quite formidable. He also has a small skill with a single-edged thin sword, which he carried upon his hip for close-hand combat.
Sample Post: Zerion reached his hands down into the refreshing waters of the small creek. The cool crystal liquid ran across his palms with an icy chill that sent pleasant shivers up his spine. He wondered how long it had been since the last time he had washed blood from his hands—too long. He smiled sinfully to himself and continued to wash the back of his palms. The water was slowly turning an inky red, and seemed to race the current to the finish line downstream. Though he was cleaning his hands of blood, it did not give him the same satisfaction as a victim’s would. For some reason the blood of a stag did not give him the same pleasurable rush. Pulling his hands up out of the water, her dried them off upon his cloak and stood to raise his head to the dying sun. Oh how, the horizon did dance with many colors—even a killer had to pause to observe the absolute beauty that played across his vision. With a disgruntled sigh, Zerion picked himself back up onto two legs, and moved elegantly through the underbrush. The forest around him was not as dense in this area, for he was right at the edge and the wide open space of the meadows, was not far from where he had laid camp. Honestly, he didn’t know where his feet would lead him, but the winds were strong and flowing south east—towards Earth. He smiled wickedly. It had been some time since he had stepped upon earthen grounds. His mind whirred with a thousand different things he could do there; what kind of chaos he could stir, and what unsuspecting innocent would either be blamed or be killed. He chuckled to himself at the strain of thoughts which flowed through his mind. Many would think of him as insane to conceive pleasure out of such tactics, but weren’t there others out there with similar emotions such as his? He shrugged—not his problem.
His mind returned to his path of travel. He would need a new identity once he got closer. Surely, his silver locks and blue eyes would be a dead give-away that he was of more watery terms. He wanted the image of someone close… someone who others knew—someone that could get close to the important people of Earth. It was unfortunate that such a person would have to be eradicated first. Couldn’t have two of the same person wandering about, now could we?
Running his hands, along the smooth bark of one of the white birch trees, the silver haired rogue slid his body weight down upon the sod—comfortably resting his elbows upon bent knees, as he sat upon the chilled earth; a smile softly resting upon his face. Glancing once more towards the dying sun, Zerion felt a strange calm, but nothing he thought uncanny. He had a plans to concoct and ideas to play out in his head. Certainly, there was much to think about. Closing his eyes while the firelight played across his eye-lids he wondered how easily the Master of Soil was to get close to. Curiosity asked the question, he merely entertained the possibility. He wouldn’t do anything reckless—it would be inviting death upon himself… but the thrill of getting close would at least alleviate some of the boredom which was ravaging his essence. With a nod of agreement he placed that new objective in his head. To get close to the one called Satazian. Thus, while dozing off to sleep with his bow resting loyally at his side and his quiver at his feet, he would let himself ponder the plans while his dreams walked among the dead.
one eye, one horn, flying purple people eater
