Post by calisto on Nov 24, 2007 12:43:41 GMT -5
Name:
Calisto Narmolanya
[ she generally goes by "Anya" ]
Gender:
female
Race:
winged humanoid of dragonic blood
[ she is classified as a dragon, bearing dragonic blood & genetics; however, her natural appearance & breeding capabilities are like that of a winged human ]
Corner Preferance:
wind
Age:
43 years old
Description:
Anya is a beautifully constructed young woman.
Her skin is the color of fair olive, bearing a pale honey complexion that holds its own inner glow. Nearly flawless, it texture is smooth and soft, unnaturally adept at maintaining itself naturally.
Her hair has the texture of woven silk and is soft and flowing to the touch. Its color mocks the beauty of the blackbird, parading jet black hue with an alluring shine that catches in the sunlight.
Yet her eyes are what catches many. Captive and alluring, their inner glow resounds with a green based swatch that is both pale and bright--a brilliantly faded olive green.
Her body is an illustrious canvas of curves and volume. She is slender, graceful, but not quite petite. There is muscle there that defines her hips, thighs, calves, and abdomin... though feeble when compared to some. Her height stands at an average, humble five feet and four inches, while her head rests elegantly upon a thin, graceful neck. Her face is what some may call angular, with high cheek bones and a slightly pronounced chin. Her eyes are outlines by thick lashes, and her lips are full and alluring.
But...
It is the vast expanse of phumage that surrounds her which draws the most attention and completes her angelic imagery.
Her wings stretch to a powerful span of 15 feet from tip to tip and are made up of ivory white feathers speckled by grey--making an almost silver sheen glisten in the sun. The appendages protrude from atop her shoulders and the limp runs down the length of her back, allowing her to easily catch and glide upon the breeze.
Personality:
Calisto is, in many ways, a paradox.
Naturally, she is very outgoing--social, energetic, and humorous (in a sarcastic kind of way). She's stubborn, rebellious... but also very deeply and inwardly loyal. Those she trusts she will always trust, and her forgiveness seems endless. She rarely holds on to a grudge, and revenge rarely crosses her mind--except in extreme cases, of which she has not yet really experienced. She likes the comfort of friends, and she also likes the idea of love; deep down she's a damned romantic, though on occasion her stubborness and minor pride would like to hide the fact of the matter, though a blush in her cheeks always seems to prove the point. She's terrible at hiding her emotions. She can never keep a straight face, and when she's angry or upset she has a terrible time of trying to hide it. She's just very expressive, very open with her emotions.
Atleast... that is how she would be if...
Ah yes, the dreaded "if."
"If" he had seen the knife...
"If" she had stayed at home...
If, if, if...
No.
Anya's personality is not truly "natural." No doubt, she has the capability and general inclination to act as I have just described, but she has been exposed to trauma that has formed terrible habits that have barred her doors and withered her spirit.
These "learned" traits express themselves in a quiet young woman, humble, timid, and shy. She's easily intimidated and she is constantly apprehensive of most situations--always expecting the worst. Reliving memories inside a young mind that has not become callous, that does not know or understand how to truly cope with a black terror of the past.
She's very distrustful and feel vulnerable because she has a hard time determining a person's genuine intentions--a "friend" might be an enemy and an "enemy" might be a friend. She just has a hard time judging on appearances, and her naturally trusting personality makes it easy for her to find herself in a compromising situation. Therefore, she has almost stopped trusting all together. It is a terrible fate for one so young, but the world has begun to frighten her now that she has seen what it is capable of--the evil it is prone to commit.
Put her among true friends and watch her blossom. Watch her become how she truly is. She is insecure and all else are but symptoms to the greater problem. She needs to find safety. Once she has that... perhaps she can then finally start to learn to live again, without fear... as she was born to be.
Skills:
Anya's magic is unpredictable, raw, and untrained. She cannot control it--cannot beckon it, cannot dismiss it. Her emotions control it, and this can be dangerous as fear provokes it, and anger fuels it. She doesn't understand it, and no one has tried to teach her, leaving her older with no experience, no sturdy foundation in which she can trust herself.
A potentially beautiful talent has now become twisted and knotted into something almost deadly--in the hands of a young humanoid who has no wish to harm or hurt, but has no power to avoid it.
She is what some refer to as a "Wind Guardian"--a creature capable of conjoling and influencing the presence of the wind as an independent element. Unlike the masters of wind, unlike the mages and sorcerers of wind. She does not control it. She cannot. It is a symbiotic relationship and she can merely encourage, she can merely wish and provoke the wind around her to do what she would like it to. She cannot force it, the element acts on its own, bending to her desire only if it feels inclined to do so.
Now, normally, this could be a very potent gift, if someone knew how to possess it. How to harness and shephard the intentions of something so wild and reckless, but since Anya does not even know or understand anything of the power she possess, she cannot utilize her ability and that has made her dangerous.
For you see, an element knows its keeper from its master. A master controls it, bends it twists it, and it cannot refrain. However, to its keeper it is not so oblidged. It need not obey, but often it does under gentle, understanding hands that know when to push and know when to give. Since Anya never knew anything of it, she always gave, never pushed, and elements tend to side towards those most lenient. Over time, she became emotionally fused with the element of wind. Her fears provoked her element, causing it to react in her defense. Without her guidance, without her boundaries... the wind could kill. An element has no moral. It surrounds her, devoted to her. She still controls it, but her lack of control and unstanding leave it like a guard dog without a leash. Anything that upset her, will invoke her natural instincts--to call for help. And the sympathies of an undisciplined element have grown strong over the years. It will always bend to a master, but it will hold fast to a feeble guardian for it knows when its leash is loose, and it has power then. She is almost a prisoner to herself. With teaching this will change... but knowledge at this point, is dangerous. For remember... an element has no moral... and an element such as the reckless winds covets freedom more than anything.
Sample Post: (history)
The war is over.
All is safe.
As a young girl she was never afraid, she was not born in an age of war... but an age of peace and thus one would think that this unstressed period to grow would allow her to prosper and gain moral knowledge that would benefit not only herself but those she would later associate with, and it did. She loved life, she loved to play, she loved to socialize and her personality promised to bloom and prosper under the loving guidance of her mother and the discipline of her father.
Peace and serenity filled her days, just like many of those who led simple lives within the borders of Mantagne Del Vento.
The war was over.
All was safe.
Not Anymore.
Her father was a militant man--a man who helped stretch the arm of the law out across the far expanse of Wind territory. The wars were over, so there was little he needed to fear. Occasionally on his longer journies he brought along his family--a wife and young daughter.
These days were pleasantly adventurous, but never dangerous until the fate of one evening when their travel plans mingled unceremoniously with that of a rogue enemy.
They were not of Earth.
They were not of Water.
They were not of Fire.
They were miscreant heathens. War mongerers who now pledged liberty to bloodshed and congregated together to strike the nations against one another once again. To do this, they raided, pillaged, burned, murderered, and ranged freely about Alraënia undetected and unnoted. There influence was not as far spread, not even really known, they were such small scale attacks in comparison to the wars. However, to a young girl, and to those affected the effects were enough.
In her tale, Calisto witnessed something terrible. The village where they were stationed was attacked by this roving group. The murders burned the town, razing it and its people--killing without question. A few children were selected--they always were. These they tied and chained, forced them to watch, prisoners to the execution of their families and friends. Anya was among them. As a young girl of seven, she watched the burning, watched the terror, saw horror and fear in the eyes of her mother, saw anger and greif in the eyes of her father... watched their life fade away along with hundreds of others. All the while drunk men, warriors, and vagabonds laughed and guffawed, found humor in it all--while confused and terrified tears cascaded down the cheeks of all that was left of the outskirted village.
Raids were not uncommon among nations on the outskirt towns, even in times of peace. The downfall of this village would fall onto the record books like so many others that had come before it. There was always some sympathy that travelled from the leader of the time, but as it was assumed there were no survivors (there never seemed to be). The grief did not seem to last long to those who witnessed it as an afterthought.
But for Anya, it would last forever.
Like the day her village burned, she witnessed many more. Dragged to the occuring scene by rough uncaring hands with several other children, for this is how the band worked. Kids of promise were kidnapped, and so trained. Their plan? Teach immorality, teach them to kill, make them hard, make them callous... make them killers. Restart the war.
But Anya never changed. She fell deeply in herself, crying constantly, never abandoning hope, never abandoning her misery. She could not accept the blood, the pain, the loss, and this rejection to conform is what saved her though it might have killed her.
The Roving band abandoned her eventually, seeing her as nothing useful anymore. She was left for dead, sickly, and alone, too young to take care of her self. She was dead to the world--there were no survivors from her village.
Luckily, wandering travels found her, carried her to the nearest town and left her there for the town to care for. She was shouldered among the Mantagne Del Vento between different homes, different families, all loving, all trying to help. But none could reach her. She didn't trust them, imagining that everytime they pulled her out of bed in the morning that they would drag her to some battle scene, force her to watch terrible things. She avoided people, tried to ignore them, became autistic, became resilient to their love... until she was finally old enough to leave.
Even now, in a quaint home in Denenvera, she does not feel secure. Never has she had a safe place that she could relax and become herself. Never. Even in feigned safety she feels anxious. Her powers isolate her as they have now grown in potency and threaten any who upset her. She is still as trapped as she has ever been, just now... she is her own captor, she has bound herself.
Calisto Narmolanya
[ she generally goes by "Anya" ]
Gender:
female
Race:
winged humanoid of dragonic blood
[ she is classified as a dragon, bearing dragonic blood & genetics; however, her natural appearance & breeding capabilities are like that of a winged human ]
Corner Preferance:
wind
Age:
43 years old
Description:
Anya is a beautifully constructed young woman.
Her skin is the color of fair olive, bearing a pale honey complexion that holds its own inner glow. Nearly flawless, it texture is smooth and soft, unnaturally adept at maintaining itself naturally.
Her hair has the texture of woven silk and is soft and flowing to the touch. Its color mocks the beauty of the blackbird, parading jet black hue with an alluring shine that catches in the sunlight.
Yet her eyes are what catches many. Captive and alluring, their inner glow resounds with a green based swatch that is both pale and bright--a brilliantly faded olive green.
Her body is an illustrious canvas of curves and volume. She is slender, graceful, but not quite petite. There is muscle there that defines her hips, thighs, calves, and abdomin... though feeble when compared to some. Her height stands at an average, humble five feet and four inches, while her head rests elegantly upon a thin, graceful neck. Her face is what some may call angular, with high cheek bones and a slightly pronounced chin. Her eyes are outlines by thick lashes, and her lips are full and alluring.
But...
It is the vast expanse of phumage that surrounds her which draws the most attention and completes her angelic imagery.
Her wings stretch to a powerful span of 15 feet from tip to tip and are made up of ivory white feathers speckled by grey--making an almost silver sheen glisten in the sun. The appendages protrude from atop her shoulders and the limp runs down the length of her back, allowing her to easily catch and glide upon the breeze.
Personality:
Calisto is, in many ways, a paradox.
Naturally, she is very outgoing--social, energetic, and humorous (in a sarcastic kind of way). She's stubborn, rebellious... but also very deeply and inwardly loyal. Those she trusts she will always trust, and her forgiveness seems endless. She rarely holds on to a grudge, and revenge rarely crosses her mind--except in extreme cases, of which she has not yet really experienced. She likes the comfort of friends, and she also likes the idea of love; deep down she's a damned romantic, though on occasion her stubborness and minor pride would like to hide the fact of the matter, though a blush in her cheeks always seems to prove the point. She's terrible at hiding her emotions. She can never keep a straight face, and when she's angry or upset she has a terrible time of trying to hide it. She's just very expressive, very open with her emotions.
Atleast... that is how she would be if...
Ah yes, the dreaded "if."
"If" he had seen the knife...
"If" she had stayed at home...
If, if, if...
No.
Anya's personality is not truly "natural." No doubt, she has the capability and general inclination to act as I have just described, but she has been exposed to trauma that has formed terrible habits that have barred her doors and withered her spirit.
These "learned" traits express themselves in a quiet young woman, humble, timid, and shy. She's easily intimidated and she is constantly apprehensive of most situations--always expecting the worst. Reliving memories inside a young mind that has not become callous, that does not know or understand how to truly cope with a black terror of the past.
She's very distrustful and feel vulnerable because she has a hard time determining a person's genuine intentions--a "friend" might be an enemy and an "enemy" might be a friend. She just has a hard time judging on appearances, and her naturally trusting personality makes it easy for her to find herself in a compromising situation. Therefore, she has almost stopped trusting all together. It is a terrible fate for one so young, but the world has begun to frighten her now that she has seen what it is capable of--the evil it is prone to commit.
Put her among true friends and watch her blossom. Watch her become how she truly is. She is insecure and all else are but symptoms to the greater problem. She needs to find safety. Once she has that... perhaps she can then finally start to learn to live again, without fear... as she was born to be.
Skills:
Anya's magic is unpredictable, raw, and untrained. She cannot control it--cannot beckon it, cannot dismiss it. Her emotions control it, and this can be dangerous as fear provokes it, and anger fuels it. She doesn't understand it, and no one has tried to teach her, leaving her older with no experience, no sturdy foundation in which she can trust herself.
A potentially beautiful talent has now become twisted and knotted into something almost deadly--in the hands of a young humanoid who has no wish to harm or hurt, but has no power to avoid it.
She is what some refer to as a "Wind Guardian"--a creature capable of conjoling and influencing the presence of the wind as an independent element. Unlike the masters of wind, unlike the mages and sorcerers of wind. She does not control it. She cannot. It is a symbiotic relationship and she can merely encourage, she can merely wish and provoke the wind around her to do what she would like it to. She cannot force it, the element acts on its own, bending to her desire only if it feels inclined to do so.
Now, normally, this could be a very potent gift, if someone knew how to possess it. How to harness and shephard the intentions of something so wild and reckless, but since Anya does not even know or understand anything of the power she possess, she cannot utilize her ability and that has made her dangerous.
For you see, an element knows its keeper from its master. A master controls it, bends it twists it, and it cannot refrain. However, to its keeper it is not so oblidged. It need not obey, but often it does under gentle, understanding hands that know when to push and know when to give. Since Anya never knew anything of it, she always gave, never pushed, and elements tend to side towards those most lenient. Over time, she became emotionally fused with the element of wind. Her fears provoked her element, causing it to react in her defense. Without her guidance, without her boundaries... the wind could kill. An element has no moral. It surrounds her, devoted to her. She still controls it, but her lack of control and unstanding leave it like a guard dog without a leash. Anything that upset her, will invoke her natural instincts--to call for help. And the sympathies of an undisciplined element have grown strong over the years. It will always bend to a master, but it will hold fast to a feeble guardian for it knows when its leash is loose, and it has power then. She is almost a prisoner to herself. With teaching this will change... but knowledge at this point, is dangerous. For remember... an element has no moral... and an element such as the reckless winds covets freedom more than anything.
Sample Post: (history)
The war is over.
All is safe.
As a young girl she was never afraid, she was not born in an age of war... but an age of peace and thus one would think that this unstressed period to grow would allow her to prosper and gain moral knowledge that would benefit not only herself but those she would later associate with, and it did. She loved life, she loved to play, she loved to socialize and her personality promised to bloom and prosper under the loving guidance of her mother and the discipline of her father.
Peace and serenity filled her days, just like many of those who led simple lives within the borders of Mantagne Del Vento.
The war was over.
All was safe.
Not Anymore.
Her father was a militant man--a man who helped stretch the arm of the law out across the far expanse of Wind territory. The wars were over, so there was little he needed to fear. Occasionally on his longer journies he brought along his family--a wife and young daughter.
These days were pleasantly adventurous, but never dangerous until the fate of one evening when their travel plans mingled unceremoniously with that of a rogue enemy.
They were not of Earth.
They were not of Water.
They were not of Fire.
They were miscreant heathens. War mongerers who now pledged liberty to bloodshed and congregated together to strike the nations against one another once again. To do this, they raided, pillaged, burned, murderered, and ranged freely about Alraënia undetected and unnoted. There influence was not as far spread, not even really known, they were such small scale attacks in comparison to the wars. However, to a young girl, and to those affected the effects were enough.
In her tale, Calisto witnessed something terrible. The village where they were stationed was attacked by this roving group. The murders burned the town, razing it and its people--killing without question. A few children were selected--they always were. These they tied and chained, forced them to watch, prisoners to the execution of their families and friends. Anya was among them. As a young girl of seven, she watched the burning, watched the terror, saw horror and fear in the eyes of her mother, saw anger and greif in the eyes of her father... watched their life fade away along with hundreds of others. All the while drunk men, warriors, and vagabonds laughed and guffawed, found humor in it all--while confused and terrified tears cascaded down the cheeks of all that was left of the outskirted village.
Raids were not uncommon among nations on the outskirt towns, even in times of peace. The downfall of this village would fall onto the record books like so many others that had come before it. There was always some sympathy that travelled from the leader of the time, but as it was assumed there were no survivors (there never seemed to be). The grief did not seem to last long to those who witnessed it as an afterthought.
But for Anya, it would last forever.
Like the day her village burned, she witnessed many more. Dragged to the occuring scene by rough uncaring hands with several other children, for this is how the band worked. Kids of promise were kidnapped, and so trained. Their plan? Teach immorality, teach them to kill, make them hard, make them callous... make them killers. Restart the war.
But Anya never changed. She fell deeply in herself, crying constantly, never abandoning hope, never abandoning her misery. She could not accept the blood, the pain, the loss, and this rejection to conform is what saved her though it might have killed her.
The Roving band abandoned her eventually, seeing her as nothing useful anymore. She was left for dead, sickly, and alone, too young to take care of her self. She was dead to the world--there were no survivors from her village.
Luckily, wandering travels found her, carried her to the nearest town and left her there for the town to care for. She was shouldered among the Mantagne Del Vento between different homes, different families, all loving, all trying to help. But none could reach her. She didn't trust them, imagining that everytime they pulled her out of bed in the morning that they would drag her to some battle scene, force her to watch terrible things. She avoided people, tried to ignore them, became autistic, became resilient to their love... until she was finally old enough to leave.
Even now, in a quaint home in Denenvera, she does not feel secure. Never has she had a safe place that she could relax and become herself. Never. Even in feigned safety she feels anxious. Her powers isolate her as they have now grown in potency and threaten any who upset her. She is still as trapped as she has ever been, just now... she is her own captor, she has bound herself.
