Post by bliedr on Nov 23, 2011 19:01:56 GMT -5
Name:Aëthír Wyrdbreaker, Hounder of Shadows, Keeper of Many secrets.
Age: 793
Race:Elf
Occupation:Count
Allegiance:Du Weldenvarden
Physical Description:Aethir is tall and very slim. He isn't particularly well-muscled, and shares his slenderness with most elves, but takes it to an extreme. It gives him a somewhat gangly appearance, however, he is as graceful as any other. His face is quite angular, and his cheekbones are wide-set. He has larger lips than the norm, usually coloured something vivid; occasionally black. His eyes are almond-shaped, and are not quite as angular as many elves'. He has a thin, but strong, brow; which gives him a perpetual appearance of ferocity, or disapproval. His skin is milky white and can look a little pallid. His hair is a silvery-blonde.
His voice is quite deep and is full of will and an authority bourne of experience. It is not particularly commanding or seductive in any way; it is flat, back to basics, and full of a lackluster impatience that makes it seem as though he couldn't care which way he was answered, only that it was done relatively quickly. His body language too is decisive, and he does not fare well with abstract gestures, except of course, the elves' customary greeting. He abjectly refuses to run or walk; a brisque stride suits him just fine.
He usually wears white robes, or black leather trousers and a loose somewhat ruffled white shirt, that hangs around his neck and about the sleeves, which reach just above his elbow. The first is for greeting guests to his abode, and the other is for comfort and pleasure. He usually wears a feather in his hair, as well as some kind of adornment - anything from a leather band to a lace hairpiece to something more ornate still.
Personality:Aethir is to-the-point. He plays the "grand game" because he has to, not out of any particular desire. He to know where things are, yet he does not mind chaos, as long as it is perfectly placed. He is fond of painting and solitude - he enjoys thinking, and feels that for now, he has exhausted all attempts in gaining meaning to life through valiant, or otherwise, deeds. He enjoys allmost all forms of art, except for dance, which he discovered he disliked many years ago.
He thinks that the current situation between the various factions is folly, though he would never openly admit it. He shares many views with humans, and feels that they have been somewhat repressed. It has not, however, stopped himself getting power, as it has given him the chance to have his oppinion voiced. He is fond of oddities and the inexplicable and will often throw himself into a mystery. He is particularly fond of those elves who's shape has been distorted; also those elves who come from far-off places.
He isn't particularly persuasive, but he is good at getting his point across, and people can usually see that what he is thinking is a good idea, or otherwise should not be trifled with. His main source of authority is his common sense, if not his vast knowledge of magic.
History:Aethir was born to Ryui and Nína, both elves of great prestige, some eight hundred years ago. Like all elves, as a child, he was inexorably powerful, and he has a silvery sheen. His parents were proud to have a strong son, and they stayed together in order to guide him through his first years. When he became a centenarian, they allowed him to go his own way, though he was little more than a child by most elves' standards. He was taken to Ileria for testing, however, none of the dragons hatched for him. This did not worry him in the slightest; he saw himself as free. And he was in a sense. He mingled with humans in a time when there was no conflict between them, and found them interesting, if not a little rough around the edges.
However, he managed. He spent a great deal of time performing good deeds with his vast knowledge of magic, and his seemingly extraordinary skill as a swordfighter. It was in the company of a renowned human fortune teller, who's predictions were accurate, that he learned that he was to die at the age of six-hundred. He thought little of it, and accepted his fate. It was not until his third century that he thought of his homeland, and he realized that a long time had passed since he had been in Du Weldenvarden, and suddenly an urge came over him, and he longed for the pines and the animals and the company of his fellow elves.
He travelled back and was welcomed with open arms, though he had forgotten the arrogance, the grace, and the strange social pracitces of the fair folk. He soon re-adjusted, however, and was glad that things came naturally to him. He found that he had to be careful of what he said; for the first time, he partook in the grand game. It was immediately not to his liking. It seemed petty, but, if it kept the peace, he supposed that that was all that mattered.
He travelled the forest for some years after that, singing to the trees and animals and other life, taking time to see all of the things that he could, for fear that something might stop him seeing them once more. He learned of the secrets of the forest, and those within, and swore to keep them hidden. After a while of wandering, he returned to the capital for that century's Agaetí Blödhren. He learned that he was in his sixth century, and that he had been gone for some years. He was surprised that he had not died - for every other prediction the fortune teller had made had come true. After that, he made an effort to make a name for himself, realizing that the elves had become ever more corrupt in their long lives. At first he relished it, but soon realized that it was a tiresome endeavour. He longed for the simple, clear-cut company of the humans, but knew that he would never be accepted if he left the forst once more.
He travelled to the eastern edges of the forest, where he became aquaintances with many of the wilder elves and joined their ranks. He was very fond of singing to them, especially foreign elves, not native to alagaesia, as they had never heard his music before.
It was like this he spent his time, before be became the count of Ilia Feol. It was a role he took on after the previous count was killed while roaming the western edge of the forest; it was one of the first casualties of the blue divide. Aethir took the position gladly; he didn't want anyone else to try and disrupt the peace of the city's residents. They did, however, eventually fight in the great divide, devastating even the most well-trained human forces.
It hurt Aethir to turn against humans, who he had once regarded as friends. He wondered if any of them actually believed wholly in fighting the elves - the look of fear in their faces as they fell before him was pitiful. He felt low, destroying creatures who were obviously ill-equipped to fight the relentless elves. He wondered if he had once shared a table with the great-grandfathers of the men he was felling.
The whole bloody experience was miserable ordeal and he was glad when it was over. However, the next few years would be almost as bad. He was a staunch supporter of the queen, and he participated strongly in the grand game until he decided that it was not worth his attentions. He did not withdraw entirely, only enough that he was not under constant threat of a knife between the ribs - not that his wards would have accomodated that anyhow.
Roleplaying Sample:
Age: 793
Race:Elf
Occupation:Count
Allegiance:Du Weldenvarden
Physical Description:Aethir is tall and very slim. He isn't particularly well-muscled, and shares his slenderness with most elves, but takes it to an extreme. It gives him a somewhat gangly appearance, however, he is as graceful as any other. His face is quite angular, and his cheekbones are wide-set. He has larger lips than the norm, usually coloured something vivid; occasionally black. His eyes are almond-shaped, and are not quite as angular as many elves'. He has a thin, but strong, brow; which gives him a perpetual appearance of ferocity, or disapproval. His skin is milky white and can look a little pallid. His hair is a silvery-blonde.
His voice is quite deep and is full of will and an authority bourne of experience. It is not particularly commanding or seductive in any way; it is flat, back to basics, and full of a lackluster impatience that makes it seem as though he couldn't care which way he was answered, only that it was done relatively quickly. His body language too is decisive, and he does not fare well with abstract gestures, except of course, the elves' customary greeting. He abjectly refuses to run or walk; a brisque stride suits him just fine.
He usually wears white robes, or black leather trousers and a loose somewhat ruffled white shirt, that hangs around his neck and about the sleeves, which reach just above his elbow. The first is for greeting guests to his abode, and the other is for comfort and pleasure. He usually wears a feather in his hair, as well as some kind of adornment - anything from a leather band to a lace hairpiece to something more ornate still.
Personality:Aethir is to-the-point. He plays the "grand game" because he has to, not out of any particular desire. He to know where things are, yet he does not mind chaos, as long as it is perfectly placed. He is fond of painting and solitude - he enjoys thinking, and feels that for now, he has exhausted all attempts in gaining meaning to life through valiant, or otherwise, deeds. He enjoys allmost all forms of art, except for dance, which he discovered he disliked many years ago.
He thinks that the current situation between the various factions is folly, though he would never openly admit it. He shares many views with humans, and feels that they have been somewhat repressed. It has not, however, stopped himself getting power, as it has given him the chance to have his oppinion voiced. He is fond of oddities and the inexplicable and will often throw himself into a mystery. He is particularly fond of those elves who's shape has been distorted; also those elves who come from far-off places.
He isn't particularly persuasive, but he is good at getting his point across, and people can usually see that what he is thinking is a good idea, or otherwise should not be trifled with. His main source of authority is his common sense, if not his vast knowledge of magic.
History:Aethir was born to Ryui and Nína, both elves of great prestige, some eight hundred years ago. Like all elves, as a child, he was inexorably powerful, and he has a silvery sheen. His parents were proud to have a strong son, and they stayed together in order to guide him through his first years. When he became a centenarian, they allowed him to go his own way, though he was little more than a child by most elves' standards. He was taken to Ileria for testing, however, none of the dragons hatched for him. This did not worry him in the slightest; he saw himself as free. And he was in a sense. He mingled with humans in a time when there was no conflict between them, and found them interesting, if not a little rough around the edges.
However, he managed. He spent a great deal of time performing good deeds with his vast knowledge of magic, and his seemingly extraordinary skill as a swordfighter. It was in the company of a renowned human fortune teller, who's predictions were accurate, that he learned that he was to die at the age of six-hundred. He thought little of it, and accepted his fate. It was not until his third century that he thought of his homeland, and he realized that a long time had passed since he had been in Du Weldenvarden, and suddenly an urge came over him, and he longed for the pines and the animals and the company of his fellow elves.
He travelled back and was welcomed with open arms, though he had forgotten the arrogance, the grace, and the strange social pracitces of the fair folk. He soon re-adjusted, however, and was glad that things came naturally to him. He found that he had to be careful of what he said; for the first time, he partook in the grand game. It was immediately not to his liking. It seemed petty, but, if it kept the peace, he supposed that that was all that mattered.
He travelled the forest for some years after that, singing to the trees and animals and other life, taking time to see all of the things that he could, for fear that something might stop him seeing them once more. He learned of the secrets of the forest, and those within, and swore to keep them hidden. After a while of wandering, he returned to the capital for that century's Agaetí Blödhren. He learned that he was in his sixth century, and that he had been gone for some years. He was surprised that he had not died - for every other prediction the fortune teller had made had come true. After that, he made an effort to make a name for himself, realizing that the elves had become ever more corrupt in their long lives. At first he relished it, but soon realized that it was a tiresome endeavour. He longed for the simple, clear-cut company of the humans, but knew that he would never be accepted if he left the forst once more.
He travelled to the eastern edges of the forest, where he became aquaintances with many of the wilder elves and joined their ranks. He was very fond of singing to them, especially foreign elves, not native to alagaesia, as they had never heard his music before.
It was like this he spent his time, before be became the count of Ilia Feol. It was a role he took on after the previous count was killed while roaming the western edge of the forest; it was one of the first casualties of the blue divide. Aethir took the position gladly; he didn't want anyone else to try and disrupt the peace of the city's residents. They did, however, eventually fight in the great divide, devastating even the most well-trained human forces.
It hurt Aethir to turn against humans, who he had once regarded as friends. He wondered if any of them actually believed wholly in fighting the elves - the look of fear in their faces as they fell before him was pitiful. He felt low, destroying creatures who were obviously ill-equipped to fight the relentless elves. He wondered if he had once shared a table with the great-grandfathers of the men he was felling.
The whole bloody experience was miserable ordeal and he was glad when it was over. However, the next few years would be almost as bad. He was a staunch supporter of the queen, and he participated strongly in the grand game until he decided that it was not worth his attentions. He did not withdraw entirely, only enough that he was not under constant threat of a knife between the ribs - not that his wards would have accomodated that anyhow.
Roleplaying Sample:
He cupped her face between his hands and stared into her ever-vacant eyes. He willed her to have some conscious thought, some kind of appreciation of the things around her, but nothing. He almost wanted to slap her, his would-be sweetheart who had no mind whatsoever. Instead, he kissed her on the forehead, which she blatantly ignored, and continued to strip her until she stood nude before him. It was a kind of morbid pleasure that he allowed himself - to ferret her away and bathe her, his Sophie, his love.
His mind was partly repulsed by it - she wasn't human, she wasn't even conscious. Just another body, and Ryu had seen enough bodies. He took her by the hand and lead her into the water, which made her shudder, but she had no other reaction. Ryu was still a man - he enjoyed the softness of her skin, her shapely form, but he did not linger for a moment, lest he sicken himself. His body told him that she was alive and well; his mind, of course, knew otherwise.
The sun slowly rose higher and higher in the sky, and Ryu washed his own body in the ice cold spring water. He heard the sound of someone else coming, and he guessed who it was. The young elf had been bothering him ever since he'd taken up residence in the forest. Of course, he intrigued her, but why couldn't she couldn't just leave him to his misery?
The sun was quite high now, and Sophie's usually golden skin was a maze of green leaf patterns. A smile pulled at his lips, but he glanced once more at her face, and his expression grew sombre. He dried them both, and he tugged their clothes on as the other person rounded the corner. He was right; it was Elendail. She asked him how he was and he grunted nonchalantly, before humming a deep hum of disapproval. She asked him how Sophie was doing, and he stared at her blankly. He didn't answer her, and when she realized she asked him one more question; 'What happened?'
'I loved her dearly. But they broke her mind; her body is merely a husk of her former self.' While honest, his declaration of love was bittersweet; sweet in that his tender kisses upon her vacant face reminded him of happiness, and bitter in that he could not chase the affections of another while caring for his lost sweetheart, not even this beautiful elven princess who sought to heal the rifts in his soul.
His mind was partly repulsed by it - she wasn't human, she wasn't even conscious. Just another body, and Ryu had seen enough bodies. He took her by the hand and lead her into the water, which made her shudder, but she had no other reaction. Ryu was still a man - he enjoyed the softness of her skin, her shapely form, but he did not linger for a moment, lest he sicken himself. His body told him that she was alive and well; his mind, of course, knew otherwise.
The sun slowly rose higher and higher in the sky, and Ryu washed his own body in the ice cold spring water. He heard the sound of someone else coming, and he guessed who it was. The young elf had been bothering him ever since he'd taken up residence in the forest. Of course, he intrigued her, but why couldn't she couldn't just leave him to his misery?
The sun was quite high now, and Sophie's usually golden skin was a maze of green leaf patterns. A smile pulled at his lips, but he glanced once more at her face, and his expression grew sombre. He dried them both, and he tugged their clothes on as the other person rounded the corner. He was right; it was Elendail. She asked him how he was and he grunted nonchalantly, before humming a deep hum of disapproval. She asked him how Sophie was doing, and he stared at her blankly. He didn't answer her, and when she realized she asked him one more question; 'What happened?'
'I loved her dearly. But they broke her mind; her body is merely a husk of her former self.' While honest, his declaration of love was bittersweet; sweet in that his tender kisses upon her vacant face reminded him of happiness, and bitter in that he could not chase the affections of another while caring for his lost sweetheart, not even this beautiful elven princess who sought to heal the rifts in his soul.
