- the b a s i c s
G o o d or E v i l ?
" Many call me evil, but aren't we all just doing what we can to survive in this godforsaken war? The way I see it, there are only two sides: those that survive and those that don’t. The means don’t matter as long as the end is reached."
- - N a m e [first ; middle ; last.] :
Lemuel Crocell
- n i c k n a m e s [if any ] :
When his sister was beginning to learn their names, she couldn’t pronounce Lemuel’s, so instead she said “Lemon.” Much to his chagrin, it stuck.
- g e n d e r :
Male
- a g e :
Eighteen years old, which is EXCEPTIONALLY young for a Siren
- s e x u a l o r i e n t a t i o n :
As Sirens are creatures of lust and passion, they generally do not acknowledge boundaries such as gender or sex. In fact, they find it ridiculous that so many species, in particular the humans, get so hung up on social stigmas, prejudices, and norms, so much so that it inhibits them from accepting those deemed outside the social “norm.” Therefore, Lemuel can ultimately be considered a bisexual, though he does have a tendency to sway towards males. Although really, as long as his partner is beautiful or unique, he is satisfied.
- B r e e d ?
Siren
- t h e m e s o n g
[url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODhMdujZeEYurl”I’m not a Vampire”[/url]by Falling in Reverse
- p h y s i c a l a p p e a r a n c e
- - height [ feet ; inches ] :
Just slightly over six feet
- hair color:
A silky, raven black that it so dark that sometimes it almost appears blue or purple in the right light. Some have commented that it’s like the void between planets.
- eye color:
A crimson red color that is unsettlingly like blood; it has made many people unnerved, partially because he has such a piercing, soul-searching stare.
- skin tone :
Creamy pale and fair; the type of skin reminiscent of porcelain
- bodily build
Lemuel has the well-built, lean frame of a runner, with long graceful legs, a slender torso, and proportionate shoulders. Unlike some of the other dark species specially designed for combat and battle, he is not meant for fighting (which is why he uses his voice to slay), but has enough muscle to make for a strong marksmen. A few may even consider his body to be effeminate and thin. He is a creature of contradictions, with limbs that seem to stretch on forever in graceful eternity, and slim waist and hips that are lithe.
- b o d i l y m o d i f i c a t i o n s
When Lemuel was sixteen, he was injured by a Fallen, as he couldn’t get away quickly enough. The left side of his face was pretty severely scored by the beast’s claws and his eye was completely gouged out, leaving nothing but an empty hollow behind. To cover up the permanent damage, he wears a mask because his vanity and pride as a Siren won’t allow him to appear as anything less than beautiful. Due to the Fallen’s power, the injury never healed, nor could Lemuel find someone with healing abilities to restore him to his former glory.
- l o v e a n d o t h e r d r u g s
- - r o m a n t i c i n t e r e s t
Lemuel has had his fair share of lovers, but none have been particularly serious, and nearly all of his relationships are driven by his lust or desire to covet beautiful, unique, or talented things. Given his stunning looks and compelling voice, it is rather easy to come by those entirely willing to become his partner, and half the game is acquiring the prize. It is rare that he finds someone that he feels any degree of real attachment to, since there are few that he treasures above himself and he isn’t, by nature, a very affectionate, caring person.
- c u r r e n t l y i n v o l v e d w i t h
The concept of true love is intriguing to him, but he has yet to see any real proof of such a thing, particularly in the dark world he resides in. And, he would have to stop being so vain, and stop loving himself so much, to enter any sort of loving relationship.
- e n r i c h i n g - i n f o r m a t i o n
- - p e r s o n a l i t y:
Lemuel is a hopelessly vain, arrogant, and selfish creature, much of which can be attributed to his ingrained Siren's nature, so, while some of it certainly can be attributed to his personality, much of it is wired in. After all, what kind of a Siren isn’t vain and conceited? His love for beautiful things and desire to be beautiful is extreme; his appearance and materialism are nearly everything to him, and there is a surplus of luxurious and lavish items in his room as a result, ranging anywhere from rich silk to the finest ruby. This shallow personality trait, of course, gives birth to his haughtiness, as well as his self-centeredness, and it is no secret that Lemuel holds the belief that he is an incredible specimen, that he is the best, and of course, the most beautiful. He is entirely too cocky and self-assured for his own good, and, more frequently than not, gets himself into heaps of trouble, even if he is crafty in wheedling himself out. While having an ego is a healthy thing to possess, Lemuel’s could crush any normal person, and his braggart nature often offends and belittles people, and no one likes someone whose head is inflated to the size of the sun.
Lemuel doesn’t take orders from anyone well, royals and gods included, and when told to do one thing, he has the tendency to generally do another, since his superiority complex often argues against bowing to someone else’s will. It is in his nature to push boundaries and test the waters. His tongue is as sharp as a knife, and his mind even sharper. Many times, he can offer a compliment, but it will be double-edged, and also be intended as a well-covered insult. He is also known for talking in infuriating riddles, answering questions with questions, and laying on the sarcasm. As a rule, however, he tells the truth, to the point of being brutally honest.
Despite all his flaws—and he has many—underneath it all, Lemuel does have the capacity for devotion, caring, and loyalty. It is just very difficult to get him to reveal such qualities, except for when he is with his little sister. He has a wonderful sense of humor, and is quick and generous with laughter. He is the coy, charming, devious friend that plans all the parties, drinking nights, and club get-togethers. His determination and willpower can be commended as well, because when he puts his mind to a task, it will most surely get done, as he is never one to quit half-way or give up. Being a Siren has left him with the habit of being a perfectionist.
- q u i r k s / h a b i t s
Song is a Siren's greatest weapon, and there is no doubt that Lemuel has learned how to skillfully use his voice to lure the enemy to their demise. He is well-known among other immortal/inhumans for being an excellent melody-weaver in that respect, and has lost count of how many lives he has ended. However, he has also found that he reaps great joy from the simple act of singing just to sing. Many of his fellow Sirens speculate that, without the compelling quality of the Siren side of his voice, Lemuel would still be a truly gifted singer. He enjoys singing most when he is by the sea or alone in the forest, with nothing but the trees to keep him company and to listen to his melody.
Lemuel's vanity led to his habit of being a perfectionist, making him literally incapable of walking away from a task until it is completed to his standards, which are generally extraordinarily high. He has a predisposition to nit pick tiny, seemingly inconsequential details, and is meticulous about every aspect of his life. Often times, he can be seen straightening out a crooked fork on a place setting, smoothing out the dog-eared pages of a book, or polishing a practically nonexistent scuff away from some metal piece. Mostly his fastidious nature will kick in subconsciously, and he won't be entirely aware of what he's doing.
The Siren is, as his articulateness suggests, a thorough lover of literature. Whenever he can spare the time, he will find a quiet place somewhere far away from war, prejudice, and death, and simply immerse himself in the ink and paper world crafted so intricately by the author. Though he prefers novels, he will read basically anything he can get his hands on, whether it be poetry or biographies.
Lemuel has an intense love for any and all sweets. Amazingly, he can consume large amounts of cake and pastries without gaining a single pound (the gift of high metabolism), and frequently munches on something sweet thrice a day. His sweet tooth is also extended to what he drinks, and his coffee, tea, milk, etc. is almost always combined with no less than four spoon-fu ls of sugar. He is quite sure he would have withdrawal symptoms were he to stop.
- - h i s t o r y :
Lemuel was born into the heat of the war, though luckily, the Siren encampment where he lived was in a secluded area of the forest, far more isolated than other races had the good fortune of residing in. However, even as a young child, he was able to perceive the brutality of battle, as it often came in the form of solemn-faced, terrifying-looking soldiers, many seeking refuge or a place to rest while they healed from grievous wounds, and even the occasional enemy human, though they were always disposed of quickly and ruthlessly. Lemuel held no misconceptions about how gruesome the war was, and though he was still too young to understand why they were fighting, he did understand that one day he would be fighting too.
For about the first six years of his life, his mother stayed in their home, but she was always a cold, unaffectionate presence, not unlike a shadow and utterly void of warmth. Lemuel remembers being very frightened of her, particularly of the gleaming, crimson eyes that he unfortunately inherited, the eyes that would always look upon him with disdain and dislike, never the kind of gaze a mother should have, as though he were some kind of disease or misfortune. He spent much of his time as a toddler away from his mother, mainly off by himself or with the other Siren children. He would have spent more time with his father, but Lemuel recognized that the man was influential in the immortal military, even if he wasn't directly on the battlefield. At times, he would disappear for a few days, which could easily span to a few weeks if the assassination proved more difficult or arduous than initially planned, and Lemuel would be left with the woman who was his mother simply in name. She would often reveal just how much of a Siren she was when his father was away, going of to have affairs and such, and thus he matured very quickly, becoming quick on his feet and learning how to cook, clean, and do other daily things. It was during this time that he discovered his budding love for literature, as well as his unusually beautiful voice, and he engrossed himself in the two passions with zeal.
When Lemuel's mother grew pregnant with Solaine, she and his father began to fight frequently, and it soon became apparent that she wanted to leave. To be honest, he hadn't been very surprised; she had never accepted any responsibility for anything. The trouble was, Lemuel's father had been called away from the village. His voice was required for several highly dangerous missions, and he was concerned about how Lemuel would fare without anyone at home, and that wasn't even taking into account the new baby. Lemuel assured them he could handle himself, and his baby sister if need be, which appeased his mother, and reluctantly his father accepted after much persuasion. While her pregnancy progressed, Lemuel decided it was high time he learn how to defend himself. After he had gained a basic knowledge of self defense, and ways to use a larger opponent's weight, strength and speed against him, it was on his father's suggestion that Lemuel took up archery. Not long into practicing did he discover that he had a natural gift for it. The two of them spent summer afternoons in the woods, initially using trees for targets, before Lemuel graduated on to hunting, where he would have to combine accuracy, patience, light-footedness, tracking, and a whole manner of other skills together to succeed. His reflexes became sharp and honed as a result of all the training, and to congratulate him on the job well done, Lemuel's father helped him to craft a magnificent bow of oak from the tree that grew behind their home.
At last Solaine was born, and at first he was sure he was going to hate his little sister. After all, he knew he was selfish and vain, and she was only going to be extra work and trouble for him, but as soon as Lemuel saw her face, he adored her. They were practically inseparable afterwards. A week passed, and one morning Lemuel's mother was extraordinarily nice to him, such a rare occurrence that he was at first extremely suspicious. She spent the entire day with him, cooking a meal, sharing her Siren's song (it was the first time he had ever heard it), even holding his hand as he drifted off to sleep. Something woke him in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, and he spied the parcel on his bedside table. How he knew she had left he couldn't quite say, but it was exceedingly ironic that the only day she had been kind to her son had been out of guilt from her leaving him behind. Though he tried, he couldn't muster any bitterness in his heart, because she simply hadn't left anything in his heart to turn bitter. The package held a fancy copy of his favorite book and a letter from her that he never bothered to open. It still remains unopened to this day.
His mother having vanished, and his father away at war, Lemuel took care of Solaine, himself, and the house all on his own, and really, with little difficulty. He was clever, charming, and an excellent smooth-talker. Not to mention, as a Siren, he was maturing, and his voice had grown incredibly compelling and alluring, as had his looks. Seduction was now second nature to him, and lust was a long-time companion; he used both to his advantage easily in most situations, and soon became a top-notch Siren any of his kind would be proud of. In his spare time, he collected beautiful and lavish things, decorating his room with a multitude of objects that met his fancies, and flirted with both sexes, going through relationships like the candy he ate.
The immortal military came knocking on their door one day, bearing terrible news. Their father was dead, killed by humans who had discovered his identity and purpose. Solaine was beside herself, and Lemuel was more dumbfounded than anything else. The soldiers disclosed that Lemuel was to come with them, because he was going to be taking his father's position. They had heard from his father about his captivating voice, and from others about his cleverness, and evidently that was enough. With no choice, he packed his things, made a family friend promise to take care of Solaine in his absence, and left with the men. The traveling itself was interesting; he saw more of the world than ever before, but he also observed the death and the grief. He held no real ill will against the humans, not like some of his kin and the other dark-hearts did, since he considers them to be inferior creatures that fear what they can’t understand and what differ from them, but he would fight to survive. He would fight to return to Solaine.
- w e a p o n o f c h o i c e
- When it comes to weapons, obviously the first would be Lemuel's voice, but as certain situations call for defense, he generally carries around an oak wood bow and a throwing knife on his person at all times. The bow he crafted himself, from maple wood, and with the help of his father (when he was still alive), inlaid it with precious stones and carved intricate patterns into the base. It is one of the few possessions that he has any sentimental attachments too. The throwing knife he acquired from one of his victims, a wealthy light-heart, and he carries it proudly mostly because the piece itself is quite beautiful. In reality, though, Lemuel can probably make a weapon out of most anything if the circumstances demanded it.
- - r e l a t i v e s :
Lemuel has a younger sister, Solaine, who is twelve years of age. He has no other living relatives.
- the b a s i c s
G o o d or E v i l ?
" I am; Evil, and I’ll tell you this: others may be fighting this war to avenge their fallen kin or for freedom, but I don’t have such noble intentions. Me, I’m fighting because I enjoy watching blood splatter, flesh tear, and bones break. Death is such a sweet thing, isn’t it? "
- - N a m e [first ; middle ; last.] :
Silarial Adair Talathain
- n i c k n a m e s [if any ] :
Over the decades, she has been granted many titles indicating her cruel and violent nature, as well as her beauty, but most only refer to her as Silarial or Adair.
- g e n d e r :
Female
- a g e :
A little over three centuries
- s e x u a l o r i e n t a t i o n :
Bisexual
- B r e e d ?
Satyr
- t h e m e s o n g
"Monster" by Skillet
- p h y s i c a l a p p e a r a n c e
- - height [ feet ; inches ] :
Five foot five
- hair color:
Brilliant red with a pink tint that humans wouldn’t be born with naturally.
- eye color:
Emerald green eyes that have small flecks of gold near the pupils.
- skin tone :
Fair skin with just a hint of honey and gold coloring giving her a healthy glow instead of that washed out, pale look that many vampires have
- bodily build
Silarial's upper body, that of a woman, is slender, curvaceous, and seemingly delicate. However, she is packed with lean muscle and equipped with fast reflexes that, when paired with the strength in the lower portion of her body, which is sheer, solid muscle, becomes a formidable advantage.
- b o d i l y m o d i f i c a t i o n s
Silarial's skin is unmarked and unblemished; she intends to keep it that way, and generally doesn't like modifications that incorporate unnatural things such as ink or metal. [/size]
- l o v e a n d o t h e r d r u g s
- - r o m a n t i c i n t e r e s t
The relationships Silarial have are never based on love; they are solely based on lust. Her lovers are but mere toys, used to pass the time, rid her of boredom, or as a means to gain some form of information. And those toys...in the end, most break. She is fickle by nature and rarely sticks to one person for very long, though occasionally a form of possessiveness does surface. The other type of romantic relationships she invests in are those that benefit her. Say she needs to get in to the last ring of one district, she’ll hook up with a major businessmen and be his little arm candy until he is sufficiently wrapped around her finger so she can use him to her advantage.
- c u r r e n t l y i n v o l v e d w i t h
---
- e n r i c h i n g - i n f o r m a t i o n[/size]
- - p e r s o n a l i t y:
Silarial Talathain can best be compared to the sea. One moment she can be calm, beautiful, and coldly serene like a peaceful day where the waves lap gently against the shore and further out, the surface remains still, reflecting the sky above, but the next she can be utterly devastating, a creature full of violence, cruelty, and bloodlust, like the vicious, turbulent waves that sink ships, destroy lives, and maroon people on islands. She is capricious and wild, someone who will never be tamed and is forever unpredictable, much like nature itself. Perhaps it is her deep-rooted connection with nature that makes her this way, or perhaps it is just the personality of the ever-This fickleness makes her utterly true to herself. In many respects, whimsy is her master, and this makes her mind and heart subject to change at a moment's notice. She is much more ruled by emotion than by logic, but don't be misled: this certainly doesn't mean that she isn't detrimentally intelligent.
One side to Silarial is extremely cunning and calculating. She knows how to use the people and resources around her to get the things and outcomes she wants; this skilled manipulating is also how she kills. Though satyrs are known for their strength in combat, they are also infamous for the wit they exercise, while pulling tricks and pranks to fulfill their tasks. She reads people very well, and responds accordingly, often assuming a personality that draws her opponent or companion in. Frequently, her larks are nasty, morbid things and end up with the victim in some terrible sort of situation. She enjoys watching her prey squirm, as well as watching how they struggle to free themselves from their imminent demise. It is no secret that she has sadistic, dark urges.
The more Fae side of Silarial is passionate, impulsive, and selfish. Everything she does, she does for self-gain, nothing more and nothing less. What's more, she rarely feels guilty for anything, so there are no boundaries to the lengths and extents she will go to grasp what it is she desires. Self-satisfaction and indulgence are all that matter to her, unless of course, she is seeking revenge. Silarial's nature makes her quite the vindictive creature, and insulting or wounding her enormous pride warrants grievous wounds or a painful death. She is most dangerous when she is angry, because most of her common sense flies out the window to be replaced by volatility and sheer destructive determination.
- q u i r k s / h a b i t s
Silarial's temper is liable to snap at any given moment; small things set her off constantly, though often there are small warning signs that can show she is slowly building up and about to explode: her jaw will tighten, her left eyebrow will arch slightly to give her an almost sarcastic expression, her nostrils flare, and, if sitting down, her index finger will begin to tap, the speed increasing the angrier she grows.
After a particularly exhausting battle or series of days, Silarial enjoys blending with her favorite tree and simply drifting off into a state of trance-like sleep where her body can rest, heal, and draw in energy from the nature around her. In fact, despite her brutal tendencies, the satyr loves the peacefulness of the forest and can be found there frequently.
Silarial has no sense of modesty, or shame for that matter, and has no qualms with showing a great deal of skin. This means that, at times, the clothing she wears can be questionable by others' standards. What she does wear is generally crafted from purely natural material, whether that be leaves, flowers, or spider silk.
- - h i s t o r y :
One has to wonder, when faced with someone wicked, whether they were born to assume that role, or whether their history and the events that molded their hearts to be cold, cunning, and twisted are to be blamed, for children are supposed to be the symbol of innocence and purity.
The day Silarial Talathain was born, the forest shook with the might and power of the storm thundering overhead. Her mother would often remind her that the day she conceived her was "that of purest passion." And perhaps it was an omen, for Silarial would surely become a creature ruled by fervor, but later on in life, she couldn't help but look back and grow to assume that the storm was nothing but ill-fate and bad luck. Initially, her family was small, consisting of nothing but her mother and her. Her father had been nothing but a one-night stand, and Silarial was merely a product of lust. He, a satyr by the name of Ravus, was surely off spending his time with other women and drowning in fairy wine, so he never had a part in her life, and frankly, she didn't want him to. She grew in a Fae community of satyrs in a bountiful, ancient, and beautiful forest, and from a young age did as she fancied, led on by whimsy and the freedom of her emotions.
While Silarial's mother cared for her, she was still a Fae, and a dark-heart at that, and raising her daughter with love, warmth, and affection was hardly on the forefront of her mind. Her primary concern was spreading her bloodline. She was a power-hungry person, and she had figured that the way to increase her influence was through having children, as well as gaining power through other measures. It wasn't long before Silarial had seven half-siblings, although, being the oldest, she always did have a degree of favoritism on her side. And, she was the most powerful. Ravus had been the brother of a clan leader, which meant he harbored a good deal of Fae magic within him, and luckily, Silarial had inherited that at birth, as well as her mother's considerable ability. Her relations with her siblings were never amicable, however. Her mother often had them compete for her favor, and the tasks set for them were never pleasant. Thus, they were constantly trying to one up each other in efforts to gain their mother's attention, and when they received it, she would often grant them more power, an object of magic, land, or some other significant reward. Silarial would have slit a brother's throat if that was what her mother asked because she knew the rewards would have been in her best self-interest. More importantly, if she wasn’t in her mother’s favor, she was at a disadvantage, and her other siblings, who had a substantial hatred for her, would likely work to kill or humiliate her. It was in this way that their more sadistic and evil natures were cultivated and nurtured.
Life in the forest was a mixture of dark desire and simple caprice. Unlike others, Silarial had no responsibilities, felt no guilt or shame, and did as she pleased. Days passed in leisure as she spent them learning about blending with nature, dancing until twilight, playing bloody, furtive games with her siblings, and lusting after both men and women alike. As she matured, so did her cleverness, and soon the tricks she pulled were extremely crafty and complex, intricate webs where when the victims squirmed, it only made them more tightly caught. Pulling pranks was a fun pastime for Silarial, and since this was several decades before the war started, she generally killed both dark-hearts and light-hearts.
As one might expect, eventually Silarial grew tired of her mother’s mind games, and left the Fae community that had been her home for decades. Gladly saying goodbye to her abhorrent siblings, she became a wanderer, eager to see the world and spread chaos and mayhem. By the time she had seen the world, its inhabitants would know and fear the name Silarial Talathain. Of this, she would make sure. Traveling from city to city, she made good money when she needed it by killing or injuring her inquiries, although, after living eighty years, she had already accumulated a good deal of wealth, and it was more for sport than monetary gain.
In the fall, just as the leaves were beginning to turn brilliant shades of gold, red, and auburn, Silarial was met with someone who not only evaded her prank with infuriating ease, but also discovered where she was hiding and defeated her thoroughly in combat. His name was Robin, and his existence was absolutely maddening because he had so sorely wounded her great pride. He refused to kill her after the battle, and instead demanded that she allow him to accompany her on her travels. If she refused, Robin said he would merely stalk her. It was the start of a strange sort of companionship. At first, Silarial held a massive grudge. After all, Robin had shredded her pride, and the Fae were excellent grudge-keepers. She intended to harbor her hate for him until she managed to get her retribution. During their journey, Silarial constantly attempted to prank Robin in some awful way, but he would always successfully, and often with exasperating finesse, slip away from her clutches and turn the trick on its head. He never let on to what his true nature was, but she suspected he was a mixture of siren and demon, with perhaps a little satyr because the horns that curled atop his head were suspiciously similar to the males of her kind. He was an oddity: an eccentric, bizarre being who viewed the world through different eyes.
Their relationship turned to one of friendship the day that Robin saved Silarial’s life. They were traveling close to the light-heart border, and happened across a herd of four centaurs. Robin by this time was a seasoned warrior, and he easily held his own, but Silarial relied too heavily on her blending magic, which one of the centaurs was able to see through, and it was only by her companion’s quick thinking that Silarial’s head didn’t roll. Robin earned himself a nasty scar zigzagging down his front, extending from his shoulder to his chest, in the process. The satyr decided that her grudge was no longer of importance, a typical example of Fae capriciousness, and the two became close friends. Now, Silarial believed she had a debt to repay, and despite Robin’s assurances he desired nothing in return, decided one day, when his life was in danger, she would do everything in her power to save him.
The opportunity came after the war started, when bloodlust was in the air, and tensions between Purebloods and Shun-Massa’s legions were at their highest. Fate is often a cruel mistress and enjoys testing those on her path, or perhaps she just enjoys mocking their efforts. She and Robin were caught by some of Shun-Massa’s soldiers and it was clear they wanted trouble. Only, Robin got surrounded, and in a moment’s hesitation, spurred on by fear, Silarial lost her chance to help him. Thinking him dead, she fled with a grieving heart that soon turned furious with hate. Unable to save the only precious thing to her, she turned savage, tearing apart all those that came into her path. She bathed in blood, and soon killing was the only thing she enjoyed. She saw fear and mercy as a sign of the weak and thrust it away from her, convincing herself that hardening her heart and becoming something that could kill without a second thought was the only way to spare her the same loss.
Eventually, Silarial was sought after by the immortal army that formed in the newly apocalyptic world. Her talents as an assassin, and a warrior overall were needed for the more covert style missions, although she is certainly a fan of good, old-fashioned head-to-head combat as well. The only reason she ever agreed to run “errands” for the army was because they promised her something she would have never believed possible: Robin’s return. According to their resources, he was being held hostage on enemy lines, and if she did what they asked, they would free him for her. It was a conversation full of Silarial’s language: self-interest.
To this day, she is still devoting her services to the army, moving little by little closer to her goal. However, she is not the satyr she once was, and the hatred in her heart has twisted her completely. It is hard to find another creature as bloodthirsty as she.
- w e a p o n o f c h o i c e [if any ]
- Silarial's best weapon is her cunning and wit, matched, of course, with her ability to blend in with nature. However, given her strength that lends for the ability to fight on the offensive in battle, she is a skilled swordsman. In her free time, she also practices with throwing knives in the forest, bettering her aim by using small animals and trees as targets.
- - r e l a t i v e s :
Silarial has several siblings spread over the world, but is not on good terms with any of them. It has been at least four decades since she last saw her brothers and sisters, and she'd prefer to keep her distance.[/size]
- o t h e r
- The goat portion of Silarial's body is rich chestnut in color, speckled with white and gold.
She is more or less a "free agent" when it comes to the immortal/immortal-supportive human army. Coming and going as she pleases, Silarial does often partake in battle and bloodshed, but only of her own accord, not by command or order. She'll disappear as quickly as she arrives, and can't be found unless she wants to be.
Name: Tyre
Lab Creation Number: 676
Description: If Tyre wasn’t caught in that awkward teenage stage where the body is just beginning to fill out, he would be slender, sleek, and strong. Because he is still growing into his looks, he is slightly gawky and lanky with limbs that are a little too long, but there is no denying that muscles are forming and, given the right treatment and nutrition, he could become quite a head turner . His innocent, adolescent appearance does radiate a certain, pure charm, however, so some may argue he’s good-looking to begin with.
As Tyre has been an experiment all of his life, he is a bit gaunt and unnaturally skinny, with deathly pale skin that has a translucent characteristic, thanks to his infrequent exposure to any form of sunlight and the constant, almost toxic pumping of chemicals and drugs into his battered body. He doesn’t retain the glow of a healthy, fifteen year old boy, and his often sober expressions suggest that he is far more mature and serious than anyone his age should be.
Looking past the inevitable effects of his cruel treatment, Tyre’s features are long, almost delicate, and nicely spaced, with high, arching cheekbones, a straight nose, and an angular jaw line. His eyes are almond-shaped and slightly slanted inward, but not enough to give him the specific quality of any particular ethnicity. The irises would be absolutely stunning if they weren’t so frequently void of life. A rich, buttery gold with flecks of striking copper, they remain dull, as though he’s alive, but there is a wall separating him from the world, some form of barrier that blocks out his surroundings and leaves him isolated in a reality of his own creation. His hair is the bloody orange color of dying embers, a shade brighter than auburn, and falls to the back of his neck. His bangs are long and unkempt, stopping just above his eyes and obscuring most of his forehead in a haphazard mess that, no matter how much effort is expended, could never be anything but unruly.
The feature that makes Tyre stand out from any normal “immortal” or vampire are his large, bat-like wings. Extending to over twenty feet when fully stretched, they are truly a sight to behold. Sleek, glossy, and with membranes as thin as paper, the rich raven black of his wings are beautiful and dangerous. They seem to shimmer like they’re made of pure shadows and all things ebony and night inducing.
Age: Tyre is fifteen years old, and the scientists that test him are unsure as to how long he will live. He has a good deal of blood from a variety of vampire species coursing through his veins, so only time will tell how he fares.
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Birthday Date: September 15th
Job: Seeing as he is often incapacitated and a living lab experiment, he has no occupation and more accurately, no life. That doesn’t stop Tyre from dreaming of an existence outside of the laboratory, however, and he has often fantasized about becoming a famous writer or pianist and living someplace peaceful and quiet.
Fears: Tyre is afraid of nearly everyone in the lab, particularly Derek. He is also terrified of any form of pain.
Interests: To keep Tyre more or less sane, he is given several hours of free time during the day so he can compose music, play the piano, or write. During these periods, his remarkable skills are revealed and he slips into a type of artistic frenzy, where he can create beautiful pieces of work in no time at all, his fingers rarely pausing from their frantic dance across paper or the ivory keys of a grand piano. His muse is prolific and tireless.
Goals in Life: All Tyre wants is to be happy. To be safe and somewhere that he can call home. Maybe even have someone he can love.
Personality: It is said that when a person is subjected to a trauma of unbelievable magnitude, the mind will go to great lengths to protect itself from the pain, at times creating an entirely different personality that is able to carry the burden more easily than its counterpart. This is precisely what happened to Tyre when he was a very small child. Faced with the ceaseless torment of his existence as a lab experiment, he developed an entirely new being to help him cope with his surroundings, someone who could be strong when he himself couldn’t. The transition between the two is very subtle, a slight straightening of the back, a discreet furrowing of the brow, a spark of haughtiness in the eye. Nothing particularly noticeable; that is, until the counterpart speaks. He refers to himself as Kalona and it is clear that there is a very large difference between he and Tyre. They are both aware of each other, and often have conversations—a very strange experience to behold from on onlooker’s perspective—to pass the time in their cell.
Tyre is a very gentle, timid soul, who is soft spoken. He’s cautious, sensitive, and very weary, the type that would first stick in his toe to check the water instead of diving right in. This fidgety, nervous behavior is often converted into small ticks. For example, his eyes constantly flicker around the room and rarely rest on anything for more than a few seconds at a time and he has an unconscious habit of tapping his fingers when under extreme pressure or stress. Tyre is prone to second-guessing himself as he has very little confidence in himself and is very placid and obedient, rarely questioning others or orders issued to him to follow. He’s really rather sweet and would never hurt anyone intentionally, and would be utterly devoted and loyal to anyone who showed him even the smallest bit of love or affection.
Kalona is haughty, self-confident, slightly arrogant, and very sure of himself. He has a tongue like a razor and wits that are just as sharp, making him rather snarky and precocious. His defiant nature makes it nearly impossible for him to take any orders and when told to do one thing, he’ll do another, regardless of the consequences or repercussions. Kalona is headstrong and stubborn, but ultimately his heart is in the right place, even if at times he has the incorrigible ability to tweak every nerve and make even the most calm and composed people snap. He’s a born mischief-maker, so you really can’t blame him for his impish behavior.
Detailed History: Tyre was not born in Derek’s laboratory, or even in Paris for that matter. He was born in a small, quaint village in Ireland, a place rich with folklore and stories of all matters of wondrous creatures and fey. His mother was a Dhampir, a willowy, beautiful woman who had long since caught the eye of all the men in her village and the neighboring ones. Flocked with suitors and those desperately seeking her hand, she often played coy, never truly settling down and always wishing for something more than the simple life her home offered. She had great musical ability and it was with her stirring voice that she drew the eye of a dangerously handsome stranger. A very old and powerful demon to be precise, who found her looks and her talent to be irresistible. He deemed that he must have her and the two were smitten for several months before she grew pregnant died giving birth to Tyre. The demon, a fickle, dark creature who didn’t really know love or kinship and felt no attachment to his son, now that the object of his obsession had passed from this world, left Tyre and the village, never to be seen from or heard of again. The villagers were terrified of the boy, whispering about bad blood and curses and shunned Tyre since the very day of his birth. His grandparents raised him for two years, but after his bat like wings sprouted one day when he fell out of a tree, they abandoned him in a valley deep within the mountains, fearful that he would develop evil powers. It seemed that Tyre’s luck was far from changing, as one of Derek’s top scientists had come to Ireland, following the rumors of a demon Halfling and took the boy back to the lab in Paris. At the age of three, Tyre created Kalona and the two have been surviving the horrors of their existence as laboratory experiments together ever since.
Unusual Abilities:
~His regenerative abilities are extremely advanced.
~He can manipulate shadows, a direct ability from his demon blood.
~His reflexes are sharp and his speed is vampire fast.
~Tyre can manipulate his own blood, and can even create a blood armor of sorts. This manipulation means he can harden his own blood and bend it to his will.
~Due to his demon blood, Tyre has an odd impact on animals. If he so wishes, he can make them turn violent and rapid until they are completely consumed with the desire to kill.
Lab Creation Number: 676
Description: If Tyre wasn’t caught in that awkward teenage stage where the body is just beginning to fill out, he would be slender, sleek, and strong. Because he is still growing into his looks, he is slightly gawky and lanky with limbs that are a little too long, but there is no denying that muscles are forming and, given the right treatment and nutrition, he could become quite a head turner . His innocent, adolescent appearance does radiate a certain, pure charm, however, so some may argue he’s good-looking to begin with.
As Tyre has been an experiment all of his life, he is a bit gaunt and unnaturally skinny, with deathly pale skin that has a translucent characteristic, thanks to his infrequent exposure to any form of sunlight and the constant, almost toxic pumping of chemicals and drugs into his battered body. He doesn’t retain the glow of a healthy, fifteen year old boy, and his often sober expressions suggest that he is far more mature and serious than anyone his age should be.
Looking past the inevitable effects of his cruel treatment, Tyre’s features are long, almost delicate, and nicely spaced, with high, arching cheekbones, a straight nose, and an angular jaw line. His eyes are almond-shaped and slightly slanted inward, but not enough to give him the specific quality of any particular ethnicity. The irises would be absolutely stunning if they weren’t so frequently void of life. A rich, buttery gold with flecks of striking copper, they remain dull, as though he’s alive, but there is a wall separating him from the world, some form of barrier that blocks out his surroundings and leaves him isolated in a reality of his own creation. His hair is the bloody orange color of dying embers, a shade brighter than auburn, and falls to the back of his neck. His bangs are long and unkempt, stopping just above his eyes and obscuring most of his forehead in a haphazard mess that, no matter how much effort is expended, could never be anything but unruly.
The feature that makes Tyre stand out from any normal “immortal” or vampire are his large, bat-like wings. Extending to over twenty feet when fully stretched, they are truly a sight to behold. Sleek, glossy, and with membranes as thin as paper, the rich raven black of his wings are beautiful and dangerous. They seem to shimmer like they’re made of pure shadows and all things ebony and night inducing.
Age: Tyre is fifteen years old, and the scientists that test him are unsure as to how long he will live. He has a good deal of blood from a variety of vampire species coursing through his veins, so only time will tell how he fares.
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Birthday Date: September 15th
Job: Seeing as he is often incapacitated and a living lab experiment, he has no occupation and more accurately, no life. That doesn’t stop Tyre from dreaming of an existence outside of the laboratory, however, and he has often fantasized about becoming a famous writer or pianist and living someplace peaceful and quiet.
Fears: Tyre is afraid of nearly everyone in the lab, particularly Derek. He is also terrified of any form of pain.
Interests: To keep Tyre more or less sane, he is given several hours of free time during the day so he can compose music, play the piano, or write. During these periods, his remarkable skills are revealed and he slips into a type of artistic frenzy, where he can create beautiful pieces of work in no time at all, his fingers rarely pausing from their frantic dance across paper or the ivory keys of a grand piano. His muse is prolific and tireless.
Goals in Life: All Tyre wants is to be happy. To be safe and somewhere that he can call home. Maybe even have someone he can love.
Personality: It is said that when a person is subjected to a trauma of unbelievable magnitude, the mind will go to great lengths to protect itself from the pain, at times creating an entirely different personality that is able to carry the burden more easily than its counterpart. This is precisely what happened to Tyre when he was a very small child. Faced with the ceaseless torment of his existence as a lab experiment, he developed an entirely new being to help him cope with his surroundings, someone who could be strong when he himself couldn’t. The transition between the two is very subtle, a slight straightening of the back, a discreet furrowing of the brow, a spark of haughtiness in the eye. Nothing particularly noticeable; that is, until the counterpart speaks. He refers to himself as Kalona and it is clear that there is a very large difference between he and Tyre. They are both aware of each other, and often have conversations—a very strange experience to behold from on onlooker’s perspective—to pass the time in their cell.
Tyre is a very gentle, timid soul, who is soft spoken. He’s cautious, sensitive, and very weary, the type that would first stick in his toe to check the water instead of diving right in. This fidgety, nervous behavior is often converted into small ticks. For example, his eyes constantly flicker around the room and rarely rest on anything for more than a few seconds at a time and he has an unconscious habit of tapping his fingers when under extreme pressure or stress. Tyre is prone to second-guessing himself as he has very little confidence in himself and is very placid and obedient, rarely questioning others or orders issued to him to follow. He’s really rather sweet and would never hurt anyone intentionally, and would be utterly devoted and loyal to anyone who showed him even the smallest bit of love or affection.
Kalona is haughty, self-confident, slightly arrogant, and very sure of himself. He has a tongue like a razor and wits that are just as sharp, making him rather snarky and precocious. His defiant nature makes it nearly impossible for him to take any orders and when told to do one thing, he’ll do another, regardless of the consequences or repercussions. Kalona is headstrong and stubborn, but ultimately his heart is in the right place, even if at times he has the incorrigible ability to tweak every nerve and make even the most calm and composed people snap. He’s a born mischief-maker, so you really can’t blame him for his impish behavior.
Detailed History: Tyre was not born in Derek’s laboratory, or even in Paris for that matter. He was born in a small, quaint village in Ireland, a place rich with folklore and stories of all matters of wondrous creatures and fey. His mother was a Dhampir, a willowy, beautiful woman who had long since caught the eye of all the men in her village and the neighboring ones. Flocked with suitors and those desperately seeking her hand, she often played coy, never truly settling down and always wishing for something more than the simple life her home offered. She had great musical ability and it was with her stirring voice that she drew the eye of a dangerously handsome stranger. A very old and powerful demon to be precise, who found her looks and her talent to be irresistible. He deemed that he must have her and the two were smitten for several months before she grew pregnant died giving birth to Tyre. The demon, a fickle, dark creature who didn’t really know love or kinship and felt no attachment to his son, now that the object of his obsession had passed from this world, left Tyre and the village, never to be seen from or heard of again. The villagers were terrified of the boy, whispering about bad blood and curses and shunned Tyre since the very day of his birth. His grandparents raised him for two years, but after his bat like wings sprouted one day when he fell out of a tree, they abandoned him in a valley deep within the mountains, fearful that he would develop evil powers. It seemed that Tyre’s luck was far from changing, as one of Derek’s top scientists had come to Ireland, following the rumors of a demon Halfling and took the boy back to the lab in Paris. At the age of three, Tyre created Kalona and the two have been surviving the horrors of their existence as laboratory experiments together ever since.
Unusual Abilities:
~His regenerative abilities are extremely advanced.
~He can manipulate shadows, a direct ability from his demon blood.
~His reflexes are sharp and his speed is vampire fast.
~Tyre can manipulate his own blood, and can even create a blood armor of sorts. This manipulation means he can harden his own blood and bend it to his will.
~Due to his demon blood, Tyre has an odd impact on animals. If he so wishes, he can make them turn violent and rapid until they are completely consumed with the desire to kill.
Name: Cosette de Valentin
Pureblood Title: The Black Rose Valentin. This name was granted to her for her beauty and her passion, but also for the dark powers that she possesses. The rose has thorns, hidden beneath the loveliness of its bright petals, which lie in wait to harm even the most innocent of admirers. The title is both a praise and a warning. Those who dare cross her seldom leave unscathed.
Gender: Female
Age: She is close to ten thousand years old, as she was born on Morrigan’s birthday. She was among the very first Purebloods to exist.
Description: Cosette is tall, thin, and willowy, with an airy grace that makes her seem to glide effortlessly rather than walk. Her figure is like that of a ballerina—a slim waist, long legs, demure feet, and nimble hands and fingers. Her neck is elegantly curved, like a swan’s might be. She seems to be very delicate: slender shoulders, arching back, refined posture and demeanor. The blitheness in her form allows her to be very light on her feet and very fast, though her fragile, but beautiful appearance conceals the fact that she is exceedingly strong. She walks with all the prowess of a panther, will unparalleled beauty and stealthy swiftness.
Before the war, Cosette’s face was oval-shaped and too soft to be considered angular, but not so much as to give her a baby-like look. Her cheekbones were high and prominent and her nose was straight and perfectly sized for her face, set squarely in the middle. Her eyes were the first thing most people notice when they look at her. Striking violet, rimmed with dark lashes lengthy enough to brush the top of her cheeks, and the dominating feature of her creamy, pale face, Cosette’s eyes were large wells of expression and captivation. Her gaze is at times heavy-lidded, giving her an alluring and sultry look that makes her seem all the more appealing.
Cosette’s hair was a glossy, cascading tide of straight and pure obsidian. It stops just below her mid back and conjures up images of inky night skies and inescapable darkness, a rich sort of black that looked as if it was constantly shimmering and moving. It gave her an entrancingly beautiful and terrible air. She wore it free and flowing, though would, on occasion, put it up in something elaborate.
To make sure no one recognized her, she had to change her shape, hair color, eye color, and body maturity.
Cosette usually adorns herself with expensive and lavish clothing and jewelry. She is most often seen in a stunning pearl-colored evening gown. The dress hugs her figure, accentuating each curve and elegant line of her body, cut low to reveal her bodice and to leave her shoulders and arms bare. Once it reaches her mid thighs, it pools out around her legs and reaches the floor like a white waterfall. Intricate swirling patterns twist across the front and back, and a diamond necklace rests above her collarbone to finish her picturesque image. The snowy color of the dress is a shocking contrast to her ebony hair and violet eyes, heightening her unearthly splendor. She has also been known to wear pale, professional-looking suits.
In her truest form, the one she uses when hunting, terrifying her enemies, or merely releasing some rage, her violet eyes turn a flaming crimson that seems to burn like fire. Her features sharpen and elongate, giving her a predatory appearance, and her nails turn into dangerously sharp claws. Her fangs don’t look much different than other vampires, except they are much stronger, much more poisonous, and able to cut through any substance, aside from instruments that are meant specifically to be used as weapons against her kind.
Personality: Cosette is generally cold to anyone but her most trusted friends and advisors and other Purebloods. She keeps a cool stature and even icier composure that gives her an intimidating and highly dangerous air, despite her delicate frame and beautiful appearance. In many cases, she is merciless and not prone to forgive those that have done wrong by her. She mostly keeps up an aloof, detached façade and rarely expresses emotion, instead, handling things calmly, effectively, and collectively. She is a brilliant leader and politician, with a sharp wit, remarkable intelligence, crafty cunning, and unique abilities. She has seen much and therefore has a great deal of experience and knowledge to offer.
Altogether, she is a severe, often scary, and commanding woman. She can be, at times, very harsh, and has no tolerance for weaklings or lack of willpower. She is also prone to long tirades (when truly angered), furious chastisements (also when truly angered), and ruthless punishments. However, she is quite perceptive, intuitive, and generally keeps herself in check, which aids in her ability to get out of difficult situations, and to judge circumstances coolly. She is able to come up with plans at a minute's notice and capable of acting "on the fly."
Only when her emotions are staggeringly strong does Cosette allow her composed expression to fall apart, particularly when a loved one is hurt or killed or when a plan that took a long time to accomplish goes terribly wrong. Regardless of what most might think, she does indeed have a heart; it is simply a hardened one. She knows all about loss and has learned to move on after difficult things occur and to prevent them from affecting her lack of judgment or her ability to lead. She strives to do the best by her people.
History: Cosette was the pride and joy of her parents, more so than her younger sister, Mercy, who was born three years after. Cosette proved to be an excellent child, full of gifts and wondrous abilities that marked the beginning of a truly amazing woman. Her parents were among the most influential Purebloods and were able to control the bloodlust when the Gods forced it upon their race in retribution for Morrigan’s foolish vanity. They let Cosette feed from them to keep her sane, and to satisfy the bloodlust, which also gave her all their powers, and to help her grow accustomed to their new instincts. Mercy, however, wasn’t so lucky. She was killed by a raving Pureblood who had herself in her animalistic tendencies. In rage and sorrow, Cosette struck the murderess down with a single blow and has mourned her sister’s death ever since, regretting that she could not save her sister.
After the Purebloods became an endangered race, Cosette took positions of high status, both in the vampire hierarchy and the human hierarchy, thus attaining a great wealth over the decades. She was three different princesses in three different countries, several duchesses, and other important matriarchal figures, before she formed her own coven and became the Head Covenant.
She has been biding her time while the humans blunder around oblivious to her existence, just as they are blind to the other so called “supernatural” creatures that roam the earth. Recently, she has been debating whether she should bring her people and the rest of the vampire races out into the open so they no longer have to live in the shadows.
Abilities: Cosette’s first and foremost ability is the strength of her presence. When people are around her, they want to please her and to make her happy. This power is called “Glamour” and can be quite persuasive when she wishes it to be, particularly on humans who will fall completely under her aura without a hope of resurfacing unless she wills it. Her other abilities are more discreet and she had never revealed all of the gifts she has, although she can control ice and is able to move objects without touching them.
Likes:
~Fencing—although, when it first came to be, she learned using a real sword
~Dancing—ballroom and ballet in particular
~Classical music—she knew Mozart personally
~Horses—she rides them quite frequently
~Politics and philosophy
~Most forms of art, especially poetry and literature
~Power and prestige
~The “finer” things in life
~Blood from specific races of humans and certain types of vampires
Dislikes:
~Those who disobey her will or orders
~Animal blood, though she will drink it if need be
~Unnecessary violence
~Stupidity, egoism, ignoramuses
~Movies that show the Hollywood created vampires
~The Gods and Goddesses
~Sleeping during the night
Other:
~She speaks over ten different languages, including: Spanish, French, English, German, Chinese, Greek, Scottish, Irish, Italian, and Latin.
~She has yet to find a lover, though she has dreamed of having children for a very long time.
{This is the first part of the forms. I changed Cosette's appearance, because after how much she impacted the world, it was the wisest thing someone like her could do.}
