Post by xanathiel on May 24, 2010 16:29:50 GMT -5
Name: Xanathiel (formerly Kavran)
Age: 439
Race: Shade (once human)
Appearance: Like all Shades, Xanathiel has crimson red hair and eyes and abnormally pale skin. His face is gaunt and sunken, like he hasn't slept or eaten in a very long time. In addition, his stature is very tall, being over six and a half feet in height, and his musculature is lean but incredibly defined. Overall, his build and basic outward appearance might frighten those who are not used to such large figures or exerior expressions in both body and the face. Xanathiel moves with complete precision and deliberation, as though each and every step is measured out to perfection before being made, though he gives off no airs of superiority or arrogance of any sort. He is just a particularly deliberate and intelligent individual.
His clothing of choice is usually very humble and practical. He hardly ever wears anything like robes, since he prefers attire that allows for greater movement without sacrificing security. Since he is well-adjusted to combat, his armor is black in color and is simply a series of plates all around his body that leave the joints open. These uncovered areas are protected by chainmail to boot, to better defend from sly tricks and devious masters of archery or swordplay. His preferred weapon is a bastard sword forged by the dwarves in Du Weldenvarden.
Personality: As stated earlier, Xanathiel is very deliberate. Every action he takes is either instinctually drilled into him to the point of being flawless, or he thinks it out very thoroughly. Of course, this is merely a side-effect or consequence of being a Shade, as such beings are, in the vast majority, inherently evil. He is cautious and wary of others actions and motivations, since he is confident that he is feared to the point of violence.
Xanathiel, before he was a Shade, was a natural genius, and when the spirits possessed him, it enhanced his mind even further. As a result, he possesses an intellectual behavior like an apathetic or utterly detached man. A unique case, Xanathiel has sworn himself to serve the Varden, going so far as to make the offer to do so in the ancient language. He understood that he would be accepted more easily if he were to make this oath, and so he crafted the Oath and presented it to the other magic users for their approval, ensuring that there were no "loopholes" for him to exploit. Even if he hadn't made the pledge, he is fanatically loyal to the Varden's just cause of overthrowing Galbatorix. He hates the tyrant more than anything; the reason for such hatred is Kavran's love for the world, and that Galbatorix abuses it.
History: Born in the wilderness to a seamstress mother and hunter father, Kavran never had much opportunity to learn of the world around him. Instead, he was taught to hunt and to make a living for himself doing whatever he could, be it from tracking to killing the wildlife for food or trade. During his childhood, Kavran would often stare in wonder at the sky, the trees, and the oceans with complete wonder. More than anything in his life, he loved the majesty of the world. And, when he reached adulthood, Kavran became a witness to an astonishing display of magic that only refueled this love. He saw several spirits move through the wildlands one evening, and in his reverence, he sought to understand what the entities were. He ventured into the cities and to the local academies where he learned of the nature of magic and the spirits that he had seen. Mesmerized by the tantalizing power of magic, Kavran studied the ancient language for years, locking himself away from the rest of society to the point of becoming a recluse. His parents passed away in his twentieth year, though he made no effort to grieve for them.
Cracking under the intense pressure of the magic and its possible applications, Kavran waded further into the study that he had ever intended. He learned soon after that he had an aptitude for magic, and the realization of being "universal" hit him too hard. Feverishly, Kavran began to read the observations of scholars on the spirits he had seen all those years ago, and it was with incredulity that he came to hear the rumors of sorcerors being able to summon and harness the power of spirits like those. Wary of the idea, Kavran shunned the concept and sought other ways to satisfy his hunger for knowledge. When he delved into the dark arts, he found precisely what he had been looking for; or so he thought: a way to completely control the spirits that one summoned.
Devouring this new discovery, Kavran studied and memorized the necessary words and items that he would need. He had everything in place, down to the very last detail. And when he believed everything to be in order, Kavran made the mistake of summoning the most powerful- and most malicious- spirits that he had found in his research. The magic and the spirits overwhelmed his entire being, implanting a new consciousness that instilled in him a new power and mind. Kavran fought harder than ever before, but could only rescue his love of the world in the transformation. The Shade Xanathiel was created, though Kavran's undying love of his world and the magic in it carried over into the new form. This change surfaces as a rare display of mercy or "humanity" because magic flows through everything in existence.
Roleplaying example: (from Aengel's Eyrie)
"C'mon, then... Weirdo." The gruff man pushing Kavran along leveled the assault rifle at his back and nudged him forward with it. "Don't have all damn day." The footsteps of the two men were entirely unsynchronized. The guard's steps were noticeably heavier and clanked with each step, since his boots had metal plates on the bottom. Kavran, however, was completely silent, since he was barefooted. In fact, the only clothing on him was a pair of torn and loose-fitting orange pants for the inmates. His hands were cuffed behind him, and both of his feet were bleeding slightly from the calluses on his soles. He snarled at his own predicament, and wondered just how many guards would torment him. For the last century, Kavran had spent his life here on the "Tartarus," a prison vessel large enough to accomodate five hundred thousand people, and it was overcrowded by a long shot.
Kavran said nothing as he let the guard escort him back to his cell. His cheeks were bruised and his body battered and bloody from the "enhanced interrogation" of his guards when he refused to tell them the names of his cohorts in his money-laundering business. His gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes gave him the appearance of a cadaver, and his tall but lithe frame didn't help matters much. Of course, because of his size, the inmates didn't bother with him, since harassing him wouldn't prove anything, nor would it increase their reputation. So, he was set for life here. Wake up every morning, have the daylights knocked out of him, eat a sparse meal of bread and dirty water, and go to bed so he could rest up for the same thing the next day. The monotony of it had become tiresome, and when he could take it no more, he simply soaked it up and let it make him stronger. The beatings of each day only served to fuel his hatred and fury, and after this recent "visit" from his newest batch of investigators (since he had outlived his arresting officers already by twenty years), Kavran was ready to give up with letting everything just pass him by.
As he was shoved into his cell, he felt the butt of the gun slam into the back of his head and fell to the ground, hearing something in his body snap. His mind went white from the pain, and in that moment when his discomfort and ever-increasing rage reached a standstill, he felt an insurge of knowledge and power begin to flood every fiber of his being as the cell door behind him slammed shut. He gazed down at the floor, currently on his hands and knees, and watched as the blood dripping from the back of his skull began to blacken on the metal floor. Steam rolled off of the boiling blood, and he felt strength flood his once-fragile form. Rising to his feet, the guard from before was busy shouting something into a mouth-piece, and then, just as quickly as everything had begun, Kavran raised his right hand on instinct and a flash of white energy rushed out from his palm and blasted his cell door off of its hinges, crushing the unfortunate guard behind the heavy metal. Looking down at his hands, Kavran witnessed light spilling out of his body and flooding the ground around him, vaporizing the steel hull and disintegrating the body of the CO just in front of his cell. The other inmates were screaming in terror as the glowing man proceeded past their open-roomed, barred cells; as he passed each of them, the flesh was seared off of their bones and the muscle vanished along with it, turning the bones to dust and then destroying even that. The cells behind him were gone completely, as was his own room. Now, the part of the ship behind him was beginning to crumble and shake, the lights flickering in their posts before shattering and disintegrating along with everything else.
At length, Kavran stopped and felt another pulse of his power escape into the ship, superheating the area around him and annihilating the structural integrity of the cell blocks. His clothes were completely gone, having been destroyed as soon as his power began to leak out, and the memories- which were still flooding in- began their long, arduous journey of being transferred into his once-human mind. Bit by bit, little-by-little, all notions of self faded, only to be replaced with the mind of Aeon. The mind of a foreign entity that had laid dormant in his body for three hundred years, keeping him alive so that it could use him for this distinct purpose. The rage melted away. The grief and thoughts of revenge left him as well. Now, as the final inches of the hull began to give way to the destructive power of the Aeon, Kavran's mind submitted to the will of another mind far greater than his own. It was alive, and all-encompassing. It felt like a great warmth spreading throughout his entire being; and he could not, would not, stop it. Kavran was gone. Aeon remained.
There was a flash, and the Tartarus blossomed in an explosion of light.
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Age: 439
Race: Shade (once human)
Appearance: Like all Shades, Xanathiel has crimson red hair and eyes and abnormally pale skin. His face is gaunt and sunken, like he hasn't slept or eaten in a very long time. In addition, his stature is very tall, being over six and a half feet in height, and his musculature is lean but incredibly defined. Overall, his build and basic outward appearance might frighten those who are not used to such large figures or exerior expressions in both body and the face. Xanathiel moves with complete precision and deliberation, as though each and every step is measured out to perfection before being made, though he gives off no airs of superiority or arrogance of any sort. He is just a particularly deliberate and intelligent individual.
His clothing of choice is usually very humble and practical. He hardly ever wears anything like robes, since he prefers attire that allows for greater movement without sacrificing security. Since he is well-adjusted to combat, his armor is black in color and is simply a series of plates all around his body that leave the joints open. These uncovered areas are protected by chainmail to boot, to better defend from sly tricks and devious masters of archery or swordplay. His preferred weapon is a bastard sword forged by the dwarves in Du Weldenvarden.
Personality: As stated earlier, Xanathiel is very deliberate. Every action he takes is either instinctually drilled into him to the point of being flawless, or he thinks it out very thoroughly. Of course, this is merely a side-effect or consequence of being a Shade, as such beings are, in the vast majority, inherently evil. He is cautious and wary of others actions and motivations, since he is confident that he is feared to the point of violence.
Xanathiel, before he was a Shade, was a natural genius, and when the spirits possessed him, it enhanced his mind even further. As a result, he possesses an intellectual behavior like an apathetic or utterly detached man. A unique case, Xanathiel has sworn himself to serve the Varden, going so far as to make the offer to do so in the ancient language. He understood that he would be accepted more easily if he were to make this oath, and so he crafted the Oath and presented it to the other magic users for their approval, ensuring that there were no "loopholes" for him to exploit. Even if he hadn't made the pledge, he is fanatically loyal to the Varden's just cause of overthrowing Galbatorix. He hates the tyrant more than anything; the reason for such hatred is Kavran's love for the world, and that Galbatorix abuses it.
History: Born in the wilderness to a seamstress mother and hunter father, Kavran never had much opportunity to learn of the world around him. Instead, he was taught to hunt and to make a living for himself doing whatever he could, be it from tracking to killing the wildlife for food or trade. During his childhood, Kavran would often stare in wonder at the sky, the trees, and the oceans with complete wonder. More than anything in his life, he loved the majesty of the world. And, when he reached adulthood, Kavran became a witness to an astonishing display of magic that only refueled this love. He saw several spirits move through the wildlands one evening, and in his reverence, he sought to understand what the entities were. He ventured into the cities and to the local academies where he learned of the nature of magic and the spirits that he had seen. Mesmerized by the tantalizing power of magic, Kavran studied the ancient language for years, locking himself away from the rest of society to the point of becoming a recluse. His parents passed away in his twentieth year, though he made no effort to grieve for them.
Cracking under the intense pressure of the magic and its possible applications, Kavran waded further into the study that he had ever intended. He learned soon after that he had an aptitude for magic, and the realization of being "universal" hit him too hard. Feverishly, Kavran began to read the observations of scholars on the spirits he had seen all those years ago, and it was with incredulity that he came to hear the rumors of sorcerors being able to summon and harness the power of spirits like those. Wary of the idea, Kavran shunned the concept and sought other ways to satisfy his hunger for knowledge. When he delved into the dark arts, he found precisely what he had been looking for; or so he thought: a way to completely control the spirits that one summoned.
Devouring this new discovery, Kavran studied and memorized the necessary words and items that he would need. He had everything in place, down to the very last detail. And when he believed everything to be in order, Kavran made the mistake of summoning the most powerful- and most malicious- spirits that he had found in his research. The magic and the spirits overwhelmed his entire being, implanting a new consciousness that instilled in him a new power and mind. Kavran fought harder than ever before, but could only rescue his love of the world in the transformation. The Shade Xanathiel was created, though Kavran's undying love of his world and the magic in it carried over into the new form. This change surfaces as a rare display of mercy or "humanity" because magic flows through everything in existence.
Roleplaying example: (from Aengel's Eyrie)
"C'mon, then... Weirdo." The gruff man pushing Kavran along leveled the assault rifle at his back and nudged him forward with it. "Don't have all damn day." The footsteps of the two men were entirely unsynchronized. The guard's steps were noticeably heavier and clanked with each step, since his boots had metal plates on the bottom. Kavran, however, was completely silent, since he was barefooted. In fact, the only clothing on him was a pair of torn and loose-fitting orange pants for the inmates. His hands were cuffed behind him, and both of his feet were bleeding slightly from the calluses on his soles. He snarled at his own predicament, and wondered just how many guards would torment him. For the last century, Kavran had spent his life here on the "Tartarus," a prison vessel large enough to accomodate five hundred thousand people, and it was overcrowded by a long shot.
Kavran said nothing as he let the guard escort him back to his cell. His cheeks were bruised and his body battered and bloody from the "enhanced interrogation" of his guards when he refused to tell them the names of his cohorts in his money-laundering business. His gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes gave him the appearance of a cadaver, and his tall but lithe frame didn't help matters much. Of course, because of his size, the inmates didn't bother with him, since harassing him wouldn't prove anything, nor would it increase their reputation. So, he was set for life here. Wake up every morning, have the daylights knocked out of him, eat a sparse meal of bread and dirty water, and go to bed so he could rest up for the same thing the next day. The monotony of it had become tiresome, and when he could take it no more, he simply soaked it up and let it make him stronger. The beatings of each day only served to fuel his hatred and fury, and after this recent "visit" from his newest batch of investigators (since he had outlived his arresting officers already by twenty years), Kavran was ready to give up with letting everything just pass him by.
As he was shoved into his cell, he felt the butt of the gun slam into the back of his head and fell to the ground, hearing something in his body snap. His mind went white from the pain, and in that moment when his discomfort and ever-increasing rage reached a standstill, he felt an insurge of knowledge and power begin to flood every fiber of his being as the cell door behind him slammed shut. He gazed down at the floor, currently on his hands and knees, and watched as the blood dripping from the back of his skull began to blacken on the metal floor. Steam rolled off of the boiling blood, and he felt strength flood his once-fragile form. Rising to his feet, the guard from before was busy shouting something into a mouth-piece, and then, just as quickly as everything had begun, Kavran raised his right hand on instinct and a flash of white energy rushed out from his palm and blasted his cell door off of its hinges, crushing the unfortunate guard behind the heavy metal. Looking down at his hands, Kavran witnessed light spilling out of his body and flooding the ground around him, vaporizing the steel hull and disintegrating the body of the CO just in front of his cell. The other inmates were screaming in terror as the glowing man proceeded past their open-roomed, barred cells; as he passed each of them, the flesh was seared off of their bones and the muscle vanished along with it, turning the bones to dust and then destroying even that. The cells behind him were gone completely, as was his own room. Now, the part of the ship behind him was beginning to crumble and shake, the lights flickering in their posts before shattering and disintegrating along with everything else.
At length, Kavran stopped and felt another pulse of his power escape into the ship, superheating the area around him and annihilating the structural integrity of the cell blocks. His clothes were completely gone, having been destroyed as soon as his power began to leak out, and the memories- which were still flooding in- began their long, arduous journey of being transferred into his once-human mind. Bit by bit, little-by-little, all notions of self faded, only to be replaced with the mind of Aeon. The mind of a foreign entity that had laid dormant in his body for three hundred years, keeping him alive so that it could use him for this distinct purpose. The rage melted away. The grief and thoughts of revenge left him as well. Now, as the final inches of the hull began to give way to the destructive power of the Aeon, Kavran's mind submitted to the will of another mind far greater than his own. It was alive, and all-encompassing. It felt like a great warmth spreading throughout his entire being; and he could not, would not, stop it. Kavran was gone. Aeon remained.
There was a flash, and the Tartarus blossomed in an explosion of light.
How did you find us? Advertisement on Aengel's Eyrie
