Post by Elanzaros on May 9, 2009 16:52:19 GMT -5
Name:Mizaros Xelsare
Age:134
Race:Elf
Appearance:
Personality: Mizaros is what you might call arrogant. In fact he is what you would definitely call arrogant. His cockyness at every attribute he considers himself to have, is always evident. His abilty to fight is always demonstrated even if that means starting a fight to prove it. His good looks are always demonstrated with breath taking knowledge of just how good looking he really is. Even his magical talent is shown off at regular stages, wasting good and honest energy on doing what he thinks makes him look even better. His idea of looking impressive however usually seems to revolve around showing that he is more than capable of killing someone with a decent reputation.
His attitudes towards life are somewhat clear. He does not believe in a god, as he believes that if his old god cared about him then he wouldn’t have let his people turn on him. He therefore concludes that the only thing you could do in life is to enjoy yourself as much as possible. This means that he has very very few morals and if getting what he wants means doing something dishonest in any way then he simply wouldn’t care. The lack of any moral guidelines means that in his mind, absolutely anything is possible.
There is a side of this man however that could be called darker than the idea of slaughtering anyone simply to look good. There is the side of him that loves the very idea of humiliating someone. To beat them to the point of them begging for a dignified death. To mentally torture them by denying them what they dreamed of. That is what Mizaros is all about.
History:Mizaros was born into royalty by Muzokas and Yishtil Xelsare deep in the Beor mountains where few men have reached before, this meant several things for the young elf. The first and foremost of which would occur when he was aged 12. He was kidnapped by revolutionaries and held to ransom by the group of men. His ransom was eagerly paid however during the trade the revolutionaries were brutally murdered, one of whom was knifed in the back of the neck by young Mizaros. In the eyes of his father this proved to everyone that the boy could take care of himself and therefore was able to cope without being babied by his parents all the time. He became thoroughly disinterested in the child, the abandonment giving Mizaros a slightly more human air about him. He still had the outward appearance of an elf however his attitude towards life and his general personality wasn’t what you would call Elven. He had gained a rebelic streak, a dark sense of humour and at times an almost cruel approach to other creatures. At the age of 34 he confronted his father about his lack of interest in his own son with an all too human way of looking at it. He was told that he had much to learn if he wanted to inherit his father’s throne of the small but powerful kingdom in the Beors. This news wasn’t taken well with the young elf. He had decided that he would have to take the throne if he was going to prove to his father how he was wrong. He then dedicated himself to the study of weapons and magic. Determined to take the throne and show exactly why he was the prince of that realm. His mother looked on as he trained himself, a look of concern becoming regular as she glimpsed her son prepare to prove himself. Yishtil only didn’t inform her husband of their son’s activities on the basis that this was a test in Mizaros’s mind. A test of both himself and his father’s ability to rule. If his father knew of what he was going to do, then the test would be meaningless.
Mizaros was determined to be better than everyone else. Determined to be the one to be feared and respected for his ability as well as his position. Thus, it was a full 38 years of study before he acted upon his plan. His father was if anything, even more oblivious to his son than before, as opposed to worried about his sudden detachedness from the rest of the family except for his mother. He was therefore shocked when Mizaros walked determinedly into his throne room with an elven dual bladed weapon and challenged him for his throne. The king had risen from his throne and drawn his broadsword only to be beaten by a not even sweating Mizaros. The young and cocky man however wasn’t content with simply beating his father for his crown. He then proceeded to beat the man with his bare hands. Repeatedly punching and kicking the man with the various hand to hand combat skills he had trained in. This beat down was merely a tactic to humiliate his father as well as beat him. Eventually getting to the stage of slapping a wobbling, groggy and bloody father back down to the floor. The young elf then turned to the room, expecting to be received with a standing hail. Instead he was received as a traitor and was immediately banished from the realm. Disbelieving, bitter and arrogant he ventured away from his home. Travelling for months until he came across the end of the Beors, only to see a stretch of what looked like desert in the far distance, He simply ventured around it, not liking the idea of going through it and avoiding cities as best he could until he thought that he should really explore his new surroundings. He entered a city called Dras Leona, looking primarily for work. He found work in the form of a shady character who had noticed that he was an elf as he explored the city. He introduced Mizaros to a criminal organisation named ‘The Enclave. He started at the bottom and worked his way up, glad to find himself in a position where he could make money and glad that it was good money. Morals were completely beyond Mizaros, so the idea of killing for money was something of a windfall. He eventually got his talents recognised and blabbed to anyone about his past. How he was rightfully the king of his people, but they had turned on him in a fit of jealousy.
After 5 years in the organisation he had worked his way up to the post of right hand man to the leader. His final promotion being gained when he accomplished the feat of assassinating several people in the same night. One politician, two commanders of an opposing gang and one spy from within the organisation. His promotion wouldn’t have been given however if he hadn’t decapitated an assassin trying to kill the leader of the organisation. As the man was about to loose an arrow from point blank range into the man’s neck he had hacked through the mans neck in one swoop with his dual bladed elven sword. To this day he serves as the right hand man to the leader of the organisation. A warrior able o use magic. But not much of a tactician, he merely leaves that up to his boss. Determined to one day get revenge on his former people and convinced of his own greatness. He lives on.
Roleplaying example:
Wind whistled through the darkened alleyways, which were something of a well known safe haven for all people engaging in criminal activity. The only thing keeping it safe was simply because no one, not even the bravest of soldiers, would venture into one at night. This wasn’t because of some sort of superstition that if you walked down one your ears would fall off. This was simply because at night the place was occupied by more than common thieves and muggers. This was where the assassins and murderers stayed when they weren’t looking forebodingly over the city from a rooftop somewhere. This was where you wouldn’t just be killed when you went own there, you would be hidden afterwards. One of the defining people who lurked in alleyways at night were the ones who actually took the trouble of hiding your lifeless corpse afterwards. This showed that they had killed before and that they knew what they were doing as opposed to the mugger who would accidentally stab someone and run away to his hideout where he would be guilt ridden for the next few months or so.
Sounds were echoing around these alleyways. Interesting sounds, the kinda of sounds you instantly think that it would be better not to explore the source. Sounds like ‘gimme back my bag you bloody criminal’, quickly followed by a lot of clunking and a pleading tone of the now diminished person who has been robbed. The most prominent of all these sounds however was a faint whimpering. The kind of whimpering that one might expect to hear if they went into a place where people went to be shot after being told that they had missed their tax rebate or got just one number wrong in the lottery. “P-p-p-please, sir.” It quavered desperately. There is something about the human mind that says to itself, ‘well were boned anyway so we might as well try what definitely wont work’. “P-p-p-p-please.” It said again before the sound of a slap filled the air. “You want your life back don’t you? Do you want your life back?” Said a mocking voice followed by another slap as Mizaros Xelsare stalked the poor creature like a viper, slowly sucking the hope out of it with playful slaps like a cat when a mouse comes on the TV. “Well maybe you should kiss my shoe.” He said in an almost reverent tone.
It isn’t the humiliation that makes a man revolt at the idea of kissing someone’s feet, it’s the nagging thought of ‘oh god what have they got wrong with them’. For once however, that wasn’t what this man was thinking. He was now thinking ‘just so long as I get to go home’. That is fear personified. The power to make a man wish that he was back at home in the safety of his bed. He kissed the tall mans shoes roughly and wept at the same time. Unfortunately though he wasn’t greeted with a retreat of footsteps, he was instead greeted with a blade pressing against the back of his neck. “W-“, now tat isn’t a very good sillable to end your life on.
How did you find us?Already here peeps!
Age:134
Race:Elf
Appearance:
Personality: Mizaros is what you might call arrogant. In fact he is what you would definitely call arrogant. His cockyness at every attribute he considers himself to have, is always evident. His abilty to fight is always demonstrated even if that means starting a fight to prove it. His good looks are always demonstrated with breath taking knowledge of just how good looking he really is. Even his magical talent is shown off at regular stages, wasting good and honest energy on doing what he thinks makes him look even better. His idea of looking impressive however usually seems to revolve around showing that he is more than capable of killing someone with a decent reputation.
His attitudes towards life are somewhat clear. He does not believe in a god, as he believes that if his old god cared about him then he wouldn’t have let his people turn on him. He therefore concludes that the only thing you could do in life is to enjoy yourself as much as possible. This means that he has very very few morals and if getting what he wants means doing something dishonest in any way then he simply wouldn’t care. The lack of any moral guidelines means that in his mind, absolutely anything is possible.
There is a side of this man however that could be called darker than the idea of slaughtering anyone simply to look good. There is the side of him that loves the very idea of humiliating someone. To beat them to the point of them begging for a dignified death. To mentally torture them by denying them what they dreamed of. That is what Mizaros is all about.
History:Mizaros was born into royalty by Muzokas and Yishtil Xelsare deep in the Beor mountains where few men have reached before, this meant several things for the young elf. The first and foremost of which would occur when he was aged 12. He was kidnapped by revolutionaries and held to ransom by the group of men. His ransom was eagerly paid however during the trade the revolutionaries were brutally murdered, one of whom was knifed in the back of the neck by young Mizaros. In the eyes of his father this proved to everyone that the boy could take care of himself and therefore was able to cope without being babied by his parents all the time. He became thoroughly disinterested in the child, the abandonment giving Mizaros a slightly more human air about him. He still had the outward appearance of an elf however his attitude towards life and his general personality wasn’t what you would call Elven. He had gained a rebelic streak, a dark sense of humour and at times an almost cruel approach to other creatures. At the age of 34 he confronted his father about his lack of interest in his own son with an all too human way of looking at it. He was told that he had much to learn if he wanted to inherit his father’s throne of the small but powerful kingdom in the Beors. This news wasn’t taken well with the young elf. He had decided that he would have to take the throne if he was going to prove to his father how he was wrong. He then dedicated himself to the study of weapons and magic. Determined to take the throne and show exactly why he was the prince of that realm. His mother looked on as he trained himself, a look of concern becoming regular as she glimpsed her son prepare to prove himself. Yishtil only didn’t inform her husband of their son’s activities on the basis that this was a test in Mizaros’s mind. A test of both himself and his father’s ability to rule. If his father knew of what he was going to do, then the test would be meaningless.
Mizaros was determined to be better than everyone else. Determined to be the one to be feared and respected for his ability as well as his position. Thus, it was a full 38 years of study before he acted upon his plan. His father was if anything, even more oblivious to his son than before, as opposed to worried about his sudden detachedness from the rest of the family except for his mother. He was therefore shocked when Mizaros walked determinedly into his throne room with an elven dual bladed weapon and challenged him for his throne. The king had risen from his throne and drawn his broadsword only to be beaten by a not even sweating Mizaros. The young and cocky man however wasn’t content with simply beating his father for his crown. He then proceeded to beat the man with his bare hands. Repeatedly punching and kicking the man with the various hand to hand combat skills he had trained in. This beat down was merely a tactic to humiliate his father as well as beat him. Eventually getting to the stage of slapping a wobbling, groggy and bloody father back down to the floor. The young elf then turned to the room, expecting to be received with a standing hail. Instead he was received as a traitor and was immediately banished from the realm. Disbelieving, bitter and arrogant he ventured away from his home. Travelling for months until he came across the end of the Beors, only to see a stretch of what looked like desert in the far distance, He simply ventured around it, not liking the idea of going through it and avoiding cities as best he could until he thought that he should really explore his new surroundings. He entered a city called Dras Leona, looking primarily for work. He found work in the form of a shady character who had noticed that he was an elf as he explored the city. He introduced Mizaros to a criminal organisation named ‘The Enclave. He started at the bottom and worked his way up, glad to find himself in a position where he could make money and glad that it was good money. Morals were completely beyond Mizaros, so the idea of killing for money was something of a windfall. He eventually got his talents recognised and blabbed to anyone about his past. How he was rightfully the king of his people, but they had turned on him in a fit of jealousy.
After 5 years in the organisation he had worked his way up to the post of right hand man to the leader. His final promotion being gained when he accomplished the feat of assassinating several people in the same night. One politician, two commanders of an opposing gang and one spy from within the organisation. His promotion wouldn’t have been given however if he hadn’t decapitated an assassin trying to kill the leader of the organisation. As the man was about to loose an arrow from point blank range into the man’s neck he had hacked through the mans neck in one swoop with his dual bladed elven sword. To this day he serves as the right hand man to the leader of the organisation. A warrior able o use magic. But not much of a tactician, he merely leaves that up to his boss. Determined to one day get revenge on his former people and convinced of his own greatness. He lives on.
Roleplaying example:
Wind whistled through the darkened alleyways, which were something of a well known safe haven for all people engaging in criminal activity. The only thing keeping it safe was simply because no one, not even the bravest of soldiers, would venture into one at night. This wasn’t because of some sort of superstition that if you walked down one your ears would fall off. This was simply because at night the place was occupied by more than common thieves and muggers. This was where the assassins and murderers stayed when they weren’t looking forebodingly over the city from a rooftop somewhere. This was where you wouldn’t just be killed when you went own there, you would be hidden afterwards. One of the defining people who lurked in alleyways at night were the ones who actually took the trouble of hiding your lifeless corpse afterwards. This showed that they had killed before and that they knew what they were doing as opposed to the mugger who would accidentally stab someone and run away to his hideout where he would be guilt ridden for the next few months or so.
Sounds were echoing around these alleyways. Interesting sounds, the kinda of sounds you instantly think that it would be better not to explore the source. Sounds like ‘gimme back my bag you bloody criminal’, quickly followed by a lot of clunking and a pleading tone of the now diminished person who has been robbed. The most prominent of all these sounds however was a faint whimpering. The kind of whimpering that one might expect to hear if they went into a place where people went to be shot after being told that they had missed their tax rebate or got just one number wrong in the lottery. “P-p-p-please, sir.” It quavered desperately. There is something about the human mind that says to itself, ‘well were boned anyway so we might as well try what definitely wont work’. “P-p-p-p-please.” It said again before the sound of a slap filled the air. “You want your life back don’t you? Do you want your life back?” Said a mocking voice followed by another slap as Mizaros Xelsare stalked the poor creature like a viper, slowly sucking the hope out of it with playful slaps like a cat when a mouse comes on the TV. “Well maybe you should kiss my shoe.” He said in an almost reverent tone.
It isn’t the humiliation that makes a man revolt at the idea of kissing someone’s feet, it’s the nagging thought of ‘oh god what have they got wrong with them’. For once however, that wasn’t what this man was thinking. He was now thinking ‘just so long as I get to go home’. That is fear personified. The power to make a man wish that he was back at home in the safety of his bed. He kissed the tall mans shoes roughly and wept at the same time. Unfortunately though he wasn’t greeted with a retreat of footsteps, he was instead greeted with a blade pressing against the back of his neck. “W-“, now tat isn’t a very good sillable to end your life on.
How did you find us?Already here peeps!
