 |
BriarRose's RP Refrences...so I know if you steal 'em! |
>.>;; Do I need a description for my Journal? What if it changes, and it becomes nothingness...or...something-else-ness? Well...for now, it's for my own reference. And for you folks who need creativity to worship. |
 |
BriarRose
Community Member
|
Posted: Wed Oct 29, 2008 @ 09:36pm
|
|
|
 |
|
 |
 |
Mizu-senpai
Username: BriarRose
Name: Mizuumi Harazuku
Alias: Mizu
Age: 26
Gender: Girl, yo
Lineage: Mindweaver
Alignment: Neutral
Thoughts: There's no point in ignoring what you are born with. Trying to avoid things that can't be outrun is just asking for trouble, and I don't intend to let that trouble flourish.
Occupation: Grad-student; Associate Professor of Psychology.
Items of Value: Books. If a library can be considered one thing, that is perhaps what Mizu values most. Her books fill shelves that cover every spare inch of wall in her tiny apartment and in some places are stacked high enough that she could make a staircase out of them. They cover a very wide range of subjects, but since the vast majority were inherited from her grandmother, most are written in Japanese.
History: Mizu is a Japanese-American of the traditional type. She doesn't like anime, she doesn't play video games, and she isn't a fan of young boys prancing around in woman's clothing. During her childhood, afternoons were spent learning to mix green tea properly and figuring out the proper way to tie an obi while keeping up with the academic requirements in a strict Catholic-school environment and learning how to be a proper psychic. Yes, the 'I can move s**t with my mind' kind of psychic.
From a very young age, Mizu could do things that the other children couldn't, so from a very young age, she was carefully coached to keep her talents hidden from scrutiny. By the time she'd left daycare for primary school, she had an advanced sense of responsibility and was always critically aware of others' perceptions. In some ways, of course, this stunted her growth, but to all appearances, she was an angelic child with a mild temperament and thoughtful eyes, but in many cases, appearances lie. It took her a long time to escape from this erroneous view of her personality that had originally developed only as a defense mechanism to live up to the tough standards set by overbearing relatives and fierce nuns armed with rulers. Put simply, she grew up so quickly that it took a decade or so for her personality to catch up. When it finally did catch up, Mizu had something of an identity crisis. She was in the middle of her sophomore year of undergrad, aiming to be a neurologist, and everything on that track ended. For nearly two years after that, the young woman left the path that had been chosen for her in favor of figuring her own mind out. She took psychology classes at a community college so that her loans wouldn't catch up to her, but most of her time was devoted to learning about her ancestry.
Once she'd chosen to take the path of a psychic as a toddler, she was raised knowing about her family's history and its ancient roots, but (perhaps because she lived a life so deeply involved) Mizu never really saw the stories as something that would have a direct impact on her life. During her long consideration of her Self, though, the young woman came to see that really, all of the issues that she was having could be traced to a rather forceful parental influence. So she decided to go another step backwards and hopped on a plane to Tokyo. Once in her paternal grandmother's home in Edo, Mizu became much more deeply involved with the powers that she'd only learned to control as a child--for the first time in her life, she learned how to use them. Her transcripts were sent to a small university there, and she finished out a degree in Psychology, but her main focus during this time was on the training that a true Mindweaver received, and she figured out who she was, all the while coming to grips with the fact that her training had been neglected because of a parental fear of the abnormal.
In the end, Mizu's personality solidified in to a vibrant thing. She found that her Psychology degree was not ill-placed, because over all of the powers awarded by her bloodline, she was strongest in empathy. Moving things around was flashy, but not her forte; and for whatever reason, her mind was very strong. Precognition, however, was soon to make a crash-landing in Mizu's life, and at the ripe old age of 24, she found herself on a plane headed across the Pacific with a small fortune in books soon to follow. As far as seeing the future, fuzzy images were all that Mizu ever got, but she knew for sure that she needed to be in Seattle by the dawning of 2009.
With a crisp transcript on its way from Japan, Mizu applied for grad school at the big school in Seattle and found a tiny apartment to call home, and by the time August rolled in, she was attending school again, waiting for...something...to happen. A year later, she was settled comfortably, finally able to adjust herself to the regular flow of American academia, and serving her time as an associate professor. By the beginning of January she will have been teaching undergraduate psychology classes for a semester, waiting until May for her Masters, and working tirelessly on papers that make her thesis look like a joke. Still, her duty is ever present, and a watchful eye has been kept for those shining souls who are meant to play a role in this production.
Appearance: Mizu is obviously asian. She sports deep brown almond-shaped eyes hidden behind long bangs that fall freely into her face. Her silky black hair falls to her jaw, framing her oval face nicely and highlighting features that are apt to brighten in a smile. At 5'5, Mizu is of an average height, but she is almost frail in appearance due to eating habits rather than health. She dresses comfortably, even when required to abandon casual dress during class, in cotton and denim with sneakers or slip-ons.
Other: > Mizu didn't have the time to be trained in any martial skills beyond the rec center karate she learned in the suburbs, which she brushed up on once in Japan.
> Being so academically distracted, Mizu literally does not own any electronics aside from her kitchen appliances. No TV.
> An ill tempered betta named Umi resides in a small bowl on her kitchen counter.
Theme Song: N/A
|
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Oct 03, 2008 @ 07:11am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chevi-Incomplete
 「 the deadly spark 」
x x
【 corrigan chavi czigany 】   »» тaкiиg a sтєp foяωaяd -- ]
•• ┫we keep on shouting towards the sky
Abandon the shameful brand of Corrigan in favor of a more innocent title of Chevi.
•• ┫it`s been a long time since we began
2o years ago, Chevi was born on the 3rd day of Cyaitr.
•• ┫the paths we`ve chosen along the way
A woman who favors the company of men , though she's never been seen involved with one.
•• ┫blurry reflections in the small puddles
» the crooked lines
Standing only 5'1, and weighing a mere 97 lbs.
» the faded colors
Platinum hair falls neatly above narrow stormy eyes that shine with pride.
» the distorted shapes
» Favors pale clothing with odd flashes of bright color.
» Rarely makes an effort to accentuate natural beauty.
» Smiles are empty, frowns are true.
»» iи sєaяcн of ouяsєlvєs -- ]
•• ┫finding the reasons behind our actions
. . . . . Impatient, bossy, proud. Easily offended and easily angered, this woman knows who she is, and she won't allow for anyone to tell her otherwise. Chevi is barely able to stomach the company of others, and when she is forced to, she bears it with a scowl, attempting to turn their wills to her own. Though she thinks she is a subtle creature, her goals and methods are painfully obvious, in the end, making her obliviously bold. She has very little bias toward different classes, races, etc.; instead, choosing to treat every human with the same scorn as the next, though she knows enough to watch her mouth around those who could get her into trouble. A villain, though not one who is cold and calculating, Chevi allows that she is hasty and heated, and she also allows that she is a villain by most social standards. Though she is usually a flashy person, those who know her know that Chevi is most dangerous when she is calm, because during those rare moments, she actually gives herself time to think.
Chevi works quickly to get toward what she wants, and she always knows what she wants. Being a creature of haste, she makes decisions quickly and well, and she has spent two decades working toward being able to do that. She relies--perhaps a little too much--on her haste to dissuade company, and if that fails, to dissuade the arguments of opposition. Because of her lack of patience, she holds a potent dislike of children and animals, acting openly malicious towards them so that their guardians will quickly remove them from her presence.
•• ┫let`s look back and retrace our steps
Naming a Scandal
. . . . . On a stormy morning in early Cyaitr two decades ago, a nomadic gypsy woman went into labor after a difficult eight and a half months of pregnancy. Several hours later, the baby breathed its first breath amidst a squall with curtains of rain lit by heavy lightning with thunder so loud that the baby's cries were drowned out. The first day of Chevi's life was not a happy one, nor a bright one, and her mother's reaction at the first sight of her newborn would stick with the poor baby for her entire life. Upon viewing the unnaturally pale hair of a baby with dark haired parents, the suspicious gypsy folk of Armonie's forests branded her a changeling, and the name awarded to her by her own mother served as the mark of that brand. Corrigan, the fairy attributed to all child-thefts; Chevi, a generic name for 'daughter'; and Czigany, not a family name, but a one to mark the baby a gypsy. After gifting her daughter with a name that would mark her an outcast amongst all the peoples of Armonie, the dark-haired woman disappeared, leaving the cursed child with an orphanage in the slums of Couve. Chevi never knew her mother's name.
Childhood of an Outcast
 . . . . . Whether or not Chevi's parents intended her to grow up an outcast, she did, though perhaps not for the reasons that were given. In general, unless one's name sounds like 'fart', children aren't cruel about names, especially ones that they're too young and uncultured to understand. In fact, until she learned of her heritage, Chevi didn't even know the meaning of her name, and she was unashamed to go by Corrigan. All of this amounted to a quasi-normal childhood in the Home, where the other children merely remarked on her unnaturally pale hair and slight form. For a long time, her small size was cause of teasing and bullying, until her element manifested, making kicks and punches more painful to the bully than to Chevi. Along with the cessation of bullying came an aversion to others, because, until she learned to control the electricity that started as static, the shocks hurt her also. In an effort to cause less natural static, Chevi cut her fine hair so short that she could only grasp it by pinching it between a thumb and forefinger. She also adopted clothing that fit tightly and didn't brush against itself or the floor, and the colors for her clothing grew lighter as she became more attuned with her power. White sparks aren't as visible on white clothing as it is on black.
With some training--provided by the government for the sake of the other childrens' safety--Chevi slowly gained control over her power, neglecting the more common magical abilities in favor of trying to contain the erratic nature of the lightning that danced across her body. She developed methods of focusing her magic so that it would neither hurt her nor make her hair stand on end, eventually making it serve as a sort of second skin as a natural reaction whenever she grew irritated (which happened a lot). Her training was focused less on managing her emotions and more on managing the power that erupted from her emotions, so it was a long time before it occured to her to try and curb her reactions. Even though she'd largely gained complete control over the sparking that resulted from outbursts, she hadn't any control over her emotional reactions. Because of this, as she entered puberty, she did so without any friends in an environment already hostile to developing young women. Friends that she'd had before her magical manifestation no longer enjoyed her company, and she made worse her predicament by growing visibly impatient with them. Keep in mind, that Chevi being visibly impatient at this point in her life meant that she glowed with seed lightning sparking all over her body.
Discovering Early History and Forbidden Love
. . . . . As she was educated in her magic, she was educated in other areas, and this education continued all the way up to her adulthood, when she was no longer legally under the care of the government. Her training shouldn't have contained any combat, but Chevi's tutor felt that a girl in her situation needed to know how to protect herself from unwanted advances in the distant future where her magic wouldn't be enough. She wasn't given a weapon, instead learning to fight with her body only, and these training sessions were far more intimate than the more formal discussions on how to control her magic. Over a long number of fighting sessions, her dark haired tutor gradually let slip the meaning of her name and the reasons she'd been abandoned, and for many years, she attributed that knowledge to his superior education--in those early days, he seemed to know everything.
 The tutor in question was perhaps the most permanent thing in all of Chevi's life, which was the only real reason she believed him when he told her about her name. Even with that belief, though, she found herself researching his claims, and when she verified the truth of it, she fell into a depression. She was the changeling daughter of a gypsy woman, abandoned as a baby out of the hatred and fear of the unknown; unwanted and unloved. She'd lived her entire life in the care of people who got paid to feed her, in the company of children that hated and feared her, and being taught by a man that decided to shatter her illusion. The last betrayal was one that Chevi couldn't forgive, and she let him know it in her blunt fashion; she admitted that he'd helped her in controlling her power and in learning her past, but that she hadn't benefited from any of that education, telling him that he, in fact, had made her life worse for the knowledge. The blissful ignorance of Chevi's childhood had ended, and she left behind the spiteful brand of Corrigan when she left behind the Home and the only man she had ever loved.
It was a long time before Chevi would admit to herself that she loved the man. He was a full decade her senior and he'd served as her teacher for more than six years by the time she left the orphanage at the age of sixteen. The final acceptance of the fact came when she was nearing her twentieth winter, after spending a little more than three years trying to 'find' herself (during which time she'd fallen with people labeled 'less that desirable', like she was). Chevi was now working as an assassin for a band of people intent on overthrowing the Council in Alme, but when it occurred to her that she needed to resolve her issues with the old tutor, she started looking for ways out. She also started looking for the tutor, and that's when she realized that she didn't even know his given name.
Most of her attention was initially focused on discovering the identity of the man she'd only known as Tutor. She had a physical description that was several years old, and a more useful description of his occupation, both of which she used copiously throughout Couve, and Alme when she visited. After only a couple of months of searching, it was he who found her.
Milosh Beznik went to Chevi's home in Couve on a windy afternoon that she'd initially devoted to meditation, but had degenerated into exhausting exercises. When she opened the door, she was greeted with a face that, for three years, she'd only seen in her dreams, and in the first act of affection she'd exhibited since her early childhood, she planted a happy kiss on his cheek. Milo was nearing thirty, but he looked no different than he had when he was twenty, and nostalgia filled the cozy coastal home that evening. They caught up with each other over the course of that evening and the next day, but their association ended unhappily and abruptly with a surprise revelation. Just as Chevi started working her way to expressing feelings that she'd long buried deep, Milo had his own confession to make--he was her brother, a child whose parents had cherished him, a child who had watched with guilt filled eyes as his baby sister was abandoned to the care of strangers. He became her tutor in hopes of some day being allowed to tell her that she was still loved.
Coming into a Family
. . . . . Chevi's initial reaction to Milo's secrecy was anger, and their visit was ended abruptly and explosively. However, a deeper feeling of love caused her to contact him only a few days later with a solemn apology. It was at this time that she explained the sort of trouble she'd gotten herself into, and she promised him that she was trying to find a way to end her association with the assassins she was working with. Her brother was aghast at the idea of his young student making a living by killing people, and his opinion was obvious. Anxious to keep him from hating her, Chevi made sure that Milo didn't know that the only way for her to escape was to complete a final job--to assassinate the Council members that were soon to be deposed. With a promise to reassume contact with Milo once she was free, the baby sister disappeared from the radar.
For the first time since she was a very young child, Chevi could afford to hope that she had found a semblance of a family. All she needed to do was finish one last job in order to resurface as a common citizen of whatever Armonie would become. Perhaps then she would be able to become a member of the family that had always been hers...the thought of revenge didn't even occur to her.
•• ┫escaping reality in momentary dreams
Exercising, arguing, cooking, cleaning, sleeping, nature, quiet, solitude.
•• ┫pushing the irritating scenery aside
Socializing, children, animals, romance, repetitive noises, cold.
•• ┫keeping the nightmares to ourselves
»» cяєaтiиg oυя oωи paтн -- ]
•• ┫breaking through countless obstacles
•• ┫forcing our way towards our destination
. . . . . Fire element. Through this element, Ron is capable of heating things through touch, and keeping herself warm , no matter the temperature. With a snap of her fingers, a candle can spark to life, or a pigeon can fall to death. Her magic isn't extraordinarily powerful, but she wields it with such grace that it can be deadly.
Fire seeds are sparks of flame that Ron puts to sleep until the moment she calls them back to life. They angrily return to the world of light in a blaze that can turn into a slow and ranging inferno, or they can expend all of their life in one destructive burst. It takes lots of time and energy to create these small weapons, and Ron has to stockpile them well in advance.
»» dєfiиiиg ωнo ωє aяє -- ]
•• ┫every sentence slipping out of our lips
"Did I think it through? No, but it's turned out just fine, look."
"My life is mine to live, and I will do it however I please."
"I'm not a heartbreaker. In fact, I'm a poultice for the wounds inflicted by the rest of this sorry world. Enjoy me while I'm here, because I won't be for long."
•• ┫the unforgettable words and melodies
Overboard - Ingrid Michaelson
•• ┫an unchanging picture in our memories
Firebrick Goldenrod Khaki
「 нold мy нaиd aиd lєad мє aloиg тнє ωay」
BriarRose
• • • • • • • • •
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 30, 2008 @ 11:08pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Rowan Sol Amaranth
 「 the passionate flame 」
x x
【 Rowan Sol Amaranth 】 »» тaкiиg a sтєp foяωaяd -- ]
•• ┫we keep on shouting towards the sky
Rowan, said quickly, sounds quite a lot like Ron.
•• ┫it`s been a long time since we began
23 years ago, Ron was born on the 18th day of Enkhye.
•• ┫the paths we`ve chosen along the way
Ron is very obviously female, and if you ask the men of Alme, they'd be happy to tell you how heterosexual she is.
•• ┫blurry reflections in the small puddles
» the crooked lines
Standing a full 5'10, Ron's slim form only amounts to about 135 lbs.
» the faded colors
Golden blonde hair curls prettily above amber eyes that flash red in the sunlight.
» the distorted shapes
» Favors naturally complimentary warm or light colored clothing.
» Silk brushes quietly against uncalloused hands.
» Sports pale skin that doesn't tan.
»» iи sєaяcн of oυяsєlvєs -- ]
•• ┫finding the reasons behind our actions
. . . . . Flirtatious, daring, manipulative, fun-loving. Ron has a strong enough sense of responsibility that she is constantly aware of what she is supposed to be doing, whether or not she's actually doing it. Because of a strong hatred of being caged, she tends to shirk those responsibilities in favor of lighter things, but in the end, she does return to them, usually having no problem charming the annoyance out of people negatively affected by her shirking. Since being made a Council member, Ron has shirked her duties less, but she still shows a tendency to disappear when it is least opportune for her to do so, and these days, she rarely has time to think it through before committing her random acts, making her more reckless than ever before.
•• ┫let`s look back and retrace our steps
. . . . . On a cold night a little over two decades ago, a screaming baby girl came into the world in a large merchant house in Couve, the first in a line of babies born to the newest branch of the Amaranth House. She was named Rowan, for a long dead great-grandmother, and Sol for the fire in her hair, but her name was soon shortened to Ron, and her early life wasn't nearly as grand as the sun whose name she took.
Ron's father was a merchant, her mother a minor noble, and they lived happily and well in their manor in Couve. Their marriage wasn't approved of by her mother's parents, nobles that they were, but they were happy and in a business that allowed them to live well in the place that they'd chosen for a home. Couve, being a port, was a veritable melting pot of ethnicities and nationalities, home to all walks of life, and the four daughters of Lilian and Park Amaranth were allowed to roam free, culturing themselves in a way that nobility is unaccustomed to. Throughout most of these early years, the only contact her family had with the grandparents on either side was during holidays and on the rare occasion that they were summoned. Partially because of this lack, Ron lived a happy life running through the slums with children much lower socially than she, and she lived that way until she reached her teen years, when things began changing.
In her twelfth year, Ron watched as her mother died in childbirth, the baby--her only brother--surviving the bloody mess. In her fourteenth year, the Amaranth family received a summons from the noble parents of deceased Lilian. In her fifteenth year, Feizs became their new home. The summons the year before was sent because Lilian's only brother, her family's heir, had caught a fever and expired, leaving Lilian's newborn son the new heir of a merchant's fortune and a noble's name. The baby, still a toddler when the family moved, was immediately snapped by The Nobles, as Ron began calling her relatives. Her little sisters, most still young enough to handle the culture shock with little stress, were immediately put into schooling so that they would come out as proper ladies; and her father was ennobled, making his presence acceptable to The Nobles. His mercantile business was handed to underlings to manage, and Park Amaranth was left with nothing else to do but find a new bride and refine a taste for fine wines and brandys.
Ron, however, was viewed as a problem by her grandparents. She was nearly of an age to be married, yet she hadn't the noble's education, and was thus unsuitable to be married. Added to that, she had a horrifying tendency to leave the manor and attempt to mingle with the common scum on the streets (as far as there was scum in Faizs). Yet, with each guest that saw her, the praises of her beauty grew, bringing to light the possibility of a good marriage to a noble house. Her grandparents, ever watchful for societal opportunities, couldn't deny that marrying her to a higher classed family would raise their standing, so the decision was made to put her through the same schooling that her little sisters were getting. But the time in which she had to complete said education was several months rather than several years. They were a hard several months, culminating in Ron's hatred of her grandparents and her distaste for being caged, but she got the desired education, showing a penchant for fire magic, martial arts, and courtly dancing, and she was sent to Alme in the middle of her sixteenth year in hopes of making a political alliance.
In Alme, Ron was housed with a distant aunt, a once harsh governess that had grown soft with age. She attended the balls and the political dinners, and in her free time, she wandered the markets, making friends with people up, down, and all around. Suitors were lined up, for as she grew into maturity, so did her charm, and she used it copiously as she learned the art of manipulation. Months turned into years, and Ron was a success in Alme, well known by both nobility and common folk, and her success held off the impatience of The Nobles for her to get married. Eventually, they stopped asking all together, seeing that she was becoming her own political entity rather than latching on to a man. It helped that, during this time, her father remarried and her sisters began coming of age, events that distracted the nosy attention of meddling grandparents.
By her twenties, Ron was regularly involved with the politics of Armonie, and she had expressed no real interest in finding a man to settle down with, though she was seen to be romantic with many. With her sisters' being married to young noblemen throughout Faizs, Ron's grandparents grew less concerned with shaping her to be the thing to pull them into the light of high society, and eventually they left her alone all together, except for congratulations on certain political successes. Her late teenaged years shaped her into a charismatic and dynamic individual, capable of being strikingly blunt and darkly mysterious simultaneously. She argued passionately for her beliefs and showed sense when she made compromises, and she made huge risks that were respected whether they paid off or not. In the end, it was no surprise when she was chosen to be on the tenth generation of Council members.
•• ┫escaping reality in momentary dreams
. . . . . Mingling, people, dancing, taking risks, debating, men, independence, daylight.
•• ┫pushing the irritating scenery aside
. . . . . Overbearing relatives, oppression, reading, meekness, inactivity, darkness.
•• ┫keeping the nightmares to ourselves
. . . . . Secretly, this woman is afraid of being alone, and of not being able to eventually get over her fear of settling down; sometimes she feels like she's moving too fast. More obviously, she's afraid of settling down in any single place with any single person. She holds a childish fear of any power than her grandparents might have over her decisions, and a more childish fear of the dark. Deep down, Ron is afraid of not being liked.
»» cяєaтiиg oυя oωи paтн -- ]
•• ┫breaking through countless obstacles
. . . . . Ron carries a scimitar when it is not inappropriate to do so, and she was taught dances with it as meditation. Because of this, most of her fighting is graceful and fluid with singular, powerful strokes and a heavier focus on dodging than blocking. She thinks of it more as a dance, and has tied gold and crimson ribbons to the hilt of the weapon to add to the visual aspect of it. Other than the ribbons, the weapon is plain steel.
•• ┫forcing our way towards our destination
. . . . . Fire element. Through this element, Ron is capable of heating things through touch, and keeping herself warm , no matter the temperature. With a snap of her fingers, a candle can spark to life, or a pigeon can fall to death. Her magic isn't extraordinarily powerful, but she wields it with such grace that it can be deadly.
Fire seeds are sparks of flame that Ron puts to sleep until the moment she calls them back to life. They angrily return to the world of light in a blaze that can turn into a slow and ranging inferno, or they can expend all of their life in one destructive burst. It takes lots of time and energy to create these small weapons, and Ron has to stockpile them well in advance.
»» dєfiиiиg ωнo ωє aяє -- ]
•• ┫every sentence slipping out of our lips
"Did I think it through? No, but it's turned out just fine, look."
"My life is mine to live, and I will do it however I please."
"I'm not a heartbreaker. In fact, I'm a poultice for the wounds inflicted by the rest of this sorry world. Enjoy me while I'm here, because I won't be for long."
•• ┫the unforgettable words and melodies
Overboard - Ingrid Michaelson
•• ┫an unchanging picture in our memories
Firebrick Goldenrod Khaki
「 нold мy нaиd aиd lєad мє aloиg тнє ωay」
BriarRose
• •• • •• •
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 27, 2008 @ 03:41am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Morgan Roe + Intro
 Character Name: Morgan Roe
Age: 23
Weapons: Scimitar, in the tradition of old privateers, and pistols.
Profession: Privateer. Morgan serves as first mate on Albatross, directly under Captain Archer Layton.
Personality: Loyalty is Morgan's star trait. Once a vow is sworn or a promise made, she will follow through regardless of what is at stake, be it her life or her honor. Honor, in fact, is something she doesn't hold very highly, feeling instead that it is a foolish emotion held by idealistic children. Some would call her ruthless, but she merely does whatever will better herself and those she answers to, and though she has a reputation for violence, she much prefers to solve issues verbally--it's less messy that way.
Background: Morgan was born to a family that spent all of its time in a shipyard, and she grew up knowing that airships were an easy way to make good money. Growing up so close to the glorified pilots, she learned from a young age that the line of morality is nonexistent, and that many people who claim to work for nobility and honor spend much of their time doing shadier work, and dabbling in illegal businesses. Her childhood connections also allowed her to get work on ships from a young age, and that is where she got her start as a crew member on an airship, and it's also where she met Archer Layton. Even as a child, Morgan fit in with the life lived by shipmen and their shadier privateer brethren, and her obvious lack of moral concern led her to be desirable to those working illegal jobs.
As a privateer, or pirate, Morgan rose through the ranks quickly with her friend Archer, her eye on the prize of owning her own ship. In the end, it was Archer that got the ship with Morgan serving as his partner, but she didn't mind it. Archer was a good man, well deserving of her loyalty, and he was fair in doling out they payments that they received for the jobs they did. Better yet, as the son of a member of the royal bureaucracy, Archer was able to avoid much of the legal problems inherent in his career, making working for him much safer than working for herself. When we enter their story, Morgan will have been working with Archer for nearly a decade, and serving as his first mate for five of those years.________________________________________________________ Puffy clouds skittered away from the propellers at the base of the ship's wooden hull, leaving a wake behind it similar to the wakes left by the ships of old in the seas that they used as a medium of travel. A woman with prematurely silver streaked black hair stood at the prow of the ship, a brassy telescope held to her one good eye. Her hair flew behind her gracefully, her skirt billowing around shapely legs concealed by leggings and buckled leather boots. The power of the wind was multiplied several times over by the speed at which the airship was moving, but it wasn't bad enough to have to tie her hair out of her face, so she left it to billow. A small smile made her lips curve upward at the corners as she pulled the instrument away from her sight, viewing the dot in the distance without the help of magnification.
"They're leaving, Captain," she said quietly, "probably going for help." The man behind her scowled darkly, his charcoal eyebrows drawn together angrily, but he said nothing. His hair too moved heavily in the wind, though it was less of a concern for him than it was for her. His eyes were as black as his hair, and his clothing was dark enough to be considered black, though navy in actuality. With the almost constant scowl, the captain made for a very dark man, but the woman had always known him as such, so his scowl was of no concern. Her wry smile, in fact, seemed to temper his darkness.
After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke. "Morgan," he said, "You must know that I want to destroy that ship before it returns to London."
The woman nodded in agreement, "Yessir, I know, but you really shouldn't. Their ship is better off after that battle, and I can't say that our prisoner would be enough of a deterrent from them shooting us down. If you want to survive to ransom the Prince, we can't stop his ship." Her words were straightforward and carefully neutral.
Closing his eyes, the man pondered his first mate's words, and his scowl disappeared. When his eyes opened, he had calmed himself and he said, "You're right, of course. Would you attend to His Highness while I decide on a port to return to?"
Inwardly, Morgan smiled, proud to have guided her friend away from a bad decision, but she showed no sign outwardly. She simply bowed obediently. "Aye, Sir," she excused herself, and turned away sharply, her heels clicking against the golden boards of the deck.
Morgan moved efficiently toward the holding cell on Albatross, nodding curtly at each crew member that she passed, and within moments, she stood at the heavy door with it's barred window. The ship's weapons master and his eldest son were guarding the door to the cell, and they begrudgingly stepped aside as she approached. They'd lost their wife and mother during the battle, a loss to the entire ship because the only person qualified to navigate now was Captain Layton, and their loss had made them angry. Morgan knew they volunteered to guard because they were seeing an opportunity to get revenge, but she also knew that they wouldn't raise a hand against the prisoner unless ordered to. Retrieving her ring of keys, she gave them each a somber nod and inserted the proper key into the lock on the door. The key turned, and with a click, it opened.
Sitting in the empty room was a man thoroughly bound in chains looking rather disgruntled. She couldn't blame him--he had just been captured during a raid by a pirate ship, and his life was currently up in the air. Walking in and stopping several feet away from the man, she perched a closed fist on her hip. A grim look shadowed her face as Morgan began speaking to the man. "So, Highness," she said clearly, "I have good news. The captain decided not to go after your ship; looks like you'll be a guest of ours for a little longer."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
|
Posted: Thu Sep 25, 2008 @ 07:40am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Tana Stormchaser, Intro
 Movement tugged at the corner of the woman's deep blue eyes, causing her to turn her head to trace the motion. The line had begun moving. As it was, she'd spent the better part of the past two hours seated on a large cloth bag, her cloth-covered knees drawn up to her chest with her wrapped hands holding them in place. A small chin with a defined jawline was perched on the top of her left knee, bone clashing with cartilage painfully enough to keep her awake. When she confirmed that the line was actually moving, she quickly and gracefully shifted to a standing position, her upper clothing falling to cover her knees.
Feathery black hair fell to her waist, the long bangs of her side split falling neatly over the left half of her lightly freckled face. Dark blue eyes watched the line intently, shaped brows were drawn into a concerned scowl, and full lips were pursed in confusion. The woman had an obviously pretty face, but her figure was difficult to define through the shapeless dark clothing that she wore. A dark gray tunic fell to just below her knees, and over it she wore a black cloak that further concealed her body, though it was left open to reveal considerable cleavage. Around her abdomen was wrapped several layers of strong cloth that hid the curvature of her hips, a sort of armor not uncommon in this restless time. Her long legs were encased in sturdy leather boots that reached her mid-calf and dark leggings succeeded in concealing the rest of her skin. She stood just over a meter and a half in height, the soles of her boots tacking on another hand's width to it. So, though her clothes concealed a good part of her, it was fairly obvious by the line of her legs and the shape of her face that she was slender and voluptuous.
As of this moment, though, no one would be studying that figure. All eyes were trained on the line of stormtroopers approaching the waiting passengers. Only a moment later, the first man was pulled from the line, struggling against the unflinching arms of the white-clad soldiers. His wife was still in line, shouting for her husband to be returned, but she was quickly hushed by a neighbor when she began attracting the attention of her husband's captors. Murmuring erupted along the line of people, and the dark woman looked around concernedly.
The couple on front of her were clinging desperately to each other with one hand each, their free hands clutching official paperwork. This reminded her that she should probably follow suit, and in a brief moment, the black haired woman had procured her own falsified documents. They named her Amaranth Martryx, a seventeen year old native of Corellia--all of it false. Of course, if the paperwork properly named her twenty-six year old Tana Stormchaser, she would probably be dead. From the couple, the woman could make out complaints about the rough handling of the man, but she knew that he would be fine in the end. After all, the stormtroopers were looking for her, and it wouldn't take them long to realize the man wasn't a female Jedi Knight.
If this were happening five years ago, Tana wouldn't have had a problem with interceding on behalf of the people being pulled from line. But then again, five years ago, she would have had significant backup and the military would not be intent on killing her. Five years ago, she would have been looked to as a source of benevolent power, a protector. Now, though, if she stepped in to help the man, they would both be arrested and executed, and in the process, it was probable that many civilians would be injured or killed. Tana was many things, but recklessly brave was not one of them.
More people were being pulled from line, more families upset, but the line continued moving. Tana was relatively confident that she wouldn't be found out, but real concern kept her eyebrows knit together in a scowl. Seventeen year old Amaranth didn't at all resemble Master Stormchaser. One had blue eyes and long black hair, straight and fine, while the other had green eyes with curly blonde hair only manageable because it was so short. It was unlikely that the average stormtrooper would check to see if the body of the unassuming teenager matched that of a powerful Jedi--instead, they seemed to be working off of questions. Surgery had helped hide her, but the Empire had seriously overestimated her willingness to change her appearance. Really, a middle-aged man, balding and tubby? A small girl? Her grandmother?
Tana inhaled deeply, her chest straining against the bindings of her dark outfit. Her very real fear joined the almost palpable emotion set in place by the people being pulled from line, and the official documentation in her hand crinkled with her anxiety. An officer approached her section of the line and began questioning the couple in front of her. Tana's knees bent slightly as she reached for the strap of her bag, and she felt the pressure of her lightsabre pressing against her ribs where it was nestled beneath her breasts. If she was searched, it was her hope that the searchers would stop at the more pleasant contours of her chest rather than dipping beneath.
Finished with the couple, the stormtrooper turned to Tana. She gave him a shaky and meek smile, tucking another rogue strand of hair away. Then, she handed him her paperwork.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2008 @ 09:06am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Felix's First Post
✥ ℑ • ε • £ • i • χ ✥>>>A ladies' man afraid of ladies. Who would've guessed?<<< The music was grating on his nerves, making him irritable and angry as he shoved his way through the crowd. Shaggy brown hair marked the passage of the 6'3 bearded young man with unreadable dark eyes, but his lips were drawn into a frown. Coupled with the loud, grating music, the lights served to annoy him further, each flash of color a personal insult. Just ahead was a familiar blonde girl dancing, her long hair swishing to the beat of the hideous music, and despite his mood, he smiled. There she is. With a liberal use of his wide shoulders, he moved through the dancers and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Charlie!" He shouted. The girl turned around, her brown eyes looking him up and down. Apparently she liked what she saw...but he wasn't so pleased, [********! Sorry, I thought you were someone else! Sorry!" He took a big step backward, his hands up defensively, but the girl only smiled. She said something that he couldn't hear over the bass and took his hands, her brown eyes lusty. He thought he knew what was going on, and later he would kick himself for it, but like an idiot, he shouted, "What?!"
"Dance with me!" Her voice was barely audible, but her actions served to better express her meaning as she pulled him closer with a strength surprising for one so slight. Smoothly, she maneuvered a spin so that he collided with her firm behind, her hands holding his around her small waist. He couldn't help the blush that stained his cheeks or the fluttering feeling in his stomach.
So what if she wasn't the right girl? She seemed...nice. She certainly looked nice. He allowed himself to be manhandled for another dozen minutes before something else grabbed his attention--something he couldn't ignore. Not five feet away, Charlie's boyfriend was dancing with another girl in a way that no taken man should. Especially a man who had a girl as amazing as Charlie.
Rage boiling in his gut, amplified by the screaming music, he leaned forward to 'whisper' in his partner's ear, "I have to go! Sorry!"
Again, she grabbed his hand, "Wait! What's your name?"
He smiled crookedly, "Felix. I'll see you around, okay?"
 The song ended, and the bodies stopped moving. Chase left the dance floor, and Felix's eyes followed him, his body struggling to follow suit. She spoke again, this time clearly with the lack of noise, and he felt something wet on his palm. His dark eyes swiveled to look at her, and a small smile crept onto his lips. "My name's Jenna. Call me, okay?" She released his hand and closed the marker she'd produced from thin air. Felix looked at his palm and saw ten bold digits staring at him.
"Uhh...thanks," he said awkwardly, his slight accent more obvious when he wasn't shouting, "I will."
Regaining some small degree of confidence, he winked at Jenna and started moving again through the crowd just as a new song started, and he quickly reached the edge. Midnight was drawing near and he had yet to spot his friend, but once he'd cleared the crowd it didn't take him long. In a dark corner of the party, Charlie's blond head stood starkly against the wood-paneled walls, and next to her was his roommate. Felix's brows drew together and he walked directly to his friend.
With her was a modelesque couple that Felix recognized from classes, though he didn't know the name of the girl. Tobin was the boy's name, if he wasn't mistaken, but he only knew it from vague association--he'd never really talked to the guy. As Felix approached, he nodded a greeting to the model, who was in the process of exiting the scene with his girlfriend. Felix, who had eyes only for Charlie, didn't notice. He said, "Hey. Are you...are you okay?" He pointedly ignored Chase, angry that he treated Charlie like he did, letting her drink and stay up late partying in her condition. But she hadn't told him yet, had she? Felix gave his friend a long, calculating look, and shook his head, "You need rest, chérie," he said quietly, not sure if his voice could be heard over the new nerve-wracking song, and not really caring. Then he looked at Chase in such a way that let him know that Felix was annoyed. It was a common occurrence, that look.
"I'll take her back to her room if you want to stay here, Chase," this time, he made sure his voice could be heard. He very carefully kept the longing from his words. "I have to meet someone later anyways," he added for good measure, looking at the number on his palm. Jenna would have to do for tonight.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2008 @ 03:04am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Abel + 1st Post
 Who Me? Oh, yeah, I’m Abel.
And I’m happy to be 18.
And isn't it obvious by my picture that I'm a Lady?
Apparently I am The Assassin
Besides my Powers, I can always find me with Piano wire and a small arsenal of throwing knives.
I’m ME and there’s NOTHING you can do about it! Simply put, Abel is a sociopath. The things she does are wrong societally, and she knows it, but she just can't bring herself to care. Really, once she let go of the illusion of friendship, the only thing she was concerned with was bettering herself. She's a perfectionist with the things she does, but doesn't care enough to fix the problems other people have. There isn't a humorous bone in her body, but she appreciated irony. It's not that she doesn't understand the jokes, they just aren't funny. Abel is cold and calculating, and her lack of emotion only works to her advantage, never interfering with her sharp intellect.
My Life in a Nutshell was…. Normal childhood. Abel grew up in the suburbs, struggling to understand why she didn't laugh like the other children, why she didn't cry when she was made fun of, why she never liked a boy. Her parents were obviously concerned, and when she was seven, they sent her to a therapist, who she saw until his death several years later. She just grew tired of him, that's all. He was the first person she killed.
During her therapy, the counselor advised that she do a physical activity to help stimulate emotion, and Abel's parents decided gymnastics was an appropriately feminine sport. She didn't like it. After a year of watching her peers flip around like idiots, Abel decided to do something useful--martial arts. At first, her parents were opposed, but they backed down in the empty glare of their only daughter, and she proved herself very capable. Competitions were cake when she wasn't concerned about hurting her opponent. That was the point, right? Needless to say that, by the time she reached adulthood, she was very good.
After she killed her therapist, cops became a constant in Abel's life. It could have been because she was a 'witness' to the crime...and it could have been her growing tendency to hurt people. She ran away from home when she was fifteen, when she started having dreams of fire and skies filled with lightning. A loyalty to her parents had developed, and she didn't want to harm them.
The next couple of years were a flurry of events, and by the time she turned eighteen, her dreams of fire were a constant. She'd killed more people than she could count, and she'd found a way to make a living off of it. She dropped her family's name to keep her parents from her business, and picked the most ironic name she could think of.
Only recently did she realize her dreams meant something. Killing once more to take her mantle of power wouldn't be a problem.
I refuse to be controlled by BriarRose~I would also like a role-play sample. It can be from a previous RP or one that you come up with on the spot.~
"The only reason you're not dead yet is because I don't know where you've put it," the voice that came from the smaller woman was petite and airy, almost juvenile. barely 5 feet tall, she had reddish hair that was clipped away from her face with a pair of barrettes. Her skin was a flawless ivory color, and she wore a light green hoodie, sneakers and blue jeans. In general, she didn't make a very frightening picture. But if her eyes were taken into account, she became a monster--a demon in the guise of a child. They were empty and green, framed with lashes and hooded eyes that only served to darken the emptiness. A hidden malice lurked in their blank depths.
The other woman looked like she made an effort to be terrifying, but right now, she was failing miserably. Her eyes were wide in panic, looking in every direction for the possible escape that she would never find. Her eyes were the only part of her capable of movement, and a syringe tossed carelessly away was the explanation for it.
"Where's that pretty dragon necklace, Katarina Lewis? I need it, you see...oh?" The empty eyes were watching intently, and they had been rewarded. Katarina had glanced very briefly to her left. A humorless smile graced the lips of the smaller girl and she picked up Katarina's hand, allowing the older woman's sleeve to fall back. Around her wrist was a dragon necklace that had been wrapped around a dozen times and then secured. In seconds, it was held loosely in the small hands of the girl with the empty eyes.
She looked up from the necklace for a brief moment, meeting the frightened eyes of Katarina. "Thank you," she said quietly, "you don't know what this means to me."
Reaching into the giant pocket of her hoodie, the girl with the empty eyes withdrew a length of wire and wrapped it around her knuckles. She didn't smile as she walked around Katarina, whose heavy panting turned to whimpers. The wire dropped around the redhead's pale throat and the empty-eyed girl pulled it tight with a practiced motion. Blood pooled at the wire in a perfect circle around Katarina's neck, but she only felt it for a brief moment. With the younger girl's hand pressed against her hear, the redhead's neck snapped with a quiet pop, and her eyes lost the panic they held as they grew empty. The wire was retrieved by the only living creature in the room with a disgusted look.
A petite hand slipped a piece of thin paper covered in writing into the dead fist of Katarina. She then quietly exited the room through a featureless white door, leaving the it wide open. The paper that she left was a passage from the Old Testament, talking about the purity of the first children, and neatly written at the top in ink from a ball point pen was one word: Abel. The empty eyes of the dead girl were still lively compared to the emptiness of the green eyed Abel.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Sep 12, 2008 @ 01:09am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Maco's Intro
 .::M:A:C:O::.
The girl that was leaning against the wall of the Frothing Otter stood out in the crowd of plainsmen. She was tall and lithe with blonde hair that was bleached platinum by the sun, and her skin was a dark tan that came from years of exposure. Blonde hair alone wasn't unusual in this place, but it tended to be hay-colored, not platinum, and the tans on the plains were the ones that belonged to farmers--red, leathery things that sprout freckles across the back of one's neck. Blue eyes were another thing not uncommon to the area, but rarely was that blue as icy and pure as hers was. Anyone who traveled could recognize her as a native of the seas to the south, a people that rarely left their watery homesteads. A small smile played across thin lips unadorned with makeup, and her dancing eyes watched as they returned to the inn.
She stood out, but she had obviously made efforts to blend in. As of that moment, she was clothed in an outfit adopted by barmaids of the area, her long hair pulled back in a plait that was more decorative than efficient. The tan apron tied around her slim waist was dusted with flour and splattered with liquids of unknown origin, but the puffy cotton blouse she wore was a spotless white. Tan arms crossed under a bosom a bit more visible than she would have liked, but that was the fault of the blouse, which couldn't really be changed. They drew closer as she studied them.
She'd intended to approach them at the end of her shift, but they left, making her thankful that she'd taken care to memorize their faces. Now they were returning, but with what? The blond man had produced something from his bag, handling it gently, and it was passed around. Now, barely visible in the hands of the red-headed male was what seemed to be a large stone, egg-shaped and glittering. But no...that was too big to be a stone unless the men carrying it were monstrously strong. They handled it with their fingertips...Icy blue eyes narrowed as an old fact tickled the back of the woman's mind, and she her smile widened, showing pearly teeth. They were close enough to hear her now, weren't they?
"You're looking for me!" She called to the huddled group, shoving off of the wall with her shoulders. Her eyes locked onto the plainsman, the one who had produced [what she assumed to be] the egg, and she walked forward. Her arms fell from her chest and swung freely as she walked, and her smile didn't fade.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BriarRose
Community Member
|
|
