Post by Forsaken on Jan 20, 2009 23:56:11 GMT -5
(( I decided not to change her name, after all, since I'd named this character Asila over a year before I ever joined rp forums and began to use her name as my alias. She had the name first, so she's keeping it. *shrugs and hopes that she doesn't confuse anyone too badly.))
Name: Asila Kei Fryshon
Age: 17
Race: Forsaken
Description or Picture: Asila has pale silver hair with white high-lights and an unusual style. The bangs are short and wispy, the back is also short and generally looks ruffled, and the sides fall in long locks of gleaming hair that stream past her shoulders. She is of average height, five' six, and a bit too thin. Her facial features, which would have been considered beautiful in a different life, under different circumstances, have a haunted look, the high cheekbones seeming too stark while in the possession of a starved body, the eyes shadowed.
As one of the Forsaken, she is cat-based, and her features reflect this. Her pale green eyes are large, slightly slanted, and feature slitted pupils that widen and contract in direct response to the amount of light present and/or her mood. Her ears are feline and perpetually flattened against her head in an expressive gesture of discontent. Her fingertips have actually warped in a way that supports a cat's pointed and retractable claws and, at two inches long, are weapons that she takes every advantage of. Finally, her incisors have lengthened into delicate fangs. The change has not traveled any further than her fingertips, however, and for the time being her torso and lower body remain unaffected.
She is not subtle in the least about her style of dress, paying absolutely no mind to practicality. Your average member of the Nightwatch dresses for stealth and anonymity, but Asila's personal style of black cargo pants, strung with chains and draped with strips of whatever black material the pants are made of), black combat boots, and light black jacket with a higher cut that leaves her abdomen exposed is hardly subtle. In fact, the look (especially the thin jacket that is useless against the bitter chill and would quickly allow anything that wasn't an abomination of the natural order to freeze to death) when combined with her features screams "soulless killer", while the clanking chains and heavy footfalls of the boots announces her presence. Yet this look is not careless. It is precisely measured to both please the Guardian's who had cursed her, who now owned her, and to act as a measure that will spare potential victims their life. For the former believed that she had finally fallen prey to their will and was nothing more than a powerful resource and the latter was allowed every chance to detect her and flee that she could possibly give them when she could not defy a direct order.
(So, this picture isn't all that accurate, but that's the reason I gave a nice description. At least I did a good job on her hair in this one, which is the reason I posted it here instead of leaving it out entirely.)
Personality: If a personality could be described in two words, hers would be "suppressed intensity". On the surface she seems cold and apathetic, full of bitter hate yet resigned to her situation. She has an attitude of careless defiance, often dressing in revealing clothes because she wants to provoke the individuals around her, especially her master, Somriad, whose attitude of indifferent arrogance infuriates her. She can't stand being the disposable tool, obliged to risk her life for both him and everything he stands for when she hates both with such intensity that she can hardly see or breathe when her fury sweeps over her. Yet she can not defy him. None of the Forsaken can defy the Guardian they are tied to, though, every once in a while, she will find the courage to defy the others. But she was robbed of the right to act freely four years ago and it was not often that she had the desire to disobey an order. If Somriad was called in to deal with her, the punishment would not be pleasant, and in the end her act of rebellion resulted only in her being forced to obey that order and then condemned to suffer it. There just wasn't any point in fighting.
Yet there was one stubborn voice that refused to give in, that somehow remained endlessly defiant no matter how weak and exhausted every other thought had become. It was for that voice that she still did what she could to help the werewolves she had risked this damnation for. It was not much, now. But some day, she hoped she could find a way to do more.
If only the situation weren't so hopeless. If only her mind was her own. Then that hope wouldn't be such a blind waste of energy.
History: Asila had grown up in a family of five, her mother, her father, two sisters and one brother. Her mother was descended from a Guardian that was a relatively distant ancestor. Her mother had been born four generations after the forbidden tryst that had resulted in her mixed-blood great-grandfather. Her father had a grandmother who had been one of the few gutsy werewolves that hazarded the city in an attempt to save those who were being persecuted for their heritage by guiding them safely out of the city and to the refuge of Wyvern. She didn't live long enough to see him born.
This heritage was diluted enough that it was unlikely anything serious would come of it. The children may become stronger during nights leading up to and following the full moon, or even learn to manipulate magic or shift into a wolf's form if they dared risk pushing their abilities to that limit and therefor draw attention to themselves. Most of them didn't, either because they were too young to think about it, as in the case of the children, or too wise to risk it, as in the case of the parents. But Asila was willful and too aware of the atrocities that were being committed around her. She noticed when the quiet girl with the strange eyes that sometimes looked gold never returned to the classroom on the day that one of the Guardian's came to speak to the class. She saw the dull look of despair that had aged the features of a heavily cloaked vagrant that had met her with those strange eyes one night when she had looked out of the window. For a moment he had met her gaze, then quickly shuffled off into the shadows as though he dare not linger. She heard of the burnings that took place at the Stage of Retribution and felt sick with the idea. She became paranoid, and began to wonder why her father seemed to vanish on certain nights every month. And she began to speak to anyone who would listen about the strange things she noticed, and how wrong she thought some of these things were.
And still, it might have been all right. If she hadn't tried to stop one of the members of the Nightwatch from hurting that vagrant that she sometimes saw in the street beyond her small circular window, late one night when everyone else was asleep and she only happened to be watching because her thoughts were too piecing together the scraps of truth she had found outside the Guardian's lies to allow her to rest as well. Quickly and silently she had unbolted the door and slipped outside. Then she had stomped angrily toward what looked like a very fearsome cross between a scorpion and a man, foolishly believing that there was anything she could do to save the cloaked man with the terribly sad countenance. And, by some twist of fate, or rather, of genetics, that belief proved itself correct. By the time she stepped between them, her pale green eyes seemed to blaze with a light of their own and an impossible breeze lifted her hair and her fleece pajamas so that they billowed around her. "Leave him alone!" She shrieked, and shoved him away from the poor vagrant. And, with jerky movements that faintly resembled those of a puppet on a string, the Forsaken left.
She had been twelve, and in possession of all the confidence that children who have not experienced misfortune have, believing blindly that nothing terrible could happen to her. So even though the vagrant stared at her as though she had just descended from the dark clouds on the first beam of sunlight that had touched the earth in centuries she remained unperturbed, as though she there had never been a chance of her interruption ending in any other way and he was silly for looking so shocked. She grinned in a way that said "You're welcome!", waved, chirped a cheerful "Good night!" and left to hurry back inside before Mom or Dad discovered she was gone and grounded her for a whole week.
But the vagrant grabbed her arm. She had frowned at him. "Do you realize what you've done?" The man said in a tense whisper. "You've given yourself away. Come," He continued, "that Forsaken will return for you before the night is out." Dazed by the fearful fervor of his voice she had followed without protest. He took her to some very nice people, some who had those strange gold eyes and all of whom wore dark gray cloaks. She stayed with them for the rest of the night, thinking this was a most exciting adventure, but it had been a while since she had slept and she fell asleep a few minutes before dawn. Only to wake a few hours past dawn in an absolute panic.
She convinced the rebels to take her home, refusing their polite offers to speak to her parents on her behalf while she slept a little while longer. Surely she was exhausted? But eventually they led her back to her house, because it seemed that she was determined to find a way back and it was better she be accompanied than alone.
When they arrived, the stone walls were scorched and there was no one left alive. Once again Asila was led back to the rebel base, this time mute with horror and robbed of will by her shock. She wasn't aware enough of her surroundings to hear the low, quiet voices that discussed what had been discovered around her, or notice the sympathetic faces that asked her if she was tired, or if she wanted to eat something. She could only think of the fire that had been started by the Forsaken, ordered by the Guardian's, and that would be proclaimed a tragic accident to the public. The voices that murmured quietly around her said it would be so. That is had happened before.
She stayed with them for two weeks. Then she vanished. The next time the rebels heard of her, it would be nearly six months later, as a description in the newspaper. Then another. And another. Headlines such as "Mysterious Girl Halts Rebel Arrest" or "A Bounty is Placed on the Silver Wolf Menace" and, at one point, the most dramatic event of all, "Silver Wolf Disrupts Cleansing Flame Ceremony; Prisoner Escaped". She was all over the newspapers, impossible to find in the city. Everywhere and nowhere. The rebels began to call her the Ghost of Manticore. The public began to rally around the young vigilante, and in only a few years the rebel cause gained more support than it had seen in decades. Abruptly the times became tumultuous. More arrests were made, and more of them were foiled. And somehow, the Ghost of Manticore, Asila, managed to elude capture. For a while.
But only a eighteen months after news of her exploits first hit the press, there was news of the Ghost's capture. When she was half-dragged onto the Stage of Retribution, before the eyes of the people who had been secretly cheering for her, it was affirmed. The Revolution's greatest hero had become it's greatest threat.
That was three years ago. Her's is another life, now.
Political Standing: Serves the Guardians.
Abilities (optional): Is strong, quick, and agile, though no more so than a human who is exceptional in these qualities. She is invulnerable to the cold, has feline night vision and balance, and has power enough to immobilize and drain a victim of all strength. Should she desire it, she would be capable of more, but she no longer has any wish to squander strength on pointless battles. Her animal form is that of a small house cat, which is misleading since she is one of the highest-ranking Forsaken. Yet she fights only to survive, and expends no more energy than absolutely necessary.
Weaknesses (optional): In battle she is crippled by her sympathy for the rebel cause. She fights because she is ordered to, but that will only go so far. The Guardian's can make her fight, but even Somriad can not make her fight well. A strong opponent, with will, passion, and a desire to survive, will outmatch her.
Extra: Asila is a member of the Nightwatch.
Name: Asila Kei Fryshon
Age: 17
Race: Forsaken
Description or Picture: Asila has pale silver hair with white high-lights and an unusual style. The bangs are short and wispy, the back is also short and generally looks ruffled, and the sides fall in long locks of gleaming hair that stream past her shoulders. She is of average height, five' six, and a bit too thin. Her facial features, which would have been considered beautiful in a different life, under different circumstances, have a haunted look, the high cheekbones seeming too stark while in the possession of a starved body, the eyes shadowed.
As one of the Forsaken, she is cat-based, and her features reflect this. Her pale green eyes are large, slightly slanted, and feature slitted pupils that widen and contract in direct response to the amount of light present and/or her mood. Her ears are feline and perpetually flattened against her head in an expressive gesture of discontent. Her fingertips have actually warped in a way that supports a cat's pointed and retractable claws and, at two inches long, are weapons that she takes every advantage of. Finally, her incisors have lengthened into delicate fangs. The change has not traveled any further than her fingertips, however, and for the time being her torso and lower body remain unaffected.
She is not subtle in the least about her style of dress, paying absolutely no mind to practicality. Your average member of the Nightwatch dresses for stealth and anonymity, but Asila's personal style of black cargo pants, strung with chains and draped with strips of whatever black material the pants are made of), black combat boots, and light black jacket with a higher cut that leaves her abdomen exposed is hardly subtle. In fact, the look (especially the thin jacket that is useless against the bitter chill and would quickly allow anything that wasn't an abomination of the natural order to freeze to death) when combined with her features screams "soulless killer", while the clanking chains and heavy footfalls of the boots announces her presence. Yet this look is not careless. It is precisely measured to both please the Guardian's who had cursed her, who now owned her, and to act as a measure that will spare potential victims their life. For the former believed that she had finally fallen prey to their will and was nothing more than a powerful resource and the latter was allowed every chance to detect her and flee that she could possibly give them when she could not defy a direct order.
(So, this picture isn't all that accurate, but that's the reason I gave a nice description. At least I did a good job on her hair in this one, which is the reason I posted it here instead of leaving it out entirely.)
Personality: If a personality could be described in two words, hers would be "suppressed intensity". On the surface she seems cold and apathetic, full of bitter hate yet resigned to her situation. She has an attitude of careless defiance, often dressing in revealing clothes because she wants to provoke the individuals around her, especially her master, Somriad, whose attitude of indifferent arrogance infuriates her. She can't stand being the disposable tool, obliged to risk her life for both him and everything he stands for when she hates both with such intensity that she can hardly see or breathe when her fury sweeps over her. Yet she can not defy him. None of the Forsaken can defy the Guardian they are tied to, though, every once in a while, she will find the courage to defy the others. But she was robbed of the right to act freely four years ago and it was not often that she had the desire to disobey an order. If Somriad was called in to deal with her, the punishment would not be pleasant, and in the end her act of rebellion resulted only in her being forced to obey that order and then condemned to suffer it. There just wasn't any point in fighting.
Yet there was one stubborn voice that refused to give in, that somehow remained endlessly defiant no matter how weak and exhausted every other thought had become. It was for that voice that she still did what she could to help the werewolves she had risked this damnation for. It was not much, now. But some day, she hoped she could find a way to do more.
If only the situation weren't so hopeless. If only her mind was her own. Then that hope wouldn't be such a blind waste of energy.
History: Asila had grown up in a family of five, her mother, her father, two sisters and one brother. Her mother was descended from a Guardian that was a relatively distant ancestor. Her mother had been born four generations after the forbidden tryst that had resulted in her mixed-blood great-grandfather. Her father had a grandmother who had been one of the few gutsy werewolves that hazarded the city in an attempt to save those who were being persecuted for their heritage by guiding them safely out of the city and to the refuge of Wyvern. She didn't live long enough to see him born.
This heritage was diluted enough that it was unlikely anything serious would come of it. The children may become stronger during nights leading up to and following the full moon, or even learn to manipulate magic or shift into a wolf's form if they dared risk pushing their abilities to that limit and therefor draw attention to themselves. Most of them didn't, either because they were too young to think about it, as in the case of the children, or too wise to risk it, as in the case of the parents. But Asila was willful and too aware of the atrocities that were being committed around her. She noticed when the quiet girl with the strange eyes that sometimes looked gold never returned to the classroom on the day that one of the Guardian's came to speak to the class. She saw the dull look of despair that had aged the features of a heavily cloaked vagrant that had met her with those strange eyes one night when she had looked out of the window. For a moment he had met her gaze, then quickly shuffled off into the shadows as though he dare not linger. She heard of the burnings that took place at the Stage of Retribution and felt sick with the idea. She became paranoid, and began to wonder why her father seemed to vanish on certain nights every month. And she began to speak to anyone who would listen about the strange things she noticed, and how wrong she thought some of these things were.
And still, it might have been all right. If she hadn't tried to stop one of the members of the Nightwatch from hurting that vagrant that she sometimes saw in the street beyond her small circular window, late one night when everyone else was asleep and she only happened to be watching because her thoughts were too piecing together the scraps of truth she had found outside the Guardian's lies to allow her to rest as well. Quickly and silently she had unbolted the door and slipped outside. Then she had stomped angrily toward what looked like a very fearsome cross between a scorpion and a man, foolishly believing that there was anything she could do to save the cloaked man with the terribly sad countenance. And, by some twist of fate, or rather, of genetics, that belief proved itself correct. By the time she stepped between them, her pale green eyes seemed to blaze with a light of their own and an impossible breeze lifted her hair and her fleece pajamas so that they billowed around her. "Leave him alone!" She shrieked, and shoved him away from the poor vagrant. And, with jerky movements that faintly resembled those of a puppet on a string, the Forsaken left.
She had been twelve, and in possession of all the confidence that children who have not experienced misfortune have, believing blindly that nothing terrible could happen to her. So even though the vagrant stared at her as though she had just descended from the dark clouds on the first beam of sunlight that had touched the earth in centuries she remained unperturbed, as though she there had never been a chance of her interruption ending in any other way and he was silly for looking so shocked. She grinned in a way that said "You're welcome!", waved, chirped a cheerful "Good night!" and left to hurry back inside before Mom or Dad discovered she was gone and grounded her for a whole week.
But the vagrant grabbed her arm. She had frowned at him. "Do you realize what you've done?" The man said in a tense whisper. "You've given yourself away. Come," He continued, "that Forsaken will return for you before the night is out." Dazed by the fearful fervor of his voice she had followed without protest. He took her to some very nice people, some who had those strange gold eyes and all of whom wore dark gray cloaks. She stayed with them for the rest of the night, thinking this was a most exciting adventure, but it had been a while since she had slept and she fell asleep a few minutes before dawn. Only to wake a few hours past dawn in an absolute panic.
She convinced the rebels to take her home, refusing their polite offers to speak to her parents on her behalf while she slept a little while longer. Surely she was exhausted? But eventually they led her back to her house, because it seemed that she was determined to find a way back and it was better she be accompanied than alone.
When they arrived, the stone walls were scorched and there was no one left alive. Once again Asila was led back to the rebel base, this time mute with horror and robbed of will by her shock. She wasn't aware enough of her surroundings to hear the low, quiet voices that discussed what had been discovered around her, or notice the sympathetic faces that asked her if she was tired, or if she wanted to eat something. She could only think of the fire that had been started by the Forsaken, ordered by the Guardian's, and that would be proclaimed a tragic accident to the public. The voices that murmured quietly around her said it would be so. That is had happened before.
She stayed with them for two weeks. Then she vanished. The next time the rebels heard of her, it would be nearly six months later, as a description in the newspaper. Then another. And another. Headlines such as "Mysterious Girl Halts Rebel Arrest" or "A Bounty is Placed on the Silver Wolf Menace" and, at one point, the most dramatic event of all, "Silver Wolf Disrupts Cleansing Flame Ceremony; Prisoner Escaped". She was all over the newspapers, impossible to find in the city. Everywhere and nowhere. The rebels began to call her the Ghost of Manticore. The public began to rally around the young vigilante, and in only a few years the rebel cause gained more support than it had seen in decades. Abruptly the times became tumultuous. More arrests were made, and more of them were foiled. And somehow, the Ghost of Manticore, Asila, managed to elude capture. For a while.
But only a eighteen months after news of her exploits first hit the press, there was news of the Ghost's capture. When she was half-dragged onto the Stage of Retribution, before the eyes of the people who had been secretly cheering for her, it was affirmed. The Revolution's greatest hero had become it's greatest threat.
That was three years ago. Her's is another life, now.
Political Standing: Serves the Guardians.
Abilities (optional): Is strong, quick, and agile, though no more so than a human who is exceptional in these qualities. She is invulnerable to the cold, has feline night vision and balance, and has power enough to immobilize and drain a victim of all strength. Should she desire it, she would be capable of more, but she no longer has any wish to squander strength on pointless battles. Her animal form is that of a small house cat, which is misleading since she is one of the highest-ranking Forsaken. Yet she fights only to survive, and expends no more energy than absolutely necessary.
Weaknesses (optional): In battle she is crippled by her sympathy for the rebel cause. She fights because she is ordered to, but that will only go so far. The Guardian's can make her fight, but even Somriad can not make her fight well. A strong opponent, with will, passion, and a desire to survive, will outmatch her.
Extra: Asila is a member of the Nightwatch.
