|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 3:58 pm
Female Character:
Character’s name: Rebecca.
Age: 18/19?
Description: Female vampire. Deep green eyes, long ginger hair that reaches to her shoulders. She is slim, not too skinny or chubby. She is wearing a long, dark blue gown that has a high neckline and surprisingly not a lot of noticeable blood stains.
Bio: She was dying when a vampire decided to save her. Her ‘best friend’ had pushed her, to make her fall off of the turret to her death. In the moment before she died, a male vampire had picked her up, changed her, and had then been overtaken by bloodlust, which meant he went off to find a victim. She had been abandoned, and barely managed to crawl into a dark place before the sun rose.
Since then, she struggled to survive, only taking small amounts from those she didn’t want to kill. A week after her ‘death’, she considered murdering her friend. Her friend had wanted to kill her because she was jealous of the fact that Annette was betrothed to the man that Isabella herself wanted to marry. Isabella had only ever pretended to be her best friend, something which she told Annette all about before pushing her. Isabella knew that Annette’s betrothed would not mourn her death/disappearance and that she herself would be asked when Annette was out of the picture.
Which is why Annette wants revenge – why should she be suffering for her ‘friends’ petty problems?
So therefore Annette, when she had enough strength/willpower to accomplish it, headed to the ball where Isabelle’s betrothal to Sir Thomas, intent upon having her revenge.
Yet as she entered the ballroom, she noticed someone far more interesting…
Personality: Due to her past, she is distrusting and cannot accept new people. Even those that she is close to she ignores and tries to avoid having contact with: she's both scared that she'll hurt them, or worse that they will hurt her.
Male Character:
Character picture: ____ (No time now, can I find one later?)
Name: Morgead
Gender: Male
Age: 19(?)
Shapeshifter: Werewolf.
Personality: He is too honest for his own good – brutally honest, so that he could offend the people around him, yet he barely notices this and sometimes does it deliberately if he feels that he is pressured or getting to know people too well. If he allowed that to happen, then he knows his ‘loner’ way of life will be endangered. Occasionally he employs sarcasm to aid his honesty in keeping people away.
Past: He was born in England, and doesn’t know any other languages as he avoided the company of others, preferring to run away from school and head for anywhere in the outdoors that he could just sit and watch the sky. This only took place when he was old enough – if the adults were watching, then he would try to hide in the playground when everyone went inside. These attempts usually ended with him being discovered and placed firmly back in his seat in his classroom, sulking and glaring out of the window.
He didn’t feel that he belonged anywhere that had four walls, which led him to rarely go home at all. He either had to be starved or dragged back by a very fast, strong human being. Thus his family rarely know where he is, and his father has washed his hands of this man who won’t willingly enter his supposed home.
It was when he could finally leave home ‘officially’ that he discovered his love of rock-climbing. He found that testing his limits whilst hanging on by his fingertips made his heart pound like nothing else ever had.
Extra: He became addicted to writing down what he had seen, logging it down neatly in the notepad that he had snatched up on his way out of his childhood ‘home’. It was new to him, having the freedom to write what he wanted rather than what was dictated, and he had never known that he could experience a passion for writing since he had not picked up a pen of his own free will before.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Jul 29, 2009 8:40 pm
Name: Dasha Lavrin
Age: In her late teens, early twenties.
Race: Vampire
Appearance: Dasha has long, dyed dark purple hair. It comes down to about her waist and is usually left down, though she does put it into a ponytail sometimes. Her left eye is a deep purple color while her right eye is a light blue. Her skin is a pale, ashy color. She has a long, purple cloak that wraps around her shoulders and comes down to her feet. Her top is purple and black tube top that ends above her belly. There is see-through black fabric underneath it that covers the upper portion of her chest. Her gloves are made from light blue and see-through, black fabric. They leave her fingers free so she can grip her scythe. She has a short, purple skirt with a blue scarf tied around it. Underneath, she wears tight, black leggings that are tucked into her knee-high boots.
Personality: Dasha can be quite cold at times. She is fairly quiet and doesn't speak up unless she has to. Or for some odd reason, she wants to. She is somewhat sarcastic at times or just simply down-to-earth honest. She often doesn't care what others think about her. Name: Trace Barone
Age: Late teens, early twenties
Race: Werewolf
Appearance: Trace has shaggy, platinum blond, almost white hair. He has light blue eyes and often wears something that resembles a suit. He has a dark blue jacket that has two chains that hold it together in the front. Underneath he has a white, button down shirt. He has dark blue pants that match the color of his jacket with white boots.
Personality: Trace is very sarcastic. He finds amusement in other's confusion and irritation.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Aug 03, 2009 7:23 pm
The crisp, fall air created a thin frost over everything for miles around. The grass that covered the vast field has small bits of ice covering it. As the wind rippled through it, it almost seemed to shiver. A gentle creaking echoed underneath the sound of the wind. It was coming from a large home that lay on the edge of the field. It was quite a bit larger than most houses of the century, despite it's current residence of only two girls. Sadly, both their parents had been taken from them not very long prior.
The sun had set beyond the ocean that they called their backyard. Nighttime had fallen on the land and all was quiet save for the crashing waves. All of the lights were off in the home and the silence had just begun to sink in around them.
Suddenly, a figure came through the waves, breaking the water's repetitive motion. His head flung up into the open night, beads of water flying out and away from his soaked hair. His mouth was open wide as he gasped in the oxygen that had been lacking from his lungs for a year. Gurgling as he coughed up lung-fulls of water, he tried to catch his breath and struggled to stay a-float above the waves. Gasping in breaths after the seawater was out, he looked frantically about him. His home. There it was. But what had happened? So many questions filtered through his mind. But for the moment...he just wanted to be home. Home....home...
He struggled to swim to the shore, having trouble adjusting to his newly formed muscles.
Moss-covered rocks lines the shore. He grabbed hold of one in an attempt to pull himself up. His waist came out of the water before his hand slipped off of the rock. He plunged back into the depths, salty water entering his mouth once again. He surfaced, sputtering. He looked around the shore to find an easier way of exiting.
After a few minutes of swimming, he made it to a sandy beached area. He slowly trudged to shore, only to fall into the sand. His chest's movements were quick as he breathed heavily. How far out from the shore had he been? He slowly lifted his head from the ground, the sand clinging to his skin. He slowly lifted himself away from the ground to find were he was. There was his home again. Oh, why did it have to be so far away?
A sudden pain stuck him and he brought his hand up to cling at it. Searing, fiery pain shot up his chest and through his entire body. What was it? What was hurting him? Slowly pulling his hand away, he looked underneath. His shirt had been ripped and underneath was a long line of discolored, re-healed skin. It was a scar that ran over most of his chest. He put his hand over his chest to feel his heart and was shocked to find no heartbeat. No...that was it. They had killed him and now.....Oh sweet Colette, how long had he been dead? Panic gripping him, he began to run with a new-found energy. He had to get home. They hadn't gotten to his family. Oh please, let them be alright.
His feet pounded against the cold grass in the darkness of night. He didn't even notice the lack of light, however. He could see just like it was daytime, except things had surprisingly less color. He hadn't noticed, however. He was focused entirely on getting home....home. He needed to get back home. That was all that mattered now. Home was right there. He needed to get home. Home.....
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
