|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2013 9:29 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:20 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:25 am
 |
|
|
|
Personality
[ This is horribly out of date. ]
Vengeance, recognition, control… these are the primary forces driving Kursha; they are what made him who he is: a bratty, but hard-working kid with a strong need to prove himself at the best of times, and a petty, self-centred hypocrite at the worst.
Kursha has what he believes is a strong sense of justice. In truth, he just cannot bear to let go of a grudge. It is simply not in his nature. Besides, who else is going to put in all the effort to ensure that those who wronged him are properly punished - apathetic and tyrannical highbloods? Of course not. It falls to him to take charge and achieve vengeance for himself. Admittedly, there have been a few occasions where Kursha has let an opportunity for retribution pass him by, but those were typically for reasons more having to do with self-preservation than mercy.
Kursha’s sometimes seemingly malicious nature should not however be confused for a lack of compassion. After all, he genuinely believes that his actions are right, or, at the very least, fair. The source of the problem is rather that he gets stuck inside his own head. He has a hard time grasping that not everything is about him. Even so, he has proven himself to be surprisingly empathetic and understanding at times - especially when out from under the critical eye of his lusus.
Kursha lives a dual life of sorts. Around his lusus or highbloods who he similarly strives to impress in his own way, he adopts a ruthless and cold-blooded attitude. He is a bold as brass, certified smart-aleck. By himself, or around those he is comfortable with, however Kursha lets loose. He loves to play around, engage in silliness, and have fun. While he's not much of a gamer, he is highly competitive. Winning is important. Even so, he always plays honestly. He despises cheaters, and if there is one thing that’s guaranteed to set Kursha off, it's people getting ahead with minimal effort.
Despite this honest streak, Kursha is far from trustworthy. Though he does not like to lie outright, he is no stranger to lies by omission, particularly when engaging in the revenge routine. He will often bend the truth to manipulate others into a position that is favourable for him. However, if Kursha gives his word, swears on his honour, he will follow through no matter what. He takes his pledges very seriously. Unless it is a pledge of vengeance though, it can be difficult to extract any kind of promise from him.
Thanks to his Lusus' vigorous training regime, Kursha is able to sit in one spot completely still, for several hours without complaint. He has become quite adept at subduing any anxious tendencies and focussing in on the task at hand. Without a designated focus though, Kursha becomes restless. He likes to keep himself occupied, and if he is not, he will quickly find something to do. He prefers to get things done quickly and has little patience for idle prater.
Kursha's relationship with the hemospectrum is a bit hypocritical to say the least. Although he believes that he has the right to challenge and rise up over the highbloods, he does not think the same for those of a lesser blood than himself. He believes that he is naturally superior and looks down upon lowbloods with the same prejudiced intolerance that he cannot stand; especially those who seem to have accepted their subservient existence. They aren't worth the dirt they walk on. Talk about some messed up logic.
In his spare time, Kursha likes to design traps*, practice his marksmanship, and play pretend. Most often he enjoys playing "soldier" and exploring the mountainside in search of "new species" to dominate, or playing "moobeast ranger". Kursha adores moobeast rangers: grizzled, cigar-smoking trolls, who fight for justice, and drink nothing but hot, black coffee. He has a massive collection of moobeast ranger related paraphernalia: large brimmed hats, bags of unopened coffee (he wants to like it but that stuff is nasty), stirrups, a set of cheap action figures, movies, and so on and so forth. His all time favourite moobeast ranger is the fictional "troll with no name" played by Klinte Westwood. There is no greater troll in existence. Kursha privately dreams of some day becoming a hard-boiled vigilante like his hero.
As much as Kursha enjoys moobeast rangers, the moobeasts themselves are a little... disturbing. They have these sad, drooping eyes that seem to stare into his very soul. Not to mention those loathesome hooves. And sensual leg humps. And the plump, jiggling utters. No creature more disgusting has ever walked Alternia. Not surprisingly, Kursha does not get enough calcium in his diet.
*Kursha prides himself on being a master of traps. He has back-up plans for everything, including his back-up plans.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:34 am
|
|
|
 |
Strengths and Weaknesses
Strengths:
Improvisational
Though Kursha likes to plan for everything, he tends to excel at on the fly thinking. He dislikes the idea of 'one solution' and rarely will he stick with his initial concept. Frequently when executing a plan he will alternate between several ideas, or come up with something new altogether. As a result, he is not easily thrown off balance, even when it seems like everything starts to go wrong, which of course it always does. Kursha is often unpredictable. He likes to keep his enemies on their toes.
Motivated
Even without the ever watchful eyes of his lusus to spurr him on, Kursha is a highly driven troll. He knows what he wants - or at least he thinks he does - and he will stop at nothing to get it. He cannot stand to leave a task unfinished and will take great pains to see it through to completion. Completion is not enough however. Whatever task is at hand, Kursha will give his all. To avoid becoming overwhelmed, he tends to focus on one thing at a time.
Impassive
Kursha has an obsession with weakness – primarily his own. To prevent others from recognising and potentially taking advantage of this, he keeps his emotions on a tight leash… on the surface anyway. He wears a confident grin, and adopts a carefree attitude, regardless of whether he is brimming with confidence or downright terrified. Even on his worst days, he can be difficult to figure out, as he only shows what he wants people to see.
Vigilant
Kursha is good at picking up on the little things. He is highly detailed oriented (sometimes displaying perfectionist tendencies because of this), and while he may be less than interested in others' state of emotional affairs, he is adept at reading them and predicting their next action. He likes to consider all the possible outcomes for a situation and prepare for each of them. He is rarely caught off guard.
Weaknesses:
Vindictive
Kursha is a vindictive little s**t. Cross him even once and he will be up in arms. Unfortunately, because he never gives anything less than his one hundred percent, he could quite literally be preparing for combat, depending on the severity of the offence. Worse still, he seems to take everything personally – no excuses. While it may not be that day, that week, or even the next month, Kursha will one day settle the score. He is capable of holding a grudge for a very very long time.
Rebellious
Kursha despises authority. He cannot stand being told what to do – so much in fact, that he will often go out of his way to do just the opposite, even if it is more harmful than beneficial to him. He is the only person in charge of himself and he constantly seeks to prove that. His actions are of no one else’s business. He is more than a little self-indulgent in that respect. Of course, Kursha is not stupid; he knows to back down when his life is on the line. Should he not get his way though, he is a master of hosting pity parties.
Insecure
Underneath his façade of bravado, Kursha wants more than anything to be acknowledged and possibly admired. He refuses to settle for less than the best and has a hard time recognising his own ability unless someone else does first. Thanks to his lusus’ unforgiving expectations, he often feels inadequate. He frequently suffers periods of self-doubt and is easily stressed. His independent nature stems from this, as a desire to prove himself.
Opinionated
Kursha has a stance on everything, whether it’s right or wrong, reasonable or stupid. He is quick to judge and ridiculously obstinate when it comes to redacting those judgements. He absolutely hates being wrong, and will continue to fight to prove his point, regardless if his ship is sinking. He does not listen very well to others in this regard. His opinions often lead him to make bad decisions that he regrets later… but of course won’t admit.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:43 am
|
|
|
|
Home
Kursha's hive is a sizeable fort located up on one of Busthind's coldest peaks. The garrison has clearly seen better days: parts of the battlements have collapsed, the outer wall is a patchwork of missing stones, and the left door of the main gate had been bashed in. Even the more recent additions, like the green banners flying from the ramparts look tattered and worn.
Despite all appearances, the hive is very much inhabited, and very much defensible. Constructed atop snowy ridge, with its rear guarded by a sheer cliff wall the hive has clear view of the surrounding mountainside. No guest ever arrives unexpected. And very few arrive unscathed. On the rockier slopes to the southeast, the forest is littered with bear nets, tripwires, bear traps, and other more lethal devices. To the west, where the incline is gentler, the peaceful-looking snowfields conceal several acres of mines.
The fort is encompassed by a four story tall wall, complete with battlements, parapets, murder holes, and guard towers. Past the main gate and the portcullis is a deserted courtyard, and past that the great hall, displaying a morbid collection of ancient trophies. An unused throne from the previous owner sits at the end of the hall above the steps. From there, the halls extend out and around, the courtyard. Many of the blocks are unused, covered in several centuries' worth of dust, but others have been repurposed to suit Kursha's needs, with seemingly no rhyme or reason.
In addition to the usual blocks, the hive contains a war block, a roost, and a pantry stocked with canned beans.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:45 am
|
|
|
|
Lusus
Kursha’s lusus resembles a cross between an eagle and a snake. While she possesses the key features of an eagle - namely the head, the wings, and the talons - her body is disproportionately long, becoming more serpentine near the tail, which is near entirely snake-like save for a few vagrant feathers. Her neck is long like a crane or a heron's. She goes almost exclusively by "Colonel", though in the rare moments she demonstrates affection, she permits Kursha to call her Eaglemom.
The Colonel is a proud and vain creature. She expects to be treated with respect; if she is not, she is likely to snap the offender's neck without thinking twice. She is stoutly of the belief a healthy dose of fear does one good and regularly employs intimidation to make a point. She is undoubtedly cruel at times because of this... cruel, but not necessarily unjust.
The Colonel has a strong sense of justice. Lawbreakers, cowards, liars, and thieves deserve punishment, which she dishes out regularly. Her emotional detachment allows her to analyse situations without bias and determine the consequences. Unfortunately, she is not one for second chances, so the punishment she deals can be rather harsh.
For as long as Kursha has been able to remember, his relationship with the Colonel has been strained at the best of times, and violent at the worst. A warrior with no compassion, she raised Kursha as a soldier. Bonding activities included learning proper forms of address, appropriate use of weaponry, and finally tests of endurance, the latter of which often manifested as neglect or abuse. He received no emotional support and near constant criticism throughout his childhood that eventually resulted in him projecting his own ego as a defence mechanism.
After the Old Hemisect conflict, where Kursha disobeyed the Colonel outright for the first time in his life, the tension between the two came to a head. Kursha renounced her authority and in a long overdue fit of spite made it clear he intended to join the Phoenix Initiative permanently. The Colonel subsequently disowned him, forcing him to evacuate his own hive. From there on out, Kursha broke off all contact with her. He did however begin using avians for target practise.
Two sweeps later, after Kursha betrayed the rebels to the empire and led the assault on their headquarters, he sought out the Colonel to blame her for his failures. Though she never revealed herself or responded, she has taken to roosting on the parapets of Kursha's hive and occasionally tailing him on his outings. Kursha has yet to attempt to shoot her down, and the two seem to have reached an agreement to ignore each other.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 14, 2013 12:47 am
|
|
|
|
Relationships
♡ Regina Marian || ♦ Elidae Bonbon || ♤ Ganyma Callow/Sarcel Cincil || ♧
Alifax: Who the ******** knows? Not the first time he's ditched me.
Aprife: An annoying rebel. Hopefully dead.
Austri: Looks punchable.
Byakko: I'm looking forward to round two, Strawberry.
Chiara: You lucked out.
Colonel: Wonder if she's gonna drop dead any time soon.
Elidae: The cutest troll to ever walk Alternia, and I'm absolutely terrified of her. (Just kidding. Love you, Elidae.)
Engrav: One punch!
Eostre: Fun to work with and efficient.
Ephias: An annoying rebel. Hopefully dead.
Eridia: I'll see you dead before you set foot in the military again.
Etsali: An annoying rebel. Hopefully dead.
Flydra: She's creepy as hell, but I owe her.
Hemera: Snore.
Forera: A very annoying rebel. Hopefully dead.
Ganyma: Oh, Ganyma~!
Keionx: An annoying rebel. Hopefully dead.
Leeroi: My adorable protégé. Let's try that again sometime, Junior.
Lorata: Well, well, she made lieutenant. I'm impressed. Gotta say, I've missed her.
Luxara: I hope you're happy.
Maneki: Byakko's mutant kiddo.
Odette:
Psykgi: The brat from the murder fest at Awassi's hive.
Rasali: ...
Regina: Nice shoes, Reggie.
Sarcel: Captain, huh? Betcha cried.
Scorpa: Come at me, punk.
Sinter: Who was this again?
Static: A good kid. I like his gumption.
Stryke: Keeping out of trouble, kid?
Tamiya: What the ******** did she just say?
Vremea: Kinda wonder what she's up to. Thoughts of culling aside.
Zindel: An annoying p***k if I ever saw one.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Aug 31, 2014 6:50 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Sep 09, 2018 5:07 pm
|
|
|
|
Solo
Two nights after Captain Puchen's bomb strike in Old Hemisect City...
The journey back to Busthind had been a long one. With the rebel faction scattered, disorganised, and all but brought to its knees Kursha and many of the others had been forced to blend in with the empire's forces. Fortunately the military was in a similar state of disarray or he might have been stuck in the city until next perigree. With Luxara to vouch for his assistance in the reconstruction effort and the Colonel's formidable and inspiring presence, he was able to obtain a train ticket back to Busthind relatively quickly. It was still a nine mile hike to the nearest station though as Old Hemisect City's rail station was currently out of commission. Four hours later and he had another three mile trek up the mountainside.
Hurling open the door to his hive, Kursha took three steps inside then promptly collapsed. His legs ached, his feet ached; he was utterly miserable. Though the poison had been flushed from his system the night before, his body was feeling the after-effects. There had been no time to rest, nor any place to rest for that matter. Sopor patches were in short supply and in between trying to convince the military personnel of his war efforts, he had spent the night (and the day) vomiting, sweating, and shivering with fever. Now he only felt exhausted.
Even the Colonel was still weary from battle. While she still held her head high and moved with crisp authority, Kursha could tell by her unusually mild nature she was just as spent as he was. She was wounded too. Though she masked her pain well, he could not help but notice how tightly she kept her left wing clapped to her body. Whether it had been fractured or dislocated he did not know; she would not let him near it. For that he was secretly thankful. While it was a relief to know that the Colonel was once again on his side, he had not forgotten how she had abandoned him at the theatre. He would not retaliate, but he would never forgive.
With effort, Kursha turned his face away so that his forehead rested against the stone floor. It was cold and uncomfortable, yet he could not will himself to move any more than that. Not even with the arctic chill creeping in through the open door behind him. Shivering, he made an attempt to kick the door shut but his foot just scraped empty air. It was out of his reach. Kursha lowered his foot back to the floor and did not try again. That was enough. Everything was enough. The subzero temperatures would kill him, but he was too cold and too tired to care. He was giving up. Never mind all the time and effort it took to make the journey back to Busthind—his physical and emotional reserves had run out. He chose to surrender here at the top of the world.
There was a surprising rush of relief that came with his decision. Then again, he supposed it was not that unusual considering. He had failed in every way imaginable after all. He had failed his lusus, he had failed the rebellion, he had failed Alifax, and he had even failed a tiny pigeon—a ******** pigeon of all things—that had no expectations of him whatsoever. How much worse was it if he failed himself? His mark on the world was insignificant. No one would notice his passing.
As he lingered on that thought, he felt the cold creep into his body. With the very last of his strength Kursha forced himself onto his side. He curled up. Outside the wind was howling. Through the open door, it sprinkled the entryway of his hive with a layer fresh snow. As the flakes fell silent around him, Kursha contemplated the end. He was going to die as he had lived. Alone.
He let his consciousness go and the world turned to white.
* * *
Flames from the explosion crackled around him. He was back at the theatre. The wooden structure creaked and groaned from the fires that devoured it. A piece of timber snapped over his head. Kursha jumped aside just as it crashed to the ground, sending up a spray of hot cinders. The ashes scorched through his clothes, burning his skin. Somewhere deeper inside, he heard another crash. He needed to get out. Fast.
Fleeing through the flames, Kursha pushed towards the exit, where he could see starlight behind a hazy glow. The coals on the floor burned through his sandals yet he hardly felt the sharp pieces of shrapnel that tore up his feet. All his focus was on the path ahead, a way out of this fire...
“Wait!”
Kursha had almost reached the exit. He skidded to a stop, turning to face the owner of the voice. Trapped inside a boarded up room was a troll just about his age with a shaved head. Flames licked at his clothes and threatened to consume him. Kursha hesitated. There was a bang and he could feel the rush of heat that came from inside. He made up his mind.
Charging towards the room, he braced himself. The brittle wood snapped across his shoulder, and fell to the floor, ashes. Kursha grabbed the wrist of the other troll.
“Come on!” He gave a sharp yank, and the troll tumbled after him. They were escaping together. Heat pressed in on them from either side. The fire was close behind them. Willing himself to run faster, Kursha sprinted for the exit. But something was holding him back. He could barely lift his feet off the floor. His companion seemed to grow heavier and heavier. They were not going to make it.
Suddenly starlight burst around him. Kursha stumbled and came to a stop. The flames had vanished as soon as he made it outside. In fact the entire theatre had disappeared. He stood in a field. No... not a field. He was still in Old Hemisect but all the buildings had been razed to the ground. The streets had been blasted away and beneath, the earth was marked black. In the distance, fires from the battle still burned. Nearer though, strange outlines littered the ground. They dotted the landscape from horizon to horizon. A sick feeling stirred in his bile sack as he realised what they were.
The Colonel, like a scavenger, picked her way through the dead. Her head weaved this way and that, occasionally darting down to pick out an eye or throat. Hypnotised, Kursha watched as a chunk of meat disappeared behind her beak. It was as though she sensed his gaze. Her head whipped around to face him.
“You killed them.”
Kursha felt a rough hand grab his shirt collar. He was hoisted up into the air. Ganyma glared down at him, bigger than ever. He had grown. His face was smudged with ashes. One side had been burned away.
“You killed them,” he repeated, voice in a growl. His fist tightened and Kursha saw the blade eject from the glove.
“N-no, I didn't mean—” Kursha pleaded. He glanced back over his shoulder. Where the Colonel had crouched among the bodies before, a reflection of himself now stood. He squatted down, to lean over a faceless corpse. Suddenly he thrust his hand into the troll's chest. Kursha saw that his mouth was ringed with blood. He looked away. That meant looking back towards Ganyma.
“YOU KILLED THEM!” The tealblood roared.
Kursha tore himself free. He was unable to deny it. He hit the ground running. All around him, faces of the dead pulled away from their bodies. “I didn't! I didn't!” He screamed. “It was just a game! Nobody was supposed to...”
“Liar,” a chorus of voices hissed. The faces whirled around him, distorted in their movements. They were like wraiths, turning to smoke when he struck out at them and reforming behind him. “Liar... liar... liar! You lie in the face of justice!”
“I'm not a liar! I just—”
“If you're not a liar, then you killed them.” A ghost of Alifax reared up before him. “Killer.”
Kursha scrambled to change his direction. Rocks flew out from under his feet. He stumbled, then swung to the right. The voices were in hot pursuit.
“Killer. You killed them. All of them. Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.”
Kursha clapped his hands over the sides of his head. More ghosts appeared though, blocking his path. Closing his eyes, he ran on ahead, blind. The voices continued to grow, their volume increasing to a cacophonous roar. Laughter intermingled with their chanting.
“Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer! Killer!”
He tripped. Forced to open his eyes he saw that the world was black. The faces had disappeared but their voices were still present. The words they spoke overlapped and reverberated in the empty space, until they were almost unrecogniseable. Screaming along with them, Kursha ducked down and clamped his hands harder over his skull. There was no shutting them out though. They were inside him.
“KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KILLER! KURSHA! KURSHA! KURSHA! KURSHA! KURSHA—”
* * *
Kursha awoke in a cold sweat. His skin felt like ice. No surprise really considering how he was half covered in it. It was impossible to tell how long he had been out. There was less than an inch of snow on the inside of his hive, but outside the wind had stopped howling. Only a gentle curtain of flakes fell from the sky. That did not make it any less cold.
Kursha wrenched himself up off the floor. As he forced himself onto his knees there was the sound of snapping ice. He grimaced and pulled himself to his feet. That might have been a mistake.
The cave walls spun around him, lights blurring one into another. His stomach rebelled at the sight and Kursha buckled over, hands on his knees. His fever had returned. He had nothing more to offer though. He had expelled everything the night before, trying to flush the poison out of his body. A tendril of drool dangled from his mouth when he finished and Kursha methodically wiped it away. The door. He needed to get to the door.
Forcing his body to cooperate, Kursha took halting steps towards the door. It was not very far, but even crossing the small distance was like torture. When he finally reached the entrance of his hive, he struggled to find the handle. His fingers looked like they grasped it, yet he could feel nothing. Taking hold with his other hand just to be sure, Kursha pulled with all his might. Sure enough, the door swung shut, closing against the cavern walls with a boom. The sound echoed down the tunnel, and then it was quiet.
Kursha was done wallowing in pity. He was going to live, no matter how hard or painful. His self-contempt had crippled him before, but now he channeled it into anger. Anger was something he could use. When he had lost everything, when there was nowhere else to turn, all he needed was to remember his hate—for himself, his lusus, and for the whole world—and that would be enough to keep going. Spite would be the fire that kept him burning.
Thinking realistically though, he needed to get some real fire and fast or he would not make it, no matter how strong his resolve.
Trudging down the hall, Kursha staggered into the main part of his hive. There was no sign of the Colonel, but nor had he expected to see her. Everything was exactly as he left it. The television against the wall, the empty cans strewn over the sofa, the thick wool rug in the middle of the floor...
Kursha made his way towards the it. Collapsing for the second time that evening, he methodically wrapped the rug around himself as he did. It was big enough to cover his entire body, but he focussed the material around his torso. He had lived in the mountains long enough to know that anything else could send him into shock.
Biting his tongue to keep from falling back asleep, Kursha waited. Time ticked past slowly. Several times, he felt his eyelids begin to close. Every time though, he crunched down harder. The pain brought tears to his eyes, but jolted him back to wakefulness.
After a time, his hands began to shake. Feeling returned to his fingers. It came as a burning sensation, and moved up his arms. There was warmth in his toes too. A warmth that stung and sent convulsions of pain through him, but warmth nonetheless. Releasing his tongue, Kursha felt his teeth chatter. Moreso, he heard it. Suddenly he burst out into laughter. It came out of him wild and uncontrolled. In between each peal of laughter, sobs racked his body, leaving him short of breath. Yet he couldn't stop. As tears spilled down over his cheeks, he hugged himself tight under the swathe of carpet.
He was going to live.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
