Post by ezra on Mar 4, 2013 17:23:03 GMT
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-image:URL(http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy284/brooklynlolli/x0r3w0.png); border-left: 10px solid #1e1e1e; border-right: 10px solid #1e1e1e;] EZRA SETH GRIMALDI  ------------------------------------------------- NICKNAMES Seth, Grim AGE 1,532 (appears 27) GENDER male SPECIES hybrid. faerie/demon ALLIANCE neutral/dark SEXUALITY asexual PLAY-BY jackson rathbone YOUR ALIAS the character crazy activity check. ------------------------------------------------- "The healthy man does not torture others. Generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers." You know, I've never really understood the meaning of that until now. Granted, that exact quote hasn't been around as long as I have, but the deep meaning of it has. I was born in the dead of winter, in the year 480. To most, it would just be a year that made me ancient in comparison to the average person. To anyone who knew how to crack open a history book and read, it was the year that ill fated Spartan army was led by the fearless Leonidas to battle against Xerxes of Persia. There was a shit load of shame behind my father's name, I'll go ahead and tell you that much. At least, there was on the Spartan side. See, my old man was what you'd call a double agent. Basically, he was the Benedict Arnold of his time. He fought with the Spartan Army, but on the third and final day of battle, he and another small organized cluster of soldiers were captured by Persian forces. Did I tell you my father was also a coward? No? Well, we're getting to that now. Any honorable Spartan would have stayed silent, or picked a fight he knew he couldn't win. Anything to ensure that the Persians didn't get information out of them. My father, well, he squealed like a pig stuck in the mud. But he took his treachery one step further, no, he didn't just give away information, he... ha, he fought for them. He fought alongside the Persians and watched as they slaughtered his brethren. He watched as they ran his king through with a lead tipped pike. All's fair in war, I guess. Oh, he got a healthy prize after that one. He was regarded as Persian nobility when he returned with the small faction the army dispatched to Persepolis. And it was there that he met my mother. It's a bonafide love story, isn't it? War torn soldier returns home to meet the woman of his dreams. That would have been true if there was any love at all in the union between the two. But like many marriages back then, two people rarely married for love. They married for power, for wealth, and for superiority. And the only thing that could ever come out of that union, would be greed. Luckily for them, they got me instead. My mother's name was Safia. From what I remember, many regarded her as a very beautiful woman. She was a faerie, her parents were faeries, her grandparents were faeries. She came from a quite large, and quite long family of, you guessed it, faeries. She came from the Moradi family, they were quite powerful back then, though now I suppose they've all adopted a new surname - the Moradi had a lot of bad blood pooling around them. They were notorious black market dealers. They were the head of shady, back alley-worthy dealings, and the only person they answered to, was the God they believed in. They had the law in their pretty little pockets. My maternal grandfather, SattAr, he was a tremendously violent and vulgar man. I'm sure you know the type. He'd put Vlad the Impaler to shame with his animosity, and King Henry VIII to shame with his ability to take not one, but thirteen wives. He was all about keeping good breeding within the family. But for some reason, he made an exception with my father. You see, my father was a demon, and a pretty ancient one from what I remember. Somehow, the miserable man managed to win over the black market king, and was permitted to marry his only daughter. But there was no love in that marriage. Safia was a girl, and girls were useless when it came to profit unless you sold them for sex. Which, I guess is what my grandfather did, by permitting my father to wed his daughter. The two lovebirds didn't even make it to the bridal bed before my father took his new wife against her will, and by force. And you know the saying, bad things come from bad decisions. From the very start my mother loathed me, and she made no effort to hide it. With my father being out of the house most of the time, that left my mother with plenty of time to show me just how unwanted I had been. She had become convinced that I was fated to become an evil entity. That a child born from rape, was destined to recreate the action that, in turn, created him. She had her hand maids hold me against the wall, I was a young boy of seven, while she knelt behind and used a small carving knife to carve intricate symbols into my back. She carved the Persian word for monster, devil, abomination, evil, and untouchable, each intricately designed in the Persian alphabet, into my back. She poured ink over the inflamed wounds, so incase it didn't scar properly, the evidence would still be there, forever. I WAS SEVEN FUCKING YEARS OLD, and she condemned me before I had a bloody chance. "In the name of Hippocrates, doctors have invented the most exquisite form of torture ever known to man: Survival." My mother's abuse lasted five years, with each year bringing more words to add to the collection upon my back. I was ten when I finally gathered the nerve to run away. To run away from the most powerful family on that side of the moral spectrum was madness in the eyes of many. 'They could have protected you' they said. But they didn't have a clue. There was no protection for me there, not as long as my mother was still alive and breathing. I lived on the streets for a year, they had street gangs, back then. Little clusters of children running around, stealing, fighting, surviving. I was found by one, quickly rose to the top in it, too. I met Maliq in that small band of young comrades. He was probably my best friend growing up, my right hand. We were always getting in trouble and we were rarely seen without each other. Together, we had it rich. Well, obviously not as rich as the nobility, but rich enough to not be considered ugly and destitute. And everything was going great for us, more and more children seemed to be appearing out of no where, the nobility got looser and looser with their money, and we seemed to have it all. Until Maliq and I turned fifteen. Being older boys, it got more and more difficult to mooch money and food out of the once willing hands of the people that often frequented the markets. The younger children still did their part, but by this time, many children had either gotten sick and fell to the illness, or they got adopted into the homes of childless couples. And even with a meager living the younger children brought it, it was never enough. So Maliq and I resorted to crime. I had always been the odd one out of the two of us. Maliq was always happy and upbeat, and I, I was always somber and brooding. And angry. People didn't like angry, all that much. But my strange ability to seemingly control how people felt, how people reacted, it always helped us, but I never understood it. I never knew, of course, until I remembered the stories my grandfather used to tell me, about what he and my mother, and the rest of the Moradi clan was. Faeries. From what he said, faeries had the ability to influence and feed off of other people's emotions. We immediately took advantage of that ability. Whenever something went wrong, I'd struggle to influence a feeling of contentment. Whenever we needed a distraction, I influenced anger, leading those around me to be more irritable, and fights soon broke out while Maliq and I escaped. But I grew too confident in my abilities, and when we encountered a woman with white hair, she had.... known what was going to happen, and she was already present with the city guard. In a panic, I neglected to use an ability that had been drained to begin with, and I ran. I ran, leaving Maliq to struggle against the guard. Two weeks later, the people had gathered in the market square. I thought the king was issuing a proclamation about a war everyone was talking about, so I climbed onto a rooftop of an overlooking building and I went to watch. Then people starting booing, and yelling, and cursing. And I knew it wasn't a message from the king. Maliq was suspended in the air by his wrists above a large vat of searing hot, liquid metal, the pungent smell burned my nose and made it feel as though i was suffocating. That's what happens to faeries, I learned - metal was lethal to me. But I forced myself to stay, stock still, as I stared down at my imprisoned friend, and somehow, he saw me. And he stared at me as they slowly lowered him into the pit. He stared at me as he screamed in pain, as the metal burned away at his skin and stuck to his bones. He wouldn't stop staring. And I liked it. I liked watching him die, and listening to him scream and writhe about in pain. It was like music, really. Perhaps it was then that I stopped feeling. Or maybe I never truly felt anything, and was just mirroring what I saw on the faces of others. But I knew one thing; I would never be the same again. "Murder, like talent, seems to occasionally run in families." Watching Maliq die, the torturous method of him being put to death, it... it called to me. And you know, I never did forget what my mother did to me. I returned to my home a young man of sixteen. A young man returning home to his has-been family. I found my mother walking alone in the gardens, unfortunately for her. And she didn't even remember me. It wasn't until I was stripped of the shirt on my back that she saw her handy work, and immediately fell into an array of apologies. It was her fault. It was her bloody fault that I became who I was. I told her this, as she cried and pleaded - she thought I was there to kill her, the poor dear. I did not plan on committing matricide, and I never veer from my plans. Until then. I struck her, sneering as the back of my hand collided with her cheek. It was the first time I'd ever struck a woman, and it felt absolutely marvelous. My mother was a fairly small woman, standing at five feet and a little over a hundred and ten pounds, it didn't take much force to knock her down and make her winded. But I wouldn't stop. Not until she was flat with her stomach against the ground. But I still wasn't done. I wanted her to feel how I felt the day she branded me for the first time. I made quick work of tearing away the back of her dress, as she pleaded for me not to take her - she thought it was in my nature to rape women, why wouldn't it be, I had just struck one. But incest was never something that sat well with me. Revenge, however, was. An eye for an eye was the motto I lived by. So I took my hidden blade, and i carved the same words into her back as she had done me. Word for word, she screamed and cried. And I couldn't take it. The feeling of terror and pain, and sorrow, I fed off them like an infant would feed on milk - I loved it. But her cries were going to attract too much unwanted attention. So I took my blade, and I quickly pulled it along her throat. "War is organized murder and torture against our brothers." I was a young man of twenty one when I boarded a ship destined for Carthage. There, I encountered a man named Salik Al'Fahzhid. He was the only one to talk to me, as I was not of their descent, or obvious ethnicity. I was the white man, and for once, I genuinely did not know what I was supposed to do. He took me under his wing; he taught me how to fight, and more importantly, he taught me about my history. You see, it turned out that Salik knew my father from way back. Salik was a demon, an old one, and it was him that told me what my father was, and in turn, what I was. A hybrid between a demon and a faerie, was what I was. He helped me understand why I wasn't able to create my own emotion, and why I could only mirror others'. From what he told me, traumatic events closed off that part of me, and rendered me unable to form genuine emotion. From him I excelled at hand to hand combat, granted, there really wasn't many other forms of combat, but still. Under his tutelage, I grew quicker, more agile - I was able to predict movement based on the other person's actions beforehand. I learned how to hunt wild game, he taught me how to track the movements of my enemies based on the shifting patterns on the ground. He didn't teach me how to kill, like I wanted. He taught me how to survive, like I needed. This training eventually earned me the attention of the stationed army commander, who praised me for my skill, especially since I was nothing more than a street kid at the time. He wanted to take me on as a soldier in his army. But I would be the worst soldier imaginable. Anyone who couldn't form emotion, couldn't form guilt, or remorse - and they quickly learned this when I took too much pleasure in watching our enemy being cut down by the swing of our swords. My commander quickly took notice of this, and pulled me back from active combat, condemning me to a career fit for an executioner. I was to put our captured enemy down, quickly, and quietly. This lasted until I defected, of course - the routine got boring, and so did the people. I was in quite a few armies as the years wore on. All the way up to the defeat of the Spanish armada by England, to the American revolution, the civil war. The war on terror was a major doozy for me, once again I was told to return to the changed land where I grew up. I defected then, too. "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." On the record, my name is Ezra Seth Grimaldi. I am 1,532 years old. I am 5'11" and I weigh 165 pounds. I am a hybrid between a faerie and a demon. I am neutral for this war, it's point is meaningless, but I suppose if you need a side named, I lean more towards the dark. My hair varies, but it's usually a dark brown. My eyes are light brown, very unoriginal. DO YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE? Subject 13. Subject 13 has been under surveillance for the past twelve months. SUBJECT 13 has been shown to enjoy: 1. Classical Music. Beethoven is preferred. 2. Reading. 'The Prince' is preferred. 3. Observing and Studying People. The Subject has taken an odd liking to other's emotions. 4. Horror Films. The 'Saw' franchise is preferred. 5. Drawing. The Subject seems to find solace in art. 6. Pain. Subject 13 seems to seek out painful experiences. 7. Subtle Violence. It seems to enjoy the suffering and pain of others. 8. Hiking. The Subject enjoys the outdoors. 9. Tracking. It has exhibited exemplary records, and seems to enjoy following movements. 10. Guns. A military sniper rifle is preferred. SUBJECT 13 has been shown to avoid: 1. Guardian Angels. He appears to be wary of them. 2. Metallic Objects. They seem to cause him pain in a way he does not find satisfactory. 3. People Delving Into His Past. He appears secretive, as if other's knowing about him goes against his beliefs. 4. Not Getting What He Wants. He exhibits anger when being refused something. 5. Romantic Relationships. There is an error computing this reasoning. 6. Talking About His Past. Repetitive. See #3. 7. Board Games. He appears to shy away from them. 8. Churches. The Subject has no recollection of religion, or a desire to adopt one. 9. Emotions. It has appeared to avoid showing emotion. 10. Carnal Relations. The Subject appears to have no responce, or drive. SUBJECT 13 has shown exemplary strength in: 1. Physical Strength. It appears to be honed in hand to hand combat, and appears able bodied enough to hold his own in violent situations. 2. Marksmanship. It has displayed exemplary skill in sharpshooting. He has proven able to hit a moving target at distances greater than 800 meters. 3. Masquerade. It appears to be able to keep a blank emotion at command, and appears able to keep himself from exhibiting any emotion. 4. Tracking. It has displayed exceeding skill in it's ability to track the movement of it's target. SUBJECT 13 has shown to be lacking in: 1. Emotions. It has shown an inability to create it's own emotion, therefor rendering it impossible unless he mirrors another, and learns the specific emotion. 2. Metal. The material appears to have a drastically negative effect on it. 3. Guardians. It appears to freeze whenever one is nearby, almost as if he were afraid of them. 4. Illness. The Subject appears to have a weakened immune system, it appears to get sick easier than most. 5. Claustrophobia. It appears to panic or act out when put in a small, tightly enclosed area. 6. Temper. The only emotion that it appears to register normally is anger. It appears to have an easily ignited temper. 7. Self Control. The Subject has been recorded to black out when tensions get too high. SUBJECT 13 had been repeatedly shown to: 1. whistle. 2. Respond to our questions with a question of it's own. 3. It appears to enjoy smiling, but in a crooked, 'sneering' way. SUBJECT 13 has shown the fear equivalent towards: 1. Guardian Angels. 2. The prospect of it's own death, or it dying. 3. The black outs being brought up. SUBJECT 13 has shown a strong desire to: 1. Survive. It's will to survive is astonishing. 2. Gain Control. It has exhibited a strong desire to dominate. SUBJECT 13 has revealed it's secret to be: 1. A fear of the dark. i.e. the absence of light. |
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made by brooklyn at caution[/center][/quote]
