Post by ozias on Nov 23, 2011 7:09:55 GMT
OZIAS HART ZYDRUNOS !?
'it's unfortunate, that when we feel a storm. we can roll ourselves, over when we're uncomfortable. oh, well, the devil makes us sin. but we like it when we're spinning, in his grin. love is like, a sin my love, for the ones who feel it the most. look at her, in her eyes, like a flame.'
'it's unfortunate, that when we feel a storm. we can roll ourselves, over when we're uncomfortable. oh, well, the devil makes us sin. but we like it when we're spinning, in his grin. love is like, a sin my love, for the ones who feel it the most. look at her, in her eyes, like a flame.'
FULL NAME Ozias Hart Zydrunos. Ozias, as a name, is biblical in a sense. It comes the name Uzziah; meaning 'Yahweh is my strength'. Ozias is merely a corruption of that name, as is common for the fey, especially those fairies who interact often with humans. His parents had a certain curiousity about them, particularly the Israelites. Though he doesn't know his siblings, it's assumed they have similar names.
NICKNAMES He's not particularly fond of nicknames, but he doesn't detest them. Oz is a nice one, though. Don't use anything delibirately making fun of him, though. It's been said a million times, but it's not in your benefit to piss him off.
AGE Eighteen years of age.
GENDER Male, unless him and his genitals have been making false assumptions about his gender since he was a child.
BIRTHDAY He was born on February 9th.
SPECIES Faerie, and like other faeries, he is one ugly bastard in his true form, hidden beaneath all his glamour; It's a more monstrous version of his glamoured form, a rail thin goblin type thing, razor sharp tooth and nail; Twisted discolored skin pulled taught over a gangly and wiry frame, with great pointed ears and all sorts of emblems and piercings upon his plaster-like flesh.
ALLIANCE Neutral. He, of course, is by no means what could be considered good, but at the same time not bad. He operates within the moral grey area. He's not looking towards the advancement of any particular species, especially his own. He does what he needs to get himself by and the people he trusts. He very rarely acts out of spite, but it's not unheard of.
SEXUALITY Pansexual. One thing he learned from his kind is that there is beauty in everybody and thing. Of course, this was usually used as a way to justify indiscriminate drug-fueled orgies, but nonetheless it influences his sexuality today. He's actually not a fuck everything type of guy. He just doesn't gender be such a huge factor in his sexual and romantic decisions.
PLAY-BY Alban Blondiaux
EYES Almond-shaped, and average sized, his eyes are gray orbs, stormy in color and shifting in town depending on his mood, fluctuating like swirling tempests in thundering skies in their tones and colors. They say eye genetics is complicated, because viewing an eye up close, it's hopelessly complex in it's pigments, thousands of tones splattered about an iris like a living canvas. His are just a tad bit more complicated than your average person's, sometimes an average slate grey, sometimes deep dull blues, with paper-white's speckled within. It goes without saying that he never has trouble conveying his mood, even without words.
HAIR His hair changes depending on how he is feeling. Not willing, more subconcious really; His glamour simply adapts, and his hair is in constant shift of white and bleached platinum blonde, almost white, with light brown at the roots. His hair is course, thick, soft, if allowed to grow out. However, it is always fashioned into a mohawk of varying lengths, never spiked up, with the sides often shaggy instead of the usual bristles.
BODY TYPE His general structure suggests that he was never really meant to be a giant beefcake, likewise he isn't a walking stick, but damn close. The best way to describe it is your average teenage boy, and lanky and tall package of lean muscle, soft in it's contours but sharp in the bones that make up his structure. Cheeks, shoulders, and hips jut out, seeminly sharp enough to slice through glass.
HEIGHT 1.80 (5'11")
WEIGHT 165 lbs (74.84 kg)
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES The main eyecatcher would of course, be his hair. In it's usual state, anyways, a snow white with hints of gold and caramel brown at the roots; forming the main tuft that runs in a strip centered on his scalp, with the lengths of the side varying and showing his glamour's true hair color of a soft syrup brown-beige. Besides a lip ring and the tattoo upon his neck, there's not much worth noting, nothing particularly jarring besides the occasional ogle of libidonous men and women.
STYLE Ozias enjoys keeping up with current fashion trends, actually; For a faerie, of course, this is as challenging as a flick of the wrist and a gesture of will; He can simply project the latest styles on him. His general look seems centered around the punk and grunge scene, but unlike them he would opt over a letterman jacket and black velvet skinny jeans over torn and worn blue jeans and a CANNIBAL CORPSE t-shirt anyday. In general, he wears what makes him look good.
LIKES At least 10.
- Feeling good about himself, feeling superior, a rare thing.
- Being a snappy dresser. Dude likes to look good.
- Being what he is. For people who know the true nature of them, faeries are quite a feared and powerful race. Fear is quite tasty.
- People more emotional and unstable than himself, for obvious reasons.
- Trickery. In earlier times, he really was more a trickster sort, of a very cruel and violent variety. Now that he's grown older, that's sort of died down, but he still messes with people now and then.
- Defending something; More specifically, having someone or something to defend, to care about. A violent person, he thinks it justifies his deeds and gives him purpose. He is quick to form alliances, and careful to maintain them.
- Other species. Ozias, unlike others, does not go of his way to search through the mundane minority to find his own kind. He finds other species, particularly humans, to be far more interesting and puzzling. Thus, they bring excitement where his own kind cannot. He tends to even avoid other faeries, as he finds them overbearing. The only species he outright hates, or anything close to it might be the evangelical set; angels, guardian and fallen, and demons. He fears their power. He does enjoy witches and magic-makers.
- Having a concept of justice, or morals; Mainly human ones, that he hangs on ever-so loosely and finds hard to comprehend. Regardless, he interprets these in very vague ways, and is probably not the typical candidate for a 'good guy'. Truth be told, he just doesn't really understand right from wrong. It is a sort of therapeutic thing for him, liberating him from his dark and cruel past.
- Any form of affection directed towards him. He's very draw-in and often pushes people away, because he fears being hurt and thus a slave to his emotions. However, he genuinely treasures something as simple as hug, as weak as it makes him sound.
- Studying, and books, especially. While his kind is often trained more towards combat, and often whimsical and blissful in their ways, he enjoys learning and having a vast array of knowledge in his arsenal. To him, there is no weapon greater.
DISLIKES At least 10.
- People who are rude, hateful, evil for no good reason. He believes there's good in most people, so he doesn't think simply being naturally evil is an excuse. An odd value, considering his race overwhelmingly aligned themselves with darkness.
- His past. He was a violent, deadly thing who caused the deaths of many. Though he's mostly left that sort of thing behind him, he fears it may one day catch up to him.
- His own mortality. For the reasons stated above and the nature of his being, he believes his death is unavoidable, and will likely be a very violent one. He tries not to ponder upon this often.
- This entire war. Originally looking for the advancement of his people, he saw the shallowness of it all in a rather depressing display of mortality from his fellow fairies, and casualties
- Shallow people in general. He isn't the prettiest person without his glamour, so he's learned not to value looks so much in a person, and especially not to judge someone
- Jokes. Well, not really, but the boy doesn't get out much and doesn't have a great sense of humor. He doesn't really get most jokes and references, and they usually fly right over his head.
- Talking. Most here speak English, of course, which is not his first language. While he's well versed on the grammar side of things, phonetically his language is atrocious, at least by his standards. He speaks mostly in broken English, though he tries his best. He is fluent in Czech, Russian, and many other Slavic tongues.
- People who are blatantly superior to him.
- Wasting time. He believes that right now is the prime of his life, and wasting any of it on something not productive is shameful. He has a wide range of things he considers non-wasteful, including love and his personal life, but basically you won't find him sitting around and playing video games.
STRENGTHS At least 4.
- When he has a goal, he becomes very determined to make it happen; He is not easily distracted and can give his full attention to a single thing for hours on end.
- He strives to do what is just, even if he doesn't entirely understand what that is.
- Though he may seem lame and dull, he is passionate about a great many things, even if he doesn't consistently express it.
- His strategies and fighting are often great and pre-planned, rather than rushed and compromised. It makes him a formidable opponent for anyone who antagonizes him.
WEAKNESSES At least 4.
- Like a firecracker, he often finds himself controlled by his emotions, even if he attempts to hide them. Bursts of anger are common, which messes up his concentration greatly.
- He is prone to anxiety and fear; Yet he still tries to be courageous, sometimes the two are just too much and grab a hold of him.
- His grip on his sanity is a loose one, and with all the stress he deals with it might just slip.
- He's not good at communicating, and horrible when it comes to empathy and expressing his emotions. He can be very self-conscious.
HABITS At least 3.
- Smoking is a particularly bad one.
- He sticks his tongue in one side of his cheek when he's telling a lie.
- Running fingers through his hair.
FEARS At least 3.
- Dying, but that's not entirely uncommon.
- Bringing shame upon himself, or being the cause of it for others.
- Died having never left anything of value, or ever finding love.
DESIRES At least 1.
- To find his soulmate. It's not constantly at the back of his mind, nor does he consistently seek them out. He just believes that fate will bring them to him when it's good and ready.
- To see the end of this ridiculous war, even if it costs him his life.
- To leave some sort of legacy behind, to know his life wasn't one wasted.
SECRETS At least 1.
- He tries to keep his past hidden from the people he cares about, and in general everyone. He doesn't wish to have people change their views about him (to, well, even worse views) because of his past as a monster.
OVERALL
Ozias, today, is a usually level-headed and serious personality; It was not always this way, of course, and once upon a time the boy was a very cruel and horrible monster of a being, doing evil's bidding with a smile on his face and the chunks and gore of children upon long, taloned claws. Mostly, he feels that is behind him, and he has long rejected the joys of hedonism and unrestrained brutality. Ozias is a sort of anti-hero, or at least not what you would traditionally consider good, and he strives to stay within human morals and ethics, which he only has the slightest grasp of, his faerie mind finding it hard to grasp such confusing, conflicting, and often meaningless concepts. It just seems he wasn't meant to operate between them, but at all times Ozias will strive to do what his heart tells him is just, no matter the danger to himself. Whether this was some sort of divine will that made him turn over a new leaf, a way to makeup for all his previous deeds lest they catch up with him, or some traumatic near-death experience or event, he'll never reveal.
The faerie has several pillars of what he considers important in his life, and thus invests the most attention into: knowledge, pride, destiny, purpose, determination, concentration, and harmony. None of these in particular helps him in his dealings with people, and his interactions with people can be considered lackluster, at best. Mind you, he's not the type to stutter over his words, he's just not terribly interesting or charismatic, and often finds himself boring others. Emotionally, he is very distant, and he is very uncomfortable with expressing feelings, and most of his relationships involve hate or pity in some form. Either suprising or expected for a creature who feeds off of emotions, he doesn't understand them all too well, only the vaguest idea of them and often bowdlerized, general concepts of what they are instead of understanding the vast spectrum of what simple words like 'anger' and 'happiness' can mean. He only understands them at surface value. Love is a rare thing in his life, and he still doesn't completely understand it, but he hopes someday he will and that he can find his soulmate.
MOTHER Callen ---- (no legal last name)
FATHER Niendro ---- (no legal last name, uses Zydrunos, however)
SIBLINGS likely many, but to his knowledge he has met them.
OTHER PERSONS OF IMPORTANCE not yet, really.
ETHNICITY polish-czech.
WEALTH STATUS reasonable amount of income for a single bachelor who lives in a small apartment.
OVERALL
They were wild things.
There's a story told, passed on from generation to long generation of fairfolk, of a fairy couple. Wicked they were in their ways, indiscriminate in their torments, but they did not set out to be so cruel. It was simply their nature; Their natures had clashed, and they set out across all sorts of lands, killing and loving eachother. This is where our story begins; With the faery countess' daughter they called Callen and the fey peasant they called Niendra. He took her, and despite their classes, they found eachother intoxicating, even knowing it would anger both of their families. Almost like Romeo and Juliet, except they killed their entire families and cannabalized them. Yes, a true fairy tale. They strode about the lands and had many children, dropping their bounty of larvae upon whatever land they were settling in at the moment. This is where the story usually ends; However, the children of these despicable beings is never told.
People wonder what constitutes evil, what can make people do such dark and terrifying deeds. Are they born with it, or are they taught it? So we tell the story of Ozias Hart Zydrunos; His story is unfortunately one of many, the legacy left behind by two very evil people who, well, were very much in love. In addition to being very libidinous. Ozias was born in what is now the Czech Republic, a haunt all too familiar to Callen and the Polish Niendra, the place where they first escaped to after they slaughtered their family and needed a place to run to, far from the onyx-studded castle that all fairies had seared into their heads, their home and rightful place that they were exiled to. Like all their children, they simply glamoured him up then left him on some unlucky fool's doorstep with nothing more than a blanket and a name on his. Knock-knock, run away, wash, rinse, repeat. He was left on the doorstep of a nice little couple named Edgar and Eva Everstein, alliteration be damned, and it wasn't long before they noticed something wrong, around the 14-year old mark. Things had been relatively quiet since the good samaritan Catholics had picked him up out of the good of their hearts, but as Ozias grew smarter he began to conciously control his glamour. Nothing convinces someone you're the devil quite like claws and teeth and a fluid form (supplied by glamour, of course). They abandoned him. So he killed them, and they were the first in what was to be many, a dark bloodlust kickstarted within him.
One wonders how he got away with these things, and the answer is he almost didn't. He was quick with his glamour and sneaky in his ways, a body appearing here and there every so often, a child stolen and given to the cackling, broad-toothed ogre with an appetite for infants. Weeving through bullets and knives alike, knowing of the damage they could do. Never once setting a hand on a weapon, slashing people and chasing them and feeding on their delicious fears. It was great to be wicked, and it was great to be a boogeyman. For a while, anyways. But like everything, things get boring, people change. Sometimes forcefully; The war came.
What exactly happened at the start of it that changed Ozias so much can't be properly determined. He saw many of his brethren die in the name of pride for their species and in the name of disdain for the human species, in horrid ways. Something snapped; He realized enough was enough, all this violence and evil was senseless. He may not exactly be on the light side, but neutral works for him for now. Now, Ozias lurks inside this city, the epicenter of the war, and can only hope he can be there when peace returns.
NAME/ALIAS harry!
AGE fifteen
TIME ZONE central timezone
HOW YOU FOUND US caution 2.0
OTHER CHARACTERS none yet( :
RP SAMPLE
His head shook as he prepared to answer her question; It wasn't a bad question at all, except he thought it starnge that she still even wanted to associate herself with him, much less know more. And curiosity killed the cat, he sung in his head, and he hated when he had those wicked thoughts. They came often and without warning; that natural bloodlust that just made him want to kill everything around him, merely another cruel part of his nature that he knew he would always fear he would spring up around her. That is, if they were to know eachother any further, to not forget this day which was wonderful for him. He hoped the feeling was mutual, and he hoped she wasn't simply staying because she feared him or to be kind.
"No.", he said bluntly, as if he had nothing more to say on the subject. His eyes pointed down away from her, suddenly unable to answer, as if his true name shamed him so bad that the word was unspokable. He wouldn't have felt that way about anyone else in this whole damn world, always proud of it, it was his crown amongst his kingdom of shit. But all the sudden, it didn't feel so worthy, and he didn't feel so proud. Was it just because what he was?, he wondered, and he couldn't help but contemplate why.
Still, even then, he'd stuttered further, spatting out his words. He knew it sounded so bad, but he couldn't leave her there, waiting for him to answer. Hell, he was suprised she'd stayed this long; Don't test faith. Finally, he turned his ehad to her, a small smile on his lip. "My real name, my name in hell, is Mammon.", he finished, as his smile died down to that unsettling frown of daggering teeth that he so desperately wished would just go away. They were there for the same reason he had put the emphasis on hell, because no matter how much he wanted her or even needed her, his body would never accept the fact - His body was built to rip her and living things like her into shreds no bigger than his fingers, as soon as he was spout out of the foul earth, that was always his destination: to spill innocent blood, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy every second of it, as it was in his nature to do so, much like it was in hers to fall into situations like this.
She was in danger, and he knew it was flashing in her eyes like the stars in the sky on a hopeless, dark night. He knew it was apparent to her, how easily he could just take her and kill her, and he very well almost did. He was the car, and she was the deer, deadlocked in his headlights; and no matter how much he stepped on the brakes, trying to slow down, he knew that he'd be the death of them both. But just like that ill-fated vehicle, there was no turning back, and there were no U-Turns. He had pushed them into a dead-end, and even if they come out alive, he knew they weren't going to come out unscathed. But even then, he'd carry her in his arms and nurse her back to health and regret every little pain he'd ever caused her and every pain to come.
She wasn't completly innocent, however, with her hand gripped tightly around his feelings, the only vulnerable part of him, usually hidden from view but now impossible to ignore. She could take him by suprise, and she could just grab his steering wheel and drive him off a cliff and hop out before any harm befell her, and he knew she had that power. He could only hope that she'd never use it, but she was so unpredictable, and it was just another thing that drew him into her like...like a moth to a flame. It was a new word to him a new saying, and he'd never tooken much interest into the art of language, merely using it as he went along his day because it was a necessity. But something about that phrase interested him, and like fate, he read it's meaning: Irresistibly and dangerously attracted to something or someone.
That's what they both were, so head over heels for something that could so easily destroy them and send them careeining over the edge. They enjoyed danger and they enjoyed adrenaline, just the thrill of cheating death once again, and yet not really caring if it did come upon them. He could only speak for himself, now, but he guessed at the reasons they were so hazardly attracted to one eachother: They were both broken, shattered by this world of sex and lies, and they were the only ones who could piece the fragments back into place, even if their hands were cut and bleeding by the end of it; Things had to be sacrificed to make something new. They were dying puzzlers, and love was the last problem in their way.
So, he felt at ease as she went on, having to explain why she had any interest in him whatsoever. Why?, he spoke in silence, his face saying it for him. He din't interrupt; however, as of now, he wasn't going to say words unless they were needed, and any further talking would just spew out stupid, lovestruck nonsense. He sighed, realizing such was the consequence of romance. He watched her lips move, but even with her pretty face and words, she had said it the said it the best and the closest anyone had every gotten to explain the feeling. That's when he decided to just stop trying to do so. The laguage of love was the language of nosense, and trying to figure it out will only deprive you of it, and before you know it there's a lifetime worth of memories wasted on one simple thought.
The smile faded away, dying. He was never one to like to be complimented. Well, actually, he wasn't sure if that was true. He just didn't know how to. He'd neither heard them or given them, mainly his own fault. But real. He'd lied, he'd killed, he'd hurt all in the name of the Greed, men and women and children alike. He was only as real as his desires allowed him to be, and deception and trickery seemed to be so close to him it was a wonder they didn't share his hollow soul. As soon as he hit that beach, he'd said the words that would close his fate and bring his feeling out into the opening like he'd never do with anyoen else, and even if he'd come to regret it, it had felt so good to to have gotten it off his mind. He hoped he didn't regret it, he really did; As the words floated about the island air to her pointed ears, he could only say goodbye knowing that they would never return.
He sat there for a minute, face and mind devoid of emotion as he studied the expression on her face. He was trying to give her a chance to take it all in, his ivory orbs just looking over her, hoping that they could be be that human hue that he knew would be some much more coforting, as if it would help him and her through his akward words any better. Oh fuck, look Shane, you've gone and done it: The one person who even kindof likes you and you've gone and messed it up. Stupidity is your true sin., he thought to himself, and he feared it to be true, for her to walk away from him and never looked back. Just as he waited in anticipation for the answer, he could feel the anticipation and anxiety nibbling away at his insides, reducing him into a mere shell of a man, and he'd be dead if the answer didn't come.
...and the words never came, but that was just as well. A deep, pale vermillion blush made it's warm way through his cheeks as his lips upturned into a smile. He felt like flying, flying high up above with her away from this place, just so they didn't have to deal with the troubles of this place. He had felt all this from such a small gesture, as it would seem to anyone else, but it was more than just a kiss on the cheek; It was a promise that something more than just friendship would blossom between the two, just a teaser, really, but the assurance was good enough. For once, it felt nice to be alive.
He fell to the ground, being the slave to his desires as he was, gesturing for her to do the same; while he wouldn't be suprised if she didn't. A smile crossed his face as he gazed at the sky, painted in pinks by the setting sun, the day leaving them as birds dotted the sky. He squinted at them, remembering when he used to feel such animosity towards them, being that they could fly through the sky so freely. He wanted to be one, to be able to glide through the air and make wishes on the stars above, closer than anyone else could ever be. But instead he had to make do with the airplanes and wish on them, only hoping for a dream to come true; but as he had learned on the perfect day, feeling the ghost of where Pixie's lips had touched, that perhaps that it wasn't in vain as he'd thought. Looking at Pixie, he could only think that all his wishes had come true, and whatever God above was looking out for him.
