BLACK, marchosias lee

[marchosias]

MARCHOSIAS LEE BLACK !?
'if heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied'

FULL NAME Marchosias Lee Black
NICKNAMES March
AGE ancient, appears 27
GENDER male
BIRTHDAY unknown
SPECIES demon
ALLIANCE darkness
SEXUALITY asexual

Marchosias has endured very much, and although he does not seem aged visibly, he seems old. And, a thing that goes unmentioned by many, is the sort of agelessness that can be see in his eyes and in the expression of his face--in a sense, he resembles a worn statue. He is battered but stoic, taking everything in stride. His jawline is strong, masculine, but his cheekbones have an angularity that might be considered feminine if the rest of his features did not even them out. His brows are defined, making his eyes all the more noticeable beneath them. Speaking of his eyes, they are various shades of brown. The outer edge of his iris is dark, almost black, but it steadily lightens to a paler shade of hard, gem-like amber (this can only be seen in light). For the most-part, dark is the first word that comes to mind to describe him. His hair, eyes, skin-tone (it is slightly darker than "olive"), to the very aura about him seems to be of varying shades of darkness.

His nose has been broken several times in his lifetime, and it is no longer as straight as it once was. Not to mention, he is gruff in appearance, even when he is at his most civilized. There is something feral in his expression at all times, and the fact his jaw is often adorned with stubble, and his hair (when it is long) is often unkempt does not help to make him seem domesticated. His appearance, however, can range drastically depending on his mood at the time, or whatever whimsy has taken him up. His hair ranges in length and style over the years, from being a buzz-cut to a longer length, which is shaggy and wild (it is currently in between, a sort of mess). His body is littered with scars of all sorts, ranging in sizes and nature. Considering the fact he was once an angel, there are deep scars in his back where his wings had been. There are time periods where Marchosias has suffered from imprisonment in Hell, and as a result there are scars around his wrists and angles, and there are also precise blade-and-whip marks littering his body, as well as strategically placed burns, although it is needless to say he felt none of it.

Furthermore, Marchosias is the likeness of a tiger or a lion. He is all lean, hard muscle and sinew. Even the way he moves resembles an animal, all predatory grace and laziness.

LIKES

• beautiful things
  
• chaos, disruption
  
• things that evoke emotion in him (no matter how small)
  
• good dreams
  
• being superior, being in control of a situation (very "alpha male" mentality)
  
• fire, burning
  
• corrupting, corruption
  
• collecting beautiful things, only to destroy them
  
• birds (he has a slight obsession with them)
  
• humans (he has a sick fascination with them)
  

DISLIKES At least 10.

• stupidity
  
• hell
  
• optimistic people, overly good people
  
• angels, whether fallen or guardian
  
• humans, humanity (he has a love-hate relationship with it)
  
• being touched, touching others (it reminds him he cannot feel)
  
• life in general, or perhaps just his life
  
• other supernaturals (he feels as though demons and angels are the only real supernatural beings, and the rest are inferior beings)
  
• peacetime
  
• things more beautiful then himself, and people better then himself (for he is envious of them)
  

STRENGTHS At least 4.

• intelligent
  
• a good fighter
  
• adaptable
  
• patient
  

WEAKNESSES At least 4.

• easily envious
  
• beautiful things
  
• capable of extreme cruelty
  
• unemotional
  

HABITS At least 3.

• he enjoys cigarettes
  
• he talks slowly (not in a way that suggests he is incapable of faster speech, but in a way that suggests he has all the time in the world).
  
• his cruelty is a habit (he acts maliciously without always meaning to consciously)
  

FEARS At least 3.

• heaven, angels, "pure" things and people (this is born of his envy, but it is also because he believes that heavenly power will always be stronger than hell's)
  
• emotions (primarily the good ones, like love and happiness)
  
• fragile things (he has a tendency to break them, and as a result he avoids them)
  
• his dreams--he is often haunted by things he has done in his pas when he sleeps.
  

DESIRES At least 1.

• to feel again--not in an emotional since, but in a physical one.
  

SECRETS At least 1.

• he is not afraid of death--in fact, he often longs for it. But he knows what lays on the other side, and believes himself to be beyond it. Nevertheless, he has a fascination with it and dying things, as well as human morality.
  

OVERALL

Look into his eyes. Look into them, and pretend that he is human, that there is some semblance of a soul left inside of him, some sense of morality. Look into his eyes, and then have the gall to say that there is a man staring back and not a monster.

Marchosias has brothers that use their power to hide or subdue emotions. But he does not know feelings, not any more. He was once an angel with a love of beauty and grace and life, but now he is withered and defeated, a creature of bitterness and malevolence borne of hell. He is disdainful and superior, with a curl to his lip that suggests he is God, and you are some miserable wretch in his way. When he smiles, it is a gnashing show of teeth, displayed to inspire fear rather than represent amusement.

And oh, this is not a pretense. He is bitter, and he is hateful, and he is narcissistic. But he is also tired. Is it possible for someone to tire of hate, of maliciousness, of the same blood-curdling screams that haunt him day and night? Do not mistake his exhaustion for sympathy, for Marchosias is not sympathetic. He is merciless. He is cruel. But he is so, so tired. He has been condemned for longer than he can remember. The years are a blur.

And oh, to be an angel again. Even to be human. It is a desire, a dark desire, that he has managed to amuse himself with for centuries. It is a sick want, a sick need, a sick obsession. He, the ancient demon that he is, has seen it all and done it all--but he can still envy his brighter counterparts, angels, and he can still be fascinated by human nature. He isn't certain how they endure. Emotions to him are but a myth, a memory, a dream. But humans know them, and he watches them, observes them, mocks them for their morality and their empathy, but he also wishes that he knew what morality was like.

Compared to many demons, Marchosias is a romantic. He fantasizes about touch, about the feel of hot and cold, a man or a woman. He has both a love and a hatred for intensely beautiful things. He is simultaneously wanting them, and appreciating them, while his envy compels him to ruin them. And oh, March, if he has managed to keep any emotion, it is envy. He is easily jealous, and he is a possessive creature, with a stubborn head and a superiority complex of sorts. His egotism is extreme--he does not see himself capable of fault. With that being said, Marchosias has never felt guilty for anything he's done. It is unwise to mistake his so-called "romanticism" for weakness. If there is one thing Marchosias is not, it is weak--he is as cruel as any other demon, if not more so.

MOTHER none
FATHER none
SIBLINGS none
OTHER PERSONS OF IMPORTANCE none worth mentioning
ETHNICITY Caucasian and Hispanic (appears to be, at least)
WEALTH STATUS wealthy
OVERALL

Marchosias was once a creature of heaven--but, needless to say, he was cast out for his sins and condemned to live the life of a demon. He is one of the "original" demons, hence the scars on his back where his wings used to be. His history is a vague thing, but there are several key points that happened throughout his long life (so long, in fact, he can no longer specify his exact age).

He was cast from heaven due to several factors. He was an angel that backed Lucifer's rebellion, for one, and he was also rumored to have had relations with human women in the past. Lucifer's corruption corrupted Marchosias as well, for at the time he was young and foolish--he had become prideful, as well, and he was condemned the moment Lucifer rose up.

He was in hell for longer than he cares to remember, and although he can no longer feel pain, the suffering that he endured there is certainly enough to make weaker men weep. And perhaps, had he been anything else, he would have wept--for with his condemnation, he lost the things he had loved as an angel, and eventually he lost his capacity to love, to feel, like he was meant to. Now those emotions lie dormant.

He rose up against his once-angelic nature to become a demon--with this said, Marchosias has committed many evils in his lifetime, primarily because he has a fancy for chaos and a tendency to feel fierce envy. But there is not enough time to recollect all of these things, nor is their the will to do so--Marchosias, for the most part, attempts to ignore his past. He has not remained in hell, needless to say, and has taken a fancy to roaming the world, causing havoc. But he has reached a point of desolation, and now he is here.

(I apologize for anything that goes against history or religion--this is a very loose history)

NAME/ALIAS kriss!
AGE 14
TIME ZONE mountain time
HOW YOU FOUND US Lacey and Meli c:
OTHER CHARACTERS nada
RP SAMPLE

It was that in-between time of day, well past the afternoon but not late enough for the nightlife to start. With that being said, the sidewalks were, for the most part, abandoned, and Zivon Shikov walked undisturbed down the street, his strides long and his pace quick. He did not have any particular expression on his face, but inside his thoughts were a whirlwind. For one, Lyric was beginning to rethink being in public. He was hungry, and there wasn't anything in his fridge but expired yogurt, a half-gallon of milk, and some beer. He normally ate healthy, mostly because he liked being in shape--at times he was a little vain about his appearance--but for the past week or so he just hadn't been able to muster up the emotion to give a fuck. Now, he was going to a little diner he favored. He had parked down the streets, so that he had an opportunity to stretch his legs. He wasn't sure, now that he was halfway there, if he wanted to continue on his expedition. He was feeling antisocial, and he had been for the past week.

During this time, Lyric had been busy researching potential "marks". He'd been sent an email from the alpha of the Moscow pack, listing off several hunters in the area that ought to be "disposed of", and Ly had been debating the wisdom of tracking them down. He was fairly certain that he might be a little out of his league, not that he would admit it, and he was slightly reluctant to go after them. However, part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted the thrill of the hunt. He wanted challenging quarry, and these hunters would be more than challenging. But, for whatever reason, he hadn't started any hunts yet.

Well, there was a reason. He'd been thinking about Leena lately, and thoughts of Leena caused Lyric to become bitter and indolent. Starvation was really the only thing that had driven him out of the house that evening, and if it wasn't for that, he probably would have stayed at home or gone for a run in his wolf skin, just to forget. He missed the days when it had been acceptable for him to lose his trouble in a bottle, or in violence. He remembered her perfectly, and did so more and more often. He remembered her voice, her smile (the sort of smile that was dangerous, cut into her face by glass), her laugh. He had been half in love with her; she had been irresistible, invincible, cruel. She had made him feel something, other than cold detachment. And, of course, he couldn't have her. Lyric stared down the empty sidewalk, his eyes glazed. He could never, ever have her.

He missed her. Not that he would ever admit that.

He stopped walking in front of a small diner, having parked some distance away. He'd wanted to walk, to give himself a chance to clear his thoughts. I need to stop thinking about her, Lyric told himself. I have to stop, or I'm going to make myself go crazy. She's the reason I had to leave. It would have never worked. I'm not allowed to love her, not the way I do. And then, admitting to himself that he loved her, right there in front of a diner he couldn't even remember the name of, Lyric Shikov realized how furious he was with himself. He opened the door with a bit more force than necessary, earning a few startled looks from the people inside, but he didn't give a damn, not about what they thought. Inside, he was burning up. He was angry, temperamental. He wanted confrontation. He wanted to forget.

He paused and ran a hand through his hair, calming himself down slightly. He would forget about Leena. He would start to work again. It would be alright. Looking around, he was startled to see a familiar face sitting at the table in the corner, near a window that overlooked the street. He couldn't remember what her name was, or if she had even told it to him--in fact, all Lyric remembered when he glanced at her was the fact she had dug her finger into his fresh wound, and twisted it so that he felt a flare of pain. He felt like raising hell. He felt like getting her back. And as a result, he practically swaggered across the room, to sit across from her. He smiled a lazy, burning smile, his yellow eyes boring into hers. "Moy golubushka," Lyric purred. "Skol'ko let, skol'ko zim."

translations: moy golubushka means "my dove" or "my darling", skol'ko let, skol'ko zim means "long time no see" (or, more literally) "how many summers, how many winters".

[JURATE]