Post by †Fate on Mar 23, 2008 19:11:11 GMT -5
Name
Anitole Crucian
[an-ih-tohl kru-shee-ihn]
Age:
Sixteen
Race:
Human
Physical Description:
Pale skin with a flawlessly smooth texture belongs to Anitole, flowing across his body with a graceful sort of masculine beauty. His face is no exception, and has a heightened sense of attractiveness due to the aquamarine jewels faceted into it. Below them is a slightly pointed, somewhat feminine nose, paired with small, pallid lips. On his head, his somewhat long, light blond tresses fall over his face, but not rogue-ishly.
Anitole isn't of the larger sort, nor will he ever be. Being short and slim runs in his blood, and is probably an advantage for him. He may grow a bit more, but it will be hardly significant and very unnoticeable.
Personality:
“He is wary to trust others, and, though that has always been his nature, it has been enhanced from witnessing what a broken bond can do to a person. He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much, and is generally a part of the scenery, more often than not.”
However, he is a sweet person, but his thick exterior keeps that hidden, like a princess guarded by a dragon, one even nastier than the one that destroyed his home.
History:
[Sorry if this isn't the best. I'm horrible at histories, and I'm out of practice for fantasy ones especially.]
As a small child of maybe six, Anitole could tell he was different from the other children. He did not know what made him so, but the others were always summoned away by their mothers when they were about to play. Eventually, everyone believed the poisonous words dripped into their ears, and the children tended to avoid Anitole entirely.
For awhile, he was bitter about it, and understandably upset, but Anitole found other ways to deal with his loneliness, usually entertaining himself around his home and the village.
One day, while he was inside, playing a game he'd invented, an odd feeling erupted inside of him. This feeling was pulling away, trying to escape him, so Anitole simply followed what his instincts told him. His arms were placed in front of him, palms up, and a strange language slithered from his lips. The air before him shimmered, rippled, and even seemed to pull apart. In the space, a small reptilian head emerged, followed by forelegs, wings, hind legs, and a scaly tail as well. Yes, Anitole had summoned a dragon!
No longer did being alone present a problem for the child. If he was bored, he simply summoned a dragon to play with him, and they were usually quite friendly and gentle. However, Anitole decided to keep them a secret from everyone, even his parents. In his mind, if anyone else found out, he would be shunned even more than he was presently. No sane child would ever ask for that treatment.
Then the day that should have never happened came to be.
It started as a normal morning, years after Anitole had discovered his amazing summoning ability. He was bored, and so he decided to call upon one of his dragons to play with. However, it was not one of his usual playmates that appeared. It was instead a great, terrible creature, one filled with malice. It was much larger than its counterparts, even larger than Anitole. It quickly reared back its head, loosed a terrible, grumbling roar from its maw, and streamed fiery tendrils to the ceiling. It was aflame in an instant, and the beast leapt through the flaming hole, echoing his cries and washing the entire village in the red of fire and the gray of ashes and smoke.
Anitole fled from his village, vowing never to return to its ruins as long as he lived, and dashed through the trees of the Selkia forest until he reached the Ularian Ridge, where he passed into unconsciousness from exhaustion. He woke up some hours later in the presence of a man who called himself Cresten. He was a person who had lived much of his life alone, but admittedly wouldn’t mind some company. Several years passed. In that time Cresten passed on the ability to survive alone to Anitole, hoping that the child would not need it.
Alas, however, the man’s teachings were not in vain.
In the middle of a particularly pleasant night, both Cresten and Anitole lie sleeping on the ground. From the shadows emerged two men, clothed entirely in black, one clutching a nastily long dagger. The blade was plunged into Cresten’s breast, though it did not kill him. In his haste the would-be assassin confused which side the heart was on and stabbed the wrong side. The two weren’t quick to linger, for Cresten’s scream awoke Anitole with a start. The child, though not exactly childish anymore, stumbled quickly to the man’s side, never tearing his gaze from the dagger. Cresten, in his last dying breaths, explained who the two men were and why they had decided to claim his life. Apparently the three had once been companions, and Cresten had betrayed them. [How cliché…] How was not important, and there wasn’t time to explain anyway. Cresten’s life expired in the arms of Anitole, and the boy wept bitterly of his only friend’s death.
From then on, Anitole has been a traveler, only occasionally using his gift. He is wary to trust others, and, though that has always been his nature, it has been enhanced from witnessing what a broken bond can do to a person. He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much, and is generally a part of the scenery, more often than not.
Anitole Crucian
[an-ih-tohl kru-shee-ihn]
Age:
Sixteen
Race:
Human
Physical Description:
Pale skin with a flawlessly smooth texture belongs to Anitole, flowing across his body with a graceful sort of masculine beauty. His face is no exception, and has a heightened sense of attractiveness due to the aquamarine jewels faceted into it. Below them is a slightly pointed, somewhat feminine nose, paired with small, pallid lips. On his head, his somewhat long, light blond tresses fall over his face, but not rogue-ishly.
Anitole isn't of the larger sort, nor will he ever be. Being short and slim runs in his blood, and is probably an advantage for him. He may grow a bit more, but it will be hardly significant and very unnoticeable.
Personality:
“He is wary to trust others, and, though that has always been his nature, it has been enhanced from witnessing what a broken bond can do to a person. He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much, and is generally a part of the scenery, more often than not.”
However, he is a sweet person, but his thick exterior keeps that hidden, like a prince
History:
[Sorry if this isn't the best. I'm horrible at histories, and I'm out of practice for fantasy ones especially.]
As a small child of maybe six, Anitole could tell he was different from the other children. He did not know what made him so, but the others were always summoned away by their mothers when they were about to play. Eventually, everyone believed the poisonous words dripped into their ears, and the children tended to avoid Anitole entirely.
For awhile, he was bitter about it, and understandably upset, but Anitole found other ways to deal with his loneliness, usually entertaining himself around his home and the village.
One day, while he was inside, playing a game he'd invented, an odd feeling erupted inside of him. This feeling was pulling away, trying to escape him, so Anitole simply followed what his instincts told him. His arms were placed in front of him, palms up, and a strange language slithered from his lips. The air before him shimmered, rippled, and even seemed to pull apart. In the space, a small reptilian head emerged, followed by forelegs, wings, hind legs, and a scaly tail as well. Yes, Anitole had summoned a dragon!
No longer did being alone present a problem for the child. If he was bored, he simply summoned a dragon to play with him, and they were usually quite friendly and gentle. However, Anitole decided to keep them a secret from everyone, even his parents. In his mind, if anyone else found out, he would be shunned even more than he was presently. No sane child would ever ask for that treatment.
Then the day that should have never happened came to be.
It started as a normal morning, years after Anitole had discovered his amazing summoning ability. He was bored, and so he decided to call upon one of his dragons to play with. However, it was not one of his usual playmates that appeared. It was instead a great, terrible creature, one filled with malice. It was much larger than its counterparts, even larger than Anitole. It quickly reared back its head, loosed a terrible, grumbling roar from its maw, and streamed fiery tendrils to the ceiling. It was aflame in an instant, and the beast leapt through the flaming hole, echoing his cries and washing the entire village in the red of fire and the gray of ashes and smoke.
Anitole fled from his village, vowing never to return to its ruins as long as he lived, and dashed through the trees of the Selkia forest until he reached the Ularian Ridge, where he passed into unconsciousness from exhaustion. He woke up some hours later in the presence of a man who called himself Cresten. He was a person who had lived much of his life alone, but admittedly wouldn’t mind some company. Several years passed. In that time Cresten passed on the ability to survive alone to Anitole, hoping that the child would not need it.
Alas, however, the man’s teachings were not in vain.
In the middle of a particularly pleasant night, both Cresten and Anitole lie sleeping on the ground. From the shadows emerged two men, clothed entirely in black, one clutching a nastily long dagger. The blade was plunged into Cresten’s breast, though it did not kill him. In his haste the would-be assassin confused which side the heart was on and stabbed the wrong side. The two weren’t quick to linger, for Cresten’s scream awoke Anitole with a start. The child, though not exactly childish anymore, stumbled quickly to the man’s side, never tearing his gaze from the dagger. Cresten, in his last dying breaths, explained who the two men were and why they had decided to claim his life. Apparently the three had once been companions, and Cresten had betrayed them. [How cliché…] How was not important, and there wasn’t time to explain anyway. Cresten’s life expired in the arms of Anitole, and the boy wept bitterly of his only friend’s death.
From then on, Anitole has been a traveler, only occasionally using his gift. He is wary to trust others, and, though that has always been his nature, it has been enhanced from witnessing what a broken bond can do to a person. He mostly keeps to himself, doesn’t talk much, and is generally a part of the scenery, more often than not.
' Bloody heck, two jobs and a BUNCH of kerfuffle later, and I'm back AGAIN.