Post by dark on Mar 17, 2009 21:29:39 GMT -5
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I BEEN ROAMIN' AROUND ,
[/font]I BEEN ROAMIN' AROUND ,
always lookin' down at all i see
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FAUCON DESANG[/CENTER]
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PAINTED FACES FILL ,
[/font]PAINTED FACES FILL ,
the spaces i can't reach
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Faucon DeSang
NICKNAMES:
N/A
AGE:
125
D.O.B.:
October 24th
ALLEGIANCE:
Evander's Coven
PROFESSION:
Assassin
WAND TYPE:
N/A
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YOU KNOW THAT I ,
[/font]YOU KNOW THAT I ,
could use somebody
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Brown.
EYE COLOUR:
Green.
HEIGHT:
5'9"
WEIGHT:
114 lbs.
BODY TYPE:
Attractively slender, but deceptively muscular underneath.
VOICE:
Somewhat hoarse; pitch is slightly deeper than medium, and often very eloquent.
PERSONAL STYLE:
Dark and orderly.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION:
Unlike most women, DeSang doesn't care for expensive clothing or accessories; she doesn't care about what's in or what's modern, and has no desire to make a spectacle out of herself. Materialism is nothing, especially in comparison to emotional/mental gratification. She sticks to her strengths and likes to keep things simple—and dark.
She's got short brown hair, only slightly styled and very often messy; it's the type of hair that'll easily get in your eyes and when it does, she'll let it hang there, obscuring her bright irises. Her general appearance should tell you that she doesn't really care—despite her fair complexion and pretty face, her achromatic attire sports a long coat and a sable, but worn, bandana tied around her neck—and if that doesn't give you a hint, then her lucid viridity eyes ought to. In a moment's notice, they're ready to shoot someone a very venomous glare. That is, when she isn't scrutinizing the lovely young ladies passing on by.
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AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
[/font]AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
and how you speak
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Thunderstorms | Large dogs | Blood | Solitude (usually) | The rewards that come after hard work | Some music | Simplicity | Darkness... and oh, beautiful young women!
CHARACTER DISLIKES:
People just as arrogant as herself | Stupidity | Unwanted disruptions | Old folk | Large crowds of people | Enclosed spaces.
GOALS:
Perhaps finding a girlfriend.
BOGGART:
Though she'd never admit it, DeSang's greatest fear is that of being helpless. There's something beautiful about being able to change or manipulate any quagmire or predicament that presents itself to you, and immediately turn the tables. The simple thought of losing that power terrifies her; she's been there once and she's not going back.
PATRONUS:
Of all the things to be thankful for... Yes, DeSang's best memory is that of the changing. It felt like evolution; becoming something more, something different from what she'd lived with, what she was. The filthiness of the human race. She's proud to call herself a vamp. And she's eternally grateful to the one that changed her.
DEMENTOR:
It isn't so much of a single memory that haunts her, but a time in her life when she was the most vulnerable. Looking back, even know, DeSang finds herself astounded that she managed to survive. Under the rule of an abusive father, and a mother that lacked the maternal instinct to protect her, she was forced to fend for herself in that abrasive environment for a good eighteen years. Those are memories she tries to suppress as much as possible.
AMORENTIA:
Blood | Rain | Sea air.
BASIC PERSONALITY:
Arrogant | Calm | Stoic | Contemplative | Meticulous.
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COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
[/font]COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
under cover of the streets
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Randall Wilson (whereabouts unknown)
MOTHER:
Colleen Wilson (whereabouts unknown)
BROTHER(S):
N/A
SISTER(S):
N/A
OTHER:
N/A
BLOOD STATUS:
Half-breed
HOMETOWN:
Blackwater, Hampshire (England)
CURRENT RESIDENCE:
Knockturn Alley
BIOGRAPHY:
Perhaps later.
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I HOPE IT'S GONNA MAKE ,
[/font]I HOPE IT'S GONNA MAKE ,
you notice someone like me,
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Dster (Dark)
RP EXPERIENCE:
A good 5 years or so.
HOW YOU FOUND US:
OTHER CHARACTERS:
First char.
RP SAMPLE:
The stench of blood in the air was maddeningly heavy, to the point where Darkstorm tried not to breathe; for as her nostrils flared, inhaling the sickening scent and dousing her lungs with the poisoned oxygen, waves of nausea rolled uncomfortably in her stomach and threatened to overwhelm her. All of her primordial instincts screamed that something was terribly, horribly wrong, and when her eyes grazed the corpse of their fallen leader, it was nothing more than a confirmation that she would have preferred to be incorrect. No, not Whitestar.. A young tomcat, recently praised with the duty of leadership, trying to heal their Clan after Graystar's devastating tyranny. The former leader's amber orbs grew wide with shock and revulsion as she stared at the leader's breathless body. He was so young..
She remembered, soon after he had been granted the duty of leadership, going to his den to grace him with a brief congratulations. Moonshimmer had been with her, and they had each subtly expressed their disapproval toward Whitestar, along with his age and inexperience. But he'd done well enough under the pressure, despite Darkstorm's heavy doubt, and now he lay before her, splayed out on the cold stone, his body bled out completely. Shock rattled her entire system, and after several long moments, she blinked rapidly, trying to gather her bearings. MountainClan was, once again, without a leader. But this time, their beloved leader would be greatly missed.
What was to happen now? Staring down at the dead feline, Darkstorm only felt that her paws were uselessly rooted to the ground. What now? What did MountainClan do now without their commander? They were without a succeeding deputy, even, weren't they? How could MoonClan do this to them? Her black head shook vigorously. This wasn't MoonClan's fault. It had been the Twolegs. The silver thing. Taking blood, taking life, and in their place, despair and confusion. Whitestar was up above now, having joined the starry ranks of MoonClan; that much Darkstorm knew. But what became of MountainClan was unknown to her. They were in a tight predicament, and through the shock and guilt-ridden reverie that swept through her mind, she had no answers. Only the desire for guidance.
Slowly, her head turned, and eyes fell upon her companion, Mossclaw. She, too, seemed to be in a deep state of shock, and there was no question that if they were taking it so hard themselves, that the Clan would only be thrown into panic and disarray. Darkstorm could already see it in her mind; she tried in vain to shake it away. A bloody corpse and two stuporous cats. MoonClan help us. The obsidian she-cat blinked rapidly again, trying to find her vocals, clinging desperately to hope that they would soon resolve this dire plight. Her amber eyes narrowed suddenly. She would take up Whitestar's place in leadership, if she had to. At least until the next leader switch arrived. Chosing a new deputy would soothe the worries of their clanmates, and things would begin to mend again. It would be okay. It would be okay.
Upon seeing Mossclaw's shocked face again, Darkstorm shook herself out and tried to breathe, despite the thick atmosphere. "Mossclaw," the dark warrior meowed quietly, then took up an authoritative tone. "Are you okay?"
She remembered, soon after he had been granted the duty of leadership, going to his den to grace him with a brief congratulations. Moonshimmer had been with her, and they had each subtly expressed their disapproval toward Whitestar, along with his age and inexperience. But he'd done well enough under the pressure, despite Darkstorm's heavy doubt, and now he lay before her, splayed out on the cold stone, his body bled out completely. Shock rattled her entire system, and after several long moments, she blinked rapidly, trying to gather her bearings. MountainClan was, once again, without a leader. But this time, their beloved leader would be greatly missed.
What was to happen now? Staring down at the dead feline, Darkstorm only felt that her paws were uselessly rooted to the ground. What now? What did MountainClan do now without their commander? They were without a succeeding deputy, even, weren't they? How could MoonClan do this to them? Her black head shook vigorously. This wasn't MoonClan's fault. It had been the Twolegs. The silver thing. Taking blood, taking life, and in their place, despair and confusion. Whitestar was up above now, having joined the starry ranks of MoonClan; that much Darkstorm knew. But what became of MountainClan was unknown to her. They were in a tight predicament, and through the shock and guilt-ridden reverie that swept through her mind, she had no answers. Only the desire for guidance.
Slowly, her head turned, and eyes fell upon her companion, Mossclaw. She, too, seemed to be in a deep state of shock, and there was no question that if they were taking it so hard themselves, that the Clan would only be thrown into panic and disarray. Darkstorm could already see it in her mind; she tried in vain to shake it away. A bloody corpse and two stuporous cats. MoonClan help us. The obsidian she-cat blinked rapidly again, trying to find her vocals, clinging desperately to hope that they would soon resolve this dire plight. Her amber eyes narrowed suddenly. She would take up Whitestar's place in leadership, if she had to. At least until the next leader switch arrived. Chosing a new deputy would soothe the worries of their clanmates, and things would begin to mend again. It would be okay. It would be okay.
Upon seeing Mossclaw's shocked face again, Darkstorm shook herself out and tried to breathe, despite the thick atmosphere. "Mossclaw," the dark warrior meowed quietly, then took up an authoritative tone. "Are you okay?"
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OFF IN THE NIGHT ,
[/font]OFF IN THE NIGHT ,
while you live it up
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THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY CATE AKA GIRL TALKK
OF CAUTION BBY!. IF USING, LEAVE THIS CREDIT IN. CHANGES TO
COLOURS ARE PERMITTED, BUT DO NOT CHANGE LYRICS ("USE SOMEBODY"
KINGS OF LEON). ENJOY!
OF CAUTION BBY!. IF USING, LEAVE THIS CREDIT IN. CHANGES TO
COLOURS ARE PERMITTED, BUT DO NOT CHANGE LYRICS ("USE SOMEBODY"
KINGS OF LEON). ENJOY!
