Post by ` daeseol . on Sept 13, 2009 22:54:25 GMT -5
DAESEOL AMARANTH
[DAY-see-ohl AM-uh-renth]
If wary he is not, hunted the hunter shall be.
[DAY-see-ohl AM-uh-renth]
If wary he is not, hunted the hunter shall be.
` raise high, monolithic statues, so fragile. as they fall ,
i am ever enthralled
Race:
Fallen Angel
Age:
He cannot remember; appears to be twenty-six
Sex:
Male
Affiliations:
Blood Revenge
Favorite/Best Power(s):
Daeseol has no 'powers'; however, he is quite skilled with a blade and has wings attached to his back.
`gaze, lie, and smirk in time ,
your arrogance will suit you well
Mate/Spouse:
Mara Lixok [mah-RUH LEE-zohk]
Family/Ancestry:
Names have been long forgotten, but the angel was originally from common blood, nothing notable about his family.
History:
I supppose you want to know about my life before I had wings. Well, I can tell you about it. I remember most details as clear as a day when the sun shines bright.
I was born in a small village, its name long lost in the history records. I was the only son, and, in fact, only child, of my parents, a baker's son and a teacher's daughter. It is needless to say that I ate quite well and had the finest education of them all in our community. Or at least, I liked to believe as much. Yes, I was quite attention seeker, and if I was not the best, it was likely I would throw a fit. Say what you will about me then; after all, I was only a child and didn't know much better. And, though my family was only a common one, no royal background or astounding sums of money to speak of, we were quite well off for our status.
I did mature as time wore on. I was always captivated by weaponry and the art of battle, especially so at this time. The ringing of metal striking metal in combat was intriguing to me. I wanted to be a part of the action. So, when the annual sign-ups for the royal army came about, I of course scrawled my name onto the list. I wasn't known as Daeseol then, though; no, my name was much simpler, less refined back then. Neil Dras, quite droll if you ask me. However, I carried that name with pride for my mortal years, before I knew what would become of me later on in the time after life.
It was no easy task, becoming a soldier. The meals were terrible, the barracks unfit for so many men and young boys, and the training sessions were grueling and stressful for the weak of heart. And I absolutely loved every minute. All of the experiences of that time hardened me, I believe. After all, today many consider me cold and heartless, and they usually are not far from the truth. Regardless, I learned much from my instruction in those days, mainly prowess with a blade. Archery was not my strong suit, if I recall correctly; it was so much more satisfying for me to actually feel the force of the pain I inflicted on my opponents and know just the amount damage I had done. Call me sadistic, and you'd probably have been right.
The rest of that short, pitiful life was spent serving my king and queen, marching to and fro wherever it was needed of me and battling opposing countries. Many of my fellow men found this lifestyle boring and difficult. They thought I was odd for having such a deep passion for my career. I thought it strange of them to not put all they were into the duty they volunteered for in the first place. But, it was no matter. We all got along fine for the most part, aside from the alcohol-influenced brawls that occurred once in a while. I chose not to get involved in their games; I knew who my real enemies were, anyone who bore colors that defied my own country. It was, I’m ashamed to say, one of these very countries who brought around my death at such an unfairly early time. I believe their colors were the opposite of our own, which were the darkest of ebony and the richest, most lush of crimson. They carried a simple white flag with a simple green diagonal slash from the top left to the bottom right corners. I was battling one of their more decorated soldiers, being one laden with honors myself. Having won our fight, I had the other man on the ground, my blade aimed for his heart--at the time, I wasn’t much for making others suffer until death. I was just about to bring his life to an end when another enemy soldier unjustly plunged his sword through my midsection from behind. I looked down for a brief moment to see metallic point, covered in my own blood, slide forward, wrench painfully in a quarter turn, and then, darkness as my face hit the dusty ground below. I was still conscious enough at that time to feel the boot heavy on my back as the enemy drew his sword from me.
Looking back now, I cannot help but wonder how I had made such a blunder. I had been one of the most vigilant soldiers, after all, and very little caught me by surprise. Oh, well. The outcome was much for the better anyhow.
As I lay there, I could feel my very life ebbing way, pulse by slow, deadly pulse. All of my blood seeped through both holes in abdomen. What little light I could perceive soon faded away as I passed away.
The experiences after I finally stopped breathing and my heart no longer pounded in my chest are hard to describe. It wasn’t anything like pulling away from my corpse, so neatly mangled. It was more like… like waking up after a long, stressful nightmare to a place so full of peace and serenity one could forget what had happened. But I did not forget. When my eyes fluttered open once more, I felt as though I was far from normality. Like I mentioned, it’s hard to explain. But something about my room, from the brilliant sun’s rays piercing the flawlessly shined windows to the spotless white of everything, including the clothes I wore (which were not mine), just put me on edge. I was a very cautious soul then, too. Or maybe it was once I arrived in the too-perfect place that I became as such? Ah, I do not know. I do know, however, that it was anything but assuring when two winged men, dressed identically to me in a clean white shirt and pants to match, came through the door to receive me. Upon their backs were beautiful wings, snowy white in color. It startled me when they helped me to stand and I saw a pair of my own in a floor-length. They, too, were pure and untouched, nothing like they are now. Interestingly enough, my hair and eyes had changed their colors. I now had somewhat long, blonde tresses, completely opposite to the deep brown, closely cropped style I had kept previously. My chestnut eyes were chestnut no more, now a crystalline gray-blue. My skin was no longer the ruddy tan I had once sported, either. Instead, it was nearly as white as the walls that surrounded me. In short, I was breathtaking. I was an angel.
I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
The two other angels let me stand and admire myself, or rather, take in the drastic changes, before each gently took one of my now-scarless hands and led me out into a hallway, lined with doors identical to mine. Every one of them was closed. I asked multiple times, in a voice unfamiliar to myself, where we were going, but my escorts would not answer. It only made me more nervous. After all, had I not just died? Or was I simply sleeping and this was all some elaborate, wild dream I was having? At that time, I remember hoping it was the latter. I had wanted desperately to wake up after having been severely wounded in battle, to be told I would be okay and that I could fight once more. Now, I’m glad that that was not the case after all.
` from above, a rain of ashes descends ,
i forever will remain
Personality:
` dancing in your dust, i'll see you all falling ,
i'd stop it, had you a heart
Hair:
sleek and black. It's a bit long, grown to just above his shoulders in the back, but Daeseol is quite particular about keeping his locks in perfect order. The only time it is truly messy is when he is battling someone or when he is rather stressed and has more things on his mind than appearance.
Eyes:
Crimson red, not unlike the color of blood. In his past life, however, they were chestnut with a peculiar spark to them.
Build:
Daeseol is a slight thing, with a thin, tall frame. His arms are quite defined from his many, many years of swordsmanship, as are his abdomen and leg muscles. His hands are almost disproportionally large, however, a flaw he's kept from his human days. His palms are almost three inches across, and his long, spindly fingers only add to the appearance.
Other:
Wings:
The feathered attachments add much to the intimidation effect. Daeseol has a wingspan of almost eight feet from feather tip to feather tip. Each feather is the same deep shade of onyx as his hair, casting midnight shadows across his milky white complexion.