Post by angelus on Apr 8, 2012 0:18:08 GMT -5
Angelus Spayel
Full Name: Angelus
Race: Human
Age: 33
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Undecided
Birthplace: Starkhaven, Kirkwall
Residence: Anderfels, Weisshaupt
Affiliation: Grey Wardens
Occupation: Grey Warden
Religion: Dragons are superior
COMBAT
Class: Mage (Blood Mage if possible. Or at least knowledge of it, and I'll postpone the ritual until level 7]
Character Stats:
Strength: 0
Dexterity: 0
Willpower: 2
Magic: 2
Cunning: 2
Gear: A red dress with embroidery in the form of various orange rune symbols. They do nothing to enhance the outfit itself except to give a stranger appearance. Her brightly-colored arms are adorned with sleeves, ending with fire near her slits. Ironically given the description of how blood magic burns their victims at times. She carries a simple Circle Staff, and a knife made of silver, not even a hilt to it or engravings. Said knife is hidden securely under a tiny pocket in the upper end of her sleeve.
CHARACTERISTICS
Appearance: Long blond locks drift with care over her shoulders, sometimes splitting over her front and back, ruby lips, and crimson eye shadow accentuating her ferocious look. A choker lies around her neck, and the upper parts of her cut-off arm sleeves are folded inwards to allow easy access to her only cutting instrument. Trails of fire snake themselves upward on the clothing, ending half-way. A symbol, if you will.
A cherry dress is slung with only one silky strap across her shoulder, ending at her feet, with the edges of her dress sometimes spread out before her. From her waist down, strips, on thinner silk are nonsensical runes, carrot colored to match her outfit's theme and add to her fearsome look.
Her eyes are amber, and her eyes are usually circle in size, but sometimes her mana is expended to make them appear as slits, to complete the appearance. Her sandals completely cover her feat, but stretch up to one half of the way to her knee. She has a black bra on, yet designed with lines once again to give the appearance of magma.
Another warning sign, or symbol.
Bloody red, mixed with orange fire.
Personality: Judgmental and distant. Uncaring and cold. Will develop more as time goes.
HISTORY
Look upon history and you'll see the historical records of the greatest beasts on Thedas. Dragons. Every great hero in legend has at least slain a High Dragon, and it's even fabled the recent Hero of Ferelden slayed one or two. Even the current time period was named after the flame-spewing behemoths. Legendary power like theirs was expected to be remembered. Forever.
She had an older brother in her youth, Dylan. Dylan always did his best to impress their parents. They weren't a royal family or such, but they were popular among the commoners for being kind and generous. Dylan, being a charismatic man, always sought to improve their lot in life and as such required their parents attention to attend to dinners as formality, and more pointless tasks to make their family gain that inch of respect they so desperately clung upon.
Left to herself for a long time, she learned growing up alone isn't a good thing. Long fingers, with unpainted cracked nails heated up the cold food served to her in the cupboard she was locked away into, providing all the heat, and occasional need for light she wanted. It was her prison, it was the four walls she knew all her life. She was a hidden disgrace, a child born by accident, and a taxing financial disaster. More then her parents knew as well. She was a mage.
This magical talent however was discovered in a harsh winter, when in the dark they saw the light under the door. And for the sake of their family's inches of respect, she was kicked out. An unwanted tenant related by blood, now abandoned. And then she was found by a templar one day when she was playing with fire in the middle of market, without any idea of the cruelty mages faced.
Said templar strolled up to her and asked her name, and she gave it.
He responded
"You're a wizard, Angelus."
Those were the last words she heard, before she was carted off to the blasted Circle. To be raised in a worthless politically divided faction, to be told they were condemned by society in every place in the world, of how demons and spirits alike were corrupting agents to their souls, yadda, yadda. Boring drivel meant to scare and break the weak. Despite her upbringing and constant berating, she always believed in her ability.
Her rigorous studies gave Angelus an edge, however she neglected society in return for knowledge. The mundane boredom of a locked world was tossed aside for imagination. Books upon books were scoured trying to hone her magical strengths, and more importantly, the fire she was absolutely fascinated with. The flickering light that could destroy forests, and heat up a freezing man from the brink of death.
Interest in other arts grew. She learnt of forbidden blood magic, and willingly took a deal with a Desire Demon to give her body on her 40th birthday. Until then she was to increase her own power to provide a better body. A fair deal she thought.
And with years of reading, and the return of dragons, which had became a lovely point of curiosity ever since childhood where she saw pictures of them in a projectile book her father once threw at her, Angelus plotted escape.
And after jumping off a second story window, slitting an unknowing Templar's throat and using his corpse as a cushion, she ran off with a broken arm out into the wilderness at the age of twenty-two. She set off to find a dragon cult, hoping to forget a society that scorned her. Although they were rare, the Circle did serve one purpose. An extremely updated and expansive library.
Eventually her searches paid off, as well as her mage status. She was inducted without lying that dragons were superiors and deserved worship. So from that forth, she helped in creating alchemic concoctions to enhance a human's endurance and strength, or rather simply, create Reavers. She herself also took in the drinking of dragon blood, and the further studying of dragons, but her thrist of the beasts' secrets only grew.
Old Gods. The seven dragons that predated the world, and brought magic to humanity, before being struck down by some unseen force. Templars had come after her before, and not only that, she heard of Grey Wardens who had accepted Blood Mages in their midst, and had researched them. So without hesitation she left her home, and found her place in a tainted hellhole. But she gets by. Years from now, her life would be forfeit to the demon's desires, but until that moment came, her enemies' blood would coil and they corpses would burn.
Peace, War, Death. Their motto...even if she sought knowledge of the Old Gods, perhaps a group whose emotions weren't unstable could be a change of pace. Although hopefully people won't hate on the Greenhorn.
BEHIND THE MASK
player details
Contact: PM
Roleplay Experience: 10
Knowledge of Dragon Age: Origins and all DLC, II and all DLC
Language(s): Englush
How did you find us? : Google
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The pile of hay shifted uncomfortably and prickly underneath her, as her body turned unkempt for the umpteenth time. The hellhole she had condemned herself to was crawling with templar scumbags, idiotic swindlers and thieves who made their fortune on worthless beggar targets, alongside worthless militia groups who coerced unwitting innocents into parting with their precious little golden coins.
Pathetic.
So mundane were these 'precious' things of theirs. She never needed coin, so she walked without it on her person. The dragon cult provided her clothing, her mundane little staff that she usually left at home, otherwise known as the damned hay she slept on. And she managed to procure her little blood-letting tool, her knife, from an alchemy table at the Tower so long ago. Void, it was even a little ragged and had a sharper edge now in it's dying years. So many memories, so many uses.
She rose from the pile of hay, and stretched her limbs, interlocking her fingers with her outstretched arms infront, bring it up as far as she could above her head, her muscles titillating at being used. Night still shone in the horizon in what could be seen of it in Darktown, and with a slow walk that held gentle grace, she draped herself atop one of few unspiky gates that prevented people from falling, and looked out across the ocean, left to her own thoughts.
She preferred inanimate objects to her own race. People filled with need, and horrid emotions and problems they couldn't come to terms with. Making stupids decisions, and making them worse by sprinkling regret upon fresh wounds. It made her sick. What was wrong with them? Life was so simple.
Find what you want. Always smile at opportunity and strangers, and if some asshole stood in your way burn them into a crisp.
Alright, admittedly that last one was limited to mages, but you could replace burn and crisp with stab and carcass respectively. Still her amber eyes watched the waves meet the Tevinter town with a forlorn expression gracing her features.
For thirty-three years she never met anyone that she liked. And in another seven, she would honor her deal and forsake the life she was given. Sure there were dragons, but she had seen and touched them, seen the potency in their blood compared to humans, and admired their absolute strength. But what worth was there to life in all-honesty when that interest faded?
Her constant companion was a pit of hollow emptiness. If death was a switch to turn off all these hopeless thoughts that invaded her mind despite her wishes and demeanor, then she welcomed it.
Then again...
She lurched over more of the railing to see a better, more full, visage of the moon overhead.
Perhaps 'Hawke' would interest her if she ever met him. Tomorrow she would look in Lowtown in the Hanged Man! Perhaps 'Hawke' could be the one person in a world awash with idiots that could make sense of this purposeless imperfect world!
Or perhaps he was a moron. Only time could tell, and she was content now, with watching the rising tides.
Password: GREY WARDENS!
