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The Painted Man
Posted: 26 May 2007 01:39 PM |
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Character Profile:
Sehran Calíah
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Hair: His hair has been shorn to the skin. His eyebrows are brown.
Height: Very tall.
Eyes: Grey-blue.
Build: Somewhat slender. Having said that, his skill with martial weapons shows that a measure of strength can be applied when necessary.
General Appearance:
-- His face, chest, and arms are inked with deep red tattoos. The patterns are sweeping and highly angular.
-- A sheathed longsword hangs perpetually at his hip.
-- His skill with a horse is exceptional.
Generally Known Background:
-- Over previous years, any living in Port Royale may have seen him in the occasional upscale shop or market, keeping close watch over one of Port's wealthier families as bodyguard, of sorts.
((This post will be updated as there are relevant things to add/modify. On second thought, I've decided that I really don't mind posts on here as long as it has some sort of relevance, I'd like to ask that you let me get the second part of his background up before you do.)) |
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...have gone horribly wrong.
Posted: 12 Jul 2007 06:54 PM |
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
It began with a spark—a flash of light in the darkness.
It was, at first, pure sensation, some strident chord struck on a distant fiber of his being.
It was pain, faint and unrecognized.
But it was persistent.
And he was aware, and that was the spark.
Blackness gave way to vague form and motion.
Haze filled his sudden vision. It undulated around him, taking on light from passing ( what? ), and was bright, itself, in places. Uncertain forms moved past at his left and right, as well. Large, ominous things, with glowing sets of ( what?! ) that seemed to watch him as they moved past. He cowered inwardly as they drifted by.
…and yet, it was something very familiar...
...but dim, nonetheless, against the faint flicker of awareness he now possessed.
He also heard. A dull thudding, not unlike that he felt inside of him. It kept beat to the swaying shapes in the fog that bobbed up and down around him as they drifted past.
It all seemed to fit together so well.
And then, the forms took meaning.
He was running. The flickering light that was Sehran Caliah flared into full awareness once again.
And with that, the milieu was unfolded before him. He was outside, the bitter night air thick with rolling fog. The grimy oil-burning streetlamps that punctuated the cobblestone street lent their orange-caste light color to the fog that billowed over the street, giving the entire scene a distinct feeling of unreality. The figures at his sides were no longer the leering faces of moments ago, but rather the facades of the townhouses that lined the avenue.
And his heart raced, still.
He didn't know where he was.
He didn't know how he had gotten there.
But, he did know that he was fleeing—it was visceral, instinctual, and very hard to mistake.
He tried to form his thoughts as he ran, but they were indistinct and came to only slowly with great effort.
An alley. He knew the concept of this immediately—it was dark, small, a place for hiding. The part of his mind that understood hiding and fear still functioned, it seemed.
( it must be rooted deep inside and hard to damage )
The cloaked figure stole into the alley, a predated animal into his burrow. He settled to the ground, huddling in a dark corner at the base of a crumbling stoop, and was still until the tendrils of fog settled around him.
He closed his eyes to find only thicker fog within. He drew a deep breath and attempted to lay reins to his damaged mind. And… grasped at a flicker of thought, though it was vague and slipped into the darker corners of his mind as his Eye shone upon it.
( the necklace )
He reached up to his neck, and his fingers closed around a cold metal pendant. This must be it, he thought, and something very faint in another dim corner of his mind agreed. He jerked it, and it came away easily, the chain offering little resistance. He opened his hand to look upon it, and made it out slowly as the two wavering images settled into one.
Unmistakable against the oily light of the streetlamps that slipped edgewise into the alley, it was a small silver likeness of a dagger, four stars set into the flat. The sight of it made him ill.
He had thrown it before he even realized it.
( leash )
( hateful thing ) sprang from the dark corners of his mind, flashed angrily, and were gone.
That part of his mind was working, still. It was the part that dims the Eye and calls forth the Gift. The part that hates, he thought, is deep down and hard to damage, too.
( free of them )
That was it!
His mind leapt upon it: he had known it would be difficult, but he hadn't thought he was in danger of hurting himself. He had reached beyond his grasp and had broken in the process. A part of himself had been lost tonight, he was certain.
But it had worked, he was free of them.
He needed to find an inn.
He needed to sleep.
The rest would be left for tomorrow.
((Part 1 of 2, or rather Part 2 of 2, with 1 to follow.)) |
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