Zhe'a Yilma
18+|EU|Dark Fantasy|Paragraph/Plot RP|german|
current mood ♫.
something’s comin’ |
|
Born as a child of the night, the Keeper still maintains the old habit of waking with the set of the sun. He feels at home in the tranquillity only darkness can provide, which reflects the cornerstones of his personality, as he generally displays a highly reserved temper, whom only the fewest of things can elicit a genuine reaction from.
In spite of this lithic façade, he holds an unexpected fondness for the sweeter things in life in which he indulges all too often. The Miqo'te might have simply wallowed in his vices for one too many times and thus has been left with a desolate and blunted affect - which could at least justify his withdrawn demeanour.
Acquisition of said “sweeter things” proves to be easiest when moving in the higher circles of society, which is why he prefers the company of those who, due to their standing, are much more likely to share his appreciation of the pleasures. Despite his childhood being a harsh lesson in humility, not much of it seems to have stuck with him to the present day and one would have an easy time to impute this egocentric with superficiality. Yet in his most inner depths there seethes a vestige of primitive aggression even to this day, which is best not brought forth to the surface.
As a whole he is an ambivalent personality, whose animalistic nature is interwoven with but very little warm-heartedness.
ages of delirium
curse of my oblivion.
♅
Zhe’s appearance boasts with monotony and downright invites to be overlooked; merely his above-average height sets him off of his people.
His hair, almost tone in tone with the pallid anthracite of the skin, cascades in wild and wavy paths down over the entirety of his back, framing a lethargic visage where it meets the cheeks. Narrow lips, paired with clear-cut cheekbones and a prominent nose, would paint the face in broad strokes of aristocracy, was it not for a feral spark, persistently lingering inside the fire of his eyes, always preying, driving away all those fatuous souls who lend their ear to instinct, rather than reason.
For it is this haunting glow of the irides that, above all else, is capable of breaking through the otherwise grey and unmoved veil of his personhood and thus forms the most confessing part of his elseways reserved countenance. An untypically long topcoat of hair on both tail and ears however degrades his wolfish presence to that of a dishevelled mongrel.
As the most ornamental element of his semblance, a white pigmented piece of body art splits the torso into two segments. With strokes of a finger’s breadth yet branching into increasingly thinner lines, an aetheronomic geometry, consisting of many formulae based on different schools of magic, covers the right side of the Keeper’s upper body, telling tales of archaic alchemy and astrology, even if only to the learned eye – Occult phrases and incantations directed towards the celestial bodies, which the more feral children of the Twelveswood still pray to.
Merely a single symbol upon his neck defies the established colour scheme and boasts a rich crimson hue instead.
He rarely clads himself in frippery, except for a few primitive talismans which are hardly ever cast off. These special trinkets count three in number - A perforated coin dangles on a simple band of leather, sharing it's place on the keeper’s neck with other necklaces; One of fragile craft, yellowed splinters of bone beaded and knotted to a string, and another, with an elongated flask dangling on its end, in which, every now and a again, a shadow stirs.
breathe life
into this hollowed vessel of rebirth.
♆
Aristocrat
Seldom did one ever hear a keeper speak so couth. Being eloquent indeed, yet only occasionally communicative, he seems to have received exceptionally commendable lessons in etiquette, rendering his mannerism comme il faut even in the eyes of nobles – However, these lessons may also have sharpened the tongue with which he occasionally defies good manners in servitude to his own needs and gains.
Father
One would think that the little girl at the Keeper’s side was more than just one of his tools, as they seem to share some kind of bond in addition to their visual likeness, and nonetheless the child still rarely appears in public – while she suffices for short trips to the wet markets, she stays away from the streets where the other kids play.
Theorist
The Keeper prides himself with a remarkeable collection of academic writings on various fields of aether-usage as well as tomes of traditional non-magical natural sciences. Most of his ideas and opinions on these text may however seem outlandish and strange even to a learned individual, especially his ruminations on astrology and the occult tradition alienate him from the common scholar. Even though he seems to have developed grand aptitude in the fields of magics, he is seldom if ever seen actually practicing his art, leaving open the questing where else all of his potential may be applied.
Wolf
A dreamer, a thinker and oftentimes not more than a beast. Passing the border of rationality and shedding off manner’s chains, the civilised behaviour can turn into a fragile state, that nigh no one can tame, once entered. An undomesticated mind, free to flail between apathy and annihilating blaze. Lowering all feelings to mere instincts might prove some use for surviving in the wilderness -Not so much when coming face to face with the Keeper’s untamed wrath.
Shaman
The occult fashions of former kin have been all but forgotten, yet they very rarely get a chance show on the surface as his cloak of grace keeps them out of daylight. Nonetheless, he keeps with his primitive traditions, not as to honor the past but merely as a necessity. Blood and star; salvation and bone, tightly interwoven.
Spiritbinder
and in the paths of ash
another bond of burden seek.
♄
« 20 years prior, Northern Black Shroud. »
𝔖ough. Red. Sky. Breathe. Pain. |
« 4 years prior, Northern Blackshroud. »
text written by Ghost, thank you ♥
𝔄 single moon shrouded by dark clouds failed to shine its light upon the arboreous scene, which the pale Keeper now infiltrated. Fragments of archaic architecture surrounded them like anonymous giants, ruined and lain waste to. Only the lithic altar was illuminated by a single brazier – fire to keep scavengers away. |
« 3 years prior, border to Gyr Arbania. »
𝔚hen the water disappeared, seas became puddles, and the fifth-era’s light had long sunk in the shadow of the Sixth, the wardens of the night, whose watchful eyes were focused on the treacherous ground for so long, could return their heed back to the beauty of the sky. An atrocious craving overcame them- For so long they had forgotten what it meant to look at the stars and listen to their songs. Inflamed by a fever, they found no tracks on their hunts; nor would a single spear hit it’s target. Too distracting was the delirium of their yearning - Merely looking at those luring celestial bodies was no longer enough for them. They wanted to touch them.
|
« screen »
« art »
|
<tab name="⚫">
☓ I rarely participate in open RP (especially with this character) since Zhe is a little difficult to handle and more of an ‘a n t a g o n i s t’ than an integrated member of society. I am more than open for witch hunts, plots and RP in a framed environment though . |
[ingame contact]
◊ Design by me
|