Post by Zane Strident-Hellix on Nov 29, 2008 23:44:52 GMT -5
``ZANE STRIDENT
"You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain..."
"There are no such things as heroes..."
``the R O L E P L A Y E R
Name: Shawn!
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Experience: Three years
How did you find us?: Friends
Other characters: Only one
``the C H A R A C T E R
Name: Z`ane Marius Strident
Age: `211 vampiric years; 20 years young
Nickname(s)/Alias: `Enigmatic Diviner, Augur God
Birthdate: December 25, 1797
Birthplace: Bucharest, Romania
Sexuality: Straight
Heritage: Hungarian, Romanian
Position: (position in coven if vampire, job if human)
Species: Vampire
If vampire...
Coven name: Samari
Position in coven: High-Ranking Vanguard
``the M I R R O R
Hair: `black and red
Eyes: `black
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 215 lbs.
Build: Combination between slender and toned
Special Features/Other: None
Portrayed by: Steven Strait
``the D E T A I L S
Likes (at least five)
Dislikes:
Strengths: at least 3
Weaknesses: at least 3
Fears: at least 3-5
personality;; Zane is a very mysterious vampire, unlike many of his coven and of his species in general. While he does in fact feed on human blood, he does it only of necessity and not enjoyment, but at the same time will gladly drink human blood for the sake of it should one of them anger him. Careless. Aloof. Apathetic. Few things can ever get to his psyche. Along with his almost impassive ways, he is an excellent and skilled adversary, and loves nothing more than the opponent's blood on his hands. Of course, he hides his most sadistic ways within his calm and stoic demeanor.
``the F A M
Parents:
Marianna Dulche Riza
Boris Kozhov Riza
Siblings: None
``the M E M O R I E S
Happiest memory: There are few memories that Zane enjoys at all, but the only one that comes to mind is his age-old friend Christina. Perhaps the only one to see the lighter side of him.
Worst memory: By far his worst memory of his life came in a battle with a horde of vampires. They had eradicated his family and left him with the scar over his face.
Personal history:
If you’ve ever set foot in Sleepy Hollow, walked through its dark and gloomy labyrinth, opened the corridors leading to another’s memories, you may have met him. You may have met a lone soul who has taken up residence in its dreary sanctuary.
If you’ve ever conversed with the likes of Zane Strident, you’ve probably never really understand his words and the ways he uses them. Maybe his elegant usage of words and phrases, paralleled with his less-than sophisticated style of clothing raises questions to a curious mind. A dreamy poet with the genres of literature swirling in his dull, dark black eyes? A pain-stricken phantom just treading betwixt the paths of light and darkness? Maybe more…maybe less. His impassive eyes certainly won’t let you inside the deeper crevasses of his mind.
Some people think of him as a lost poet gone from the world, gone from the era where the divine poets were abundant and dominant in culture. Others think of him as a radiant entity too effulgent to tread on Earth’s surface, as a creature more suitable to rest high atop the skies with the angels and the heavenly beings.
How does he view himself? He’s just someone who’s knee deep into his poetry and into his stories, however childish they may be. Other than that, he doesn’t care too much for other facets of life, and will often take an apathetic role in enjoying the brightness in life.
Few people know about his background, only that he was the vampire son of a powerful merchant and a floral designer. There are few facts about how he was raised, how he became so different than the modern vampires, and how he become a high-ranking member of the Samari.
``the E N D
rp sample;;
The cold alley welcomed him with open arms, a forgotten friend that held no qualms with what could be seen as an act of apathy. He sat down in the usual place and felt the familiar discomfort of a single stone lodged between the left thigh in an uncomfortable manner. Good. This was what he needed again. It had been a very long time since he was here by himself. The stone had been an undeserved luxury, as had been the warm comfort. He had felt nothing and that was the important item at hand. Nothing. There had been no physical discomfort of any kind, nothing to remind him of that he was here. Of course, with Angelina, his life had definitely been different -- he was a bit more sarcastic, naturally with their personalities. He twitched irritably as a lazy gale of wind brushed against his face. Slight cold in this November weather. It had been so long since he had given himself up like that, to bear all was to expose the weakest parts of ourselves, and in those moments if rejection is given then it can scar forever. Scar like it had before. Zane felt someone watching him. Opening a single eye, the image that is relayed to his brain caused the other to snap open wide for confirmation.
THE ENIGMATIC DIVINER
“Why are you here?”
No one was here. It was the empty darkness of Huntington Beach, California. Yeah, it was difficult to digest that a dark place such as this could exist. The ominous squall from the east brushed against his body again, this time with a different tenor, a different bass and tremor. Someone was here, he just couldn’t see him. Didn’t make him crazy at the least. He knew someone else that hadn’t the slightest bit of what the hell to say; case and point -- Christopher Lambert. He sat there, well, more like a combination of sitting and laying down, his body arched in an obtuse angle against two different proportioned rocks -- there thinking, thinking was what he seemed to do best and indeed worst in the long monotonous days of the mundane, thoughts brooding on the absurd and inane. He missed outside, how he used to walk through the streets and parks brooding of negativity as opposed to sitting inside brooding of negativity. WWH had confined him to those bastardized locker rooms, the anchoring arena hotspots. Zane needed a moment like this to recoup those losses in critical thinking.
A large crow shifted cantankerously through the night sky, glistening with the purged gems embedded. Those wings, sparing a feather for the Enigmatic Diviner. He definitely wasn’t expecting any kind of company for tonight; all he wanted to do was be alone. There was a second thought that wanted to call the bird as if humanly possible; of course there were those irritant bird calls, annoying right down to the eardrum. But this was a strange yearning. Just to call to it, as if it were just like him. Well, let’s face it -- Dark. Depressing. Ominous. They shared practically every trait known to man. Except the fact that the crow wasn’t a man at all. The perilous black bird continued to swoon around the place, leaving the Augur God in a debacle of emotions, anxiety, agony, anguish, all seemed to begin with the letter ‘a’. A wonder. Flapping was the black bird’s calling, lowering closer and closer to him.
THE ENIGMATIC DIVINER
“Why, hello there.”
Again, the repetitious thoughts infected him, the wallowing on the bad seemed to give him reason to accept it, cement weighing down lingering thoughts into actual chunks that could be seen and heard. Why were they still following him? Why were those machinations refusing to die along every time he defeated them? So many thoughts constantly on the move, his mind was a brainstorm of ideas and worries, each one slowly looked over meticulously before deleted or saved away. The crow perched atop the rock nearest to him, staring at him with those ruby optics, the beaming color reminding him of Diviner from before in his dreams. A long and drawn out sigh escaped from those lips, their eyes meeting once more. The bird seemed to be as quizzically curious about him, the way it tilted his head one way, almost perfect and just like him. Mockingly, Zane went and did the same thing, just looking at the crow for several moments. It was just a standstill, before the crow rose its wings again, flying off to the horizon. All Zane could do was smirk gently toward him, again leaning back and taking a deep breath.
Whatever was a man to do after loss?
The question resonated like a broken record, playing and replaying over his mind, over and over again with no nonstop in sight or hearing. The answer could be many things; a man could go and commit suicide, jumping off a bridge or overdosing on pills of Tylenol and Excedrin. Or they could take the loss as some sort of psychoanalytical breakdown, severing all ties of sanity and, quote-unquote ‘lose their minds’. And there were even some of them that would take a loss as such a difficult hindrance to their professional career advancement, they would place heavy influence on looking to avenge it, almost to the point of absurdity.
Yeah, wasn’t that perfectly normal. The point of abnormality, and yet time after time, it was wrestlers like these the fans wanted to see. These wrestlers were what the fans wanted and loved. The ones that would rather entertain them with idiosyncratic jokes of foolishness than compete at the high levels that they could be capable of doing. As much as Ryan loved to please the fans, he felt as though that sort of philosophy was not only a measure of a future obsoletion of wrestling - it was just plain stupid. But, introverted as he was, he never chose to speak up for his own morals in fear of conflicting with the masses. Not necessarily a conformist, more like an avant-garde quiet man, the very typical.
"You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain..."
"There are no such things as heroes..."
``the R O L E P L A Y E R
Name: Shawn!
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Experience: Three years
How did you find us?: Friends
Other characters: Only one
``the C H A R A C T E R
Name: Z`ane Marius Strident
Age: `211 vampiric years; 20 years young
Nickname(s)/Alias: `Enigmatic Diviner, Augur God
Birthdate: December 25, 1797
Birthplace: Bucharest, Romania
Sexuality: Straight
Heritage: Hungarian, Romanian
Position: (position in coven if vampire, job if human)
Species: Vampire
If vampire...
Coven name: Samari
Position in coven: High-Ranking Vanguard
``the M I R R O R
Hair: `black and red
Eyes: `black
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 215 lbs.
Build: Combination between slender and toned
Special Features/Other: None
Portrayed by: Steven Strait
``the D E T A I L S
Likes (at least five)
Dislikes:
Strengths: at least 3
Weaknesses: at least 3
Fears: at least 3-5
personality;; Zane is a very mysterious vampire, unlike many of his coven and of his species in general. While he does in fact feed on human blood, he does it only of necessity and not enjoyment, but at the same time will gladly drink human blood for the sake of it should one of them anger him. Careless. Aloof. Apathetic. Few things can ever get to his psyche. Along with his almost impassive ways, he is an excellent and skilled adversary, and loves nothing more than the opponent's blood on his hands. Of course, he hides his most sadistic ways within his calm and stoic demeanor.
``the F A M
Parents:
Marianna Dulche Riza
Boris Kozhov Riza
Siblings: None
``the M E M O R I E S
Happiest memory: There are few memories that Zane enjoys at all, but the only one that comes to mind is his age-old friend Christina. Perhaps the only one to see the lighter side of him.
Worst memory: By far his worst memory of his life came in a battle with a horde of vampires. They had eradicated his family and left him with the scar over his face.
Personal history:
If you’ve ever set foot in Sleepy Hollow, walked through its dark and gloomy labyrinth, opened the corridors leading to another’s memories, you may have met him. You may have met a lone soul who has taken up residence in its dreary sanctuary.
If you’ve ever conversed with the likes of Zane Strident, you’ve probably never really understand his words and the ways he uses them. Maybe his elegant usage of words and phrases, paralleled with his less-than sophisticated style of clothing raises questions to a curious mind. A dreamy poet with the genres of literature swirling in his dull, dark black eyes? A pain-stricken phantom just treading betwixt the paths of light and darkness? Maybe more…maybe less. His impassive eyes certainly won’t let you inside the deeper crevasses of his mind.
Some people think of him as a lost poet gone from the world, gone from the era where the divine poets were abundant and dominant in culture. Others think of him as a radiant entity too effulgent to tread on Earth’s surface, as a creature more suitable to rest high atop the skies with the angels and the heavenly beings.
How does he view himself? He’s just someone who’s knee deep into his poetry and into his stories, however childish they may be. Other than that, he doesn’t care too much for other facets of life, and will often take an apathetic role in enjoying the brightness in life.
Few people know about his background, only that he was the vampire son of a powerful merchant and a floral designer. There are few facts about how he was raised, how he became so different than the modern vampires, and how he become a high-ranking member of the Samari.
``the E N D
rp sample;;
The cold alley welcomed him with open arms, a forgotten friend that held no qualms with what could be seen as an act of apathy. He sat down in the usual place and felt the familiar discomfort of a single stone lodged between the left thigh in an uncomfortable manner. Good. This was what he needed again. It had been a very long time since he was here by himself. The stone had been an undeserved luxury, as had been the warm comfort. He had felt nothing and that was the important item at hand. Nothing. There had been no physical discomfort of any kind, nothing to remind him of that he was here. Of course, with Angelina, his life had definitely been different -- he was a bit more sarcastic, naturally with their personalities. He twitched irritably as a lazy gale of wind brushed against his face. Slight cold in this November weather. It had been so long since he had given himself up like that, to bear all was to expose the weakest parts of ourselves, and in those moments if rejection is given then it can scar forever. Scar like it had before. Zane felt someone watching him. Opening a single eye, the image that is relayed to his brain caused the other to snap open wide for confirmation.
THE ENIGMATIC DIVINER
“Why are you here?”
No one was here. It was the empty darkness of Huntington Beach, California. Yeah, it was difficult to digest that a dark place such as this could exist. The ominous squall from the east brushed against his body again, this time with a different tenor, a different bass and tremor. Someone was here, he just couldn’t see him. Didn’t make him crazy at the least. He knew someone else that hadn’t the slightest bit of what the hell to say; case and point -- Christopher Lambert. He sat there, well, more like a combination of sitting and laying down, his body arched in an obtuse angle against two different proportioned rocks -- there thinking, thinking was what he seemed to do best and indeed worst in the long monotonous days of the mundane, thoughts brooding on the absurd and inane. He missed outside, how he used to walk through the streets and parks brooding of negativity as opposed to sitting inside brooding of negativity. WWH had confined him to those bastardized locker rooms, the anchoring arena hotspots. Zane needed a moment like this to recoup those losses in critical thinking.
A large crow shifted cantankerously through the night sky, glistening with the purged gems embedded. Those wings, sparing a feather for the Enigmatic Diviner. He definitely wasn’t expecting any kind of company for tonight; all he wanted to do was be alone. There was a second thought that wanted to call the bird as if humanly possible; of course there were those irritant bird calls, annoying right down to the eardrum. But this was a strange yearning. Just to call to it, as if it were just like him. Well, let’s face it -- Dark. Depressing. Ominous. They shared practically every trait known to man. Except the fact that the crow wasn’t a man at all. The perilous black bird continued to swoon around the place, leaving the Augur God in a debacle of emotions, anxiety, agony, anguish, all seemed to begin with the letter ‘a’. A wonder. Flapping was the black bird’s calling, lowering closer and closer to him.
THE ENIGMATIC DIVINER
“Why, hello there.”
Again, the repetitious thoughts infected him, the wallowing on the bad seemed to give him reason to accept it, cement weighing down lingering thoughts into actual chunks that could be seen and heard. Why were they still following him? Why were those machinations refusing to die along every time he defeated them? So many thoughts constantly on the move, his mind was a brainstorm of ideas and worries, each one slowly looked over meticulously before deleted or saved away. The crow perched atop the rock nearest to him, staring at him with those ruby optics, the beaming color reminding him of Diviner from before in his dreams. A long and drawn out sigh escaped from those lips, their eyes meeting once more. The bird seemed to be as quizzically curious about him, the way it tilted his head one way, almost perfect and just like him. Mockingly, Zane went and did the same thing, just looking at the crow for several moments. It was just a standstill, before the crow rose its wings again, flying off to the horizon. All Zane could do was smirk gently toward him, again leaning back and taking a deep breath.
Whatever was a man to do after loss?
The question resonated like a broken record, playing and replaying over his mind, over and over again with no nonstop in sight or hearing. The answer could be many things; a man could go and commit suicide, jumping off a bridge or overdosing on pills of Tylenol and Excedrin. Or they could take the loss as some sort of psychoanalytical breakdown, severing all ties of sanity and, quote-unquote ‘lose their minds’. And there were even some of them that would take a loss as such a difficult hindrance to their professional career advancement, they would place heavy influence on looking to avenge it, almost to the point of absurdity.
Yeah, wasn’t that perfectly normal. The point of abnormality, and yet time after time, it was wrestlers like these the fans wanted to see. These wrestlers were what the fans wanted and loved. The ones that would rather entertain them with idiosyncratic jokes of foolishness than compete at the high levels that they could be capable of doing. As much as Ryan loved to please the fans, he felt as though that sort of philosophy was not only a measure of a future obsoletion of wrestling - it was just plain stupid. But, introverted as he was, he never chose to speak up for his own morals in fear of conflicting with the masses. Not necessarily a conformist, more like an avant-garde quiet man, the very typical.
