Post by Guest on Jun 22, 2014 11:53:10 GMT 1
Player Info
Name/Alias: Leo
Age: 17
Gender (optional): Female
Tumblr (optional): N/A (Maybe I should make one...)
Timezone (optional): Pacific (GMT-8) Daylight Savings time right now though, haha.
How did you find Palandri? (optional): You can thank Oni~ fear the AAA.
Character Info
Full Name: Zasime Sessere
Race: Vampire
Class (optional): Ranger
Age: 19
Sexuality (optional): Demisexual
Bio (personality/history): There is a certain comfort one can take from knowing that ones life has already been planned out in advance. To have been given purpose in the form of faith; to serve some greater goal. Indeed, there was never any need to worry about what the future would hold for her, or doubt her convictions. She only needed to obey, to learn, and to believe. The family comes first, and the County close after. Zasime knew her place. Or at least, Zasime had known her place. Honestly, the young woman wasn't sure of anything anymore.
She knows that her family is a tidal wave. They may not be royalty, no true House Sieron, but the Sesseres are an old force in Greencliff: proud, traditional, strong. Ruthless, when push comes to shove. But that was no sin because water washes away the blood that stains their hands: water purifies all. Her mother was perhaps the purest being in existence as Mage Sie was very dead, and apparently things weren't being done right back in Waviera as all the family members noted on a daily basis. While the current Earls and Countesses squabbled over petty details, her family was making waves, preparing to purify this tainted land once and for all.
Mother was an Aquamentalist of course. Father probably was too, but Zasime couldn't be sure since he was dead by the time she was five years old and everything before five was a blur. Oh, and Mother didn't like to talk very much about him. Mother did enjoy teaching though. She couldn't teach her second daughter the cool magic that was their people's gift, but she could use Zasime in other ways. Yes, pretenses had to be kept up, and as far as the public knew, their family was mostly "pure." But there was no need to end the life of a daughter or son of the household simply because they were Mundane. Only if they forsook the family. Only if they strayed, like a sheep from the flock, despite the shepherd's guiding hand.
Zasime was eight years old when she saw this lesson delivered firsthand. As usual, Mother was the one to teach it to her. Mother had a younger brother, Uncle Sen, who had two children of his own. One was a boy only a year younger than Zasime, and she would often play with this boy when she was not otherwise busy under the tutelage of Mother or another family member. She no longer remembers his name, but she does remember that he would say the strangest things sometimes. Like how it was unfair that Zasime's older sister got all the attention just because she was an Aquamentalist when Zasime was so much stronger. And nicer too. Also, why were the other races unclean? She had stared at him then, confused. Scared. She didn't know why she was scared, but she was. And there was another part of her - a tiny little voice in her head - that wondered these same things as well. But she did not voice it. And in due time, her cousin was dead. Mother had drowned the boy herself after a final outburst. He had been seven.
Zasime was to be a ranger. Some second cousin of hers had often remarked it was the only suitable position for a Mundane in the Sieron military. As a land soldier protecting the coastal cities, she would no doubt be assigned to Greencliff: which was the whole point. She was also to marry an Aquamentalist, if at all possible. She was pretty enough, obedient, well-mannered, and well-learned. And her family...well, her family was Greencliff's moon. The unknown force pulling the tides. Surely any man would desire such a bride.
At eighteen years of age, she officially entered the military, and as expected, was stationed in Greencliff where she could be continuously guided. Her whole job was rather straightforward consisting of something she already knew how to do perfectly: follow orders. All it took was one single lapse of judgment to fall off of the prearranged path. And in many ways, it was not her fault. Zasime simply could not say no.
It was her nineteenth birthday and her fellow rangers wanted to take her out for the night. It had seemed like harmless fun, but they were not of the family. They did not share her family's beliefs. And so it was that she found herself at a local tavern, mead in her glass, and a stranger looking her way. A man in his early twenties with porcelain skin and emerald eyes; he was mister tall, dark, and handsome. Zasime had once upon a time entertained the thought of falling in love, but this concept had quickly lost its shine. She would marry the man Mother told her to, one who would benefit the family, because that was just the way it was done. She had no idea what to do when the stranger began to blatantly flirt with her.
Everything started to...fracture after that. The ranger remembers pain. Blackness. A metallic taste flooding her senses. And then...hunger. Always hunger.
Zasime Sessere is her name. She is a ranger. She once served the family, but the family lied to her. And, as she is now, the family would not welcome her back into the fold. They would get rid of her the same way they disposed of all the other lost sheep. So yes, she is angry. But most of all, she is hungry.
RP sample (optional, but recommended): It calls to her again. Pulsing, just below the surface, liquid honey. She licks her lips unconsciously. The shadows shade her slender form from view as she takes a deep breath to steady herself: not that she needs it. She's dead after all. A strangled noise wrings itself from her throat at the thought, a noise that she quickly regrets as her prey- no, the farmer, looks in her direction. He squints a little but sees nothing. Just as she thought. Another half-laugh bubbles up from within her, but she holds it back. She can hold back the crazy laughter. No, it's not the cracks she's worried about. It's the hunger within.
It screams in primal need; a constant, demanding ache somewhere between desperation and a promise of the pleasure to follow. It must be fed. She must feed.
Zasime scarcely registers the beginnings of a scream that worms its way out of the farmer as she tears into his throat with her fangs. Her lithe form wraps around the taller one in a crushing embrace so that she can drink her fill. Her fingernails - now claws - carve patterns into the rapidly cooling corpse's skin as if to drive her mad even further. It was just all so different before. Before, she only had to follow orders. Be a good girl. Listen to Mother. But now...now she has a choice. Little choice at that, kill or be killed, but still a choice. The young woman wanted to throw up - only she couldn't. She needed every last drop of blood she could wring out of this unfortunate stranger. Maybe, this time, she could last more than two days.
Truly, it was cute the way she lied to herself over and over again. She was a mess. An undead mess.
The quiet of the night is broken again by the sound of the corpse hitting the dirt. She's done here; drained him dry. This pathetic strip of land in the middle of nowhere would return to nature quickly without its tenant to labor over the rotten fields. He hadn't been making any real progress anyway. No one would miss him. He didn't have a wife and children waiting back for him. There was no little girl who would break apart at the sight of her father with his throat ripped out. She made a good pick. Now, she needed to move on.
"I should just chop off my own head." Zasime giggled as she held the knife to her throat, slid with practiced ease from the strap in her sleeve. Moonlight creeped across her favored weapon and reflected an image back at her. She paused, frightened, at what she saw in that knife. Her eyes were alive: they almost appeared to glow. Stray tendrils of raven hair contrasted greatly with her new light-skinned complexion. But the dried blood that coated her lips was the worst. She tightened her grip around the knife even as her hand began to shake slightly. The little knife was not meant for this kind of thing; it was a throwing knife after all. Perhaps it was only seconds, or maybe it was a whole hour, but at last she wearily slid the knife back into her sleeve. She didn't have the courage to slice her own head off after all.
She wanted to live. Even if it couldn't even properly be called a life, her newfound freedom was was appealing in certain ways. Zasime was no longer a brainless, obedient oaf. She was free. Her gray eyes coolly came to rest on the corpse again. Everything comes with a price. This was just hers to pay.
Other: Zasime's transformation has changed her outward appearance little. She has the same slender, hourglass figure and straight, raven-colored hair that is often tucked into a low bun. But where before her slate gray eyes were empty and dull, they now shine with a curious light. And while she may not be the standard vampire pale, no one can call her 'tan' ever again.
Name/Alias: Leo
Age: 17
Gender (optional): Female
Tumblr (optional): N/A (Maybe I should make one...)
Timezone (optional): Pacific (GMT-8) Daylight Savings time right now though, haha.
How did you find Palandri? (optional): You can thank Oni~ fear the AAA.
Character Info
Full Name: Zasime Sessere
Race: Vampire
Class (optional): Ranger
Age: 19
Sexuality (optional): Demisexual
Bio (personality/history): There is a certain comfort one can take from knowing that ones life has already been planned out in advance. To have been given purpose in the form of faith; to serve some greater goal. Indeed, there was never any need to worry about what the future would hold for her, or doubt her convictions. She only needed to obey, to learn, and to believe. The family comes first, and the County close after. Zasime knew her place. Or at least, Zasime had known her place. Honestly, the young woman wasn't sure of anything anymore.
She knows that her family is a tidal wave. They may not be royalty, no true House Sieron, but the Sesseres are an old force in Greencliff: proud, traditional, strong. Ruthless, when push comes to shove. But that was no sin because water washes away the blood that stains their hands: water purifies all. Her mother was perhaps the purest being in existence as Mage Sie was very dead, and apparently things weren't being done right back in Waviera as all the family members noted on a daily basis. While the current Earls and Countesses squabbled over petty details, her family was making waves, preparing to purify this tainted land once and for all.
Mother was an Aquamentalist of course. Father probably was too, but Zasime couldn't be sure since he was dead by the time she was five years old and everything before five was a blur. Oh, and Mother didn't like to talk very much about him. Mother did enjoy teaching though. She couldn't teach her second daughter the cool magic that was their people's gift, but she could use Zasime in other ways. Yes, pretenses had to be kept up, and as far as the public knew, their family was mostly "pure." But there was no need to end the life of a daughter or son of the household simply because they were Mundane. Only if they forsook the family. Only if they strayed, like a sheep from the flock, despite the shepherd's guiding hand.
Zasime was eight years old when she saw this lesson delivered firsthand. As usual, Mother was the one to teach it to her. Mother had a younger brother, Uncle Sen, who had two children of his own. One was a boy only a year younger than Zasime, and she would often play with this boy when she was not otherwise busy under the tutelage of Mother or another family member. She no longer remembers his name, but she does remember that he would say the strangest things sometimes. Like how it was unfair that Zasime's older sister got all the attention just because she was an Aquamentalist when Zasime was so much stronger. And nicer too. Also, why were the other races unclean? She had stared at him then, confused. Scared. She didn't know why she was scared, but she was. And there was another part of her - a tiny little voice in her head - that wondered these same things as well. But she did not voice it. And in due time, her cousin was dead. Mother had drowned the boy herself after a final outburst. He had been seven.
Zasime was to be a ranger. Some second cousin of hers had often remarked it was the only suitable position for a Mundane in the Sieron military. As a land soldier protecting the coastal cities, she would no doubt be assigned to Greencliff: which was the whole point. She was also to marry an Aquamentalist, if at all possible. She was pretty enough, obedient, well-mannered, and well-learned. And her family...well, her family was Greencliff's moon. The unknown force pulling the tides. Surely any man would desire such a bride.
At eighteen years of age, she officially entered the military, and as expected, was stationed in Greencliff where she could be continuously guided. Her whole job was rather straightforward consisting of something she already knew how to do perfectly: follow orders. All it took was one single lapse of judgment to fall off of the prearranged path. And in many ways, it was not her fault. Zasime simply could not say no.
It was her nineteenth birthday and her fellow rangers wanted to take her out for the night. It had seemed like harmless fun, but they were not of the family. They did not share her family's beliefs. And so it was that she found herself at a local tavern, mead in her glass, and a stranger looking her way. A man in his early twenties with porcelain skin and emerald eyes; he was mister tall, dark, and handsome. Zasime had once upon a time entertained the thought of falling in love, but this concept had quickly lost its shine. She would marry the man Mother told her to, one who would benefit the family, because that was just the way it was done. She had no idea what to do when the stranger began to blatantly flirt with her.
Everything started to...fracture after that. The ranger remembers pain. Blackness. A metallic taste flooding her senses. And then...hunger. Always hunger.
Zasime Sessere is her name. She is a ranger. She once served the family, but the family lied to her. And, as she is now, the family would not welcome her back into the fold. They would get rid of her the same way they disposed of all the other lost sheep. So yes, she is angry. But most of all, she is hungry.
RP sample (optional, but recommended): It calls to her again. Pulsing, just below the surface, liquid honey. She licks her lips unconsciously. The shadows shade her slender form from view as she takes a deep breath to steady herself: not that she needs it. She's dead after all. A strangled noise wrings itself from her throat at the thought, a noise that she quickly regrets as her prey- no, the farmer, looks in her direction. He squints a little but sees nothing. Just as she thought. Another half-laugh bubbles up from within her, but she holds it back. She can hold back the crazy laughter. No, it's not the cracks she's worried about. It's the hunger within.
It screams in primal need; a constant, demanding ache somewhere between desperation and a promise of the pleasure to follow. It must be fed. She must feed.
Zasime scarcely registers the beginnings of a scream that worms its way out of the farmer as she tears into his throat with her fangs. Her lithe form wraps around the taller one in a crushing embrace so that she can drink her fill. Her fingernails - now claws - carve patterns into the rapidly cooling corpse's skin as if to drive her mad even further. It was just all so different before. Before, she only had to follow orders. Be a good girl. Listen to Mother. But now...now she has a choice. Little choice at that, kill or be killed, but still a choice. The young woman wanted to throw up - only she couldn't. She needed every last drop of blood she could wring out of this unfortunate stranger. Maybe, this time, she could last more than two days.
Truly, it was cute the way she lied to herself over and over again. She was a mess. An undead mess.
The quiet of the night is broken again by the sound of the corpse hitting the dirt. She's done here; drained him dry. This pathetic strip of land in the middle of nowhere would return to nature quickly without its tenant to labor over the rotten fields. He hadn't been making any real progress anyway. No one would miss him. He didn't have a wife and children waiting back for him. There was no little girl who would break apart at the sight of her father with his throat ripped out. She made a good pick. Now, she needed to move on.
"I should just chop off my own head." Zasime giggled as she held the knife to her throat, slid with practiced ease from the strap in her sleeve. Moonlight creeped across her favored weapon and reflected an image back at her. She paused, frightened, at what she saw in that knife. Her eyes were alive: they almost appeared to glow. Stray tendrils of raven hair contrasted greatly with her new light-skinned complexion. But the dried blood that coated her lips was the worst. She tightened her grip around the knife even as her hand began to shake slightly. The little knife was not meant for this kind of thing; it was a throwing knife after all. Perhaps it was only seconds, or maybe it was a whole hour, but at last she wearily slid the knife back into her sleeve. She didn't have the courage to slice her own head off after all.
She wanted to live. Even if it couldn't even properly be called a life, her newfound freedom was was appealing in certain ways. Zasime was no longer a brainless, obedient oaf. She was free. Her gray eyes coolly came to rest on the corpse again. Everything comes with a price. This was just hers to pay.
Other: Zasime's transformation has changed her outward appearance little. She has the same slender, hourglass figure and straight, raven-colored hair that is often tucked into a low bun. But where before her slate gray eyes were empty and dull, they now shine with a curious light. And while she may not be the standard vampire pale, no one can call her 'tan' ever again.
