Post by Nostariel Lyvianthe on Feb 12, 2007 13:34:49 GMT -5
((I wasn't sure if the position of the rider to the green dragon was open, if not I'll gladly comply and change my bio to fit.....I hope my horrible bio is up to par with standards here -_-'))
The young dam is usually found wearing breeches of a thick cotton material that is a dark brown in color, bordering black. The soles of her boots that she wears are leather, stained to match the color of the greave that carries up the rest of the boot, crafted as to so she may bend and run easily, ending just short of her knees. A thick leather belt rests gently about her slender hips, with a sheath tied to the left for her sword, which is a light metal, with a entricatly designed hilt. It looks somthing of elven design, with its slim, light features, yet probably of human make. This sword was given to her on her fifteenth birthday by Grayhall. There are also a few more loops along the belt in case she would need to tie on other such accessories. The belt is closed off with an iron buckle so she may vary the sizes about her hips. A rawhide (leather) top, woven in a criss-crossed fashion makes her shirt, ending just short of the bottom of her ribs, leaving her abdominal region bare. Chest plating is placed on her upper body, a diamond shaped crest forming the center with the imperial crest design welded into the front. The chest plating does not pass her shoulders, leaving leverage for archery, climbing, and other such athletic tasks, yet leaves enough protection if needed.
Gauntlets cover the forearms of this strange maiden, starting at the wrists and ending just short of the elbows. They are a simple enough piece, no inscriptions, yet a few scratches. The gauntlets themselves are a dark steel color, silver with a brushed smoky gray to the metal working, matching the chest plating and boots she wears. An opaque gray cloak lays over her shoulders when she does travel, which is worn slightly from use and has a dark crimson Imperial Insignia on the back.
RP Example:
Corruption of War[/size]
((I can't change the size, It sais the The Curruption of War))
1035 B.C. November 2nd. The Age of War
“Every day, I find us farther and farther apart, and everyday the memory loosens from my mind, becoming nothing more then a forgotten hope, a dying flame in my heart. What became of the man I once knew, no more a boy, but always the one I felt closest too; That I could spill my deepest secrets, and forsake my hidden dreams. It seems War brother, has truly shaped you yet forever I hold hope, for…I must, for it too, has shaped me
~ Aduial Ambar Lómë”
The sky was scorched and dark, as if the very firmament was torn apart, and rotting black blood spilled from its wounds, smearing it self upon the sky. Umber clouds rippled across the once blue heavens, a red haze in the air, as if the earth itself was sending out a symbolization of the blood that had been spilt. The scene below the skies, if one was quite looking for an escape from the horrid feeling, would find no such reprieve, for the grotesque scene was raided upon the land as well. The flattened grasses of the plains held no life, just a trampled golden, dulled in color from the death that had soiled its grounds. Smears of red painted themselves in a misshapen canvas, turning dark as the age of the bereavement had passed.
A woman’s head was thrown back for just a moment as she looked out across the sky, away from the dieing soul below her. Rain fell, landing lightly on her forehead; Aqua blue splashed against fiery red and umber black armor, only to disappear as it slid off, past the flaming orange gems.
She raised her gauntleted hands gripping her sword and plunging it deeper into the chest of the man beneath her, forever ending his pain. The flames of the soldier’s eyes dyed, just as they seemed to flicker themselves in her own dark pools of auburn. Her tanned face held a beauty, and fierceness in it, and for all to behold, as she raised her sword, boots moving quickly as she dodged a spiked flail that flew past her head.
The long, thick eyelashes fluttered as a drop of rain landed near her eye, soaking into the tanned skin in moments. Raven hair slid back as the rain soaked into it, weighing it down past her fiery armor. A figure suddenly caught her vision of sight, a soldier, His tunic gripped by another soldier of the opposing side; yet the flicker in her eyes suggested that this person might have been something much more…To her anyways.
A fierce battle cry rang from her lips as she sprinted through the fields toward the one person, though changed, meant the most to her heart…Her brother. Time seemed to slow as the rain continued to tinker against the armor, which covered her chest, in an odd way. Curves and points seemed like it would cut the skin. It ended, for it wasn't full body armor, with a red tunic inlayed beneath, ending at the bottom of her ribs.
The thick armor continued later at her hips, in the same strange fashion, with gems coming from the skirt plating that jutted from the sides, acting almost as wings, though they were just the edges of the single plates of armor.
A heavy leather flap covered the front of her hips, matching perfectly with the oddly red and black splotched metal. The same fiery gems adorned this, though smaller.
The cruel steel of a sword dug into her brother’s flesh, and that scream, oh the horrible scream. Her own agonized cry intertwined with his as she leapt forward; yet unlike his, Aduial’s was of pain that no sword could induce with more agony. It was the wound pierced to the heart, which sent its deathly pestilence throughout then ripped it self out of the delicate organ, leaving a gash that would leave you alive, yet always feeling lifeless and bare.
Her sword plunged into a vital artery of her brother’s killer, and with one deft swing, her arm muscles tensed and her sword arced back into his side. A horrified, pain stricken scream rang out amidst the clatter of swords and the agonized screams of dieing souls. The heavy end of a maul collided with the woman’s chest and she went sailing through the air, the man who had swung the weapon staggering backwards as he was put off balance. Thrown back by the force, the woman collided with a scraggly tree, one of the dead limps of life still left. There was a loud snap as the fibers broke under the strain, and she landed with a thump. Her head swayed and eyes drooped as she tried to remain conscious, then all was black. If listened closely upon, the gentle flutter of her heart could be heard, faint, weak. Like a dieing bird, trying desperately for freedom yet the inevitability of escape was close to none. There was a small intake of breath, then silence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
War, a pestilence that rots all lands leaving no victorious champion, even though the illusion is pulled before your eyes. What becomes of the land, of the soldiers who truly fight; Dieing for a cause of an idea not even their own. Perhaps the idea is for peace, for life. Yet all it brings is death, and when you see the horrors it induces, you begin to realize that the many ignorant civilians [/color]“have not wanted peace at all; they have wanted to be spared war -- as though the absence of war was the same as peace.” Yet in all, It seems some good comes, for we are liberated from our fleshy prison, and share the fate of the dead soul that was quelled by our hand. Innocence is renewed as all comes in a path of consequence. War, for the better peace, always comes at price, to be lost, and truly forever changed, War.
[/font][/color]
---“”Quoted War Quote by-Dorothy Thompson ((Like the quote in there, the text in green quotes is a quote I found the quote is also higher up then the rest and underlined XD., and I cited it above.
Rank: Dragonrider
Country: Alagaesia
Personality: Nostariel has a fiery spirit, Something that might border stubborn in a situation. Yet despite her exotic qualities she tends to keep a timid composure, watching instead of speaking outright. Logic tends to rule most of her qualities, being battle trained as she was, yet on rare occasions she might get a bit rash. She minds her surroundings well, yet there is a sorrow that fills her eyes, a past that dominates her present, yet she tends to leave that behind her.
There are times when she wishes to talk, yet tends to stay quiet in such situations, in a sort of observant state. Her sharp mind and quick reflexes tend to put her a little on edge at times yet other then that she is a warm, kind soul, Despite the Empire she represents. Yet evil, would be an overused term. As the king had welcomed her into his arms, she believes the king a “Kind” man, and his Empire a necessary system to keep order. At first meeting she may seem a bit closed, and cautious yet she eventually warms up. She’s a bit quick to laughter, yet if you do somehow get to her heart; such bonds shall leave you with a fiercly loyal friend for life. Yet her trust is often displaced and with a cause she is not suited for. Yet despite her strong, hard, outer core, if someone were to strike a string the outcome would be a confusing mixture of emotions and loyalties; One to truly test the strength of the young dam.
(I'll probably add more once I get to develop her character a bit more, First time with Nos ^^))
History: Nostariel was born on a late winter evening in the city of Kuasta, located in a nook of the spine in the South-Western half of Alagaësia. She lived the first five years of her life contently, with her twin brother Arthion, and mother, Faelwen. It was a winter morning that her life began to take a dramatic turn. Kuasta was attacked by the Empire, A bloody battle between the Varden and Gallbatorix’s troops. Kuasta, unfortunately was thrown right between them.
Amidst the chaos and havoc, Arthion, and her mother perished. Nostariel escaped her ruined home, stumbling into the garden in grief. It was there, a few hours later, when the battle had ended that Lieutenant Grayhall found the young girl. Curious, and empathetic, he took her in his arms to bring her to Uru’Baen. To give her a new life, a new hope.
For the next fourteen years of her life, she trained with the young Lieutenant who eventually grew from the young man he was to a mature middle aging man. Being accepted in the Castle her quarters resided there, yet more times then most she trained in the grounds with the young lieutenant. Soon, the frail five year old had blossomed into a young adult. Training with both sword and bow, she became skilled with both and in the hard training she endured started to match her swordsman tutor, yet more so often he would win over, for indeed he was more trained. Yet despite this fact, she was still strong, both in mind and body and the two would often become a spectacle of awe as their bodies and swords weaved in a twirling dance of death.
Yet despite the hard training she does go through, there are some times she uses for leisure; Strolling the courtyards, the streets of Uru’Baen, or it has even been reported that she treks to DuWeldenvarden, yet the purposes are only known to her. Most likely to fill a lost longing in her heart.
Nearing the third quarter of her nineteenth year of life, Nostariel, as woman are all planted with curiosity found herself in the egg room; and this is where things all began to change. The white egg, that Galbatorix had also obatained, hatched to Nostariel and the tables would now turn for the Empire it seems, yet only time, and rekindling of old "bonds" would truly tell.
For four months she trained with the hatchling male dragon, who grew and grew into a strong, agile creature that legend beheld. Vehiron, Nostariel rightly named him, meaning "Lordly". Added to the training that she received with Grayhall, Galbatorix too occasionally gave her small tips, yet not frequently, seeing that he was the king, and matters would come up. Yet for his newest champion he was willing to take sacrifices. He taught her old magic, and how to make it considerably powerful. For some odd reason, it seemed Nostariel had magic in her before, with delighted the king's spiteful heart evermore. As her training to continues it seems the turning of fates starts elsewhere as well..
And there my friends is where our story leaves off, in the Desolate region of Uru’Baen, where Nostariel Lyvianthe is homed, and where hope triumphs over all war and pestilence and spite. Even the weakest of things as scarce as hope might be; Can grow, with a bit of faith. (I'm not sure if the green egg hatched already?)
Family; She once had a twin brother who died when she was just a small child. Her mother too, died on that same, horrific day. Her father, though, Is still a mystery. He left her mother when she had just gotten pregnant with the two, or was it she who left him? Her mother rarely spoke about her lover, and never got the time to explain it anyway.
Codeword:Zar'roc[/center]
Name: Nostariel Lyvianthe
Age: A little older than nineteen, perhaps nearing twenty
Gender: Female
Appearance:
[/u] Nostariel is tall, slender and lithe. Sandy blonde tresses cascade slightly past her shoulders. Her appearance is slightly different then normal, with a sort of agile, feline grace about the woman’s movements and features. Nostariel’s skin is fair of color, yet is tanned from the years of exposure to the sun. Her nose is rounded at the tip, and she has a jaw that is proud and pronounced. Her eyes are slightly angled, and are a prominent almond shape, with high arced brows that curve above the deep dual eyes, giving a sort of fierce demeanor; but perhaps the most odd things about her eyes are the color. Her left eye is the deepest of emeralds, with lime tints that are woven into the vast forests of green, yet, Unlike her left eye, her right eye is a deep sapphire blue, with lighter tones that seems to drown in it’s depths like the crystal shallows of the caribbean. Her ears, oddly, are slightly angled, Not as signifigant as an elf’s at all, most likely a birth defect of some sort. Yet despite her “Proud” features, everything is defined with a soft, sort of beatific feel.Age: A little older than nineteen, perhaps nearing twenty
Gender: Female
Appearance:
The young dam is usually found wearing breeches of a thick cotton material that is a dark brown in color, bordering black. The soles of her boots that she wears are leather, stained to match the color of the greave that carries up the rest of the boot, crafted as to so she may bend and run easily, ending just short of her knees. A thick leather belt rests gently about her slender hips, with a sheath tied to the left for her sword, which is a light metal, with a entricatly designed hilt. It looks somthing of elven design, with its slim, light features, yet probably of human make. This sword was given to her on her fifteenth birthday by Grayhall. There are also a few more loops along the belt in case she would need to tie on other such accessories. The belt is closed off with an iron buckle so she may vary the sizes about her hips. A rawhide (leather) top, woven in a criss-crossed fashion makes her shirt, ending just short of the bottom of her ribs, leaving her abdominal region bare. Chest plating is placed on her upper body, a diamond shaped crest forming the center with the imperial crest design welded into the front. The chest plating does not pass her shoulders, leaving leverage for archery, climbing, and other such athletic tasks, yet leaves enough protection if needed.
Gauntlets cover the forearms of this strange maiden, starting at the wrists and ending just short of the elbows. They are a simple enough piece, no inscriptions, yet a few scratches. The gauntlets themselves are a dark steel color, silver with a brushed smoky gray to the metal working, matching the chest plating and boots she wears. An opaque gray cloak lays over her shoulders when she does travel, which is worn slightly from use and has a dark crimson Imperial Insignia on the back.
RP Example:
Corruption of War[/size]
((I can't change the size, It sais the The Curruption of War))
1035 B.C. November 2nd. The Age of War
“Every day, I find us farther and farther apart, and everyday the memory loosens from my mind, becoming nothing more then a forgotten hope, a dying flame in my heart. What became of the man I once knew, no more a boy, but always the one I felt closest too; That I could spill my deepest secrets, and forsake my hidden dreams. It seems War brother, has truly shaped you yet forever I hold hope, for…I must, for it too, has shaped me
~ Aduial Ambar Lómë”
The sky was scorched and dark, as if the very firmament was torn apart, and rotting black blood spilled from its wounds, smearing it self upon the sky. Umber clouds rippled across the once blue heavens, a red haze in the air, as if the earth itself was sending out a symbolization of the blood that had been spilt. The scene below the skies, if one was quite looking for an escape from the horrid feeling, would find no such reprieve, for the grotesque scene was raided upon the land as well. The flattened grasses of the plains held no life, just a trampled golden, dulled in color from the death that had soiled its grounds. Smears of red painted themselves in a misshapen canvas, turning dark as the age of the bereavement had passed.
A woman’s head was thrown back for just a moment as she looked out across the sky, away from the dieing soul below her. Rain fell, landing lightly on her forehead; Aqua blue splashed against fiery red and umber black armor, only to disappear as it slid off, past the flaming orange gems.
She raised her gauntleted hands gripping her sword and plunging it deeper into the chest of the man beneath her, forever ending his pain. The flames of the soldier’s eyes dyed, just as they seemed to flicker themselves in her own dark pools of auburn. Her tanned face held a beauty, and fierceness in it, and for all to behold, as she raised her sword, boots moving quickly as she dodged a spiked flail that flew past her head.
The long, thick eyelashes fluttered as a drop of rain landed near her eye, soaking into the tanned skin in moments. Raven hair slid back as the rain soaked into it, weighing it down past her fiery armor. A figure suddenly caught her vision of sight, a soldier, His tunic gripped by another soldier of the opposing side; yet the flicker in her eyes suggested that this person might have been something much more…To her anyways.
A fierce battle cry rang from her lips as she sprinted through the fields toward the one person, though changed, meant the most to her heart…Her brother. Time seemed to slow as the rain continued to tinker against the armor, which covered her chest, in an odd way. Curves and points seemed like it would cut the skin. It ended, for it wasn't full body armor, with a red tunic inlayed beneath, ending at the bottom of her ribs.
The thick armor continued later at her hips, in the same strange fashion, with gems coming from the skirt plating that jutted from the sides, acting almost as wings, though they were just the edges of the single plates of armor.
A heavy leather flap covered the front of her hips, matching perfectly with the oddly red and black splotched metal. The same fiery gems adorned this, though smaller.
The cruel steel of a sword dug into her brother’s flesh, and that scream, oh the horrible scream. Her own agonized cry intertwined with his as she leapt forward; yet unlike his, Aduial’s was of pain that no sword could induce with more agony. It was the wound pierced to the heart, which sent its deathly pestilence throughout then ripped it self out of the delicate organ, leaving a gash that would leave you alive, yet always feeling lifeless and bare.
Her sword plunged into a vital artery of her brother’s killer, and with one deft swing, her arm muscles tensed and her sword arced back into his side. A horrified, pain stricken scream rang out amidst the clatter of swords and the agonized screams of dieing souls. The heavy end of a maul collided with the woman’s chest and she went sailing through the air, the man who had swung the weapon staggering backwards as he was put off balance. Thrown back by the force, the woman collided with a scraggly tree, one of the dead limps of life still left. There was a loud snap as the fibers broke under the strain, and she landed with a thump. Her head swayed and eyes drooped as she tried to remain conscious, then all was black. If listened closely upon, the gentle flutter of her heart could be heard, faint, weak. Like a dieing bird, trying desperately for freedom yet the inevitability of escape was close to none. There was a small intake of breath, then silence.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
War, a pestilence that rots all lands leaving no victorious champion, even though the illusion is pulled before your eyes. What becomes of the land, of the soldiers who truly fight; Dieing for a cause of an idea not even their own. Perhaps the idea is for peace, for life. Yet all it brings is death, and when you see the horrors it induces, you begin to realize that the many ignorant civilians [/color]“have not wanted peace at all; they have wanted to be spared war -- as though the absence of war was the same as peace.” Yet in all, It seems some good comes, for we are liberated from our fleshy prison, and share the fate of the dead soul that was quelled by our hand. Innocence is renewed as all comes in a path of consequence. War, for the better peace, always comes at price, to be lost, and truly forever changed, War.
[/font][/color]
---“”Quoted War Quote by-Dorothy Thompson ((Like the quote in there, the text in green quotes is a quote I found the quote is also higher up then the rest and underlined XD., and I cited it above.
Rank: Dragonrider
Country: Alagaesia
Personality: Nostariel has a fiery spirit, Something that might border stubborn in a situation. Yet despite her exotic qualities she tends to keep a timid composure, watching instead of speaking outright. Logic tends to rule most of her qualities, being battle trained as she was, yet on rare occasions she might get a bit rash. She minds her surroundings well, yet there is a sorrow that fills her eyes, a past that dominates her present, yet she tends to leave that behind her.
There are times when she wishes to talk, yet tends to stay quiet in such situations, in a sort of observant state. Her sharp mind and quick reflexes tend to put her a little on edge at times yet other then that she is a warm, kind soul, Despite the Empire she represents. Yet evil, would be an overused term. As the king had welcomed her into his arms, she believes the king a “Kind” man, and his Empire a necessary system to keep order. At first meeting she may seem a bit closed, and cautious yet she eventually warms up. She’s a bit quick to laughter, yet if you do somehow get to her heart; such bonds shall leave you with a fiercly loyal friend for life. Yet her trust is often displaced and with a cause she is not suited for. Yet despite her strong, hard, outer core, if someone were to strike a string the outcome would be a confusing mixture of emotions and loyalties; One to truly test the strength of the young dam.
(I'll probably add more once I get to develop her character a bit more, First time with Nos ^^))
History: Nostariel was born on a late winter evening in the city of Kuasta, located in a nook of the spine in the South-Western half of Alagaësia. She lived the first five years of her life contently, with her twin brother Arthion, and mother, Faelwen. It was a winter morning that her life began to take a dramatic turn. Kuasta was attacked by the Empire, A bloody battle between the Varden and Gallbatorix’s troops. Kuasta, unfortunately was thrown right between them.
Amidst the chaos and havoc, Arthion, and her mother perished. Nostariel escaped her ruined home, stumbling into the garden in grief. It was there, a few hours later, when the battle had ended that Lieutenant Grayhall found the young girl. Curious, and empathetic, he took her in his arms to bring her to Uru’Baen. To give her a new life, a new hope.
For the next fourteen years of her life, she trained with the young Lieutenant who eventually grew from the young man he was to a mature middle aging man. Being accepted in the Castle her quarters resided there, yet more times then most she trained in the grounds with the young lieutenant. Soon, the frail five year old had blossomed into a young adult. Training with both sword and bow, she became skilled with both and in the hard training she endured started to match her swordsman tutor, yet more so often he would win over, for indeed he was more trained. Yet despite this fact, she was still strong, both in mind and body and the two would often become a spectacle of awe as their bodies and swords weaved in a twirling dance of death.
Yet despite the hard training she does go through, there are some times she uses for leisure; Strolling the courtyards, the streets of Uru’Baen, or it has even been reported that she treks to DuWeldenvarden, yet the purposes are only known to her. Most likely to fill a lost longing in her heart.
Nearing the third quarter of her nineteenth year of life, Nostariel, as woman are all planted with curiosity found herself in the egg room; and this is where things all began to change. The white egg, that Galbatorix had also obatained, hatched to Nostariel and the tables would now turn for the Empire it seems, yet only time, and rekindling of old "bonds" would truly tell.
For four months she trained with the hatchling male dragon, who grew and grew into a strong, agile creature that legend beheld. Vehiron, Nostariel rightly named him, meaning "Lordly". Added to the training that she received with Grayhall, Galbatorix too occasionally gave her small tips, yet not frequently, seeing that he was the king, and matters would come up. Yet for his newest champion he was willing to take sacrifices. He taught her old magic, and how to make it considerably powerful. For some odd reason, it seemed Nostariel had magic in her before, with delighted the king's spiteful heart evermore. As her training to continues it seems the turning of fates starts elsewhere as well..
And there my friends is where our story leaves off, in the Desolate region of Uru’Baen, where Nostariel Lyvianthe is homed, and where hope triumphs over all war and pestilence and spite. Even the weakest of things as scarce as hope might be; Can grow, with a bit of faith. (I'm not sure if the green egg hatched already?)
Family; She once had a twin brother who died when she was just a small child. Her mother too, died on that same, horrific day. Her father, though, Is still a mystery. He left her mother when she had just gotten pregnant with the two, or was it she who left him? Her mother rarely spoke about her lover, and never got the time to explain it anyway.
Codeword:
The dragon's color will just have to be different.