Kaisen
New Trainer
if you could go back, would you change?
Posts: 2
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Post by Kaisen on Jun 27, 2008 13:06:07 GMT 10
Name: Somatsu Onisuki Kaisen
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Hometown: Starbright City, though orignally from somewhere else.
Sexual Preference: Straight
Allegiance: Team Pravus, at once Good
Personality:
Hobbies: Music; playing, composing, or listening; musical geni have to do something. &&. Brutal Training; practice makes perfect. &&. Planning; anything, everything, and mostly takes up all of his time. &&. Shopping; not clothing shopping, but rather just for fresh food or for more of his random things in his bag.. &&. Looking over Notes; after all, he doesn't take them for anything. &&. Cooking; though he doesn't have a lot of time to do it.
Physical Appearance: [In this section, please describe your characters build, clothing, face, hair, etc. From this we want to be able to clearly visualize your character. Two paragraphs please.]
---Pokemon, Items, & History---
Pokemon:
Items:
Pocket Dictionary x 1; a small book that fits in the pocket of the boy's outfit, with definitions of all the words under the sun.
Black Bands x 3; small, circular bands that expand at touch. mysterious..
Crumpled Notepad x 1; a thick notepad with crumpled pages and randomly scrawled notes.
Bleeding Black Pens x 4; four black ball-point pens, one of them leaking into Kaisen's bag.
A Composer's Guide to Understanding Music x 1; a geeky little black book that Kaisen carries around.
The Theory of Social Situations: A Game-Theoric Approach x 2; a really geeky book with a worn cover. shows how much kaisen gets out.
History: A Land of Fire, Death, and War. A Land of Slavery, Bravery, and Courage. It is a Land in a bloody war; one where little kids are no longer allowed to play out in the wind-blown streets; one where other little kids lay dead in their streets, as fires that feed on their childhood and home spread to the rest of their town; a country of where little kids grow into war heros and die in the trenches. This was a kind of land where little kids were born everyday; though this story centers around one of these little kids, on one of those days, in one of those countries, in one of those wars. It was a cold, wintery day when Somatsu Onisuki Kaisen was born into the world. His father would never lay eyes on the boy; the day Kaisen was born, His father was fighting for his country. His mother was left alone with Kaisen's older sister and brother, who were old enough so that Kaisen would only know them as distant relatives. His mother would try to make life easy, as if a war wasn't on their porch steps, but even her carefree attitude wasn't enough to keep the war out of their backyard. But for awhile, it was good. The land may have been cold, and snow may have killed many a crop, but life was rather easy besides that, even with the four-year old Kaisen working in the fields to make up for his father's slack, trying so hard. Trying so hard to be something that he wasn't destined to be. All would be well in a few months.
--- Sample Post ---
Sample Post: Slytherins didn't get scared. They got utterly terrified. Mason's pale eyelids flew open, his mind slowing grinding to a faster pace with much annoyance. All his ears could register was snoring and quiet night sounds, the ones he fell asleep to. His green and silver curtains were drawn over the four poster bed. Inside the bed, where Mason sat rigidly, it was cool. He had bewitched it early that year to be constantly cool. Now the cool was counteracting the sweat that plastered and rolled down Mason's face, making him feel like dirty plastic. utter terror still registered on his pale face; though it quickly abandoned it's spot to be pushed back by that indifferent look that was infamous around the castle. Even with his curtains drawn, Mason knew that it was early in the morning. He could feel it through his white bones underneath his sweaty, pale flesh. the boy sat up completely, leaving his white linen pillow, his white linen sheets, usually still looking fresh from the iron even when Mason had slept in them for weeks now crinkled underneath Mason's ivory fingers, which clutched them like a last resort. Slytherins didn't get scared. Mason didn't get scared. He got terrified, and not easily. After regulating his breathing, which had been quick, heavy, and hoarse, the boy had to decide if he would go back to bed or go to breakfast early. He chose the early breakfast. Sliding around in his bed quickly, to face the left side, which Mason was more partial to, he drew the curtains to a dark chamber of sleeping boys his age. Being the ever considerate Mason, the boy tried not to make to much sound as he wrapped his silver and green cloack around him. The fact that he was surrounded by potiental mass murderers if they were awakened from their slumber also helped him be considerate. After all, Mason didn't want to have his poor body contorted into shapes just for being unneccesarily loud. He quietly drew the silver and green curtains beind him, the crest of Slytherin, a seperentine wavering on the curtain's thick fabric. Mason smirked and exited the chambers quietly.
Mason was way to far away from the dormitory when he realized he wasn't wearing shoes. This could be rather difficult, as now his feet were extremely cold as they brushed against the ancient cobblestone floors. He frowned at them, wrapping his cloak tighter around his shoulders. Really, Mason was more partial to his vest and trouser mix, as they not only had a set for a left-handed wizard, but they were also more practical. The white shirt with thin white lines, the green and silver vest with the embroided crest of a snake and an S, entangling with the horizontal stripes. The long black pants which if you had thin legs like Mason, could dissapear into. Usually he'd have brown leather shoes. Mason was a well dressed polictian when he needed to be, and he was able to get dirty at Dueling Club when needed, which was often. Mason was told he was a no prisoner's kind of person. So what had roused the young boy from his slumber? A very bad dream. More of a nightmare flashback. The fear glint still remained in Mason's green eyes; he stared cautiously back and forth through the corridors before slowly walking to the next section of hallway. Whatever had been in that dream had terrified the young boy; he knew that his hunter would not be in the halls of Hogwarts, waiting for him. He knew his father was on a 'business' trip to somewhere in lower England. His mother had wrote to him about it. His mother wouldn't be able to save him. Mason cringed away from the thought. She hadn't saved him the first time -- why would she change her ways if he did happen to come along the Dark Lord infront of her? Mason shook his head, his brown hair flying to curl around his forehead again. It wasn't foolish, being scared of the Dark Lord. It was foolish, being scared of the Dark Lord to appear in your Hogwarts Bed Chamber and stab you with a stake. That, was foolish.
His eyelids were just starting to close over his emerald pearls, his head resting gently against the beige linens on his pillow. Somewhere in the house his twin was asleep. Mason wasn't concerned with her, even at that age. He could faintly hear milling about in the Ballroom and Kitchen. His father was holding an event, something that even kept Cassiopeia, his mother, upstairs, sititng in a small white picket chair next to her son's bedroom door. She knew what was happening. They were testing their loyalty to the Dark Lord tonight. She needed Mason asleep before the screaming started. She sat rigidly, her dark curls tumbling down her shoulders as faint footsteps came upstairs, followed by a few more. It was more of a trio of footsteps. There wasn't a knock at the door, rather the door being forcefully opened though it wasn't locked or jammed. The drunk Death Eater swayed in the doorway, and the ever looming figure of Julius stood there, frowning in disgust at the fellow Death Eater. "Get the hell away from that door Greengrass." he turned to Mason's darkened room, his lip still curled in disgust. His mother stood up, staring at her husband with shocked curiousity. "Julius, I'd like to get Mason asleep before you sta-" She was silenced with a back-handed blow to the cheek, the only blow that Julius had ever and would ever throw at his wife. "Shut up Cassiopeia! Mason is to.. attend the event. A cruel smirk worked it's way onto his face. Mason was already standing at attention, wearing his blue pajamas like a proud soldier. Attending a Death Eater event?! This blew his mind way out of porportion. "Come boy. We have some fun planned for you. But change into something suitable first. Cassiopeia. Assist him." Julius growled in a indifferent tone before turning on his heel and heading down the stairs.
His mother hadn't prepared him. She knew what was going to happen. This was what brooded Mason to the point of throwing something at a wall whenever he brought back these memories. He was wearing something that resembled his Hogwart attire -- a black vest, white fold shirt underneath, and black pants. His hair was combed neatly. Julius smiled. From somewhere in the Ballroom, where it was half-lit, there was a snort of disgust. "This is your heir Julius? He looks nothing more then a half-witted rabbit." Laughter surrounded the comment. Mason's mouth pressed into a line, grinding his back molars. No one spoke to Mason Christopher Nott that way. "Take it back." he whispered, suprised by his own arrogance. This was his house after all. The laughter stopped in a deadly silence, as the Death Eaters faced the boy, his father's face coated with shock and a layer of disgust that Mason would never overcome. It was almost as if his father was looking at his twin sister. "What did you say, boy?" The voice that had insulted him asked. It was gravelly, ancient, and reminded Mason slightly of a snake. Fear was not something that Mason possessed at that point. He possessed a tipe of blind courage that a real Gryffindor possessed. That would quickly change. The hooded figure that had spoken was getting impatient. Mason could feel it. "I said, take that the hell back." he added a curse word, hoping that it would make the hooded figure, now approaching, leave him the hell alone. He wanted to be back in his ironed linen bed, despretely. "You speak big for a little child. Maybe he is not a complete failure, Julius." the man mused with this for a bit, staring down at Mason's face with extreme interest. Mason puts on his best face, though inside, his instincts are screaming for him to run. There was something about this man.
But, he is still a failure. Crucio. Mason didn't realize what this curse imbodied until it hit him. How could he be so stupid? His father had pounded this into his mind in their studies together in his father's isolated library. It was rumored how this felt. Mason had watched a many a person writhe under the curse. But what did they know? They were just stubborn prisoners that wouldn't answer his father's questions. The rumors of the curse's pain didn't give it justice. Mason's limbs were being stretched, contorted, and ripped from their sockets -- slowly. He was falling from an impossible height off a broomstick many a time. His ribs were tightening, clinching his lungs, making it impossible to breathe. He was going to die, on the floor, on all fours, screaming in agony under his father's green gaze. And what would his father do? He was laughing with the rest of them. Mason was screaming, writhing in pain. He was going to die. Then it stopped, and Mason crumpled on the floor like a dead animal. But he was forced to look at his attacker, the pain that had flooded his body a dull ache. He looked up into the face of evil, the face of Lord Voldemort, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who is now sneering down at the boy. "Learn how to control yourself boy. Learn how to control him Julius, or you'll be labeled a failure to." The laughter is still ringing on the marble walls, resounding back to Mason's throbbing ears. Hate surged through his body. An uncontrollable rage. The kind of rage that didn't die. This rage had just been born and was enjoying it's new inhabitants. Julius looked down at his son. "Mason, go back to bed." Mason slowly lifted himself from the floor, immeadiately taking the upper level bathroom, showering five times before the dull ache became nothing more then a memory. The water flowing over his muscles relaxed him, penetrating any kind of pain that would have reminiscened otherwise. He climbed out of the shower, threw on some rather random clothing items, and then hobbled into his room. His mother looked up, smiling that fake trophy smile she must have been taught in at an early age. "Did it go alright Mason?" she asked, blinking innocently. She had surely heard the screams. Mason hobbled stiffly to the bed, and stiffly laid down. "Yes mother, it went wonderful."
Mason arrived in the Great Hall, sitting down at the Slytherin Table. Surrounding him were insomniac fifth years and some first years with the early classes.
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Shana
Administrator
Kicking Asses Since April 14^#Boss#Charizard#Spriter#Mew#Shut_Up#Master
Posts: 609
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Post by Shana on Jun 30, 2008 20:12:17 GMT 10
Why does the picture have it wil cat ears and a tail when a human does not have cat ears and a tail? If you want that, turn him into a Pokemorph of some kind. If not, then get a different picture.
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