Sign Up Ivory Tower [Mature: VLS]

[O-Ushi]

[I][CENTER]And in the Place Where Sun Shines
Things That Live do scurry 'roud
Amongst trees of wood, not iron, nor steel
And Air is pure and Light abound.

There is no hiss of pistons pumping
Nor grind roars of turning gears.
They Who Are watch the masses work
As cheerful music do dance round they're ear.

Their speech is of Poetry, not glottal stops
No pebbles fill their mouths or throarts
Their voices are melodies, not caws.
Their language whispers, our language croaks.

And when they dance they dance for days
Their heads filled with music, their hearts with joy
Their feet do play across marble flooring
Thheir hands do run across new Wooden toys.

But fear the Rich Man, and hed my words
Behind masks of silk a serpent lies
For with each word a sword is drawn
And with each gesture another dies

A pox upon They Who Are
Let them each other devour
As we toil beneath the growing shadow
Of that damndable Ivory Tower.[/I]

The Ivory Tower dominates the horizon.

It stand 3 miles high from base to peak, a mountain of silver, marble and gold. It weaves and curls gracefully as it reaches towards the heavens, twisting seductively, no jutting balcony out of place, no arch not strategicaly placed to ease the eye. Visages of beautiful angels dance arcoss it's surface, carved lovingly over generations by forgotten masons and stonecarvers. At its base sit the squat houses and factories of Mordax, where the huddled masses live out their lives in toil and servitude.

However, we are not concerned with them.

We are They Who Are, the Powers That Be, the Aristocracy, the Familes, call them what you will. We are the ones who own factories, shops, workers, lives. We have reaches beyond he wildest imaginations, can live existances of pure hedonism, endulging every possible delight this mortal coil can offer us. We can buy whatever we like, eat whatever we want, kill whomever it pleases.

But that's never enough.

The head of the leading clan, the Ulantis, is dying. He has been dying for the past 3 years, but it is only now that the Famly has deemed it neccessary to expose it. Now it is time for another Family to take its place as the rulers of Mordax and the Ivory tower. The Families jostle for posistion, through intrigue, blackmail and murder they claw their way to the top of the pile. And that is where you come in. It is your job to bring your family to power in the Mordax, by any means neccessary.

Welcome to the world of the Ivory Tower, where money is everything, but life is cheap.[/CENTER]

Alright, before we go any furhter, I need to say something about this RP, something very important...*Ahem*

[B][COLOR=DarkRed][SIZE=3]YOU ARE NOT THE GOOD GUYS[/SIZE][/COLOR][/B]

You are [I]not[/I] rebels fighting against the aristocracy for the huddled masses. You are [I]not[/I] pure of heart and good of will. You are [I]at best[/I] the better of two evils. I want you to remember that you are ruthless when you are RPing. This is a RP of intrigue, backstabbing and barbed tongues, not huge powers and magick.

The world of the Ivory Tower is one of pure indulgence, Gladiators fight to the death for their master's amusement, and the air is purer than any other in the world. When setting the scene for your post, the sky is the limit (quite literally).

Characters:

[B]Name[/B]: Make it fancy and almost alien sounding (just to further alienate youself from "normal" humanity)

[B]Age[/B]: Try to keep it above your teens, ok?

[B]Description[/B]: Picture or description is fine, but remember, you're rich beyond your wildest dreams. When going to a Party in the RP, flaunt it.
[B]
Personality[/B]: All your fears, dreams and little quirks.

[B]Weapons[/B]: 2 maximum. nothing too large and unwieldy (generally one fencing/swordsmanship weapon for deuls, and one covert knife or such for protection), guns are allowed but...keep it tasteful (think Gregorian English deuls)
[B]
Introductions are in Order[/B]: Replaces the Bio. RP some with your character, o get a feel for their speech, knock out any kinks you might find and give me an idea of the character. It can be from you past or present, it matters not.

Here's my character

[B]Name[/B]: Belial 'ap Temozareila (Teem-mu-za-ray-la)

[B]Age[/B]: 34
[B]
Description[/B]: A tall man, long and willowy, easily reaching 6'3". His limbs and hands are long and graceful, his shoulders are wide, but his hips slender. He walks with long, predatory steps, like a hunter stalking its prey, and every movement he makes is almost exaggerated, every gesture thrown into huge proportions. His face is long and sharp, a small nose and thin, green eyes give him a serpentine likeness, the kind of exotic charm women have a distinct fascination with. His skin is pale, as is the fashion nowadays, but his hair is flaming red, oiled dark into armomatic ringlets that cascade down his cheeks and neck. His normal outfit is a light green silken shirt underneath a dark green soft leather greatcoat. His trousers are brown and airy, and his feet are adorned with long, thin boots. Around his waists he wears the blood-red sash of House Temozareila
[B]
Personality[/B]: Belial is a man of two sides. His demeanor, his open face, is kind and likeable, slow to judge and quick to laugh, he is a compulsive flirt, and is keen to get in on any gambling action. However, underneath this mask is a man obssessed. He is ruthless, brutal and utterly determined. If he wants something, he will find a way to get it through hell or high water. Somewhat of a dandy, he looks after his image (and the image of his current significant other) with an obsessive devotion, both in physical appearance and reputation.

[B]Weapons[/B]: Not one for guns, Belial satifies himself with a battle-forged Rapier, long and elegant, with an elaborate basket hilt in the shape of a raptor's claw. In his left boot his keeps a thin, sturdy main guache (off-hand dagger)

[B]Introductions are in Order[/B]:

"[I]Jarbilong and Belial 'ap Temozareila, of the House Temozareila![/I]' the herald sang out in a deep, melodious voice, and the two figures in the doorway bowed in perfect, practisd unison.

The hall was almost sparse for such an occassion, although, Belial noted, filled with only the cream of the crop. His eyes slid around the hall, noting all the faces of the business men, merchants and factory owners who talked and laughed amongst the tumblers, acotbats and waiters. A man dressed in a long, white robe offered the two getlemen a fluked glass of some sort of beverage. Taking a tentative sip, he found it was a sweet Asamaec, a rare off-world drink made from the bark of a tree. Belial and Jarbilong made their way through the crowd, siping the Asamaec and talking in hushed tones.

"I don't see why you dragged me here, Jarbilong. I was all set for a night at the Arena. I heard that the Blood Rose was fighing tonight."

"You spend too much time in the Arena, Belial my friend. You need to mingle with the masses, or your name will shortly be lost."

"As if my name is found."

"Belial..."

"I'll have you known I've been to four parties within the last tenday!"

"Indeed?"

"Indeed."

"Liar."

Belial stopped and stared in a parting through the crowd. A woman stood there in an emeral green low-cut dress, her hair held back and spiked out. Adorning her chest and shoulders were three live jewel spiders, each one the size of a man's fist. Half her face was covered by a masquerade style mask shaped with the 10 eyes of a spider, but her lips were full and pouting.

"Who is that [i]vision[/i]?" Belial whispered, quite dumbfounded

"The Mistress Anansee, of the House Bryson. Quite untouchable, I'm sure you'll find."

"Oh...I'm sure I'll find a way..." Belial said, sauntering towards her in slow, predatory steps. Tonight he hunted.




Alright, your turn

[Ezekiel]

[SIZE=1][COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][B]Name:[/B] Leona Adora Capellow

[B]Age:[/B] 26

[B]Description:[/B] *attachment*
[U]Height-[/U] 5'7''

[B]Personality:[/B] Leona could be described as haughty, she always looks down her nose at others...even her family and she isn't afraid to use her looks to win someone over. She has also been spoilt, as most rich girls are, and she is most certainly a daddy's girl. If her looks or complaining don't get her anywhere then her constant complaining surely will, Leona is very childish at times (though nobody will ever tell her). She is very confident though, probably because she knows that if anyone messes with her, her father will have them thrown in jail. She has made many enemies and has no true friends to speak of, but she has so much money that she's gone past caring.

[B]Weapons:[/B] Leona's family don't really believe in using weapons but her parents have always made sure that she carries a rather nasty 5 inch serrated blade under her dress.

[B]Introductions are in Order:[/B] "Leona! If you aren't ready soon then I will leave without you!"

"But Father! I need to look perfect for this evening..." came the childish reply, followed by a brunette in a golden dress, she had a pout on her face and her father did not look pleased.

"Daddy...you know how much this means to me, I'm sure that Sir Walter won't mind if we?re a tad late."

The middle aged man sighed and nodded, finally giving in. He bowed his head slightly and motioned for his daughter to step outside. The girl nodded and smiled, looking at the beautiful sky, a mix of purple and black dotted with glistening stars. It was a shame that the 26 year old couldn't appreciate anything other than her own looks.

"Let's go then Daddy." she stepped outside, the wind ruffling her hair and dress, her father fixing his tie as he followed. Leona was probably spoilt more because of her mother?s absence, her father has chosen to keep the girl happy with gifts...he was lucky that he had the money to spend on his greedy daughter. The man sighed and shook his head as snowflakes started to fall, leaving his daughter complaining about the state her hair would be in.

He looked to his feet and groaned, bringing a hand up to his forehead, how he missed his wife.[/COLOR]

[B]Eh, short but sweet.[/B][/SIZE]

[Epsilon]

[COLOR=SlateGray][SIZE=1]Great plot O-Ushi. Please let me know if anything needs to be changed.

[i]***Edit: Darn, Methuselah beat me to first sign up. XD[/i]

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[b][u][i]Sign-Up.[/i][/u][/b]


[b]Name:[/b] Snãyuè Zhènyû.
[b]Age:[/b] 25.

[b]Description:[/b] The women is of the average height. Standing exactly 5'5" she weighs lightly. Being only 117 lbs. Snãyuè looks rather frail. This is further taken due to the fact that her eyes are 'slanted' and that she is albino. With eyes a lovely shade of pastel pink, they have a vivid red creeping in. The women's eye lashes full and fluttering. She has chosen to line them in black so as though for them to be seen. Her cheeks look as though they have been dapped with a light rosary pastel. Snãyuè's hair falls straight down. Oddly cut it is short like a boy's in back, but gradually becomes longer to look as though her hair reaches far past her breast line. She has short curving bangs that come down and ends one inch before her brows. Snãyuè's lips are lined in a light pink. It all allows her to have some sort of contrast to her always pale complexion. Below her left eye are three rubies embedded into her skin.

One thing of her wardrobe stand out excessively. Around Snãyuè's neck is a dim grey ribbon, in the back it is tied in a small bow the two ends that fall loose flow around. Ending right before her waist line. To the side of the ribbon is a pale red moth. The moth is composed of three diamonds, two rubies, and the rest of it is lace. This small thing seems to determine the rest of her wardrobe.

On her upper half she wears a dim grey liner. Zipped; it is tightly fitting, it's neck is a 'v' low cut. Accenting her slim body the liner has no sleeves. Rather it is held up by her chest. On her arms, she wears slate grey gloves. Feeling of the material is silk it breaks off at her pointer finger, from there it merges to a black pattern that goes along the top of the glove in a rectangular pattern. It then jumps at her wrists then fallowed by two black strips that turn to embroil the rim.

Snãyuè's lower half is not complexly done as her upper half. It is kept rather elegant and simple. Wearing a flowing skirt, shaded in the same shade of grey, it falls loosely and trails behind her for two feet. In the front it is over lapped at the top. Forming a slit mid way that goes all the way down it allows her legs to be seen as she walks, or to cross them as she sits. She wears white stocks and a black garter belt. The lacing of black straps can be seen around the tops of her stockings. There are rubies placed lining the last, round, strap. For foot wears she wears dim grey ankle boots.



[b]Personality:[/b] Rather strong mentally, she shows few emotions on her sleeves. Joy seems to be the only feeling shows. And ironically, to those out side the empire it is the only thing they know that Snãyuè may even feel. However, no one seems to notice her attitude change when fighting. Or behind closed doors.

Anger. Spite. Lust. Revenge. Pride. Hatred. Fear. These are what motivates her to fight. However, beyond all of this there is one thing that fills her souls, which is the fear of always being alone. That fear has caused her to do what she does and how she dose it. She acts much as though shess a ghost. Snãyuè has been able to fool everyone around her and her-self. She's intelligent and smart enough to tell her-self. Reassure her self, that she knows what to do to keep those around her under heel.

Rule with an iron fist, but show the people nothing but joy and happiness. And they shall, in turn, stand by you.

[b]Weapons:[/b] Snãyuè can easily fight in hand to hand combat and martial arts as the rest of the Zhènyû Empire. However she rather rely on her speed and skill wielding an Butterfly Ore.

[i] - It is measured to be 2 feet in length, and the blades extending to be 1 more feet added on each end. Totaling to 4 feet. The slim blades face opposite on each side, one has a smoothly cut edge, the other is jagged for tearing the opponent apart. The handle smooth and embroiled in the middle with a moth, it is made of pure steel. Rather heavy she must wield it with two hands.[/i]


[b]Introductions are in Order:[/b]


[i][b]That was then...[/b][/i]
Little Snãyuè: I hate coming to these things. They're boring and irrelevant. To anything.

Her mother smacked her. Snãyuè looked over to her; a bit hurt. Her mother then unrolled her papers back into perfectly flat state.

Mother: Bite your tongue, and don't be a little brat. You're normally such a good child, when alone. Why can't you behave within the same manner when in public? Right now, this day has absolutely nothing to do with you. It is about your father and the Zhènyû family name.

She stared at her mother for a moment. Abruptly, she stood and bowed not lifting her head she began apologizing, and promising to her mother not to complain. One eye looked upwards to see her mother's approving nod. Snãyuè sat back down. Her mother patting her head.

Mother: One day, you'll have to fight as well.

Little Snãyuè nodded and turned back. Now her full attention to the arena in front of her.



[i][b]This is now...[/b][/i]
She looked over to the man who stood beside her. Shaking her head in disapproval. He was true, that this was only going to be her third fight within the arena. But she was too prideful to back out, even if it cost her her life. And still...She smiled. More happily then before. Standing up straight she picked up her Butterfly Ore and slung it across her back.

"This opponent is different from those you've seen thus far."
She nodded. "I know, but I know I'll win. I'm fighting to up hold my self. I'll never fail."
The man started to laugh.
"Looky now? Who's the bigot between us?"

Snãyuè laughed as well but she hurried down. She stopped as the man turned his view and looked down to the arena to watch the current fight. Silently the women turned and wrapped her hand around the mans neck. One finger moving done into the pressure point below he's neck. The man felt the texture of the glove as begun to break the first few layers of skin. He swiped his right leg to knock her off balance, which would have been easily done if not for the fact that she had known all his moves and tricks. The man could feel her hand grow tighter around his neck.

"Never again, doubt me for a second."
"No, I won-" the man was loosing air too quickly.

She released his neck, watching as he fell upon his knees. Her smiled turned into a smirk. Snãyuè kicked the man in his upper neck piece right were his spinal cord connected into the joint which broke to two different parts. One which linked the nerves to his brain the other to his skull. With the medulla throbbing he could not say a word. Snãyuè's laughing subsided.

"Wish me luck."

With this she left the man still clutching his throat trying to return to his normal breathing patterens. Snãyuè disappeared into the flooding crowds of people.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[Swordsaint]

Hey sounds like fun! It's a nice change from the norm.

Name: Keagan Desslanoch (des-lan-auk)
age: 29

Description:
Everything about Keagan glitteres with a deadly beauty. His auburn hair curls down his forehead a half inch His round, saphire eyes sparkle with a cold, intelligent light. When his pink colored lips part in a smile, people wonder, does he smile to be kind, or does he see something he can use?
His lithe, yet well muscled 6 ft. frame lies hidden beneath the finest silks and leathers from acrossed the land. Drapped round his shoulders is always a cape of navy blue, dangling from his neck is a platinum necklace, stamped with his name and his family crest. Rarely is he found not richley dressed for any occasion, and rarer still is he found without his Flambert, a type of dueling sword, with five blue diamonds embedded into its silver hilt. And riding elagently from his right hip, carried in a silver lined black leather holster is his families Ivory dueling pistol.

Personality: Smart, talented, educated and rich, Keagan is aware of these things and never hesitates to flaunt any. His parties are known to attract the cream of the crop for their hedonistic pleasures. His sharp mind and cunning wit have made his tongue as sharp as his sword, and nearly as deadly. More than a few have died on his sword, or with a word to choice ears.
Rarely is there anything he cannot have, and if he can't have it, he yearns for it until he does have it.

Weapons: His weapons are practical in terms of use, but expensive in appearance.

Flambert- a type of dueling Rapier, the blade is wider than most other blades of it's kind, but still light and quick. Keagan had it made specifically for his tastes from damascus steel, and there is no inch of this masterfully crafted weapon he does not know. It's silver basket handgaurd is emblazoned with trumpeting angels and unicorns rearing up in worship ofthe tenmoons crest. Five Blue diamonds take the place of five of the silver moons
Family pistol- Always wanting the rarest and most valuable of items, the family pistol was of course on Keagan's list. The handle was carved from pure, solid ivory, and the parts made by the greatests gun smiths of it's time. This pistol still has few equals in terms of beauty, cost, and deadliness.

Introductions are in order:

[SIZE=1][I]17 years ago...[/I]

"But father, I'd rather not got to the academy." Keagans father looked quizically at him.
"Oh? And what would you rather do? Stay here and make foolish play at being the head of this house! You'd rather stay here and cripple me while I'm away!" His fathers face had contorted into a mask of rage as his hand raised, curling into a mighty fist. Keagan shut his eyes awaiting the inevitable blow. Whack! Keagan tumbled to the floor, blood pooling from his nose.

His father sniffed in disdain. "You can't even defend yourself properly like gentleman, this is more proof that you should be sent away." his father turned his back Keagan who sat up on his knees holding a cloth to his bloodied nose.
"Hopefully when you return, you will be more worthy of serving your eldest brother when he assumes control of this house."

[I]11 years later...[/I]

The butler had burst into Lord Desslanoch's room, his face flushed and running with cold sweat.

"My lord! Y-your eldest son!" the butler stammered trying to spit the chilling news from his cold lips. Lord Desslanoch's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"What of my son?"
The butler swallowed. "My lord, Your youngest son Keagan has...has bested him in a duel!"
Desslanoch's eyes widened in suprise. His head tilted back and his mouth opened wide, roaring with a hearty laughter.
"hahahaha! Soe Keagan's time at the academy well spent. hmmm" he snapped his fingers and another of his servants filled a diamond glass full of bandy. He poured it into his gapping maw.
"What of it, if Keagan bested him, then he had become weak. Name my Daughter Alycia the heir of the house then.

"I'm afraid she has passed on to the afterlife dear father." Heads swiveled to the door in shock as Keagan stepped in "she went to her room to wait for Lord Danathor's reply to her proposal. She slipped from the balcony." Keagan smiled, a cold, predatory smile."

His father stood waving of the servants. They bowed, ducking out of the room.
"what of it, you are the youngest. You still have five other siblings who will..."
"Who will be mourned." keagan cut him off sharply, glaring at him through his bone chilling eyes. "You see, I learned foresight at the academy. I learned swordplay, marksmanship, how to be diplomatic." Lord Desslanoch tugged at the collar of his shirt, sweat beading on his reddening face. He took a slow step towards the matle were the family pistol was kept. He spun reaching for it, blinking in shock when his hand grasped empty air. Keagan chuckled cruelly.

"I thought I had said I learned foresight." Keagan drew back his cloak, revealing the ivory pistol. Keagan's father sneered.
"you'll not lay a hand on me, I can still best you at the sword!" Hist gnarled old hand snapped onto the handle quicker than the eye could follow. "And I'll name your one of your cousins my heir!" he wobbled slightly, suddenly feeling very weak

"You know your probably right about besting me at sword play. Buuut..." Keagan drew a small green vial "your poor senile old mind still can't out think mine." Desslanoch gasped clutching his throat. "I wonder, how will you ever get the orders brought about to name my cousins heirs to the house? that would be a great feat indeed." Keagan smiled wistfully as the old man collapsed to the ground convulsing violently. He gave one final heave of his massive chest, then lay still, eyes clouding over, seeing no longer. Keagan stepped forward drawing his blade. He pressed it against his chest, and quickly slashed himself, blood dripped to the floor in long rivulets. Then he raised his sword high, and plunged it into his father's corpse.

Keagan sniffed as he stepped over his father's corpse, sitting himself comfortably in his father's large leather cushioned chair. He rang a small golden bell, the servants crept back in slowly, staring in shock at the body laying still on the floor.

"Let it be known that I challenged my father to duel. One that he lost." Keagan leaned back as the butler left for a surgeon. " Have my father's body buried next to my syblings graves." The servants all bowed to him. Keagan couldn't help but smile in true satisfaction.[/SIZE]

[Onix]

[COLOR=DarkSlateBlue][SIZE=1]Bloody brilliant, my friend

[B]Name[/B]: Xairiel Noctus Malebranche (Shai-ree-el Noctus Mal-eh-branch)

[B]Age[/B]: 29

[B]Description[/B]: *see attachment* Minus the blade jutting from his arm.
His favorite outfit, however, is not the one pictured. Being a man of gothic elegance, he prefers a black, white, or red silk shirt, black pants of any fine fabric, and an extravegant black cloak or long coat.
He is rarely seen without several pieces of jewelery as well:
[I]A silver cross necklace with four shards of ruby in the center.
A silver sword pendant with a diamond in the hilt.
A silver pentagram necklace with a black opal in the center.
A silver dragon ring.
A white-gold ring with a large black opal.[/I]

[B]Personality[/B]: Xairiel is a man split in twain. On the surface, he is charming and witty, a brilliant mind with a careful tongue and glorious word always poised to flatter anyone in his general area. He is brilliant, articulate, with a masterful command of the English language. He regularly steals the hearts of women, and earns the admiration of men.

But beneath the golden veneer of his public life, Xairiel is the most dangerous man you could ever meet. Less known than his reputation for winning the hands of ladies is holding grudges until his enemies meet death. In battle, he is sadistic and merciless, drawing out death to a painful experience rivalling the fires of hell. His fury is legendary, his tongue sharp as steel.

[B]Weapons[/B]: While just about anything in the psychotic Xairiel's hands can easily become a deadly weapon, he always makes sure to keep Ebron and Ier (twin swords with black and white hilts, respectively) close at hand.

[B]Introductions are in Order[/B]:
Xairiel sat in his dim bedchamber on the edge of his blood red silk sheets. Ier lay next to him, and Ebron was lain across his waist. He held the blade gently, polishing it with a scrap of cloth.

Suddenly, the doors flung open, light flooding the dark room. Xairiel was on his feet in an istant, Ebron pointed to the doorway. A skinny, pale blonde woman in a scimpy, rich black dress stood with arms crossed, thick red lips pouting as her vivid green eyes flashed.

"Xairiel, you said you'd take me to the ball tonight," whined the blonde. "I want to go [I]now[/I]."

"Bloody wench, you nearly made me kill you," snarled Xairiel. "And you should know I say a [I]lot[/I] of things I don't mean, Miranda."

Miranda took a step back, her petulant glare faltering, but she quickly walked up to Xairiel as he turned to place Ebron on the bed next to Ier.

"Please Xai," she cooed, making sure to rub up against him. "It would mean [I]so[/I] much if you took me. I mean, everyone will be there; Sarra Kleinholt, Rienhart Tarriey, Goran Kier..."

"Kier will be there!?" Xairiel snapped.

He whirled on Miranda, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. She stared at his burning blue eyes in fear.

"Y...yes..."

Xairiel quickly let go, and Miranda fell to the floor, sniffling. The silver-haired man paced towards his swords, drawing up Ier.

"Perhaps we [I]will[/I] go, Miranda," Xairiel sneered, watching her reflection in Ier's highly polished blade. "I do have some business with Mr. Kier."

Miranda's face lit up and she quickly rose against Xairiel's body, pressing hard against his muscular frame.

"Oh, thank you lover," she cooed. "I'll make sure to repay you."

[I]Finally dealing with Kier is enough payment for me, you little slut,[/I] Xairiel thought. [I]But I suppose I shan't turn her down.[/I]

A wicked smile played on his face as he led Miranda into the hallway, Ier held securely by his side. True, he had just polished it, but he knew quite well by know how to easily remove blood stains.[/SIZE][/COLOR]

[Angelus_Necare]

.:Lysander's Theme:.
[color=dimgray][size=1]

Name: Lysander Emric Sechwan.

Age: 30

Description: [See pic below also]
Lysander stands roughly at 6'1" with a rather relaxed yet gracefull posture that rarely falters or changes for that matter. His greatest pride is his snowy white hair, the full length of it reaching well below his lower back. Usually braided, he is notorious for unleashing it at social events where extremely long hair on men seems to have become somewhat taboo. Dazzling green eyes will stalk you about the room, and flash looks ranging from anger to amusment to lust within the flash of a moment.

Lysander's wardrobe resembles his hair to a degree, as far as hue is concerned. He will refuse to wear anything that is dimmer than the purest shade of white, and would rather go somewhere naked than to donn a shade of grey. His stylings are stylish yet also functional, as far as comfort is concerned...Silk is the fabric of choice, materializing cravats, vests, sashes, top hats, gloves and an assorment of unmentionables. The rest is made from the softest cottons and various other materials to fashion loose slacks, shirts, and a large variety of flattering longcoats.

Personality: Lysander puts on his best for public show and simply nothing less will do. He's always first to somehow proove that he's much different and much better than anyone else who might be in the same room as him. Most times he can express himself without making a simple action due to his rather "interesting" apperance, or perhaps his reputation for being a shameless sex fiend precedes him. If his exotic visage doesn't arouse hushed voices, then he will precede to show off his flamboyant nature rather shamelessly, the phrase, "hold your tounge" obviously never applied to this man. Whatever the case may be Lysader always expects (and usualy does) get a response. What kind doesn't really matter to him, as long as he can squeeze some sort of reaction out of the general populus, he's a relatively happy
socialite.

Underneith Lysander's attention seeking antics lies a scheming, wicked soul. He cares very little about anyone but himself, and will make great strives for what he thinks should be his. Once he has his eye on something it will be gained as his, or destroyed as no one else's. He has a rather dark humor about things, and will resort to sickening tactics to get any job at hand done.

Weapons:

Lysander's Cane- What appears to be a smooth ivory cane with a curved handle encrusted with various sized diamonds is actualy a hidden rapier that can be unsheathed and used before the victim knows what's happened.

Introductions are in order:

Emerald eyes swept slowly accross the entrance hall, taking in each guest with mild intrest. These social gatherings were begining to become quite boring, Lysander thought idly, still looking about the room. He imagined that he'd no longer be invited to these events after the time he declaired (quite loudly) what unspeakable acts he would rather be engaging in were he not stuck in some poor excuse for a gathering. Perhaps the invitation was punishment for his last act, or a dare to see if he'd do a repeat performance. Nevertheless the man simply could not refuse to make an apperance in public even if he wanted to, it seemed somewhat of a sickness.

His gaze paused for a moment as he focused on a pair that he had not had the pleasure of meeting before. With a mischevious smile and newfound ambition, Lysander gracefully made his way across the room, ignoring the quiet gossip that erupted in his wake.

The couple he approached were very new to these events indeed, young heirs it seemed, just being introduced to the higher society's foul attempt at induction. It would seem that the pair was left alone to fend for themselves, a form of aristocratic hazing. Perhaps this was Lysander's purpose, to harass the new money, since it was well known that he was an attention whore when it came to being social. Regardless, he did what was expected of him, now smiling down on the newcomers.

"G-good evening." The man of the pair stamered nervously, obviously trying too hard to appear something greater than he was. He was overdressed for one, and his chesnut hair was a complete mess...Lysander mentaly tisked as his gaze moved to the man's companion. The woman was far better off it seemed, she was accepting her surroundings with a grace that matched the greatest of those around her.

"Good evening to you sir and Madame..." Lysander's tenor voice rippled softly like velvet. The young man blinked nearly panicked,

"Ah, and evening to your guest as well." He added, eyeing over the man who was standing at the snowy-haired man's side quietly. Lysander gazed down to his left side, he would have forgotten his guest's presence were he not loyaly attached to his arm. The young man wore the trademark white garb that contrasted sharply with his pitch black hair and eyes, wearing an assortment of lace, leather, jewels and other attractive accesories that gave him a rather risque apperance. One of the reasons Lysander brought him along from one of his personal harems, to show him off and to attract the currious attention from those around him.

"I hope the evening will find you and yours well?" The young man spoke again, his female counterpart seemingly attracted to something off to her left at the moment. Lysander smiled, such terrible fun should be a crime.

"Oh, I'm certain he will find himself well, an evening of screaming pleasure in my quarters should be quite a treat." He chuckled, taking a moment to absorb the young man's surprised features before he ran a gloved finger up his partner's jawline, "Will it not?"

Before the young man, his guests, or any other eavesdropers could react, Lysander politely excused himself (rather loudly again) that he had other places to be, and frankly, other things to be doing...
[/size][/color]

[color=darkred][size=1]Ooh such fun...Lysander's theme by the way is a tune called "Silence and Light" by Alexandre Desplat.[/color][/size]

[Revelation]

[size=1][color=#696969][B]Name:[/B] Anansee Jamethiel Bryson

[B]Age:[/B] 28

[B]Description:[/B] A woman of elegance and beauty, [URL=http://www.santharia.com/pictures/enayla/enayla_pics/fan.jpg]Anansee[/URL] stands a fair 5'7", always adorning herself with jewelry and accessories resembling several different insects symbols. Her skin is a pale white with glittering eyes of emerald, full and pouting, rose red lips, and a button nose. Her body is slender and lithe, which accentuates her positive figure. Her legs are long and graceful, which makes her look as if she's gliding, and her fingers are remarkably fine and delicate, agile on the piano and violin. Around her neck is always an obsidian spider with two red jewels in the center of it. It is her signature jewelry, but her most prized possessions are her grandmary's journal and her book locket, which has the pictures of her grandmary and her parents. She loves to wear dangling earrings that glitters in the light, but most of all, she adores jewelry the colors of the Emerald Tree Boa, crab spiders, and dragonflies. Their ornate colors and beautiful designs intrigues her and in doing so, allows her to become fascinated with their shapes and colors and create them into jewelry and the like.

When attending a party, meeting, or one's house, this aristocrat illuminates by wearing shades of green, blue, red, and black. For each dress, she has a different set of jewelry to garnish herself. When attending a festivity, Anansee wears her spider's eyes mask, spider mask, magician's mask, or her sorceress' mask. It depends on how she feels and what she is wearing. When Anansee is at home or on an errand, or the like, she wears her deep ocean blue cloak, jet black pants, black tunic with silver trimmings, and brings her weapons with her.

[B]Personality:[/B] Unlike many of the other aristocrats here in Mordax, I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear. I do not walk out of my home with an airy and snobbish appearance, I appear with a straight and secure face, never looking up nor down. I appear with a dark and mysterious aura that makes people wonder things. It's not unknown to say that I am possibly the most venomous woman in all of Mordax. Yet, I do not allow my beauty to interfere with my business, nor do I allow it to get me anywhere or anything in life. My father had always taught me to never ask, but earn what you need.

Since the youngest of ages, I've been told that I would become a sadistic, sophisticated, powerful, and dark. It's true what they say, I am a sadistic, sophisticated, powerful, and dark woman, but not only am I these things, I am apathetic, sarcastic, strong, and cool. I care nothing for the aristocratic wealth nor do I care for the aristocratic ways. I live my life by my own rules, my ways, and my agenda. No one shall tell me otherwise, and no one shall show me otherwise.

My fathed had always told me, "Pity will bring you nothing and take you nowhere, passion, mercy, patience, and control will bring you the riches of the world. You must earn what you wish for. Hard-work will make the soul stronger and the mind willed." And since then, I have become a woman of moral and responsibility.

[B]Weapons:[/B] One of the few women known to handle a sword, Anansee possesses a blade unlike any other. The Vipère Lamelle is developed from the renassaince rapier and schiavona. Its intricate details make it a slender and lithe sword to handle. With the schiavona's well balance and the rapier's lithe cut-and-thrust, the Vipère becomes a weapon of elegance.

A second weapon that Anansee uses is her Araignée. It is shaped like a spider hair clip, but when a few drops of her clear chemical upon it, it comes to life and becomes whatever she wishes it to be. The Araignée was originally designed for a delicate hair clip, but the shape intrigued her to further its abilities to become one of her greatest weapons. The Araignée is just as deadly as she and always comes out with a twist.

[B]Introductions are in Order:[/B]

[B][I]IBack in the Day[/I][/B]
It was early December, the snow had begun to fall and the streets were filled with a white carpet. Anansee was sitting at her marble piano, watching outside of her window, looking at the children at play. The laughter and the flowing notes became one and her mind was filled with a story and pictures. She closed her eyes and imagined a beautiful lake, surrounded by a glistening white path and jade statues. A young girl, about the age of 10 walked hand in hand towards the end of the path with her mother and father. She looked up to see smiling faces looking down at her. A ray of sunshine hit the statues and everything brightened. When she was finished, Anansee opened her eyes and looked to her mother, who nodded.

Walking up to her room, Anansee closed the door behind her and plopped in front of the ruby red trunk at the foot of her bed. She carefully opened it and took out the beautiful journal that was given to her from her grandmother. She was in awe of it and did not want to ruin its ornate pages. As she flipped through the pages, a card fell out which Anansee had not seen. She picked it up and read it. It had read:

[I]To my dearest granddaughter, I give this to you years before your coming of age. I am afraid that I may not be able to attend your Ivorian Day. I may not be able to see you for ages to come. I suppose, I'm asking you to write your most wonderful thoughts and pour your heart into this journal and remember me. Do not tell your mother and father that I put this second card in here. Don't be afraid, my young one. I will always be near you, no matter what.

With much love,
Grandmary.[/I]

Anansee was confused, but soon understood and smiled sweetly. She held onto the journal and sat at her desk, holding out a pen and thinking.

[B][I]Now in the Present[/B][/I]
I could still hear the laughter of the children even at this age. The cold winter breezed outside and I stood inside of my parents' home, which became mine after their death. There was news that another battle would be present and that I was invited. I'd rather not attend, yet it would be rude not to appear before my invitee. I was always taught to attend where there will be people and present myself, so that I could bring much honor and respect to my family's name. Alas, most of these people despise that my father was the most wealthy man in all of Mordax, as well as the most, well-respected man. It's such a shame that these people are hypocritical and not understanding.

I haven't introduced myself, have I? My name is Anansee Jamethiel Bryson, of the House of Bryson. I am a respected aristocrat in the place of my father, Lord Sabien von Bryson the IV. I stand in the lines of royalty and high power, but to get there, I must earn my way. I must use my strengths and weaknesses to become the greatest. My fear? I have no fears, only that of which I am scared of. I do not squabble, I do not steal, nor do I prostitute, like some girls in the society. I was born and raised to be polite, strong, and apathetic. You could say my father raised me the way he would raise a son. You're stifling a laugh, I presume? Quite alright, I'm perfectly happy the way I am. My personality may be stronger than most men, but I am still a woman. There is a party at the Temozaraila house. I wish to attend and I must prepare myself, so if you will excuse me.[/size][/color]

[DragonBlood]

Wow...this is crazy.

Name: Luthon Breged Rethus Morterol Gredar IV

Age: 38

Discription: See attachment

Personality: Luthon might be considered slightly less brutal and ruthless when compaired to others, but only slightly. He fears little, and has been known to prevoke a duel over a simple look. He greatly enjoys the arena, and has many fighters contacted to himself and his family, the Morterol Gredar family. Luthon is very proud of his abilities. He will be seen playing the social part often and he no doubt loves it. He flirts with the ladies as often as he duels with the men. If any thing he is well known to come to parties late and stay even later. His one true fear is that he will die with out love, for he has never truely loved any of the women he has known. His quest, weather or not he knows it, is to find a lover who will not betray him for her own gain.

Weapons:
His first, best, and most prized weapon is his Rapier, perfectly balanced, and near unfathomly sharp. The basket hilt is super finely detailed, made of platnum as is the entier blade, The sheath is white gold, with gold emblems. The Gaurd is studded with dimonds and pearls and other presious stones.
His second weapon, the one he turly prides himself in, is his fire blue bladed katana. the hilt gaurd is pure gold, and the blade is, like the Rapier, made of platnum. The handle is made of blue saphire. The sheath is blue saphire with white gold accents and emblems.

Introductions are in Order:

"The fight goes to Therna Sul, fighter of Luthon Breged Rethus Morterol Gredar the fourth!" The crowd cheared, Luthon stood. He wore his traditional white black and red garb, it was what he commonly wore to the arena. Luthon pulled his Rapier from its sheath and held it verticaly in front of his face, the fighter Therna Sul did the same with his sword. Luthon then spread his arms to the crowd, who applauded him.

Luthon left the arena, his next fighter was not up for some four rounds. He made his way down to the fighter's barracks and preperation area, but was stopped by a nearly red Thul Undol Kindrid, "Luthon you cheated me!" Luthon looked at this man who was accusing him, and couldn't help but smile, "Bah, lay not your complaints on me! I would tell you to complain to your fighter, but it seems to be preoccupied, dead as he is." Thul stormed up to Luthon, nearly forgetting any of his status or upbringing. "You dare assume your fighter was accually better than mine!?" Luthon pushed the other man away sternly, "It seems that way to me, if you were not blind as you are you would see that as well. Why do you fret over this one fighter, if he died then he was not worth what ever you were paying him." Luthon begain to continue but Thul stepped infront of him, "That was my prize fighter Luthon, you owe me-" Luthon cut him off harshly, "I owe you nothing! Do not disturb me with you pettyness you unrefined fool! Shut up and flee from my sight befor you end up like your fighter or worse!" Thul grabbed Luthon's jacket in anger, Luthon pulled his Rapeir from its sheath and sliced the hand that had grabbed him clean off, all in one quick motion, he then proceded to slice off on of the mans ears and a small portion of his nose. He then wiped his blade on a clean section of Thul's jacket and put it back in its sheath. "Now go in disgrace from my sight fool." Luthon pushed Thul in to a wall were he left him to clutch his wounds.

After his last fighter faught in the arena Luthon had an engagment at a party. He made his way to his own manor, and changed into an elegant red outfit and placed his Rapier in its marble case. Then he went off to the party...

When he arrived he approched the first single woman that came into view, "Madam, may I have the plessure of sitting with you?" The women smilled, and made room for him on the large sofa, "That is a very elegant dress, if I may be alowed." The woman smiled and nodded at him, "Thank you."...


----
I got to go. If you want any thing else, just ask.

[Revelation]

[size=1][color=#696969]I hope you know that this died. It's been dead for quite some time.[/size][/color]

[DragonBlood]

Oh, that sucks. It seemed cool