Post by Isarquin Sorel on Jul 31, 2016 23:59:22 GMT
Full Name: Isarquin Sorel, however his true Elven name was lost to him upon leaving faespace
Alises: ‘Jocelyn Battier’, a human equestrian hobbyist when in public and his ears are hidden
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown and indeterminable; appears as possibly early thirties, but that is difficult to determine
Magic: Telepathy, Farsight, Exorcism, all extremely proficient in each
Race: Elven
Organization: Whisperdark Coven
Rank: Boardmember
Description:
Height lends no favors to the elf, Isarquin Sorel. Being of a tall race to begin with, the fae world thought it humorous to tack on a few extra inches, as though they wanted to see how long it would take for the tree of an elf to start ducking under low hanging eaves or door frames. "Spider Legs", as he has called himself on more than one occasion, stands at a 'meager' six feet & five inches. Isarquin stands even a few good inches over other elves, and it makes for blending into a crowd all the more difficult. His build is a surprise to many, deceptive, as upon first glance he looks fairly lanky and twiggy with limbs being too long. However, under whatever finely tailored piece of clothing he may be wearing lies a rather honed, solid elf. A swimmer's build, some call it, with a muscle structure that is carved to show that he does much more than just stand around and look 'pretty'. Few scars and scrapes adorn his body, but nothing unusual is of note. His hands and fingers are equally as long and delicate, every digit and nail is tended to.
Isarquin, as though his height did little to help hide, stands out more than just by the length of his legs. He is, for lack of a better term, strikingly handsome. The elf’s countenance is chiseled out of a light, dusky pallid skin. His facial structure is exceptionally sharp, both his high, gaunt cheekbones and his strong, set jaw. He would look sickly, gravely ill, if he were to drop a few pounds. His eyes are narrow, just slightly upturned at the outside apex. A pair of cool, grey-blue pupils rest within, though they are a touch off putting as they seem clouded over and matte, and a small amount of smudgy, smoky kohl ring his lids, more of an appearance of seeming unwell. No facial hair is seen, as he is very meticulous about being clean shaven at all times. He takes extreme care in his skin care regiment, and the fruits of his labor are seen by the lack of wrinkles or blemishes. And being immortal does help in this more than any expensive creams ever could.
An equally as sharp nose rests in the middle of his face, with the most minute of imperfections, a bend (to the right) of the bridge before straightening back out. This is courtesy of a swift jab that just happened to connect, resulting in a broken snout, God love the poor soul. His nostrils, a tiny upward turn, giving him the expression of something smelling foul, especially if he makes a sour face. His lips are thin, perpetually set into a straight line, however this does not hide the almost feminine curve and quality of them. To complete the package, he almost always wears an expression of complete and utter disinterest. Any sort of emotion he ever happens to show is bland, bored, giving the impression of either not fully invested in what happenings are around him or that he lives in a constant state of daydreaming. "Are you even listening?" some have asked.
Jutting out from both sides of his skull are a pair of long ears, with the appearance of him having pulled on the tips to craft them in an exaggerated fashion. They are satellites that, if one were just speculating, amplify an elf’s already sensitive hearing. Gracing the long ears are a handful of decorative ear piercings. In the lobe, his first set, which always adorn some intricate piece of jewelry, more often than not a gaudy chandelier earring of sorts. Traveling up his lobes are another set of piercings, these housing diminutive hooped rings in each. Past that, the last piercing he owns is marked by yet another small hoop, on his right forward helix, close to the base of his ear.
And to top off the tall elf, is a head of thick, long, dark brown hair. It is naturally straight, lacking any wave, and pulled back into a twisted bun. From the base of his left ear, at the temple, a thick, two inch wide braid begins, the hair wound back until it is tucked away inside the twisted tail. It's composition looks hastily done, as some sprigs of hair are sticking out of the bun, and at times a long strand or two falling from the nape of his neck over a shoulder. A few bangs hang loose around his face after having fallen free from the trappings. The messy care seems to be intentional, purposefully making him look windswept.
Personality:
Upon first meeting, Isarquin has the personality of a brown paper bag that has gotten soggy. His expressions are one speed, and that is apparent boredom. Many a time he is caught simply staring at whoever is speaking to him, and he usually seems to be zoned out during this time. When he does strike up a conversation, his responses are usually flat and monotone, lacking any real spark. However, if said person decides to stay around longer than the first few seconds of ear bleeding pain and the recipient of the wonderful encounter pays attention, a new Isarquin begins to emerge. Interest and intrigue begins to take shape, as he is always listening and learning. Deadpan snark starts mixing in, which to most outsiders could be taken as seriousness. On more than one occasion he has had to follow up a statement with a swift "I'm joking", as some of his sarcasm has easily been taken as fact.
Isarquin is a distrusting, introverted sort who spends a good majority of his time holed away in his home. When the stars align and when he has reason, the elf emerges and becomes a solid member of any order, group, or society. Most all he meets and begins to form any bond with he keeps at arm's length, not offering to let anyone close. He will ask and probe questions, wanting to get to know and have a better understanding of any new friendships or partnerships he forms; yet he is hesitant to divulge any information about himself. This leads to others trusting him before he ever trusts them. Often times than not, once he is around those he enjoys, a touch of playfulness and mirth will take shape.
History:
Isarquin wasn’t completely sure when he first stepped out of the Between, but many… Many years later he did study the time frame of when he first arrived Earthside, and it was around the turn of the 9th century. The break in reality from where her crossed over from the Between was right in the middle of Lyon, France, which was fairly interesting to begin with because the crossover happened to be in the washroom of the Archbishop; or to be more specific, the linen closet which is in the washroom of the Archbishop. The medieval ages weren’t exactly exciting enough for him, and he did eventually retreat back into faespace for another couple centuries before returning once again in time for the Hundred Years War and the rise of Joan of Arc. In and out he went, toying with his natural faelien talents of Exorcism and Farsight, even occasionally throwing some Telepathy in there to cause… Okay, he may or may not have contributed a little to some of the voices Joan of Arc had heard. He did contribute, though he will vehemently deny anything of the sort.
During the 1600s, Isarquin decided to take another stroll through French life, this time popping out in Varsailles and pretending to live the life there. He enjoyed the finery of the royal chateau, but during the French Revolution, he was forced to flee, which only led him back in and out of faespace until the end of the 1800s and the beginning of World War I. From there he traveled to London, almost as though he were destined to be there for the Blitz.
(( THIS IS SUPER WIP. FORMAT WILL CHANGE, INFORMATION WILL BE ADDED OMG THIS IS BAD ))
Alises: ‘Jocelyn Battier’, a human equestrian hobbyist when in public and his ears are hidden
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown and indeterminable; appears as possibly early thirties, but that is difficult to determine
Magic: Telepathy, Farsight, Exorcism, all extremely proficient in each
Race: Elven
Organization: Whisperdark Coven
Rank: Boardmember
Description:
Height lends no favors to the elf, Isarquin Sorel. Being of a tall race to begin with, the fae world thought it humorous to tack on a few extra inches, as though they wanted to see how long it would take for the tree of an elf to start ducking under low hanging eaves or door frames. "Spider Legs", as he has called himself on more than one occasion, stands at a 'meager' six feet & five inches. Isarquin stands even a few good inches over other elves, and it makes for blending into a crowd all the more difficult. His build is a surprise to many, deceptive, as upon first glance he looks fairly lanky and twiggy with limbs being too long. However, under whatever finely tailored piece of clothing he may be wearing lies a rather honed, solid elf. A swimmer's build, some call it, with a muscle structure that is carved to show that he does much more than just stand around and look 'pretty'. Few scars and scrapes adorn his body, but nothing unusual is of note. His hands and fingers are equally as long and delicate, every digit and nail is tended to.
Isarquin, as though his height did little to help hide, stands out more than just by the length of his legs. He is, for lack of a better term, strikingly handsome. The elf’s countenance is chiseled out of a light, dusky pallid skin. His facial structure is exceptionally sharp, both his high, gaunt cheekbones and his strong, set jaw. He would look sickly, gravely ill, if he were to drop a few pounds. His eyes are narrow, just slightly upturned at the outside apex. A pair of cool, grey-blue pupils rest within, though they are a touch off putting as they seem clouded over and matte, and a small amount of smudgy, smoky kohl ring his lids, more of an appearance of seeming unwell. No facial hair is seen, as he is very meticulous about being clean shaven at all times. He takes extreme care in his skin care regiment, and the fruits of his labor are seen by the lack of wrinkles or blemishes. And being immortal does help in this more than any expensive creams ever could.
An equally as sharp nose rests in the middle of his face, with the most minute of imperfections, a bend (to the right) of the bridge before straightening back out. This is courtesy of a swift jab that just happened to connect, resulting in a broken snout, God love the poor soul. His nostrils, a tiny upward turn, giving him the expression of something smelling foul, especially if he makes a sour face. His lips are thin, perpetually set into a straight line, however this does not hide the almost feminine curve and quality of them. To complete the package, he almost always wears an expression of complete and utter disinterest. Any sort of emotion he ever happens to show is bland, bored, giving the impression of either not fully invested in what happenings are around him or that he lives in a constant state of daydreaming. "Are you even listening?" some have asked.
Jutting out from both sides of his skull are a pair of long ears, with the appearance of him having pulled on the tips to craft them in an exaggerated fashion. They are satellites that, if one were just speculating, amplify an elf’s already sensitive hearing. Gracing the long ears are a handful of decorative ear piercings. In the lobe, his first set, which always adorn some intricate piece of jewelry, more often than not a gaudy chandelier earring of sorts. Traveling up his lobes are another set of piercings, these housing diminutive hooped rings in each. Past that, the last piercing he owns is marked by yet another small hoop, on his right forward helix, close to the base of his ear.
And to top off the tall elf, is a head of thick, long, dark brown hair. It is naturally straight, lacking any wave, and pulled back into a twisted bun. From the base of his left ear, at the temple, a thick, two inch wide braid begins, the hair wound back until it is tucked away inside the twisted tail. It's composition looks hastily done, as some sprigs of hair are sticking out of the bun, and at times a long strand or two falling from the nape of his neck over a shoulder. A few bangs hang loose around his face after having fallen free from the trappings. The messy care seems to be intentional, purposefully making him look windswept.
Personality:
Upon first meeting, Isarquin has the personality of a brown paper bag that has gotten soggy. His expressions are one speed, and that is apparent boredom. Many a time he is caught simply staring at whoever is speaking to him, and he usually seems to be zoned out during this time. When he does strike up a conversation, his responses are usually flat and monotone, lacking any real spark. However, if said person decides to stay around longer than the first few seconds of ear bleeding pain and the recipient of the wonderful encounter pays attention, a new Isarquin begins to emerge. Interest and intrigue begins to take shape, as he is always listening and learning. Deadpan snark starts mixing in, which to most outsiders could be taken as seriousness. On more than one occasion he has had to follow up a statement with a swift "I'm joking", as some of his sarcasm has easily been taken as fact.
Isarquin is a distrusting, introverted sort who spends a good majority of his time holed away in his home. When the stars align and when he has reason, the elf emerges and becomes a solid member of any order, group, or society. Most all he meets and begins to form any bond with he keeps at arm's length, not offering to let anyone close. He will ask and probe questions, wanting to get to know and have a better understanding of any new friendships or partnerships he forms; yet he is hesitant to divulge any information about himself. This leads to others trusting him before he ever trusts them. Often times than not, once he is around those he enjoys, a touch of playfulness and mirth will take shape.
History:
Isarquin wasn’t completely sure when he first stepped out of the Between, but many… Many years later he did study the time frame of when he first arrived Earthside, and it was around the turn of the 9th century. The break in reality from where her crossed over from the Between was right in the middle of Lyon, France, which was fairly interesting to begin with because the crossover happened to be in the washroom of the Archbishop; or to be more specific, the linen closet which is in the washroom of the Archbishop. The medieval ages weren’t exactly exciting enough for him, and he did eventually retreat back into faespace for another couple centuries before returning once again in time for the Hundred Years War and the rise of Joan of Arc. In and out he went, toying with his natural faelien talents of Exorcism and Farsight, even occasionally throwing some Telepathy in there to cause… Okay, he may or may not have contributed a little to some of the voices Joan of Arc had heard. He did contribute, though he will vehemently deny anything of the sort.
During the 1600s, Isarquin decided to take another stroll through French life, this time popping out in Varsailles and pretending to live the life there. He enjoyed the finery of the royal chateau, but during the French Revolution, he was forced to flee, which only led him back in and out of faespace until the end of the 1800s and the beginning of World War I. From there he traveled to London, almost as though he were destined to be there for the Blitz.
(( THIS IS SUPER WIP. FORMAT WILL CHANGE, INFORMATION WILL BE ADDED OMG THIS IS BAD ))
