Fleurette
Joined: 12 Aug 2010
Posts: 11
Location: Canada
Thu Aug 12, 2010 11:35 pm |
 Post subject: Shaye Harcourte |
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Name: Shaye Harcourte
Age: 21 years
Age Appearance: 21 years
Gender: Male
Species/Race: Halfbreed (Damir x Angel)
Appearance: 
Fullbody
Shaye wears his hair blonde, longish and straight, and usually down, though he will sometimes tie it up if it's in the way. He has silvery-lavender eyes that often change shades depending on the weather and refined features that hint at his parentage. He is slim, but not skinny, well-groomed and well-kept and often formally-dressed. He prefers dress shirts and fashionably tight slacks, or the ever-trendy tunic / waistcoat combination with again, fashionably tight pants and almost always wears knee-high boots.
He wears two small gold hoop earrings in his left ear and has a small tattoo of a stylized sparrow, the sun and the ocean on the inside of his right wrist. He also likes rings and necklaces, but has so many that it's never the same piece(s) of jewelry two days in a row.
Also, due to his mixed bloodlines, he has neither the wings of an Angel, nor the tail of a Damir, but instead, has light lavender-white markings on his back - a dashed line that starts at the base of his neck and moves down his spine and ends at his tailbone (assumed to be in place of the tail he would have had) and markings in the same color, but in the shape of simple wings on his shoulderblades (assumed to be in place of the wings he lacks).
Personality: Shaye's very intelligent; maybe not Einsteinian in his brilliance, but certainly scholarly, though he sometimes looks down on others, a trait he blames his Damir blood for. But, tempered as it is with his mother's half of the family, it's not present all the time, and when it is, it is not blatant.
Educated and classy, Shaye's elegant in how he carries himself and acts. What he says and does points to a sense of dignity and as does the fact that he knows his place in society very well and is content to be among the top few. He enjoys fine dining, parties and socializing with others of his status, but employs people who are dirt-poor as a way of offering them an opportunity to rise out of the muck they were born into.
But he also has a playful side, especially with Aaralyn and his horses, all of whom he spoils rotten. Though he hides it fairly well, but he doesn't feel that he fits in anywhere but with the animals. He feels that, since the deaths of his parents, they're the only connection he has and he can't help but feel lonely despite Aaralyn's constant companionship.
History: Born of mixed parentage, Shaye was ostracized by both the Damir to scorned his lack of a tail and Waladin and his father's marriage, and largely ignored by the angels, who neither supported or rejected his mother's decision to marry a Damir. The subject of intense teasing as a child, he instead turned to books and pictures, educating himself and seeking solace in pages that passed no judgement.
By ten, it was clear that while he enjoyed longevity from both sides of the family, he neither had his mother's immortality nor, it seemed, his father's ability to have a Waladin, things which only added to Shaye's feelings of disconnect from his heritage. To add insult to injury, the village council had reached a conclusion for a ten year-long debate: whether to outcast the family, or allow them to remain. The decision was to banish them and forbid their return under pain of death.
For their health and safety, the small family moved away from the solely-Damir village where Shaye had been raised until then, the excuse being that he needed to see and experience the world, though that was a transparent excuse to the boy, even at the age of ten.
Six years like that passed quickly and Shaye grew more and more desperate for some sort of companionship; though he'd taken to buying, training and reselling 'problem' horses for the nearby human villagers, he still longed to be a part of a community. In a last ditch effort to belong, he left his mother and father on the premise of a hunting trip and returned to the outskirts of the Damir village, spending a week skulking about in the brush, searching for an unbounded Waladin with no luck. Dejected and disappointed, he packed up his gear at the end of the week and started the hour-long journey home, but not even fifteen minutes into his return trip, a huge black panther with silvery-lavender eyes stumbled out of the bushes and collapsed in front of him, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Unable to carry her home to care for her, he made a makeshift stretcher, put her on it, and dragged her home. It took a few days before she'd regained her strength, but after she had, she made it quite clear that they were bonded and that she was his Waladan.
Unfortunately, the Damir had noticed Shaye wandering about their village and remembered their decree and sent a messenger to the small house one evening, with a dire warning; they were being given one last chance. They could leave, go far away and never return and live, or stay and be put to death. Shaye knew nothing of this visit and his parents told the messenger to return the next morning for their answer. After he left, Shaye's mother and father packed two sets of saddlebags, and two horses and told Shaye to leave first thing in the morning, to go into the city and seek help, but to never return to the small house. They argued; Shaye believed they were treating him like a child, not telling him why he had to do this while they stayed.
In the end, he was forced to agree, and slept uneasily, waking early the next morning and taking the horses out into the woods, where he tied them and crept back to the house, hiding in the undergrowth. The messenger had returned with a group of hunters and Shaye watched, horrified, as his parents were murdered right in front of his eyes. Outraged and in tears, he ran blindly back to his horses and followed his parents' dying instructions.
He found work training horses for a wealthy older gentleman who, despite the fact that Shaye was a strange young man accompanied by a large black panther, saw him as a son of sorts and adopted him, educating and grooming him to take over his estate after his death. He was taught how to hire and let go of servants, how to appreciate fine music, foods and wines, how to interact with other young socialites, how to wield a sword and other weapons and to manage the property. And another three years later, after the man's death, Shaye found himself the sole recipient of not only the man's estates and money, but a business Shaye'd never even known the man'd had.
It was a small business, with only a few clients, but as Shaye found out, it wasn't a 100% white-collar business; in addition to a few legitimate offers, the business offered retrieval of goods, elimination of obstacles, and other rather questionable services.
Moral obligations aside, Shaye revamped nearly all the staff, letting everyone go and hiring only three employees; a young lady with talent with a sword who preferred to be called Red, and two men, one who dressed in blue, and one in green, who also preferred to be called by the colors of their clothes.
Currently, Shaye keeps the estate and the business going, and maintains the appearance of a wealthy young man with some eccentric habits, such as keeping a large, tame black panther around the house.
Occupation/Job: Horse trainer
Interesting Facts/Quirks: He has an English accent and his hands and eyes glow with lavender fire when he works magic. He also has the ability to heal and to 'artificially' comfort from his Angel heritage, and the ability to manipulate the air due to his Damir heritage.
His Waladin's name is Aaralyn, meaning 'with song' and she's a she. ><;
Hobby/Hobbies: Riding/training his horses, reading / studying, fencing, sketching
Likes: Horses, fine food and wine, large cats (panthers especially 8D ), competence, peaches, wintertime, reading, sketching, listening to music, attending plays/performances/etc., fine clothes, traveling, his job
Dislikes: Cheekiness/rudeness, filth, bright sunlight, excuses, tightly-packed crowds of commoners, uneducated/uncivilized people, dirty smells, unwashed bodies, slavery
Strengths: Small amount of air element magic, healing abilities, comfort-inducing ability, Aaralyn
Weaknesses and flaws: Dark magic, necromancy, earth element magic, Aaralyn
Anything else to add: 'Leader' of the group that Andrew tells me has been livingly dubbed 'The Rainbow Warriors' LOL <3
Roleplay Sample:
Two hundred and seven.
The slap of flesh on flesh was loud.
And no sign of an end.
Louder than the rush of blood in his ears,
How much longer?
Louder than the staccato gunfire beat of his heart,
Days? Weeks? Months…?
Louder even, than the noises of heavy men, cargo, the bells and chains and ropes as the ship rolled into port.
… Years?
He collapsed exhausted, draped over the man beneath him, breathing hard despite his being in good shape, their sweat running together to drip onto the scratchy blankets, adding to the collection of other stains. The portholes looked out at a nighttime city, men in dirty, often torn, shirts that had once been white – or something close to it – carried exotic cargo to and from the ship’s hold.
The two didn’t move.
Heavy booted footsteps clomped about overhead, the creak of the rigging, the rustle and snap of the canvas sails were comforting, familiar sounds. The rattle and drag of chains across the wood, the cries in different languages, the quiet sobbing were not.
Finally, the blonde stood, the man beneath him not following. He dressed quickly; soft tan breeches, a somewhat-wrinkled full-sleeved white shirt, red vest with gold trim and knee-high black calfskin boots. Rich, expensive clothes that fit, but were somehow a little odd on the blonde. His eyes gleamed the blue-silver of a well-tempered blade in the darkness of the cabin, the lone candle having long since burned down to nothing but melted wax. He cast a last look at the man still on the bed and left, locking the door from the outside after himself.
The prisoner – for that was what he was – turned onto his side, staring at rough-hewn inside of the wooden planks and the scores deep in the wood. He counted two hundred and seven. Two hundred and seven days he had been aboard the ship, two hundred and seven days since his own ship had been taken by surprise and burned before it sunk. The only survivor now lying on the bed staring at the scores deep in the wood and thinking.
Two hundred and seven. |
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