Post by skarloey on Jul 20, 2011 21:35:30 GMT -5
Jonathan Skarloey
"So let's go, a tiny spark to set it off.
I'll explode. Ignite the dark illuminate the unknown.
But since your head's in the clouds the best advice I found is
don't look down. "
the basics,
»»character full name: Jonathan 'Skar' Skarloey (aka The Cannibal)
»»age: Twenty two
»»gender: Male
»»sexual orientation: Heterosexual
»»position: First mate of the SS Freedom
»»race: Human
»»alliance: Pirate/deity
»»powers: n/a
»»weapons:
Harpoon;; Skar's primary weapon is an incredibly ordinary harpoon, roughly five feet in length. The head of this weapon is asymmetrical, the barbs being more numerous on the top. It was designed to be incredibly difficult to remove, gouging flesh whenever it is pulled upon. At the butt of the harpoon is a long chain that Skar often brandishes in his left hand, having it wrapped around his fist. The man tends to make use more of the chain, rather than the harpoon, strangling and ensnaring his opponents rather than spearing them.
Boot dagger;; Any good pirate keeps a handful of weapons on their person. Skar is smart enough to carry around a small, plain dagger tucked safely away in his boots. A little less than a foot in length and sharpened to the point of surgical precision it serves it's purpose well. Skar uses it more as a utensil for eating or whittling rather than battle, however.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Deep crimson
»»markings: Jonathan's nickname is well deserved. His time in the Maw have left his body as little more than a tangle of deep, interlocking scars. Raised wounds, red and puckered from infections long since fought. Seared skin caused by the touch of white hot steel against what was once tender, untested flesh. Valleys laying beneath his skin where muscle and flesh once were are now inhabited by nothing more then a blank void.
»»height: 6'4''
»»weight: 200 lbs.
»»general appearance:
In some other lifetime, Skar could have easily passed for being rather attractive. Long, flawless black hair that seems to have an otherworldly luster to it, deep brown eyes that would have shimmered with a sort of nobility that one could have only imagined and fairy tales, and a smile that would have spoken volumes of his good nature and love of life. Alas, this is not that life and Skar has, for lack of a better phrase, not met his potential in the appearance department. He is instead a nightmarish version of the young gentleman that he should have been. A horrific apparition that has crawled out of Hell looking to drag anything it can grab down with it.
Skin that should have been flushed and healthy is instead pale and almost translucent, having been denied the nurturing rays of the sun for over fifteen years. They now seem to reflect the light instead of absorbing it as most would, shunning the gift it had been hidden away from. The muscles that could have been crafted through years of play and sport have instead been hardened and vulcanized in the fires of battle. No fat clings to that large frame. In the Maw there was no luxury for fat. It made you a target, a delicacy. Gnawing at bone and having only meat to keep his hunger at bay has sharpened the man's teeth into jagged fangs, meant for rending flesh and cracking bone. Kept white and healthy due to the calcium of the marrow he was forced to chew. Besides, there was never enough sustenance for that. Hair that should have shone is now dull and lifeless, a mass of tangles, much like the wounds etched into his skin. The scars that line his body are the most horrific thing about the man.
They seem almost innumerable. Twining there way along his savage figure. Very few try to actually trace them, locating the individual markings, else they be entranced by the unintended patterns. Their effects stack upon each other, creating a sense of wonder and terror. What could have made those scars? What sort of tortures had this man endured? The only scar that seems to stand out from the others is a very prominent, lone defect on his left cheek. The skin has been torn away, replaced by a deep brown hide. The muscle that had once laid beneath was not so lucky. It has been ripped out, leaving nothing but a crater. The lack of muscle makes it impossible for the man to have a full display of expressions. The left corner of his mouth remains motionless making every attempt at showing some sign of emotion a twisted smirk.
One would be hard pressed to find Skar attractive in the conventional sense. The only attraction one would be able to muster is sort of fascination at this man turned beast, a passing intrigue that vanishes as soon as you see it spring into action, replaced by revulsion and fear.
Skar, out of habit, is not used to wearing clothing and prefers to leave his skin exposed. Though, at the instance of his crew he has begun to wear more clothing. Tattered jeans cling to the man's waist, supported by a thick leather belt.
the personality,
»»likes:
»»dislikes:
»»strengths:
»»weaknesses: (at least two, and explain why)
»»secrets: (any secrets? if so explain what they are in detail)
»»general personality: ( at least one paragraph, 100 words)
the history,
»»mother: Ellen Skarloey
»»father: William Skarloey
»»siblings: Elana Skarloey
»»others: Eliza Bathory
»»background:
Decades ago, man sought to reveal the treasures hidden beneath the hard flesh of the earth. The turned their pickaxes and shovels towards the ground, digging deeper and deeper, their greed overcoming good sense. They reached far into the ground, farther than any other had dared before. There greed was rewarded with pain. The mine they had spent their lives in became their grave. The earth, no longer able to support itself, or simply angered by the antics of man, finally collapsed upon itself, destroying most of the upper levels of the mine. It sealed the men within, becoming a massive tomb, the only entrance being a wide hole, almost one hundred yards above the highest remaining tunnel. Tales spread of the incident and eventually the hole began to be refereed to as the "Maw of the Earth" and eventually simply became the Maw. the Government, not wanting to waste any precious resources took to using the Maw as a storage place for those who were better off forgotten. After all, death simply means martyrdom.
Jonathan Skarloey was five years old when he was sentenced to become a resident of this Hell above Hell. Found guilty of sins that were not his own, Jonathan was tried before a jury of his father's peers and branded a traitor. The severity and purpose of this sentencing was lost upon the child. At only five years old he could scarcely imagine what a traitor was or that his entire notion of life was about to end. Even as he was dragged to the Maw he was absolutely clueless. It wasn't until he arrived that the horror of it all sunk in. Another man besides Jonathan had been sentenced to the Maw, a man who had conspired to start a revolution with his father. Jonathan couldn't recall his name. Only that the man had treated him with sweets and had always worn a warm smile upon his face. That smile greeted Jonathan when he arrived and left him when the man was pushed into the Maw.
Even one hundred yards beneath the ground the crunch of bone and the howls of beasts could be heard. It sent a shiver that emanated through out Jonathan's entire being. The shiver turned to violent shaking as he was guided toward the hole that the shrieks came from. He sobbed, his voice cracking as he pleaded for help. His pleas were heard, but in a most unconventional way. The guards that had guided him wrapped a rope around his waist and lowered him down on a strange pulley that stood above the Maw. As he was lowered down he saw dozens of figures gathered together and the sound of something shattering. The figures didn't seem to notice the looming shadow that grew smaller and smaller.
Jonathan was sat down at the very edge of the Maw away from the crowd. As he looked up, quietly begging to be pulled up he saw the rope fall. He flinched away as it fell about him. When he finally lowered his guard a haggard figure lunged at him, it's eyes as black as the pit had been when he had fist saw it. It rotten teeth clamped down upon his cheek and slashed right through. With a savage yank the skin was torn away. Blood pooled in Jonathan's mouth as he screamed in pain. He had officially been welcomed to his new home.
His small hands clawed at the figure as it prepared to go for another bite, it's mouth still full of his soft meat. A figure that had not joined the other's pounced upon Jonathan's attacker. There was a whirlwind of motion and blood. More blood than the boy had ever seen. It was all too much for him. The stench of death, the sight of murder, and the pain he felt. His body collapsed and he escaped into a world of darkness, without suffering... Every so often the darkness would fade away and Jonathan would see a woman smiling down at him, whispering sweet nothings, but he would always slip back into the realm of nothingness.
He was not lucky enough to remain in that world though. Eventually he came to. When he did he was bombarded by sensations. The first was the scent, a mixture of decay, human filth, and bad blood. The next was the feeling of something in his mouth and wrapped around his face. His eyes flew open in a panic as he clawed at it. He found his wrists grabbed by a pair of grimy fingers in a vice like grip. The voice of the owner of those hands didn't fit though. It was softy, a melody, a reprieve from the nightmare that surrounded him. Jonathan slowly came to the realization that what was wrapped around his face was a bandage, made from his own shirt, the only clean cloth available. Though, it tasted of blood and bile.
The figure came closer and smiled down at Jonathan. It was a woman, once beautiful but ravaged by her environment. Her hands left his wrists as she brushed his hair. She explained to him how he had been sick for months with infection and that he was lucky to be alive. How she had cared for him and protected him. Jonathan was instantly attached to the woman who refereed to herself as Eliza Bathory, though most simply called her Queen. Jonathan had another name for her: mother. When she asked his name he could scarcely speak. The only coherent word he could muster was a portion of his last name, "Skar." It was from there forward that Jonathan Skarloey vanished and he simply became Skar.
As he healed Skar began to develop some sort of semblance to a normal life. His mother's name amongst the others wasn't simply a nickname, but her title. She was their ruler as well as their only female. The other's wouldn't dare come near her newly adopted child, less feel her wrath or that wrath of the others. Eliza dotted upon her "little prince" teaching him the ways of the world, the three R's, and grooming him. Eliza loved feathers and whenever she found any she would braid them into her son's growing mane of hair. Skar refused to eat anything at first, realizing that the only available food source was the flesh of others and those that were thrown from the top of the Maw. Eventually, hunger won out over human decency and Skar became a cannibal like the rest of his tribe.
This continued for years until the boy was ten years of age. His mouth had long since healed and thanks to the care of his mother he flourished. It was during this year that a new prisoner came. He was a slim man with snake like features. Skar disliked him at once, wishing that the others would kill him. He had something that none of the other's possessed, an iron knife. On the surface it was little more than a utensil for cooking but within the Maw it was absolute power.
the player,
»»alias:
»»age:
»»contact:
»»rp sample: (at least 100 words, if you have already created a character just write it here so we know and you can skip this section [remember this doesn't have to be with the character you are making])
Password:(it's in the rules)
How did you find us?:
Read more: xfreeasabirdx.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=pending&action=display&thread=1#ixzz1ShYNxaDU
"So let's go, a tiny spark to set it off.
I'll explode. Ignite the dark illuminate the unknown.
But since your head's in the clouds the best advice I found is
don't look down. "
the basics,
»»character full name: Jonathan 'Skar' Skarloey (aka The Cannibal)
»»age: Twenty two
»»gender: Male
»»sexual orientation: Heterosexual
»»position: First mate of the SS Freedom
»»race: Human
»»alliance: Pirate/deity
»»powers: n/a
»»weapons:
Harpoon;; Skar's primary weapon is an incredibly ordinary harpoon, roughly five feet in length. The head of this weapon is asymmetrical, the barbs being more numerous on the top. It was designed to be incredibly difficult to remove, gouging flesh whenever it is pulled upon. At the butt of the harpoon is a long chain that Skar often brandishes in his left hand, having it wrapped around his fist. The man tends to make use more of the chain, rather than the harpoon, strangling and ensnaring his opponents rather than spearing them.
Boot dagger;; Any good pirate keeps a handful of weapons on their person. Skar is smart enough to carry around a small, plain dagger tucked safely away in his boots. A little less than a foot in length and sharpened to the point of surgical precision it serves it's purpose well. Skar uses it more as a utensil for eating or whittling rather than battle, however.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Deep crimson
»»markings: Jonathan's nickname is well deserved. His time in the Maw have left his body as little more than a tangle of deep, interlocking scars. Raised wounds, red and puckered from infections long since fought. Seared skin caused by the touch of white hot steel against what was once tender, untested flesh. Valleys laying beneath his skin where muscle and flesh once were are now inhabited by nothing more then a blank void.
»»height: 6'4''
»»weight: 200 lbs.
»»general appearance:
In some other lifetime, Skar could have easily passed for being rather attractive. Long, flawless black hair that seems to have an otherworldly luster to it, deep brown eyes that would have shimmered with a sort of nobility that one could have only imagined and fairy tales, and a smile that would have spoken volumes of his good nature and love of life. Alas, this is not that life and Skar has, for lack of a better phrase, not met his potential in the appearance department. He is instead a nightmarish version of the young gentleman that he should have been. A horrific apparition that has crawled out of Hell looking to drag anything it can grab down with it.
Skin that should have been flushed and healthy is instead pale and almost translucent, having been denied the nurturing rays of the sun for over fifteen years. They now seem to reflect the light instead of absorbing it as most would, shunning the gift it had been hidden away from. The muscles that could have been crafted through years of play and sport have instead been hardened and vulcanized in the fires of battle. No fat clings to that large frame. In the Maw there was no luxury for fat. It made you a target, a delicacy. Gnawing at bone and having only meat to keep his hunger at bay has sharpened the man's teeth into jagged fangs, meant for rending flesh and cracking bone. Kept white and healthy due to the calcium of the marrow he was forced to chew. Besides, there was never enough sustenance for that. Hair that should have shone is now dull and lifeless, a mass of tangles, much like the wounds etched into his skin. The scars that line his body are the most horrific thing about the man.
They seem almost innumerable. Twining there way along his savage figure. Very few try to actually trace them, locating the individual markings, else they be entranced by the unintended patterns. Their effects stack upon each other, creating a sense of wonder and terror. What could have made those scars? What sort of tortures had this man endured? The only scar that seems to stand out from the others is a very prominent, lone defect on his left cheek. The skin has been torn away, replaced by a deep brown hide. The muscle that had once laid beneath was not so lucky. It has been ripped out, leaving nothing but a crater. The lack of muscle makes it impossible for the man to have a full display of expressions. The left corner of his mouth remains motionless making every attempt at showing some sign of emotion a twisted smirk.
One would be hard pressed to find Skar attractive in the conventional sense. The only attraction one would be able to muster is sort of fascination at this man turned beast, a passing intrigue that vanishes as soon as you see it spring into action, replaced by revulsion and fear.
Skar, out of habit, is not used to wearing clothing and prefers to leave his skin exposed. Though, at the instance of his crew he has begun to wear more clothing. Tattered jeans cling to the man's waist, supported by a thick leather belt.
the personality,
»»likes:
- The Sky
- Fresh meat
- Rain
- Fruit
- Airships
- Freedom
- Hot Weather
- Women
- Birds
»»dislikes:
- Enclosed spaces
- Coffee
- Vegetables
- Government
-
»»strengths:
Savagery;; Skar's entire fighting style was crafted through hundreds of battles that were life or death. He fights without any concept of fairness, his strikes aimed to cripple, maim, and, of course, kill. He continues his charge no matter what wound he receives and the further he's backed into a corner the more ferocious and animalistic he becomes. It's no surprise that one can hear growls and roars of exciting emanating from his chest with a low rumble or that there's a look of intoxication in his eyes, a glimmer of cheer.
Strength;; Strong enough to rip the flesh from a man's skeleton while still alive and powerful enough to break bones with his bare hands. Skar seems more like a creature from out of a fairy tale gone horribly wrong than your average human. He tends to rely upon brute force rather than finesse or skill, usually overpowering other individuals with ease.
»»weaknesses: (at least two, and explain why)
»»secrets: (any secrets? if so explain what they are in detail)
»»general personality: ( at least one paragraph, 100 words)
the history,
»»mother: Ellen Skarloey
»»father: William Skarloey
»»siblings: Elana Skarloey
»»others: Eliza Bathory
»»background:
Decades ago, man sought to reveal the treasures hidden beneath the hard flesh of the earth. The turned their pickaxes and shovels towards the ground, digging deeper and deeper, their greed overcoming good sense. They reached far into the ground, farther than any other had dared before. There greed was rewarded with pain. The mine they had spent their lives in became their grave. The earth, no longer able to support itself, or simply angered by the antics of man, finally collapsed upon itself, destroying most of the upper levels of the mine. It sealed the men within, becoming a massive tomb, the only entrance being a wide hole, almost one hundred yards above the highest remaining tunnel. Tales spread of the incident and eventually the hole began to be refereed to as the "Maw of the Earth" and eventually simply became the Maw. the Government, not wanting to waste any precious resources took to using the Maw as a storage place for those who were better off forgotten. After all, death simply means martyrdom.
Jonathan Skarloey was five years old when he was sentenced to become a resident of this Hell above Hell. Found guilty of sins that were not his own, Jonathan was tried before a jury of his father's peers and branded a traitor. The severity and purpose of this sentencing was lost upon the child. At only five years old he could scarcely imagine what a traitor was or that his entire notion of life was about to end. Even as he was dragged to the Maw he was absolutely clueless. It wasn't until he arrived that the horror of it all sunk in. Another man besides Jonathan had been sentenced to the Maw, a man who had conspired to start a revolution with his father. Jonathan couldn't recall his name. Only that the man had treated him with sweets and had always worn a warm smile upon his face. That smile greeted Jonathan when he arrived and left him when the man was pushed into the Maw.
Even one hundred yards beneath the ground the crunch of bone and the howls of beasts could be heard. It sent a shiver that emanated through out Jonathan's entire being. The shiver turned to violent shaking as he was guided toward the hole that the shrieks came from. He sobbed, his voice cracking as he pleaded for help. His pleas were heard, but in a most unconventional way. The guards that had guided him wrapped a rope around his waist and lowered him down on a strange pulley that stood above the Maw. As he was lowered down he saw dozens of figures gathered together and the sound of something shattering. The figures didn't seem to notice the looming shadow that grew smaller and smaller.
Jonathan was sat down at the very edge of the Maw away from the crowd. As he looked up, quietly begging to be pulled up he saw the rope fall. He flinched away as it fell about him. When he finally lowered his guard a haggard figure lunged at him, it's eyes as black as the pit had been when he had fist saw it. It rotten teeth clamped down upon his cheek and slashed right through. With a savage yank the skin was torn away. Blood pooled in Jonathan's mouth as he screamed in pain. He had officially been welcomed to his new home.
His small hands clawed at the figure as it prepared to go for another bite, it's mouth still full of his soft meat. A figure that had not joined the other's pounced upon Jonathan's attacker. There was a whirlwind of motion and blood. More blood than the boy had ever seen. It was all too much for him. The stench of death, the sight of murder, and the pain he felt. His body collapsed and he escaped into a world of darkness, without suffering... Every so often the darkness would fade away and Jonathan would see a woman smiling down at him, whispering sweet nothings, but he would always slip back into the realm of nothingness.
He was not lucky enough to remain in that world though. Eventually he came to. When he did he was bombarded by sensations. The first was the scent, a mixture of decay, human filth, and bad blood. The next was the feeling of something in his mouth and wrapped around his face. His eyes flew open in a panic as he clawed at it. He found his wrists grabbed by a pair of grimy fingers in a vice like grip. The voice of the owner of those hands didn't fit though. It was softy, a melody, a reprieve from the nightmare that surrounded him. Jonathan slowly came to the realization that what was wrapped around his face was a bandage, made from his own shirt, the only clean cloth available. Though, it tasted of blood and bile.
The figure came closer and smiled down at Jonathan. It was a woman, once beautiful but ravaged by her environment. Her hands left his wrists as she brushed his hair. She explained to him how he had been sick for months with infection and that he was lucky to be alive. How she had cared for him and protected him. Jonathan was instantly attached to the woman who refereed to herself as Eliza Bathory, though most simply called her Queen. Jonathan had another name for her: mother. When she asked his name he could scarcely speak. The only coherent word he could muster was a portion of his last name, "Skar." It was from there forward that Jonathan Skarloey vanished and he simply became Skar.
As he healed Skar began to develop some sort of semblance to a normal life. His mother's name amongst the others wasn't simply a nickname, but her title. She was their ruler as well as their only female. The other's wouldn't dare come near her newly adopted child, less feel her wrath or that wrath of the others. Eliza dotted upon her "little prince" teaching him the ways of the world, the three R's, and grooming him. Eliza loved feathers and whenever she found any she would braid them into her son's growing mane of hair. Skar refused to eat anything at first, realizing that the only available food source was the flesh of others and those that were thrown from the top of the Maw. Eventually, hunger won out over human decency and Skar became a cannibal like the rest of his tribe.
This continued for years until the boy was ten years of age. His mouth had long since healed and thanks to the care of his mother he flourished. It was during this year that a new prisoner came. He was a slim man with snake like features. Skar disliked him at once, wishing that the others would kill him. He had something that none of the other's possessed, an iron knife. On the surface it was little more than a utensil for cooking but within the Maw it was absolute power.
the player,
»»alias:
»»age:
»»contact:
»»rp sample:
quote it please
Password:(it's in the rules)
How did you find us?:
Read more: xfreeasabirdx.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=pending&action=display&thread=1#ixzz1ShYNxaDU