|
Hauze
Feb 17, 2008 3:14:19 GMT -5
Post by .K.aci on Feb 17, 2008 3:14:19 GMT -5
Character:
Name: Hauze
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Preference: Females
Previous Position: Son of a Minor Holder
Current Position: Candidate
Appearance: My appearance... It's been so long since I've thought of what I look like. I fear myself, I fear I have become something decrepit. I am not what I look like on the inside, compared to the outside. I am a very different creature. I believe that people look at me as though I am a foul creature, although it is probably not true. My paranoia fears they are right... I see no gaze worth meeting anymore. The only reason I have not snapped is because I swore to my mother, Faranth help her, that I would Stand if I had the chance. I can retreat back into my own sane self at times, and pretend. I have to pretend. I have to blend in.
And now I'll take over, the crazy puppeteer of this poor man. Hauze was born and bred for... Show. He was meant to be perfect, beautiful, following the rules of is grandmother. She carefully plotted out so that her son, grandson, whatever was next, would be perfect.
She never expected it in her lifetime.
Hauze was a child that happened one in a million times. No deformities, nothing wrong with him, freckles only where they needed to be, icily beautiful...
Residing at six feet and three inches, he is a tall person. Large callused hands, slim graceful fingers, and large feet, he non-the less walks silently, something feline about his features, graceful, but predatory. Besides that, the sleek male is not heavy. No, he's actually slim, but even at his height he's never been classified as a lightweight. He was conditioned for stamina and endurance, and it shows in his body. He's never been sick a day in his life, either. At a mere 150 pounds, the idle weight for a male of his size is at least 170, and yet he is still nothing to be pushed around.
Slim faced, he is all angles. High, sharp cheekbones, clear glittering eyes, a straight prow thrust nose in the middle of his face. He has perfected the art of looking hard but soft, as though to melt against him would be comfortable, yet at the same time, as though reaching for a rose that was nestled in a bed of thorns.
His hair is blonde, a pale, almost white blond that is cut ragged and about to his chin, maybe longer. Thick, it's soft and supple, easy to manage. A few shades darker when wet, when he is busy he pulls it back into a tail, although pieces always escape. Perhaps hanging in his eyes, he runs his fingers through it at times, maybe to reassure himself that he is still there, still sane, or maybe to let loose emotions that could be used for more intent purposes. His eyebrows to, and what little hair he has on his chest is the same vanilla chocolate white, pale and creamy.
Although born without any deformities, he has them now. If you note within his history, after the incident with his family, he fell into a gang in the Trader, and in an effort to escape what he was, he scarred his own body. His right ear has a simple hole, adorned with an earring that curled up and around his earlobe, elegantly made with gold and tiny jewels, looking as though the whole thing is pierced. The left ear is left empty, because around the ear is a tattooed mass of tiny graceful swirls and black and crimson flowers, with more sinister designs hiding inside the patterns.
The tattoo starts at the top of of his temple and curls down behind, following the hairline. Where it reaches the vulnerable part of your skull, right before his jaw starts, it forks off, one part curling back up and around taper to a point, directly under his left eye.
Back at the part where they separate, it rushes down in a swirling mass to wrap around his throat once, ending up at the base of his spine. There, it again branches out: One thick root curves and dances down the side of his back, the scarlet and black colors merging until you can't tell where one hue begins and the other ends, coming gracefully to a halt just at the bottom of his back and wrapping around to slid down his side, ending around his hipbone. Once again at the branch, a thin tendril wraps around his right shoulder, on first glance looking as though a tunnelsnake might, gliding down his arm to end with a swirl at base of his thumb.
He wears neat clothing, nothing to baggy, nothing to tight. Sensible is the thing with him. Worn boots, easy tunic, a pair of slacks, he really doesn’t care much about his clothing, as long as it’s clean, presentable, and has slightly good taste.
Hauze is all muscle. Not a body-builder’s muscle, but… Picture a cheetah, for a moment. Feline, slim, rangy, maybe slightly tussled, when the big cat moves you can see it rippling, sleek lithe muscle. That’s him. Not a part on his is considered fat, and at times he may be to skinny, as stated before.
His eyes dance along the scale, a light crystal blue to an almost midnight blue-black that depends on his mood. Two bright emblems that blaze from his haunted face, they are rimmed in black. Not from makeup, but because he is an insomniac, with nightmares helping. Still, manages to look good in a tussled, ragged way.
I wish to impress on you something, however. Not only about one part of him, or a piece that makes him up... You see, he was to be the most beautiful thing the world ever saw. Grace, elegance, he was going to be the finest. A champion, if such a word could be implied here... And I try to impress on you the sadness that grips my heart when I tell you this. He was, you see. He was, the past tense. An ache that sends a sad shiver up my spine and brings tears to my heart...
What he looks like on the outside, and what he looks like on the inside are two different things. He may be beautiful, but he is achingly so, a cold, inhuman grace. If you look at him out of the corner of your eye, you might see it. The way he walks, too erect, as though struggling against a huge burden, the way that he carries a predator's stance with him, sleek, fighting the chain for all of his life, and growing tired of being alone... So tired. It is as though his spirit, his physical being has been mauled, ripped to pieces, and he struggles to heal. But one can only take so much pain before wishing to rid himself of it. Ask yourself, if you must live day after day, fighting to hold yourself together, fighting what you were taught to be so completely, could you keep fighting?
Picture yourself running. For a long time, unable to stop, and when you were finally at the finish line, you were offered a glass of water. Cool and moist, the first gulp seems like a god’s gift, taking the harshest edge off of the burning thirst, but you needed more to fully heal yourself. And then someone takes that glass, knocks it from your grasp, and you watch it spill to the earth, see the ground eagerly suck in the water, until nothing is left but a stain. Could you honestly live with that pain, every day, taking a sip and wanting so much to have more, with nothing to take your heart from the discomfort?
I couldn’t.
Personality: Who I am, what makes up me. I am an evil creature, if such emotions can be classed into these things... My personality, if you call it, though I do not believe that these things are stable. I am not evil in my own mind, no, but I cannot do anything but fight myself. I can only try not to do anything to hurt, and to only help. I can only fight what part of me that wants to take control, that want’s to kill, burn, and hate... And I do not want that. I am a good person, although many who know me would laugh… I must try… Try to keep sane. I have help, from the beautiful creatures who believe I have a chance at life again…
They are the only things that keep me from going insane. They are the one piece in this huge picture that stops me from killing the innocent, the weak, those I once cared about protecting... The key to the fine line in my mind dangles, and I don’t think that anything would ever want to take it up, cradle it, be my savior... The flood of everything, raw anguish, that creeps upon me, day after day, night after night... Without those voices, encouraging me, telling me that something would take up the mantle of being my savior… At times I am unable to even think. I know I would snap, and with that snap, I would no longer be myself. I’d make the world payback and die doing it.
I know. I once almost took that path once.
And now, for the safety of this poor man, I once again take over. Hauze, although he is trying to get a point across, is doing it rather poorly. He is on the brink of insanity. He hides it well, yes, but other’s, far worse than he, roam the continent, insane and a danger to themselves and others. He is on the line, and teetering too closely to the edge. But I will try to let you see what is under the mask he wears, and maybe then you will understand him better.
Born to a minor Hold Lord who was pompous, and arrogant, he was taught to be proper and speak when spoken to, and millions of other things children are expected to learn over the years. Except… He wasn’t just expected. He had no choice. He grew up without other children, and so he learned little of play, expected to be an adult as a child. One amazing thing about him is that he went through everything, he experienced no shelter in his life. In doing this, he has a huge amount of empathy. He’s had joy, pain, suffering, loss, happiness, some by accident, other's by design, and more things than an eight year old should have to see yet.
When you first meet him, he seems distant. Slightly cold, quiet, hard, he is none-the-less polite and as social as he must be, from a time in his history he was expected to smile and treat others kindly. However, he always retains a certain amount of aloofness, not really being a people person. Even when smiling and acting, he doesn’t share his mind, or his emotions, easily. Manners ooze from him without even thinking about it, from holding the door for ladies to being on the borderline obsessive-compulsive of neat. The way I figure, his mind is so scattered that staying neat is one of the only ways he feels he still has a little control.
He’s never blunt, thinking before speaking, which isn’t often. He doesn’t mince words, however, and tells the truth. Lying is a sin, you see, and he has broken so many that this is held sacrilege. He doesn’t like clingy people, and he tries hard not to cling himself.
Girls… They scare him, slightly. While attracted to them, he has high standards, and doesn’t fall in and out of love. Sex to him is something serious, not just a fling, and as polite as he always is to everyone, he has his own standards on how to act around girls. Gushy lovey-dovey confuses him, makes him feel awkward, and he likes girls who can take care of themselves.
When you delve into him a little bit more and he becomes relaxed around you, which doesn’t happen often, he can seem forceful at times, slightly inflexible when he really wants something his way. When he has to, he’s a Leader, but never a follower unless to keep the peace. More of a Loner anyway, he’s fair, and is a huge innocent until proven guilty. He doesn’t take others idea’s, and while sparse with praise, he will make sure someone understands that it was a good idea, or a good move.
He’s a person that doesn’t forget anything. While insane, his mask dictates that he remembers, maybe forgives, but never forgets. With a more than a mild cruel streak, he tries to keep it under lid, and fights to give people a second chance, although something inside him might be telling him that the scum doesn’t deserve the second chance. Trust is a huge thing with him: while it might take awhile to earn it, once it’s there, it doesn’t go away. If you ruin his trust, consider yourself an enemy forever more. He won’t let you in again, and suddenly you’re no better than pondscum.
He has an active mind. Although he may not speak much, he’s constantly thinking. He has to. He’s fighting the insanity, the darkness that threatens to conquer him. Close to his heart, where he’s locked it all up, the feelings of blood running through his fingers, the joy of inflicting pain, nothing short of severe sadism. Watching the crimson beads drip from a million cuts inflicted on a body, it’s something that his insanity likes. He fights that, keeps it shoved down under where his heart might go if he thought he had one. That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like to be around to much blood; It feels wrong, as though watching a woman undress and still unable to look away.
He takes pain very well, considering he deserves it. However, he doesn’t inflict it on himself. That’s wrong, in his mind, to put your own body in pain on purpose.
He tries to treat everyone equally. Being male or female doesn’t mean anything to him, only that girls should be treated nicer than guys should. He is willing to help anyone, be it a trivial matter or something much larger. He doesn’t have an actual sense of priority of putting someone above the other in his system of treating people, so to talk to a drudge is the same way of talking to the Weyrwoman.
One of his faults is that he regrets things. He may move forward, but the scars from the past are as fresh as they were the day he got them. He’s always attentive, paying attention to everything and everyone. To tell the truth, he really finds some of the human emotions baffling, and people who are happy all the time confuse him. When he has a goal, he works excessively and tirelessly towards it, usually burning himself out, causing even more extreme exhaustion without even realizing it.
He understands emotions pretty well, although some of the emotions, like stated above, he doesn’t understand the purpose of, and he finds it easy to sympathize with others. He has a hard time giving-up, a terrier in some aspects. He’s big on privacy, and tries to stay out of things, like drama, considering it someone else’s business if they don’t go out and tell the world.
He’s observant, always alert although he might not get enough sleep. He’s fascinated by everything, and enjoys just watching people. People never cease to amaze him, and even if they aren’t the best person in the world, he isn’t, and he just enjoys asking himself why were they created like that? Why was I created like I am? The question is not usually in a horrified or even remotely judgmental way. It’s more as an earnest question in its most simplest and platonic forms. Maybe it might deserve a complicated answer, but he doesn’t mind. It’s just asking, focusing on thinking about it. It helps keep him sane.
He feels uncomfortable when others worry about him. When someone takes an interest in him, he tries to distance himself from then, not wanting people to get to close. He doesn’t get embarrassed often, being more of the person to stay in the background unless needed. He likes children, their sweet innocence refreshing, and fine wine. He likes exploring, physical activity, and cares for others. Hates tears and death and not being able to do anything about it.
As stated before, he has a ridiclously high empathy, and he understands how a person's mind works. He can see situations from different perspectives, and while he try's to be kind, he can manipulate people easily to get something he wants, which isn't often.
History: Grandmother: Geneva Father: Holder of a Minor Hold, named Tallan Mother: Wife of the Holder, named Hannah Siblings: A younger pair of Twins, Kanarmar and Deverel, both boys. A baby sister, Claudia.
My past is one of turmoil. My parents? My mother, Hannah, is dead. She was a pawn in the game, and they left her to die not long after. My father… I know not of one. He was a weak man, who followed his mother’s ever wish. I deny ever being created by him. I have three siblings, though I do not know where they are. I can only hope they are alive. The rest of my blood do not care if I live or die. Although… Most are already dead.
In short terms I'll tell you... Born into the line of Holder Tallen, my mother loved to tell me stories of the dragons that once populated the earth. She often would tell me stories, of the ancient beasts, and I grew to love them to. But she was a pawn in the game, ruled by my grandmother, who had the actual power in the Hold. You could call her a Matriarch, she ruled our line. They enjoyed creating males that looked and acted good, the perfect species, breeding them, culling the bad lines out. Each pair was expected to have at least three children, a female, and then two males. It rarely worked out that way, but most often they received a boy and a girl. They did not hesitate ordering the killing of those that were ugly, or deformed. My grandmother was following in the lines of her grandmother, who was planning to create the finest looking male alive, as a payback for a feud against the Hold we were beholden to, one that happened long ago. A male with smarts, and looks, bred, born, and raised to be perfect.
I nearly was.
And I again will relieve him of this terrible duty.
Tellan married a young girl, a beauty, kind and gentle. He was good looking, but he had smarts that Geneva wanted to breed with a girl that had looks. She got it. They had a child, one spring night. Hauze, they called him, cooing over him, while Geneva looked on with wide opened eyes, wetting her lips and laughing quietly to herself. He was treated as a normal boy until six, following his mother around the hold. They grew very close, and she would tell him about the dragons while she went about her business. She was one of the few who believed they would return, and she delighted in playing games with young Hauze, who always asked for dragons to be included.
She died when he was seven, in childbirth. Her last message was to him, as he was allowed to see her for the last time, “When the dragons return, my love, Bond to one. Escape this cursed family, and take your brothers with you. The family is falling, darling. Get away. I love you.” She made him promise, and he swore, tears streaming down his face. It was a night that would haunt him in his dreams for years to come. Claudia, the product of this, was given to a wet nurse, while Tallen mourned. Geneva waited two weeks, and called Hauze to her side. He was pretty, even at seven, and Geneva, who saw this as the final product, took him.
Manners, tears, lessons, he was molded, taught, beaten, until at 14 he was an adult. He was now quiet, polite, but already going insane, never getting over loosing his mother, and his grandmother’s harsh lessons. A Trader band came to the hold, and he was left in his grandmother’s rooms while she went to talk to them. He was to read the records as part of being taught to run the Hold, and bored, he did as asked. But letters were slipped in, and it was here that he discovered his Grandmother had planned and ordered the death of his mother, having her drink a poison that sent her into a sleep she never returned from.
Three nights later, any relation to his in the Hold was dead, his father killed by a renegade, and his siblings taken away by a druge with order's from Hauze to find santuary somewhere else. He had asked the Trader’s for help, and scorned by his Grandmother for her treatment of them, several helped. He drove the silver dagger into his grandmother's heart, his payback for killing his mother. He then traveled with the Trader’s, who took pity on the poor boy. Where his brother’s and sister were, he didn’t know. He knew they were alive, that’s all. He traveled, Holdless, for several years, until he was 17, growing up quietly. A Trader by everything but birth, he found a near dead feline, a large and rangy creature that they warned him against taking, for while smart, they turned against humans. He felt bad for the poor creature, considered evil without a chance, and as best he could, patched the poor creature up.
Amora lived, and stayed with him, loyal to the human that had saved her life. To the shock of the other Trader’s, he kept her, and the two became inseparable. Dragons had returned to the continent, and while he was fascinated, he had no idea how to gain the attention of them. Normally he would keep out from their way, but his promise to his mother was still keeping him going, the only reason he took one step forward after another.
At a Gather at one of the Major Holds, he was on the outside of the huge throng of people, and relaxing, taking a break from selling. Suddenly, a huge blue nose was shoved into his face, and he held still as it snuffled him. Amora seemed unconcerned, so he stayed still, allowing it to inspect him.
“Sorry about that.”
A cheerful voice drifted from somewhere above him as the dragon retreated.
“Companth likes ye. Are you willing to be Searched?”
In utter shock, Hauze rose, and nodded, and suddenly, was a Candidate at the Araelen Weyr.
Position in Family: Oldest child of 4, he doesn’t know younger sister and brother.
Pet: Feline, Amora. Large and rangy, she’s scarred and battle worn. She adopted Hauze when he was 17, already a full grown cat. A yellow hue, with brown-black spots, she’s razorblade thin, and she loves Hauze. She’s wary of strangers, but doesn’t go around attacking everyone she see’s.
Alignment: Rebel
Candidates Only Section:
Desired Dragon Colour: Doesn't really matter... Perhaps a Brown, maybe a Bronze?
Reason for this Preference: Well, he's the Commander of the Army on another site I'm on, he handle's people well when he has that solid link, his dragon. He's good as a Leader, but that's your decision... Just not a Green, please. I don't mind Blue, whatever you think would fit him, but I don't think he's a Green sorta guy.
Syllable Numbers for Name: 4 or 3.
Preferred Starting Letters for Name: K or S or R
For Dragonriders and Candidates to Fill Out:
Preferred Dragon Ability: Agility, Concentration, Strength
As a Note: I made him for another site, where he had just bonded with a Dragonette, and the thing with his dragon was that it was his stable point. Not entirely sane, the dragon was meant to be his balancing thing. I'm not sure if I did this right or wrong, and I apologize if I did, but I love the site. ^^
Puppeteer: Name: Kaci Age: 15 Contacts: email kmiller@jtasd.k12.pa.us kee.c.miller@gmail.com aim funkymarker RP History: 3 Years this May. Familiarity with Pern: I've read most of them. ^^ How you found out about our site: A person from Lyros Weyr showed me it, named Kitty. Special Requests Application reason: I'd like if he was a HAD? It seems like one of the few reason's he's still sane, if he had support...
|
|