ghostflowers - Profile of Ashtinos

about Ash

Registration Date: 07-30-2013
Last Visit: 10-20-2013 02:22 PM
Total Posts 15
Played By: Poundcake

Total EXP

160

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Ashtinos Ronan Drache's Info

Let me taste your blood 'cause I'm in pain

general information

Age 506 (after the 500 years of sleep)	Gender Male
Species God Forged	Sexuality Hetero
Mate Whispers in the Dark	Pack Aethe
Rank	Alignment Balance in all things; trinity between divinity

Relations:

Other Info:

Phantom Weapon: a circular blade that hovers just over his back
Name pronounced: Ash-ti-nos Dur-rock

appearance

Reference

Height 5'10"	Weight 325 lb
Eye Color Viridian, sharp and piercing, a hunter's stare	Fur Color Pale ivory and spun gold
Markings What look like tiger stripes from nose to tail, giving his fur the golden tint, golden scales along the front of each leg and along his chest and underbelly	Scent Leather and heat; smoke and nicotine

Carry on my wayward son

There'll be peace-

She said I always reminded her of a hawk, or a large bird of prey, then she would sometimes compare me to a falcon or an eagle. She said I always appeared so regal and graceful - majestic even. Despite my scoff, she would remain serious, proclaiming I gave off the same aria of dangerous primal cunning as a predator, and I would always reply that that was all I was, and all i was ever taught to do from my birth. She would look sad then, informing me I was too serious, and that I should cheer up the gloom that often accompanied me, like a suffocating cloud - like the smoke that nearly enveloped me at all times. I was a candle, both ends of my wick burning as hot and fast as possible, the fierce heat that always permeated the air around me making it difficult for her to be close to me, she always wandered as close as she could take before accepting defeat to primordial flames and placing herself along the swaying grass of the bank. I would always gaze into the gently broken reflection of me that stared back from the pond's edge. I looked cruel, perhaps one could say, my features already settled into grim features of determination and the hardships of strife. I could see her reasoning for calling me what she did, the humane part of me had been eaten away, if it was truly ever there to begin with. My training had transformed me into little more than a mindless beast. Everything could be reflected just in a simple lock of viridian emeralds...

The harsh fever of rapid flames exudes from him at all times, a searing warmth from hellborn fantasias as if the male were born from phoenix ashes. A radiant display of raw beauty in primal surge always embroiders his masculine figure. Confidence lines each and every powerful movement, commanding attention and demanding compliance to his general's bark. A worthy adversary due to his considerable bulk and expertise, a true artisan of war which is carved into his every fiber. Scars, permanent marks of beauty and prestige linger with sewn threads into his immaculate flesh. His eyes gleam feline beryl, attentive and crippling in severity, framed by dark lashes that weave webs of deceitful passions. His fur is tapered in fire, each strand ending in a cloaking plume of smoke, the same that slips from his tongue on each breath - a smoking Casanova. Bones are heavy, crafted to be upon the front lines of conflict and to endure the battles from which his trophies come from. The purity of his pelt falters in broken stripes as if Midas had held him faltered in his golden curse along with the scales that taint the demure flesh of his legs and keep safe and covered the soft skin of his stomach. The makeshift plating gleams in a beautiful array of ivory, veins of gold spread throughout their shimmering surface to mar the reflections seen within. Well kept and holstering a suave debonair, the male is a force to be reckoned with, on and off the battlefield.

-when you are done

personality

So lovers hold on to everything, and lovers hold onto anything...

Carry on my wayward son

There'll be peace-

She was always there for me, and her absence left me a hollow shell, a masterpiece of broken glass scattered benevolently in her wake. All I can recall from that one moment was waking to find her gone, vanished into what seems like nonexistence. Five hundred years have passed and in those years I lay sleeping and in the fantasia of dreams and other fantasies where has she gone? I want to retrace each of her steps, I want to follow her to the ends of the earth and I want to n e e d to find her. I cannot be whole without my amour. This cold, this hollow cannot be escaped, it cannot be evaded and it cannot be suffered through by the likes of me. I have been brought to my knees and she holds the blade to my throat, yet she does not realize it. Perhaps she realizes no more...

I cannot accept that.

+ He's gruff and commanding, manners wasn't something he was schooled in.
+ Loyal to a fault once he has sworn his allegiance to something, ideals, pack or otherwise.
+ When he wakes from the slumber, he finds his mate gone which is a horrifying blow to him, twisting his once cheerful demeanor into something darker and somewhat twisted.
+ Somewhat numb and cold towards others, rather quiet, well controlled.
+ Extremely passionate in what he believes and will fight to the death to protect those he cares for or something he thinks is right.
+ Headstrong and stubborn.
+ Carries a curse which requires him to drink blood in order to survive, a wretched disgraceful thing in his eyes and it is a secret he keeps well to himself, dreading should anyone find out, especially his brethren.

-when you are done

history

I chase your love around a figure 8 - I need you more than I can take

Carry on my wayward son

There'll be peace-

I was raised among titans, bred for strength and honor, I was seen as a perfect weapon, and I was treated as one. When I grew older, and I grew into the monolith stature I now possess, I was often times used as a shield. I stood between those my kin deemed important and I wore their scars for them, I did everything within my power to save their lives, and when it wasn't enough it was I who bore the guilt and shame of their demise. It pushed me to better myself, to become stronger, fueling my parent's prestige and honor as I was born to do. I do not think I was born of love, as my parents were never together, my mother being a scholar, a gifted mage and often sought out member of our society and my father was a general, a cruel man whose only mercy was the death of the suffering. I was never treated as a son, and I was never doted upon, nor was I permitted to call them as my parents. I was trained under my father's malicious whip, my mind sharpened under my mother's tactical perfection. While he taught me how to stand on nothing but my own two feet and fight with tooth and nail, she taught me the offered advantages of offensive magics and under their careful, critically analytical eyes, I excelled beyond any expectations I believe they had for me. I was never told they were proud of me, but nothing could have told me more so than after my first battle, my first conquest when my father stood before everyone at a grand feast in my honor and proclaimed me his son.

That happiness and pleasantries did not last long.

My mother and father had a mate for me from the time I was born, a bloodline just as well known and powerful as my own. She was a gorgeous fae, a brilliant woman with the heart of a warrior and the same intelligence as my mother. We were assumed for each other even before I was born, both lines knowing that we were destined for great beginnings and it was hoped that one day we would ascend the throne of our empire through work and the honor of knights and with the blood of dukes, duchesses and other highly held positions coursing through our veins that was all but possible. I never held such quarter for things of that nature however. I was never interested in becoming the ruler of our land, nor was I willing to simply lay my life on the battlefield, the only thing I was ever taught, aside for such... luxuries as that would entitle. However it wasn't until meeting her that I knew I would rebel against these foreseen circumstances. In nothing but a glance the dame caught my eye, a simplistic woman, a wench - she would come to be called, a harlot all for my selfishness - but it was she who I would deny all of my life for. I would find her, by 'happenstance', by 'chance' in every spare hour I could, I would speak to her, or give my attempt to do so in my own awkward way. She would laugh at me, and at first, it would sting my pride and I would snarl at her, but for all of it she held be snared and captivated. I grew to love her, a peasant, and a blasphemous thing to do to my family name and yet I was drawn to her despite that, a moth incapacitated by my attraction to flame.

"When we wake we'll begin our lives together." "Yes." The answer was immediate as I struggled past the jagged panic I felt arising in the face of her calmness, it was as if she was completely sure of our future, of what was coming. There was no uncertainty in her features, only a happy soothing in her gaze which peered into mine. Those soft sapphires eerily brimmed with tears, but not those of fear, h a p p i n e s s lingered in her, lightening the darker sides of my nature as she always did. Despite the light that gleamed around me, her light always outshone my own. My phoenix, my ashen beauty, my everything. "Bleu says it could be-" "I will be here when you wake, my love," she would interrupt me, nudging my uncertainties away with the soft stroke of her cheek along my chest. I watched as she stepped back, away from me and yet she strayed close enough for me to hear the enveloping crunch and sickening grind of her own crystalline prison forming around her, and then I could feel the embrace of my own casket beginning to close around me. Towards the heavens I turned my vision, a small prayer to attempt and ease the foreboding feeling of despair that grew in my chest, causing my heart to pummel fiercely against my ribcage. My eyes grew heavy as I felt the impending hypnotic haze lull my mind into a catatonic state. Five hundred years have passed since I closed my eyes, and now they open to an entire new existence - and suspicious faces.

-when you are done

wip my histories go on for forever and a day so i'll still be working on this for the next 329847298572 years

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