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Gaian Username: Marli-oneechan
Character's Name: Ambrosius Macha Fra'niere
Nickname: Ambrose
Age: Appears eighteen
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Doesn't care
Approximate Height: About six feet
Approximate Weight: 160 pounds
Alignment: Edellian
History: Ambrose is from a time far in the future, when most of the mythics(creatures and races) Have died out, leaving only humans, elves, and the scattered others. Most of them are unheard of, and society and beautiful cities have been lost to make way for a concrete jungle, strange powers by the humans, and metal on every corner in the heavily populate regions. His mother was a Dragon shapeshifter, his father an elf, from long ago. They were the last survivors of the War of Ages, the war between the new dictators and Edellan forces merged with half of Cydonia, or the half that wasn't under control. "They fought a brave battle." His parents used to tell him, and stories of their long fought wars with Cydonia were almost over. They'd almost come to a peace-- an understanding of sorts, and a treaty, sick of the epidemics and deaths, population dwindling.
"But... in the end, they'd lost." They would say, sadness masking their faces, as tears began to pour from my mother's eyes. She cried long and hard for her long deceased mother, Iraphna, and her father, Shurke. They'd told her stories of their battles, and how they'd been named for two almost legendary dragons in the war. She secretly disbelieved them, that they'd been the real thing. That they'd lied to save her.
His father held her in those times, as Ambrose looked on confused. His differently-colored eyes, one white and one ocher, came from her. They both had the slitted pupils of her side of his heritage. And though his wings were feathery and not leather-bound, he knew that she was my own by those eyes.
But then came the day that he saw those eyes full of blood, screaming out to me as she tried to escape from the White army's clutches.
"Ambrose! Run!!" She shreiked, before they killed her through her creamy forehead, staining the milky skin with blood.
In the last two decades, Ambrose's parents were persecuted by the communist leader of his country for unknown reasons and murdered before a crowd, their innards hanging out as if on display with their faces twisted into eternal regret. They were shot to death and more, after being restrained by magical collars, bewitched by the humans' witches to bind them and their powers so that they never return. Almost every person involved in the opposite side of the war had been killed in much the same fashion, for the past Cydonians to look on and cackle.
He ran for miles, not stopping until eventually, exhausted, he tripped and fell flat onto his face and headfirst into gravel. As he scraped bits of stone out of his forearms, a hand was offered to him. He looked up, to see a pristine woman, in olden-style clothing. Her skin was paler than life, like his mothers... and her hands small and delicate. She wore armor on her shoulders that looked like large, beautiful scales. And she smiled. At him. The lonely, tired boy with no parents, home, or future. "Come now..." He voice echoed, like bells. Her white hair waved in a nonexistent wind, and thought she did not look old, she had the air of a millenia-ancient being. He obediently took her hand and stood, unable to speak. "Young Wyvern, your parents are safe now... with an entity that loves them. They knowyou love them as well." Her voice was kind, as well, and sounded like she honestly cared about him. She touched his forehead once, with a clawed hand. "You are blessed." She said softly, and her fingers moved to his shoulder, and the ripped shirt there, worn from running for days and away from the people. A shape suddenly bloomed from behind her, with wings and a roar that only he could hear in this middle-of-nowhere place. It was a shining white.
And it moved, one of the wingtips reaching out to touch him. He felt it, the feel just like his mother's own flying appendages. His face caressed it, and tears were once more brought to his eyes. "How..." He began to ask, but a pain ripped through his skin where the wingtip had touched it, and he clutched it in pain. "You will see me soon, Ambrose..." The woman said with a smile, and dissolved into the thin air. "Soon..." Echoed in his head, and when he drew his hand away, there on the skin lied a pentagonal... etched into his flesh, like it'd always ben there.
Since, Ambrose had inhabited several orphanages for abandoned 'mythics'. They were cared for, and almost even liked. All except for Ambrose. He had the eyes of a dragon, they would say. Not of a snakeling, a serpent, but a dragon, holding that same kind of intelligence and good will that put the dragon clans on Edellan's side in the war. He led a tortured life from the bone age of five, but the human age of thirty-eight.
Until, that is, he came to Edellan. There, he was accepted, and loved it. That is, until he learned that he had to fight.
Personality: Ambrose is a hard kid, learned, and therefore accepting. His attitude is kind, most of the times, and he registers things quickly, not caring about past deeds as long as the current ones don't harm him.
Species: Wyvern
Appearance: Why am I here?
Other: Ambrose has little to no magical ability, and likes talking to people.
 Marli-oneechan · Thu Apr 16, 2009 @ 11:22pm · 0 Comments |
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