Wrathe; the beast. (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} withoutmercy) wrote,@ 2009-12-02 14:50:00 |
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-- The Beast
there's an art to violence
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extra ● soundtrack ● scenes ● connections ● ooc basics [top.] NAME: Rethel the Heinous. GOES BY: Wrathe (The name he was born to was replaced by his sire); Desmond Amandel(The more cultured name he adopted to follow the times). AGE AND DOB: 1,326; Winter 793 AD. SPECIES: Vampire. CAREER: Private Collector. CURRENT RESIDENCE: Morningstar; luxury status apartment. MARTIAL STATUS: Single. SEXUALITY: As long as he finds a usable orifice that will work. ETHER: Yes. Wrathe is a taste of ocean water, the heavy scent of strong liquor and fresh wood and wetted ash. supernatural [top.] ABILITIES BRUTE STRENTH Many supernaturals are gifted with strength that exceeds that of a human; however, Rethel's exceeded expectations. One of the reasons Ola (his sire) began to fear her king was because of his spectacular strength. SKILLS: Mimicry. After a time around someone he can pick up the light drawl, sentence structure - down to the pitch of a persons' voice. His vocal mimicking is perfected over time. LIMITATIONS: Mental shielding for others will only last so long as they do not travel more than eight feet from him. And if he is significantly starved his own mind is as vulnerable to another as that of a newborn child. Strength also wanes without sustenance. With age comes a level of resistance. Some of the traditional things will not work on him - garlic and religious symbols do not phase him, but a destroying his heart and sunlight are always up for grabs. WEAPONRY TRAINING: As a viking male he was taught hand to hand combat, to endure his own pain without so much as a flinch. Swords, short blades , axes, and bow and arrows were also amongst his training schedule. Reveling in blood and messy carnage caused him to excel in the weapons he took up. GROUP: The Raidan Coven. POSITION: Leader. OPINION: Raidan are true to their nature while the Elari are a shame to supernaturals everywhere. The Watch are an amusement, but if they get annoying they should be taken care of like vermin. ALLIANCES: None. RIVALRIES: None. appearance [top.] Skin several shades darker than what could have been considered a nice even golden tan contrasts quite sharply with silken dark hair. Dark colored stubble brushes along his jaw, touches his upper lip in a gentle kiss of hair. Lithe, but definitely muscular Wrathe - now known as Desmond by most who can not recall his face from vampire history pages - is a handsome depiction of roman marble statues. His body is strong, hard, and ready to do labor or battle as they said the Romans were so prone to. Long tapered fingers and a fangless half smile give him an endearing quality that is misplaced. Two cartilage piercings, both silver hoops adorn the top of his right ear, a style he picked up upon awakening. Mercurial red orbs shift from a subtle, almost normal looking shade of deep rusty red to vivid rose with his temperament. He rather enjoys soft materials - silk, linen. He found early that jeans chafe him and he would rather walk around 6'1 inches of all naked male than be pinched by the clingy material. While finding suits admirable he would rather not be that constricted by material. It took him several months of immersion in the new culture to grow accustom to the notion that it was inappropriate to walk around in whatever was convenient - nudity and waist wrappings around a slim waist and muscled thighs. DISTINGUISHING MARKS: A grisly scene is depicted on the entirety of his back. Broken and desecrated bodies splay across his skin, there are only brief touches of red and whites to finish off the mostly gray and black scenery. It is a small tribute to the day he earned his revenge on those who had attacked his village. personality [top.] - Man, woman, or child. He has no qualms about murdering or rape. Thoroughly sadistic - Gets off on humiliation and violation in several very twisted manners. He enjoys groups who care about each other to watch and participate in his feedings. - Life is hit or miss. If he happens to take a meal, drain you almost dry and you live then hurray, but you if die - it happens. - He is not hard to read, Rethel wears his emotions quite clearly on his face for all to see. Why should he have to hide them? He was too old to play with the youth in such a manner and older beings shoulder know better - a face can lie. - Has adopted some cultured antics, may come off as calm and collected but there is constant hunger in his eyes even when he is not ready to feed. He is soft spoken, but there is a constant underlying growl that enunciates his words. - Cat and mouse is usually not his game, but the prey he most desires he is willing to wait on. history [top.] FAMILY FATHER: MOTHER: SIBLING(S): Sometimes life gives you lemons and sometimes life shoves a super sized rock all the way up to your throat from your anus and tells you to deal with it. Rethel was born in a small village near the cliffs. His people prospered on the rocky slopes - food aplenty with a steady population, but as time changes so do situations. A gentle summer night welcomed the babe into the world and his proud father raised him in the ways of a raiding warrior as was needed. He knew no real suffering, just the sweet agony inflicted during training and battles with surprised groups. The people of the cliffs raided, savoring the salty air and long journeys for supplies until others brought war to them. Women and men stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons in hand. There was no greater honor than to die in battle for the viking warriors. A mid-wife stayed behind with the young to do what must be done should they fail. No child of the cliffs would be made a slave or whore to enemies; they would not allow it. The fight was tirelessly long, days of battle damaged armor and war torn bodies clanking together made for a tyrannical clashing of opposing beats for the forces. The people of the cliffs arose victorious, casting the intruders from their lands. Mourning the dead was a long process and many of those separated from their partners chose to meet him or her in the afterlife on the barge that would lead them to Valhalla. Evening found Rethel on the rain softened ground near the rocky precipice she knew intimately. Grief did not touch the stone cold features; he knew only the taste of revenge, rain slid over marble and disappeared into the neck of her armor. It was not enough to drive them from their village. He wanted more. Rethel needed revenge. He earned his title a month later. Leading a large group Rethel razed the lands of their attackers. Everyone was brutalized in his fury. Blood rained down on his visage and the viking male swam in euphoric bliss. At the end of the night the crimson crusted male threw their leader's strong son down in front of his father. The older male was detained, held back by the much stronger force. Rough tugs left the twenty-something year old male bare before enemies. Rethel let those fear darkened eyes meet his father's before he took him there. Amongst the bodies of friend and kin, the intruding male savagely brutalized the virgin male. Sparing him the humiliation did not cross his mind. Fingers tugged thick black hair, smacked his face into the ground to inhale the muck and sharped spilled essence from their peoples. Torn and blood slicked, the boy tried to keep his tears from falling and failed. Rethel pounded the traumatized male until he was sated then kicked him aside. With a sigh, almost as if the task was a chore the viking tugged up his armor and tangled his fingers in the boy's hair once again to life his head. Before his eyes a blade shoved through his father's throat - the elder man's mouth gaped open, eyes flew wide in death. The head rolled to the side. Rethel called them forward, bid they bring it closer. Kneeling down, a sinister smile in place he worked the younger man's cock until it was hard despite his fear then sat the open mouthed head onto his shaft. The grin was nothing friendly as the invader's leader slammed those teeth shutting, parting muscle by use of his own father. The prince's shriek was a howl, a purposeful keening that caused hairs to stand on end. Rethel's men jumped back from the action, terrified. Several cupped their own manhood in an involuntary defense. Lamentation was cut abruptly short with the wet slice of his blade. Enough was enough. The boy bled out, gushed in a way that was more beautiful then the forced submission and his ass decorated with seminal fluids and blood. What he had not known was of the vampiress who watched him with lustful intent. His work was melodious to her, there was certain vibration to his staunch brutality that sung to the heavens and melded with the Earth. She had to have him. On the shores the remaining men set up camp. Shelter for Rethel was draped in furs, a fire roared outside. Unaware of the danger inside he brushed back the flap to meet the gaze of a particularly lush woman. Red strands covered her full breasts from view. She swayed the way of a snake charmer, ensnared him with arousal. Petite hands led him to the furs that were to be his bed, divested him. Enraptured by this beauty he took pleasures in her body and her in his. With him sated and asleep she stole him away to her home. Changing him in a tent with dawn a threat would be stupid. Coming awake again was strange. There was a flutter, a rush of liquid through a contained space. He smelled sex - the pungent musky scent and.. blood? He knew it well in his human life, but now it made his mouth water. His sire sat beside him, tore her tender wrist with sharp teeth. Rethel drank deeply, became full on the power her blood radiated. The female's name was Ola. Over the years he stayed with her, made her coven powerful. As her king he was known to the world as Wrathe. He ruled with an iron fist, let little room for enemies to make a stand against them. They found a youthful female, under his loving care she shattered for him. Her screams were a symphony that he would not forget. He battered her with his cock, sipped her blood like a vintage brew with short nails carving into her thighs to receive his seed. By the end of the night he would have slain the girl, but his queen begged favor - asked for the broken childer as a gift. Obliged by her pleas and the beautiful light of fear in her gaze Wrathe put his creation into her care and Ola named her Krystal; and had the child call her Cassandra, the name she had taken on when investigating the girl. The pretty little doll was stroked with tender care by the vampire queen and a male lover who was referred to as Theodore. Wrathe paid no real mind to the three except to take Krystal them her and use the girl as pleased him. Months at a time he was not even present at their home, choosing to travel and further their influence. Life was painted near black with blood under his reign; however times grew old, the vampires became glutted with blood and lazy. They wanted lower class vampires to hunt for them. Even his queen began to follow the trend. Filled to the brim with disgust Wrathe turned on the coven, set the elders free from idiotic luxury and set the young loose. For over a month he rid the world of any who dared step in his path, then he disappeared. More accurately Wrathe secured a cavern he could seal and went to sleep. Maybe in a later time he would find noteworthy brethren. A century appeared to be a mere flutter of an eyes lash to him. Hunger shattered the serene illusion he presented. Gaunt from years without feeding he ripped the scientist apart with bare hands, ate whole mouthfuls of flesh - his stomach demanded it. Awake and starved he feasted from the group the foolish mortal had brought along then stripped the largest man of his clothing. While his stomach keened for more his mind processed that they were not in the same time period. Dressed more as random traveler now Wrathe traveled out into the world and found a quaint little family to quell the rest of his hunger. He met the husband and wife as a blond, his color only partially restored at the long rest. It was a blond male they invited into their home with left smeared in blood, hair a much darker brown. extra [top.] ● Favorite quote: "Life is a game. The winner is the one who had the most fun until the end." ● He used to call Roxy "Bambina/Little Girl" and whenever she addressed him she would have to call him "Daddy". Desmond will expect that of her always. ● Has dextrocardia (a condition in which the heart is located on the right side of the body instead of the left), soundtrack [top.] ♪ Korn; Slept So Long ♪ 3 Days Grace; Pain. ♪ Disturbed; Voices. ♪ 10 Years; Scream at the Wall. ♪ 10 Years; Russian Roulette. scenes [top.] past/chapter #. WEEK # DATE » blurb connections [top.] ROMANTIC
PLATONIC
ANTAGONISTIC
ooc [top.] PLAYER: Saxonie. CONTACT: See cast page or leave a comment here. CREDIT: Profile coding by mydecember. |
