Post by Septimus on May 15, 2013 18:25:58 GMT
Biological Information
Name: Septimus
Gender: Male
Race: N/A
Homeworld: N/A
Date of Birth (Age): 124
Height:6'5 (1.95m) out of suit, 6'6 (1.99m)when suited-up
Weight: 60.1kg/134lbs
Blood Type: N/A
Hair: N/A
Eyes: N/A
ID Marks: N/A
Appearance Overview: Septimus never removes his suit, for a number of vital reasons. Therefore, his appearance shall be summed up by this.
Universe of Origin: Original
Professional Information
Occupation: N/A
Faction: N/A
Rank/Position: N/A
Billet: N/A
History
Personal History: N/A
Family: N/A
Training and Education: N/A
Personality: Septimus is just short of a cold-hearted military man - at least, that's what he lets people see. He acts like, and is to some extent, a tough nugget with no morals whatsoever. However, he acts like he does for several reasons that cannot be shared, due to plot-spoilers. He handles situations well, albeit a little biased towards certain selfish things. Underneath is cold-facade, though, he is a genuine person. He cares a lot about righteous justice, but is not one to support vengeance. Some, who have gotten to know him a little better than others, know him to be a little too kind at times.
Name/Country: Sam, United Kingdom
Roleplay Example: Taron Viola watched as a blood red sun slowly sank beneath the horizon in the far west. Red and orange smears streaked across the sky whilst it began to disappear, reaching out as if to ask for forgiveness. The fiery wonder protested, but still it was reluctantly forced to leave this part of the land.
The girl was dressed as always: a purple, tight fitting tunic that featured a little chain work around the belly, worked into the linen, and, just below the ornate mail links, a thick, black leather belt that held both her trousers and her sword’s scabbard in place. The trousers on her lower body showed no intention of revealing skin, the bottoms fitting snugly inside her black boots, laced halfway up her shins. They seemed fit for combat: not ready to come loose anytime soon.
The orange light that still remained glimmered off of her somewhat shiny boots and a delicate coronet of gold atop her head, resting gently in her auburn hair. Locks of orange and red merged against the sunset and the matching jewels in the crown as they twisted to her shoulder blades, plaited to rid of annoyance. Four long strands of hair fell to her cheekbones though, two on either side, flanking her stunning purple eyes. These dashing purple irises were part of the reason behind Taron’s surname, “Viola”. It emphasised upon the one thing that someone noticed first upon seeing her. Violet eyes were rare in these parts, so many thought she was special amongst others; gifted, one might say. The other reason, which was also a gift, was her incredible musical skills with string instruments.
She was stood upon a cliff, looking down at rivers and settlements scattered across the landscape. Rivers split into twos, threes, meandering around the grassy hills and mounds of the land. Tendrils of water twisted and turned till they reached their ultimate goal of the sea, which was now too reflecting the last of today’s sunlight. Over some of the watery roads, wooden bridges bent over backwards to support the weight of the ones who wished to cross to the villages and towns on either side.
Houses here were scattered everywhere, mainly in big clumps. These settlements were producing the occasional plume of smoke and the sound of joyous music. From up here, on the mountain side, Taron could see bright orange embers spat from the fire, floating downwards in a hive of excitement.
A sad smile was etched onto Taron’s face. She turned from the village and thought of only a few years back; she sat there smiling by the bonfire too when she was younger. Most nights, she would drag her parents to listen to the stories and folklore told by the greatest of storytellers. As a tradition of sorts, she always brought with her a small glass jar and a lid to match. On the way home from the fire, she and her father would catch a single firefly, whilst her mother watched, laughing and cheering them on.
Taron’s finger wiped away a single tear from her purple eye. Surely but silently, she breathed in deeply, releasing the air seconds later with a quiet sigh of despair. It was followed by another, with the realisation of a burning city against the horizon.
Note: The fields filled in with N/A in this application are a Staff privilege only - they are for the purpose of hiding plot-spoilers. In time, the fields will be filled in.
Name: Septimus
Gender: Male
Race: N/A
Homeworld: N/A
Date of Birth (Age): 124
Height:6'5 (1.95m) out of suit, 6'6 (1.99m)when suited-up
Weight: 60.1kg/134lbs
Blood Type: N/A
Hair: N/A
Eyes: N/A
ID Marks: N/A
Appearance Overview: Septimus never removes his suit, for a number of vital reasons. Therefore, his appearance shall be summed up by this.
Universe of Origin: Original
Professional Information
Occupation: N/A
Faction: N/A
Rank/Position: N/A
Billet: N/A
History
Personal History: N/A
Family: N/A
Training and Education: N/A
Personality: Septimus is just short of a cold-hearted military man - at least, that's what he lets people see. He acts like, and is to some extent, a tough nugget with no morals whatsoever. However, he acts like he does for several reasons that cannot be shared, due to plot-spoilers. He handles situations well, albeit a little biased towards certain selfish things. Underneath is cold-facade, though, he is a genuine person. He cares a lot about righteous justice, but is not one to support vengeance. Some, who have gotten to know him a little better than others, know him to be a little too kind at times.
Name/Country: Sam, United Kingdom
Roleplay Example: Taron Viola watched as a blood red sun slowly sank beneath the horizon in the far west. Red and orange smears streaked across the sky whilst it began to disappear, reaching out as if to ask for forgiveness. The fiery wonder protested, but still it was reluctantly forced to leave this part of the land.
The girl was dressed as always: a purple, tight fitting tunic that featured a little chain work around the belly, worked into the linen, and, just below the ornate mail links, a thick, black leather belt that held both her trousers and her sword’s scabbard in place. The trousers on her lower body showed no intention of revealing skin, the bottoms fitting snugly inside her black boots, laced halfway up her shins. They seemed fit for combat: not ready to come loose anytime soon.
The orange light that still remained glimmered off of her somewhat shiny boots and a delicate coronet of gold atop her head, resting gently in her auburn hair. Locks of orange and red merged against the sunset and the matching jewels in the crown as they twisted to her shoulder blades, plaited to rid of annoyance. Four long strands of hair fell to her cheekbones though, two on either side, flanking her stunning purple eyes. These dashing purple irises were part of the reason behind Taron’s surname, “Viola”. It emphasised upon the one thing that someone noticed first upon seeing her. Violet eyes were rare in these parts, so many thought she was special amongst others; gifted, one might say. The other reason, which was also a gift, was her incredible musical skills with string instruments.
She was stood upon a cliff, looking down at rivers and settlements scattered across the landscape. Rivers split into twos, threes, meandering around the grassy hills and mounds of the land. Tendrils of water twisted and turned till they reached their ultimate goal of the sea, which was now too reflecting the last of today’s sunlight. Over some of the watery roads, wooden bridges bent over backwards to support the weight of the ones who wished to cross to the villages and towns on either side.
Houses here were scattered everywhere, mainly in big clumps. These settlements were producing the occasional plume of smoke and the sound of joyous music. From up here, on the mountain side, Taron could see bright orange embers spat from the fire, floating downwards in a hive of excitement.
A sad smile was etched onto Taron’s face. She turned from the village and thought of only a few years back; she sat there smiling by the bonfire too when she was younger. Most nights, she would drag her parents to listen to the stories and folklore told by the greatest of storytellers. As a tradition of sorts, she always brought with her a small glass jar and a lid to match. On the way home from the fire, she and her father would catch a single firefly, whilst her mother watched, laughing and cheering them on.
Taron’s finger wiped away a single tear from her purple eye. Surely but silently, she breathed in deeply, releasing the air seconds later with a quiet sigh of despair. It was followed by another, with the realisation of a burning city against the horizon.
Note: The fields filled in with N/A in this application are a Staff privilege only - they are for the purpose of hiding plot-spoilers. In time, the fields will be filled in.