Post by rapture on Jul 28, 2011 23:44:02 GMT -6
Name: Ezreal Jeremiah Manus
Age: Sixteen
Height: 5”2
Weight: 126 lbs.
Gender: Male
Race: Sorcerer— MOTHERFUCKING WIZARD.
Appearance: With thin, wispy hair, white like winter’s frost, and skin just as pale, this boy doesn’t appear to be much. Ghosts have had a tanner complexion than him. Not only is Ezreal pale, he’s also very thing, and rather on the short side. All this, and a baby face to top it off— Ezreal does not appear sixteen. Not at all. In fact, some would say he barely looks eleven, to which Ezreal would protest and stand on his tippy toes. Beyond his thin, frail features, there lies in his face two bright blue eyes, which are almost always heavily lidded and glazed over, as if he’s been sedated. His thin lips are a pearly color and set into a constant, unimpressed frown, his nose small and thin. He looks very small, physically weak, and childish, and by all means, he is.
Personality : Ezreal tried his best to keep his external behavior calm, smooth, and calculating. He wants desperately to be the suave cool guy, but not for the sake of cool—It’s for the sake of him not looking like a huge jerk. Ezreal seems to have a naturally angry personality. He’s always on the edge of having an absolute meltdown—He might take a snap at anyone if they make one mistake, even a small child. At some points, it looks like he’s trying to look for something or someone to be angry at, just so he can be angry.
In reality, Ezreal is just extremely tired, and had to grow up at a young age just to learn magic—His rigorous studies and stubborn training often leave him cranky to the point of infinite frustration. If he ever got a moment to just relax, the calmer, tolerant, why, even shy Ezreal would come out, the boy he really is, not the grumpy teenie-bopper wizard. Alas, he’s too stubborn to take a vacation.
Background:
Maybe he would be a little less frustrated and more relaxed, if Ezreal hadn’t been born into a family expecting no less than a child prodigy.
His mother and father, Isabella and Dren Manus are mighty sorcerers, and also very respected for their prowess. Though most of the fame went to his father, a powerful wizard, instead of his mother, who was a dangerous deckmaster. When Isabella was impregnated with Ezreal, it was immediately expected of him to become a wizard. He was soon born in the fall, and though to be a child prodigy.
Well, expected to, rather.
And thus was the beginning of some of the most rigorous training a child had ever had to go through. Since the age of three, after he could walk and talk, his father taught him. At first the lessons were playful, less hard towards the child. He was a toddler, after all, and anything more difficult would be seen as cruelty.
As soon as he reached six, more difficult training came in. He constantly, fervently studied—there was no such thing as play now, as he sought knowledge, sought spells, more than anything else. His father would watch over him—Not proudly, not paternally, but rather, he looked the boy over like one looked over a horse.
He grew up with those eyes taking in everything he did—And judging his very value from it. Ezreal grasped at a young age that he was supposed to be nothing less than the best, or, or—He wasn’t sure what would happen, but he was sure it would be something akin to disowning him. And so Ezreal forced his training to be more difficult, at his father’s surprise and satisfaction. Soon he casted summoning spells at eight, explosive spells at nine, and spells that increased every so much more in their strangeness, and in their deadliness, as he grew older.
All this took such a strain on the poor boy—especially his mind, which harnessed most of this magic. It was said that this stunted his growth—Constant work as a child with little or no rest. Weeks at a time he would go without eating or sleeping, just to get a single spell or potion or incantation right. He’d come to such a level, he was working on his own spells now. With such a load to burden, to be the heir of his entire household and of his family name, to risk being disowned with a single, life-changing mistake—and to try to follow up normal academic studies left Ezreal with an eternal headache. It was the beginning of his teen years when his parents noticed he wasn’t… Maturing, at least not physically, but he had seemed to mature mentally. He was bitter and cold and kept to himself, now studying for more personal purposes. Not just spells, but advanced topics—Such as raising the dead.
He’s decided to travel abroad now, as being cramped up in his house had him on the brink of insanity.
He would become a master. The youngest and greatest there ever was. Maybe then his father would finally be proud.
Roleplay Sample:
(Ezreal leaving home. OTL )
It felt like torture just to step out the front door now. Before, as a child, he’d been so happy just to leave this damned place— The world was all too new to this poor boy, who rarely got to see the sun and the sky.
But now, as his mother wept, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and locking him in place, he simply couldn’t leave. Not with his mother crying like this.
He had to go though. And he knew he had to leave this place. And then—then he’d come back, yes, he’d return, more powerful than ever… Father would be proud.
And he’d stop looking at him with those eyes… Almost disappointed, always watching.
Those eyes he’d had to grow under.
Those eyes that leered at him from behind the doorway now. They were daring him to leave now, almost mocking him.
Ezreal sucked it up, stopped his own tears in their tracks, and pulled away from his mother in a single, rough jerk, leaving her shocked and hurt. But she had to be strong, because her son simply had to do this. He would study under masters, meet others with his talents, hopefully.
“Alright alright… I’m fine—I’m fine. Okay… Oh Gods, I can’t do this… But it’s going to be all right. I love you honey.” His mother calmed herself, patting his shoulders.
Ezreal didn’t dare look at her eyes, he didn’t want to travel abroad with those lost, glassy eyes in his head.
“I… I love you too.” It sounded kind of awkward. He didn’t say those words very much, even though he felt and meant them—It was just rare for them ever to be said in his household at all.
“I’ll come back.” And with that, he turned away, lips pursed and eyes determined. They stared out ahead, where the plains turned into a solid road, which led anywhere but here.
“And I’ll be the most powerful wizard anyone ever did see.”
With those last words, he pulled out his treasured, trademark staff from it’s sling, which was locked across his back quite firmly. It was made of a thick, stable sort of wood, and topped with a fanciful cluster of crystals, held to the wood by a silver circlet. It was a beauty—And passed down from the ages.
Ezreal pointed it skyward, and said a small incantation as the crystals glowed and hummed with powerful magic.
From the very earth and stone that made up the rocky path towards his front porch, a horse appeared, splotched with brown and white. It gave out a startled whinny at being summoned so suddenly to this strange place, but held itself steady for Ezreal, as it was tame.
He walked towards the grand horse, his steed for every city he would travel to—And he pretended not to hear the unimpressed huff behind him. Instead he clung to the horse’s neck with all he had, sitting uncomfortably on it’s back, having never ridden horseback.
“Go.”
The horse reared on it’s hind legs, kicking it’s front and snorting mightily—and the beast was off, Ezreal flailing wildly on it’s back and trying his best not to scream shrilly.
So much for a grand, dramatic exit. Ezreal prayed he could at least hold onto the horse until they were out of his parent’s line of sight.
Other (Abilities, etc):
Magical abilities, as a wizard or with would have. He’s very talented and knowledgeable, and keeps several spells and incantations down to memory in case of emergency, and he doesn’t have his trust, dusty Book Of Magic.
He also likes singing. A lot. His voice is quite shrilly and he makes a good soprano. But if anyone ever heard him singing he’d blow a fuse and maybe die of embarrassment.
Breaking Point: If you so much as break his treasured staff, Ezreal will go ballistic. You’ll see a whole new level of pissed off in the boy you probably weren’t meant to see. He can, of course, still use his staff—As long as it isn’t smashed to pieces, he can use the jeweled end of it to bring upon you the worst torture he can think of. Although, at this point, his rage is so very overwhelming it’s as if another side of him awakens—Thirsty for retribution, and for blood. His power increases tenfold, as well as his will to fight—And furthermore, to destroy.
HP: 5
Physical Attack: 0
Physical Defense: 0
Special Attack: 10
Special Defense: 10
Speed: 5
Agility: 5
Skill: 10
Energy Reserves/Stamina: 5
Age: Sixteen
Height: 5”2
Weight: 126 lbs.
Gender: Male
Race: Sorcerer— MOTHERFUCKING WIZARD.
Appearance: With thin, wispy hair, white like winter’s frost, and skin just as pale, this boy doesn’t appear to be much. Ghosts have had a tanner complexion than him. Not only is Ezreal pale, he’s also very thing, and rather on the short side. All this, and a baby face to top it off— Ezreal does not appear sixteen. Not at all. In fact, some would say he barely looks eleven, to which Ezreal would protest and stand on his tippy toes. Beyond his thin, frail features, there lies in his face two bright blue eyes, which are almost always heavily lidded and glazed over, as if he’s been sedated. His thin lips are a pearly color and set into a constant, unimpressed frown, his nose small and thin. He looks very small, physically weak, and childish, and by all means, he is.
Personality : Ezreal tried his best to keep his external behavior calm, smooth, and calculating. He wants desperately to be the suave cool guy, but not for the sake of cool—It’s for the sake of him not looking like a huge jerk. Ezreal seems to have a naturally angry personality. He’s always on the edge of having an absolute meltdown—He might take a snap at anyone if they make one mistake, even a small child. At some points, it looks like he’s trying to look for something or someone to be angry at, just so he can be angry.
In reality, Ezreal is just extremely tired, and had to grow up at a young age just to learn magic—His rigorous studies and stubborn training often leave him cranky to the point of infinite frustration. If he ever got a moment to just relax, the calmer, tolerant, why, even shy Ezreal would come out, the boy he really is, not the grumpy teenie-bopper wizard. Alas, he’s too stubborn to take a vacation.
Background:
Maybe he would be a little less frustrated and more relaxed, if Ezreal hadn’t been born into a family expecting no less than a child prodigy.
His mother and father, Isabella and Dren Manus are mighty sorcerers, and also very respected for their prowess. Though most of the fame went to his father, a powerful wizard, instead of his mother, who was a dangerous deckmaster. When Isabella was impregnated with Ezreal, it was immediately expected of him to become a wizard. He was soon born in the fall, and though to be a child prodigy.
Well, expected to, rather.
And thus was the beginning of some of the most rigorous training a child had ever had to go through. Since the age of three, after he could walk and talk, his father taught him. At first the lessons were playful, less hard towards the child. He was a toddler, after all, and anything more difficult would be seen as cruelty.
As soon as he reached six, more difficult training came in. He constantly, fervently studied—there was no such thing as play now, as he sought knowledge, sought spells, more than anything else. His father would watch over him—Not proudly, not paternally, but rather, he looked the boy over like one looked over a horse.
He grew up with those eyes taking in everything he did—And judging his very value from it. Ezreal grasped at a young age that he was supposed to be nothing less than the best, or, or—He wasn’t sure what would happen, but he was sure it would be something akin to disowning him. And so Ezreal forced his training to be more difficult, at his father’s surprise and satisfaction. Soon he casted summoning spells at eight, explosive spells at nine, and spells that increased every so much more in their strangeness, and in their deadliness, as he grew older.
All this took such a strain on the poor boy—especially his mind, which harnessed most of this magic. It was said that this stunted his growth—Constant work as a child with little or no rest. Weeks at a time he would go without eating or sleeping, just to get a single spell or potion or incantation right. He’d come to such a level, he was working on his own spells now. With such a load to burden, to be the heir of his entire household and of his family name, to risk being disowned with a single, life-changing mistake—and to try to follow up normal academic studies left Ezreal with an eternal headache. It was the beginning of his teen years when his parents noticed he wasn’t… Maturing, at least not physically, but he had seemed to mature mentally. He was bitter and cold and kept to himself, now studying for more personal purposes. Not just spells, but advanced topics—Such as raising the dead.
He’s decided to travel abroad now, as being cramped up in his house had him on the brink of insanity.
He would become a master. The youngest and greatest there ever was. Maybe then his father would finally be proud.
Roleplay Sample:
(Ezreal leaving home. OTL )
It felt like torture just to step out the front door now. Before, as a child, he’d been so happy just to leave this damned place— The world was all too new to this poor boy, who rarely got to see the sun and the sky.
But now, as his mother wept, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and locking him in place, he simply couldn’t leave. Not with his mother crying like this.
He had to go though. And he knew he had to leave this place. And then—then he’d come back, yes, he’d return, more powerful than ever… Father would be proud.
And he’d stop looking at him with those eyes… Almost disappointed, always watching.
Those eyes he’d had to grow under.
Those eyes that leered at him from behind the doorway now. They were daring him to leave now, almost mocking him.
Ezreal sucked it up, stopped his own tears in their tracks, and pulled away from his mother in a single, rough jerk, leaving her shocked and hurt. But she had to be strong, because her son simply had to do this. He would study under masters, meet others with his talents, hopefully.
“Alright alright… I’m fine—I’m fine. Okay… Oh Gods, I can’t do this… But it’s going to be all right. I love you honey.” His mother calmed herself, patting his shoulders.
Ezreal didn’t dare look at her eyes, he didn’t want to travel abroad with those lost, glassy eyes in his head.
“I… I love you too.” It sounded kind of awkward. He didn’t say those words very much, even though he felt and meant them—It was just rare for them ever to be said in his household at all.
“I’ll come back.” And with that, he turned away, lips pursed and eyes determined. They stared out ahead, where the plains turned into a solid road, which led anywhere but here.
“And I’ll be the most powerful wizard anyone ever did see.”
With those last words, he pulled out his treasured, trademark staff from it’s sling, which was locked across his back quite firmly. It was made of a thick, stable sort of wood, and topped with a fanciful cluster of crystals, held to the wood by a silver circlet. It was a beauty—And passed down from the ages.
Ezreal pointed it skyward, and said a small incantation as the crystals glowed and hummed with powerful magic.
From the very earth and stone that made up the rocky path towards his front porch, a horse appeared, splotched with brown and white. It gave out a startled whinny at being summoned so suddenly to this strange place, but held itself steady for Ezreal, as it was tame.
He walked towards the grand horse, his steed for every city he would travel to—And he pretended not to hear the unimpressed huff behind him. Instead he clung to the horse’s neck with all he had, sitting uncomfortably on it’s back, having never ridden horseback.
“Go.”
The horse reared on it’s hind legs, kicking it’s front and snorting mightily—and the beast was off, Ezreal flailing wildly on it’s back and trying his best not to scream shrilly.
So much for a grand, dramatic exit. Ezreal prayed he could at least hold onto the horse until they were out of his parent’s line of sight.
Other (Abilities, etc):
Magical abilities, as a wizard or with would have. He’s very talented and knowledgeable, and keeps several spells and incantations down to memory in case of emergency, and he doesn’t have his trust, dusty Book Of Magic.
He also likes singing. A lot. His voice is quite shrilly and he makes a good soprano. But if anyone ever heard him singing he’d blow a fuse and maybe die of embarrassment.
Breaking Point: If you so much as break his treasured staff, Ezreal will go ballistic. You’ll see a whole new level of pissed off in the boy you probably weren’t meant to see. He can, of course, still use his staff—As long as it isn’t smashed to pieces, he can use the jeweled end of it to bring upon you the worst torture he can think of. Although, at this point, his rage is so very overwhelming it’s as if another side of him awakens—Thirsty for retribution, and for blood. His power increases tenfold, as well as his will to fight—And furthermore, to destroy.
HP: 5
Physical Attack: 0
Physical Defense: 0
Special Attack: 10
Special Defense: 10
Speed: 5
Agility: 5
Skill: 10
Energy Reserves/Stamina: 5
