Name: Kyros Inoue
Age: 324, Visibly 18
Race: Werewolf ((Ex-Hunter))
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Kyros refuses to put himself in a box. In other words, he does not refer to himself as any specific sexuality.
Personality: Kyros has a very different personality when dealing with different people. The two different personalities are dependant on whether or not he is with his fellow pack-members. When with his pack members, Kyros is a very different person from the one he had been when he was a younger, less experienced hunter. He is kind, loving, and playful. Kyros can't think of anything he wouldn't do for his pack, and he is almost overly confident that every one of his pack members feels the same about him. Like a father, Kyros is extremely protective of his pack members, and is often finding excuses to help them out as much as possible. It isn't rare to find Kyros charging out of the shadows to attack something that a pack member had been unable to kill himself. Most seemed to be grateful for Kyros' rescues, because though he is overprotective he is also sensitive to his pack member's beliefs. He would never jump in on a fight if he thought the pack member would resent him for intervening, and he wouldn't join a fight he thought they could win.
While not around his pack his personality does change, however. Kyros is sarcastic, unhappy, and vicious. He has little regard for the safety of others, and will do nearly anything to catch his mark. The hunter's blood in him only being intensified by the wolf half he now carries, he is driven and nearly obsessed with hunting creatures other than werewolves. He has an extreme hatred for Vampires, which manifests in a brawling side; meaning that he takes any opportunity he can to get in a fight with a vampire, even if it is a losing battle he is fighting alone. Even though it is a part of him, Kyros still views the wolf transformation as a trump card, a blessing or final form if you will. He won't turn into a wolf in battle unless he is left with absolutely no alternatives. Being armed to the teeth as a human, he usually doesn't get pushed that far.
Appearance:
Human: Kyros changed quite a bit since his transformation into a werewolf. His dirty blonde hair now hangs in an untamed fashion around his face and neck, going to the nape of his neck and about to his chin all around. The hair has no real rhyme or reason to it, it just hangs in a "just got out of bed" style. Kyros has small, slim, almond-shaped eyes. The irises are a brilliant emerald color, though they will occasionally become a duller color for some odd reason, like a fog has filmed over his eyes. His nose is slim and chiseled, three scars running parallel to each other down the right side from a fight with a ghoul. Kyros' lips are slim, pale pink, and often pulled into a toothy smile to show off his brilliant white fangs. Minus the elongated canine teeth, his teeth are all perfectly aligned, and bleach-white. Kyros' jaw line is well-defined, halfway along the left half of his jaw being marked by yet another nasty scar. His ears are slightly pointed and small, though this can barely ever be seen due to the immense amount of hair that covers them. He has a long neck, with a defined adams apple.
He wears no shirt, leaving the powerful, scar-covered, chest bare. Though he never wears a shirt, it seems his skin doesn't meet a lot of sun. His skin isn't quite pale, though it is also very far from tanned. It is a happy medium between the two, as Kyros likes to call it. His chest and back are covered in scars both large and small, each one caused by everything from claws to bullets. Due to the fact that he is a warrior, he is extremely muscular. However, his muscles are compact. Though his muscle mass is very high, one wouldn't really know it purely by looks. His muscles are like steel cords, defined and firm, but not exactly bulging. His stomach is protected by firm muscle in the form of a six-pack. His arms are on the longer side, along with his torso, and like his torso they are very muscular. However, they aren't like a body-builder's, they are wiry and compact, like an animal's. His forearms are littered with tiny scars, some from his messed up childhood and others from clashes that got too close for comfort. Kyros has carpenter's hands, coarse and calloused, with several scars from his endless labours. However, his fingers are also longer and thinner as opposed to short and muscular, which was one of the reasons he typically puts his hands toward music more often than carpentry.
From the waist down Kyros begins to look more human. He wears pants, for starters, which is a big leap from his wild and undressed upper-half. The pants are a light brown color, and extremely baggy. Though they have no button anymore, they are held up and closed through the use of a zipper and a well-placed belt. The belt itself is made of black leather, and tied into a knot in the front, as he has no belt buckle. Hanging at his side on the right are two scabbards, both holding the blades he had inherited from his father. These blades are silver in color, with silver orbs as their pommels, but the only pure silver part of it is the edging around the blade. So, he can touch the handle and cross guards to use them in battle. The handles are wrapped in a leather nearly identical to the leather he uses as a belt, though the handles are more worn down than his belt. Stuck in the waist band on the left side of his stomach is the handle of a hunting knife. This knife is also edged in silver, making it extremely deadly. For this reason he keeps a case for it, which is also concealed within his waistband. Attached to the belt loops on his left hip is a wire. Along the wire is an assortment of trophies, mostly fangs and claws, though there are other more grizzly trophies like the ears of ghouls and even one knuckle bone. His pants are nearly overwhelmed with dozens of various pockets, some pockets even having pockets within them. Each pocket holds something useful to him, and comes with a flap to close it so this useful thing won't fall out. Most useful to him are the things in the upper pockets. These pockets hold smaller silver knifes, a Zippo lighter, two pistols- obviously the top pockets are quite large- and extra clips. In the other pockets are various things, including rations and other small weapons like pocket knives.
Wolf: As a wolf there isn't much to say. His build is powerful, and compact, like his human form; he isn't the biggest wolf out there. If he were to stand on his hind legs he would be up at about five foot eight, making him quite tall but still not very large. He is mostly fur, which is one of the reasons most can't see the fact that he really isn't very big. Kyros' pelt is jet black and silky, coverings nearly his entire body in a bushy fashion. His ears are slightly larger than average, his snout similar in that it is on the longer end. Kyros' nose is pitch black as well, the inside of his mouth being a contrasting fleshy pink color, with brilliantly white fangs. His tails adds a good foot and a half to his height, bushy and long.
Alignment: Neutral
History: Kyros was born to a family somewhere in France, presumably around Province however the family would not be able to take care of him. So, he was put up for adoption. Kyros would be adopted by a kind man and his wife, who weren't able to have children. His new father was Japanese, going by the surname Ren, while his mother was greek. She went by the name Anna, though Kyros never knew what her maiden name was. Kyros was given his name in honor of his mother's heritage, while his last name had obvious Japanese roots. The family lived together in Athena, where the world was plagued with the supernatural at the time. His father was a hunter, and taught Kyros everything he would come to know. At the age of ten he began his training, learning to use anything and everything as a weapon. He was taught to fire with both bow and gun, even a crossbow at one point in time. Eventually he would also learn to fight with melee weapons, including axes and his personal favorite weapon, the long sword. Kyros was brought up in a humane environment, but like his father he believed in keeping in touch the the bestial half of himself while hunting. It was their belief that only a beast could kill a beast. At the age of fifteen, while out on a hunt, their home was attacked. It seemed that the local vampire gang had gotten smart, they were going to start attacking hunters and their families at their homes. Ren and his son got word quickly, and sped home only to find the bloody mess that was the remains of Anna. Torn apart by grief and loss, Ren set off to kill the vampire gang with his own hands; he left Kyros home.
Kyros followed his father, though, using everything he had learned to keep track of him. With only a silver hunting knife for a weapon, Kyros prepared to jump into battle alongside his father when the time came. However, it seemed that it wasn't Kyros' fate to fight and die with his father. He accidentally fell asleep one night, exhausted from days of traveling without rest, and awoke the find his father's trail cold. He followed the trail with expert precision, and came upon a hut in the woods. The place reeked of blood and decay, Kyros feared the worst. Charging into the hut, he found several bodies. Two bodies were impaled upon the wall, silver long swords stabbed through the to cross guard. Blood trickled from their mouths, their body crumbling to dust as the sun rose through the windows. Other bodies littered the ground, in turn crumbling just as the other two did. Only one body remained, the body shaking and convulsing as blood poured from its abdomen. It was the dying figure of his father, Kyros was too late. With his dying breath, Ren left his son the two long swords that had been his ally through nearly everything, and begged his son not to follow the path of vengeance that he had.
Kyros took the swords, but not the advice. He left Athena that night on his search to hunt down every vampire he could, to eliminate them from the world. As his travels progressed and he killed more and more vampires, becoming more and more talented as he went on, he soon realized that he would need a career to support himself. However, the only talents he knew were combat and hunting. He would end up using these skills to support himself, traveling from town to town as requests poured in for him to eliminate one abomination or another. This was where he began to collect trophies, attaching them to a length of wire that he kept in his pocket. He grew stronger and more skilled as he traveled the world, becoming a world-renowned hunter, his name carried a lot of tales with it. Quite a few governments would try to employ him to train special forces, but he was never much of a teacher so he always declined.
It was three years later that his life would change for the better. While traveling through the woods of France, he happened upon a werewolf. The girl was only fifteen by appearance, but she was the most beautiful thing that Kyros had ever seen. He would soon realize one thing, and that was that the only being that could combat a vampire as effectively as possible was the werewolf. He asked the girl to turn him, so that he could have a trump card against his mortal enemy, but she asked that he prove himself. So, as a demon attacked them, Kyros made a decision. He would defend the girl, slay the demon, and prove himself to her. The kill was a nasty one, basically being that he stabbed the demon where its kidney would be and twisted, sending it into shock so that it could bleed out to death. It was then that another being came in and finished the demon off. Only moments after Kyros was turned.
Awakening in the forest he had been traveling in, he shook and cried out in pain, fire running through his veins. However, his senses were enhanced immensely, and he felt more powerful. He sought out the woman that had turned him, and found her within her cave. It was there that he fell in love with the woman, and there that he burned one of his last ties to his old life. He burned the leather jacket that had stuck with him through thick and thin, in the process becoming a new hunter. He would live with his new pack, though they were a small one, and learn to be a werewolf through the careful guiding of the woman who turned him. However, after a hundred and twelve years with the woman, he was given an ultimatum. The Greek government had been assembling the best of the best to hunt down a small army of vampires that were plaguing them, and they had sent for who was at the time one of the best hunters in existence. They found Kyros, and made him the offer. He would spend fifty years traveling with the pack of abominations that made up their elite squad, taking out the small army and any other threat that the government reported. After those long, fifty years, Kyros became home sick. He felt lonely and empty without the woman who he had fallen in love with, and not even carrying out his revenge could compare with the feelings he had experienced when around her.
He would spend the next hundred or so years tracking down his old pack, trying to find the woman who had turned him. Unsuccessful in all of his attempts, Kyros would never give up. He continued to search the world, following every lead he could in an attempt to reunite himself with the pack he had abandoned.
Rp sample:
The moon was bright in the sky, inching its way past the halfway mark of its race through the night. All around it the stars gathered, watching and waiting like patient fans. Everything was quiet that wondrous night, even the cold night air held its breath as if in anticipation for something. Ironically enough, something was about to happen within the confines of a dark, dead forest. However, it would be narcissistic for either party of the upcoming event to think that the world was waiting for it to happen, they were but specks to the great force that was nature. The forest in question was thick and crowded with the massive, gray, smooth trunks of the trees that called the place their home. Snow blanketed the ground, dirtied by the soiling of animals and kicking up of earth. There wasn't a spot bigger than the size of a fully grown man's fist that was undisturbed by footprints or other impressions caused by both animal and plants. Branches littered the ground, having fallen from the dead trees they were once a part of. This would be the scene of the upcoming event; more precisely it would be the bank of a creek just a few miles north of the main path that ran through the woods. One could find the path because it was the only part of the woods that had been trampled so much that it was void of almost all snow.
Crouched at the bank of this creek, picking up a tattered piece of cloth from the frozen surface, was the werewolf known as Kyros. Hanging from his baggy pants was a wire, covered in fangs, feathers, claws, and other grizzly trophies that reminded him of his human life. Unlike when he was a hunter, Kyros felt no need to wear his black leather trench coat. He could still remember the day that he had burned his coat, with the small and stunning figure of his Alpha Werewolf leaned against his bear side. Today he wore the same outfit he had been wearing back then. Nothing covered his chest, his scar-covered, pale skin seeming to glow under the intense light of the half-moon. On his feet were the boots that had seen him through nearly everything- they weren't the same pair he had worn since he was a human, but they were the same brand and make-, even when he hunted ghouls in the Catskills Mountains. Hanging in front of his brilliant, emerald, eyes were locks of dirty blond hair, which cascaded around his face and neck in an untamed manner. There was a deadly look in his eyes, like he was preparing to kill someone or something; which he was, to be completely honest. He was on a hunt for the one that had always disgusted him most, a vampire.
Smiling at the thought of the kill he would soon have the pleasure of adding to his list, he straightened his back and stretched, clenching the torn piece of cloth in his hand. There was only one letter upon the red cloth, written in black gothic letters. As he brought his powerful hand back down, he opened his fist and stared down at the letter. It was a spiny, beautifully written Q, most likely the starting letter of the vampire's name. He had been tracking a vampire named "Quin" for three days now, and it seemed that their last skirmish had done more damage than Kyros had thought. A sudden cracking of twigs slammed into his ears, alerting him and sending him directly into hunting mode. He crouched lower, reaching down to grab the leather-wrapped handle of his pure silver long sword-a weapon he refused to give up, even after becoming a werewolf- and poised to strike as a shadowy figure approached.
<{644 words 3502 characters}>
Because that post sucked and I want you to see how I roleplay when I'm focused and not rusty...:
Kozakura's soft, pink hair fell over her shoulder in waves; covering nearly her entire torso with its length. The locks scattered across her shoulders, the bangs pushed to the sides of her face; creating a sort of pink frame for her heart-shaped visage. Her sharp coral eyes scanned over the area and the little girl that stood before her. She smiled without warmth or happiness, but more likely because she expected that was what others might due when greeting a new acquaintance and ally. Her soft pink lips were pulled into the light arc that was her smile, not revealing the perfect. bleach-white pearls that lay behind them. Her skin was pale as the sand grains that remained on her dress, her eyes ringed with dark lines that were the result of expertly applied make-up. No one knew why she wore make-up in such a society, where one was judged by their strength instead of their appearance, but she did so anyway. At her waist hung the other half of her soul. It was in the form of what seemed to be a hand-and-a-half sword, more commonly known as a bastard sword. The handle itself seemed to be carved from stone, the pommel taking the form of a skull, adorned with horns or spikes. The cross guard was the skull of a beast, its horns weaving outward like a goat's, curling around itself. She turned her body so that she would face the girl completely, her hair creating a wave of pink as it was thrown outward because of the spinning motion. When her hair rested back down upon her back and shoulders, she nodded to the girl firmly.
They stood within the only section of the dark and disgusting world of Hueco Mundo that was graced by sunlight. It was a wretched thing, the sun, as it stung the eyes and gave a hue to Koza's perfectly achromatic flesh. Still, the sky's color when the sun was out was so awe-inspiringly beautiful that Koza couldn't help but forgive the sunlight. It was a wonderful shade of azure all day, every day, with a few cotton balls floating around within it. The clouds were a bit distracting, but occasionally they would take the form of humorous shapes that could amuse Koza for hours, so they were forgiven as well. As she thought about this she looked up to the beautiful azure sky, seeming a bit lost in its wonder for a split second. Her eyes then fell upon the courtyard where they stood. Along the borders and in a few remote places were patches of grass and flowers, maybe age-old attempts at filling the place with a garden. However, scars ran deep through most of the courtyard, making it impossible to foster life. The scars were in the form of massive gashes or crevices that were the direct result of ressurecion releases, ceros, and even a few balas that managed to miss their mark and create a small crater within the terrain before them. They stood now upon the bridge that hung over the Courtyard, a white marble-like structure that hung from metal cords. They were several dozen feet above the ground, hanging limply upon marble slabs that by all rights should not have been supported by such weak, steel cords.
She could already tell that her Fraccion was either weak or anxious, neither was a very good sign. It was true that Koza, being an Espada, held an aura of horror about her, but she couldn't due with a student that spent more time quivering in her boots than she did paying attention to what Koza had to teach her. The thought of such a girl being frightened of Koza without Koza even having to leak a fraction of her spiritual energy was a bit disappointing. Then again, it could be that she is afraid I won't find her worthy of me. I do remember that she was a privaron..Maybe she only wants to learn from me to eventually retake her place as an Espada... If that is that case she does have cause to fear me without having seen any of my strength.. She thought to herself. Though it was a long shot, it was a bit comforting; at least more comforting than the thought of a student so weak that she quivered in the face of a figure that hadn't even release their spiritual energy yet.
"I am glad you came so early, it means we will have longer to train. You have quite the grueling period ahead of you if you expect to become stronger." She told the girl in a voice that seemed to be a mixture of authoritative and empathetic.
She looked down at her Fraccion, the same smile still on her face, and scanned the girl warily. The girl was younger than she, quite a bit shorter, and looked a bit too innocent for Koza's taste. However, looks were deceiving. The girl's blanched hair was kept short, with some form of band run through it, most likely to hold it in the style she liked, or merely for decoration. The girl wielded a katana, like the majority of their kind, yet unlike Koza. She only hoped that the girl's true form was a bit more frightening than her sealed form was. Suddenly, Koza disappeared. The only warning that came with the disappearance was a flickering of her appearance and the sound of what seemed to be a soft clap or snap. As suddenly as she had disappeared, Koza would reform in the center of the lower level of the courtyard. She did not look up to her student, she didn't wait for the girl to follow, but instead continued to walk across the courtyard to an area that seemed to have been specifically designed for combat training. It was a large circle, traced in chalk, and void of any life. In actuality it was probably an espada's bala that had gone off target. The Espada would most likely turn the crater into a training area for his Fraccion; they were crafty like that.
<{1044 words 5571 characters}>
Age: 324, Visibly 18
Race: Werewolf ((Ex-Hunter))
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Kyros refuses to put himself in a box. In other words, he does not refer to himself as any specific sexuality.
Personality: Kyros has a very different personality when dealing with different people. The two different personalities are dependant on whether or not he is with his fellow pack-members. When with his pack members, Kyros is a very different person from the one he had been when he was a younger, less experienced hunter. He is kind, loving, and playful. Kyros can't think of anything he wouldn't do for his pack, and he is almost overly confident that every one of his pack members feels the same about him. Like a father, Kyros is extremely protective of his pack members, and is often finding excuses to help them out as much as possible. It isn't rare to find Kyros charging out of the shadows to attack something that a pack member had been unable to kill himself. Most seemed to be grateful for Kyros' rescues, because though he is overprotective he is also sensitive to his pack member's beliefs. He would never jump in on a fight if he thought the pack member would resent him for intervening, and he wouldn't join a fight he thought they could win.
While not around his pack his personality does change, however. Kyros is sarcastic, unhappy, and vicious. He has little regard for the safety of others, and will do nearly anything to catch his mark. The hunter's blood in him only being intensified by the wolf half he now carries, he is driven and nearly obsessed with hunting creatures other than werewolves. He has an extreme hatred for Vampires, which manifests in a brawling side; meaning that he takes any opportunity he can to get in a fight with a vampire, even if it is a losing battle he is fighting alone. Even though it is a part of him, Kyros still views the wolf transformation as a trump card, a blessing or final form if you will. He won't turn into a wolf in battle unless he is left with absolutely no alternatives. Being armed to the teeth as a human, he usually doesn't get pushed that far.
Appearance:
Human: Kyros changed quite a bit since his transformation into a werewolf. His dirty blonde hair now hangs in an untamed fashion around his face and neck, going to the nape of his neck and about to his chin all around. The hair has no real rhyme or reason to it, it just hangs in a "just got out of bed" style. Kyros has small, slim, almond-shaped eyes. The irises are a brilliant emerald color, though they will occasionally become a duller color for some odd reason, like a fog has filmed over his eyes. His nose is slim and chiseled, three scars running parallel to each other down the right side from a fight with a ghoul. Kyros' lips are slim, pale pink, and often pulled into a toothy smile to show off his brilliant white fangs. Minus the elongated canine teeth, his teeth are all perfectly aligned, and bleach-white. Kyros' jaw line is well-defined, halfway along the left half of his jaw being marked by yet another nasty scar. His ears are slightly pointed and small, though this can barely ever be seen due to the immense amount of hair that covers them. He has a long neck, with a defined adams apple.
He wears no shirt, leaving the powerful, scar-covered, chest bare. Though he never wears a shirt, it seems his skin doesn't meet a lot of sun. His skin isn't quite pale, though it is also very far from tanned. It is a happy medium between the two, as Kyros likes to call it. His chest and back are covered in scars both large and small, each one caused by everything from claws to bullets. Due to the fact that he is a warrior, he is extremely muscular. However, his muscles are compact. Though his muscle mass is very high, one wouldn't really know it purely by looks. His muscles are like steel cords, defined and firm, but not exactly bulging. His stomach is protected by firm muscle in the form of a six-pack. His arms are on the longer side, along with his torso, and like his torso they are very muscular. However, they aren't like a body-builder's, they are wiry and compact, like an animal's. His forearms are littered with tiny scars, some from his messed up childhood and others from clashes that got too close for comfort. Kyros has carpenter's hands, coarse and calloused, with several scars from his endless labours. However, his fingers are also longer and thinner as opposed to short and muscular, which was one of the reasons he typically puts his hands toward music more often than carpentry.
From the waist down Kyros begins to look more human. He wears pants, for starters, which is a big leap from his wild and undressed upper-half. The pants are a light brown color, and extremely baggy. Though they have no button anymore, they are held up and closed through the use of a zipper and a well-placed belt. The belt itself is made of black leather, and tied into a knot in the front, as he has no belt buckle. Hanging at his side on the right are two scabbards, both holding the blades he had inherited from his father. These blades are silver in color, with silver orbs as their pommels, but the only pure silver part of it is the edging around the blade. So, he can touch the handle and cross guards to use them in battle. The handles are wrapped in a leather nearly identical to the leather he uses as a belt, though the handles are more worn down than his belt. Stuck in the waist band on the left side of his stomach is the handle of a hunting knife. This knife is also edged in silver, making it extremely deadly. For this reason he keeps a case for it, which is also concealed within his waistband. Attached to the belt loops on his left hip is a wire. Along the wire is an assortment of trophies, mostly fangs and claws, though there are other more grizzly trophies like the ears of ghouls and even one knuckle bone. His pants are nearly overwhelmed with dozens of various pockets, some pockets even having pockets within them. Each pocket holds something useful to him, and comes with a flap to close it so this useful thing won't fall out. Most useful to him are the things in the upper pockets. These pockets hold smaller silver knifes, a Zippo lighter, two pistols- obviously the top pockets are quite large- and extra clips. In the other pockets are various things, including rations and other small weapons like pocket knives.
Wolf: As a wolf there isn't much to say. His build is powerful, and compact, like his human form; he isn't the biggest wolf out there. If he were to stand on his hind legs he would be up at about five foot eight, making him quite tall but still not very large. He is mostly fur, which is one of the reasons most can't see the fact that he really isn't very big. Kyros' pelt is jet black and silky, coverings nearly his entire body in a bushy fashion. His ears are slightly larger than average, his snout similar in that it is on the longer end. Kyros' nose is pitch black as well, the inside of his mouth being a contrasting fleshy pink color, with brilliantly white fangs. His tails adds a good foot and a half to his height, bushy and long.
Alignment: Neutral
History: Kyros was born to a family somewhere in France, presumably around Province however the family would not be able to take care of him. So, he was put up for adoption. Kyros would be adopted by a kind man and his wife, who weren't able to have children. His new father was Japanese, going by the surname Ren, while his mother was greek. She went by the name Anna, though Kyros never knew what her maiden name was. Kyros was given his name in honor of his mother's heritage, while his last name had obvious Japanese roots. The family lived together in Athena, where the world was plagued with the supernatural at the time. His father was a hunter, and taught Kyros everything he would come to know. At the age of ten he began his training, learning to use anything and everything as a weapon. He was taught to fire with both bow and gun, even a crossbow at one point in time. Eventually he would also learn to fight with melee weapons, including axes and his personal favorite weapon, the long sword. Kyros was brought up in a humane environment, but like his father he believed in keeping in touch the the bestial half of himself while hunting. It was their belief that only a beast could kill a beast. At the age of fifteen, while out on a hunt, their home was attacked. It seemed that the local vampire gang had gotten smart, they were going to start attacking hunters and their families at their homes. Ren and his son got word quickly, and sped home only to find the bloody mess that was the remains of Anna. Torn apart by grief and loss, Ren set off to kill the vampire gang with his own hands; he left Kyros home.
Kyros followed his father, though, using everything he had learned to keep track of him. With only a silver hunting knife for a weapon, Kyros prepared to jump into battle alongside his father when the time came. However, it seemed that it wasn't Kyros' fate to fight and die with his father. He accidentally fell asleep one night, exhausted from days of traveling without rest, and awoke the find his father's trail cold. He followed the trail with expert precision, and came upon a hut in the woods. The place reeked of blood and decay, Kyros feared the worst. Charging into the hut, he found several bodies. Two bodies were impaled upon the wall, silver long swords stabbed through the to cross guard. Blood trickled from their mouths, their body crumbling to dust as the sun rose through the windows. Other bodies littered the ground, in turn crumbling just as the other two did. Only one body remained, the body shaking and convulsing as blood poured from its abdomen. It was the dying figure of his father, Kyros was too late. With his dying breath, Ren left his son the two long swords that had been his ally through nearly everything, and begged his son not to follow the path of vengeance that he had.
Kyros took the swords, but not the advice. He left Athena that night on his search to hunt down every vampire he could, to eliminate them from the world. As his travels progressed and he killed more and more vampires, becoming more and more talented as he went on, he soon realized that he would need a career to support himself. However, the only talents he knew were combat and hunting. He would end up using these skills to support himself, traveling from town to town as requests poured in for him to eliminate one abomination or another. This was where he began to collect trophies, attaching them to a length of wire that he kept in his pocket. He grew stronger and more skilled as he traveled the world, becoming a world-renowned hunter, his name carried a lot of tales with it. Quite a few governments would try to employ him to train special forces, but he was never much of a teacher so he always declined.
It was three years later that his life would change for the better. While traveling through the woods of France, he happened upon a werewolf. The girl was only fifteen by appearance, but she was the most beautiful thing that Kyros had ever seen. He would soon realize one thing, and that was that the only being that could combat a vampire as effectively as possible was the werewolf. He asked the girl to turn him, so that he could have a trump card against his mortal enemy, but she asked that he prove himself. So, as a demon attacked them, Kyros made a decision. He would defend the girl, slay the demon, and prove himself to her. The kill was a nasty one, basically being that he stabbed the demon where its kidney would be and twisted, sending it into shock so that it could bleed out to death. It was then that another being came in and finished the demon off. Only moments after Kyros was turned.
Awakening in the forest he had been traveling in, he shook and cried out in pain, fire running through his veins. However, his senses were enhanced immensely, and he felt more powerful. He sought out the woman that had turned him, and found her within her cave. It was there that he fell in love with the woman, and there that he burned one of his last ties to his old life. He burned the leather jacket that had stuck with him through thick and thin, in the process becoming a new hunter. He would live with his new pack, though they were a small one, and learn to be a werewolf through the careful guiding of the woman who turned him. However, after a hundred and twelve years with the woman, he was given an ultimatum. The Greek government had been assembling the best of the best to hunt down a small army of vampires that were plaguing them, and they had sent for who was at the time one of the best hunters in existence. They found Kyros, and made him the offer. He would spend fifty years traveling with the pack of abominations that made up their elite squad, taking out the small army and any other threat that the government reported. After those long, fifty years, Kyros became home sick. He felt lonely and empty without the woman who he had fallen in love with, and not even carrying out his revenge could compare with the feelings he had experienced when around her.
He would spend the next hundred or so years tracking down his old pack, trying to find the woman who had turned him. Unsuccessful in all of his attempts, Kyros would never give up. He continued to search the world, following every lead he could in an attempt to reunite himself with the pack he had abandoned.
Rp sample:
The moon was bright in the sky, inching its way past the halfway mark of its race through the night. All around it the stars gathered, watching and waiting like patient fans. Everything was quiet that wondrous night, even the cold night air held its breath as if in anticipation for something. Ironically enough, something was about to happen within the confines of a dark, dead forest. However, it would be narcissistic for either party of the upcoming event to think that the world was waiting for it to happen, they were but specks to the great force that was nature. The forest in question was thick and crowded with the massive, gray, smooth trunks of the trees that called the place their home. Snow blanketed the ground, dirtied by the soiling of animals and kicking up of earth. There wasn't a spot bigger than the size of a fully grown man's fist that was undisturbed by footprints or other impressions caused by both animal and plants. Branches littered the ground, having fallen from the dead trees they were once a part of. This would be the scene of the upcoming event; more precisely it would be the bank of a creek just a few miles north of the main path that ran through the woods. One could find the path because it was the only part of the woods that had been trampled so much that it was void of almost all snow.
Crouched at the bank of this creek, picking up a tattered piece of cloth from the frozen surface, was the werewolf known as Kyros. Hanging from his baggy pants was a wire, covered in fangs, feathers, claws, and other grizzly trophies that reminded him of his human life. Unlike when he was a hunter, Kyros felt no need to wear his black leather trench coat. He could still remember the day that he had burned his coat, with the small and stunning figure of his Alpha Werewolf leaned against his bear side. Today he wore the same outfit he had been wearing back then. Nothing covered his chest, his scar-covered, pale skin seeming to glow under the intense light of the half-moon. On his feet were the boots that had seen him through nearly everything- they weren't the same pair he had worn since he was a human, but they were the same brand and make-, even when he hunted ghouls in the Catskills Mountains. Hanging in front of his brilliant, emerald, eyes were locks of dirty blond hair, which cascaded around his face and neck in an untamed manner. There was a deadly look in his eyes, like he was preparing to kill someone or something; which he was, to be completely honest. He was on a hunt for the one that had always disgusted him most, a vampire.
Smiling at the thought of the kill he would soon have the pleasure of adding to his list, he straightened his back and stretched, clenching the torn piece of cloth in his hand. There was only one letter upon the red cloth, written in black gothic letters. As he brought his powerful hand back down, he opened his fist and stared down at the letter. It was a spiny, beautifully written Q, most likely the starting letter of the vampire's name. He had been tracking a vampire named "Quin" for three days now, and it seemed that their last skirmish had done more damage than Kyros had thought. A sudden cracking of twigs slammed into his ears, alerting him and sending him directly into hunting mode. He crouched lower, reaching down to grab the leather-wrapped handle of his pure silver long sword-a weapon he refused to give up, even after becoming a werewolf- and poised to strike as a shadowy figure approached.
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Because that post sucked and I want you to see how I roleplay when I'm focused and not rusty...:
Kozakura's soft, pink hair fell over her shoulder in waves; covering nearly her entire torso with its length. The locks scattered across her shoulders, the bangs pushed to the sides of her face; creating a sort of pink frame for her heart-shaped visage. Her sharp coral eyes scanned over the area and the little girl that stood before her. She smiled without warmth or happiness, but more likely because she expected that was what others might due when greeting a new acquaintance and ally. Her soft pink lips were pulled into the light arc that was her smile, not revealing the perfect. bleach-white pearls that lay behind them. Her skin was pale as the sand grains that remained on her dress, her eyes ringed with dark lines that were the result of expertly applied make-up. No one knew why she wore make-up in such a society, where one was judged by their strength instead of their appearance, but she did so anyway. At her waist hung the other half of her soul. It was in the form of what seemed to be a hand-and-a-half sword, more commonly known as a bastard sword. The handle itself seemed to be carved from stone, the pommel taking the form of a skull, adorned with horns or spikes. The cross guard was the skull of a beast, its horns weaving outward like a goat's, curling around itself. She turned her body so that she would face the girl completely, her hair creating a wave of pink as it was thrown outward because of the spinning motion. When her hair rested back down upon her back and shoulders, she nodded to the girl firmly.
They stood within the only section of the dark and disgusting world of Hueco Mundo that was graced by sunlight. It was a wretched thing, the sun, as it stung the eyes and gave a hue to Koza's perfectly achromatic flesh. Still, the sky's color when the sun was out was so awe-inspiringly beautiful that Koza couldn't help but forgive the sunlight. It was a wonderful shade of azure all day, every day, with a few cotton balls floating around within it. The clouds were a bit distracting, but occasionally they would take the form of humorous shapes that could amuse Koza for hours, so they were forgiven as well. As she thought about this she looked up to the beautiful azure sky, seeming a bit lost in its wonder for a split second. Her eyes then fell upon the courtyard where they stood. Along the borders and in a few remote places were patches of grass and flowers, maybe age-old attempts at filling the place with a garden. However, scars ran deep through most of the courtyard, making it impossible to foster life. The scars were in the form of massive gashes or crevices that were the direct result of ressurecion releases, ceros, and even a few balas that managed to miss their mark and create a small crater within the terrain before them. They stood now upon the bridge that hung over the Courtyard, a white marble-like structure that hung from metal cords. They were several dozen feet above the ground, hanging limply upon marble slabs that by all rights should not have been supported by such weak, steel cords.
She could already tell that her Fraccion was either weak or anxious, neither was a very good sign. It was true that Koza, being an Espada, held an aura of horror about her, but she couldn't due with a student that spent more time quivering in her boots than she did paying attention to what Koza had to teach her. The thought of such a girl being frightened of Koza without Koza even having to leak a fraction of her spiritual energy was a bit disappointing. Then again, it could be that she is afraid I won't find her worthy of me. I do remember that she was a privaron..Maybe she only wants to learn from me to eventually retake her place as an Espada... If that is that case she does have cause to fear me without having seen any of my strength.. She thought to herself. Though it was a long shot, it was a bit comforting; at least more comforting than the thought of a student so weak that she quivered in the face of a figure that hadn't even release their spiritual energy yet.
"I am glad you came so early, it means we will have longer to train. You have quite the grueling period ahead of you if you expect to become stronger." She told the girl in a voice that seemed to be a mixture of authoritative and empathetic.
She looked down at her Fraccion, the same smile still on her face, and scanned the girl warily. The girl was younger than she, quite a bit shorter, and looked a bit too innocent for Koza's taste. However, looks were deceiving. The girl's blanched hair was kept short, with some form of band run through it, most likely to hold it in the style she liked, or merely for decoration. The girl wielded a katana, like the majority of their kind, yet unlike Koza. She only hoped that the girl's true form was a bit more frightening than her sealed form was. Suddenly, Koza disappeared. The only warning that came with the disappearance was a flickering of her appearance and the sound of what seemed to be a soft clap or snap. As suddenly as she had disappeared, Koza would reform in the center of the lower level of the courtyard. She did not look up to her student, she didn't wait for the girl to follow, but instead continued to walk across the courtyard to an area that seemed to have been specifically designed for combat training. It was a large circle, traced in chalk, and void of any life. In actuality it was probably an espada's bala that had gone off target. The Espada would most likely turn the crater into a training area for his Fraccion; they were crafty like that.
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Last edited by Kyros§Hunter on Sat Nov 28, 2009 1:25 pm; edited 19 times in total
