Post by Shiva on Jan 31, 2008 22:57:01 GMT
Name: Shiva
Age: Unknown. Approximately 19.
Height: 6ft.
Build: Lithe and muscular. Whipcord thin, yet visibly capable of great strength.
Power: Wind Talking:
He can hear whispers on the wind from others of his own kind, anything and everything they say is spoken to the wind. This only works when there IS wind, so if he's inside a building with all the windows closed, he'll hear nothing from them. Also, he has to focus on a specific wolf, or personal conversation in order to truly understand what is said. He too, can speak to others through the wind, and they'll hear it as whispers echoing around them as the wind passes.
Looks: Sharp features that catch the eye. Skin as fair as the moonlight, and hair the color of mercury, and eyes of shinning blood. His eyes are those of a wolf, always staring, always watching. His silver hair though not overtly long, hangs wildly in his eyes, and across his face. His mouth is small and pale, thin lipped usually pursed in displeasure.
In his wolf form he has silver white fur that seems both tousled and shaggy, as well as sleek and tangle-free at the same time. He has the same crimson eyes, and his claws are a pure mercury color, and his teeth look like polished platinum silver.
History: Born near a Hindu Temple, Shiva's mother begged the temple to tack in her child and protect him from the evil that his father was. They agreed that on the ninth new moon after his birth, they would take the babe, and raise him to be a Hindi monk. She was relieved to know that her son would be safe, and come to the favor of the gods. She prayed too, that he would never taste true love, and thus never break his vow to the Temple. On the ninth moon, he was handed over to the Temple. That night, his father came back for him, and demanded that the woman tell him where his child was. When she refused to say, he killed her.
three years passed, and Shiva had learned meditation, and humility. He was not, however, above the nature of children. One day, when he should have fallowed the other monks to the main building to pray, he saw some children playing outside the temple grounds. He slipped out of the line of monks, and ran over to play with them. They stayed together the entire day, but when night set, Shiva remembered that he should have been on the Temple grounds, back with his brothers, and keepers. Angry that he had skipped out on prayer, and abandoned his day's lessons, they locked Shiva up in the cellar, his room to be for the next two weeks.
Shiva cried to be let out, and begged to be free. He was sorry for his disobedience, but failed to see the issue. When no one came, or heeded his cry, he did the only thing that seemed natural. He howled. Free struck the monks for, in that very moment they knew what they had locked in the dungeon. They also knew that the boy's father had been calling for him for years, and been hunting the villagers out of anger and hatred for the mother. The head Monk raced down to the cellar and beat Shiva to make him quite to scared and trembling to do anything more sensible. Shiva quieted, but a hatred began to build in his veins, one that would bring about the destruction of the Temple, and all its inhabitants.
At the age of ten, Shiva began teaching himself to fight from within the shadows of his cellar room. He hid two sticks under his bed and used them like swords teaching himself to become proficient with them, so that when he was older he could break away, and repay all the pains he'd been given for each and every time he fell to howling, or behaving like an animal. Since the sticks were nearly the same length as a short sword, they were to big and bulky for him to use normally, and he discovered that if he held them with what should be the handle in front and the rest of the 'sword' behind his hand, he had better balance, and could wrangle them into many hit combos twirling together, and stringing along one into the next. At fifteen, he was sent out of the temple to find a place of meditation, and pilgrimage with out food or water for three days. He chose instead to find, and procure some real swords by whatever means necessary.
That night, he returned, with only the light of the stars glinting off his crimson gaze and declaring his blood lust. He lept over the walls with amazing ease, and padded silently to the high priests bedroom. His heart pounding, and blood pulsing hot, Shiva opened the door, sealing his fate. It took the priest no longer than to see the swords, to know that Shiva had fallen into the very evil darkness that his mother had died to save him from. Shiva swung his left hand high raking the ninjato across the priests shoulder and neck, used the spin to thrust another strike from the ninjato in his right hand, the pierced the priest gut, and ripped out the side.
The blood pored out of the lifeless husk before him, and Shiva let cry the most glorious howl he'd ever felt. His own skin tore, and his bones snapped and broke outwards as he shifted into his werewolf form for the first time-it having been sealed away by the high priest long ago when he first arrived under the veil of fear. The rest of the temple fell with ease as he raced through carelessly killing everyone, knocking over torches, and lanterns lighting the very ground on fire.
His silver white fur stained with blood, Shiva growled as he sensed a life moving from beyond the rising haze of heat and smoke from the destruction. The older form, a fellow wolf- gazed back at him. "Well done, my son." The only words he spoke. Words that have both haunted and comforted Shiva since that day. His father took him under his wing for the next few years, and taught him what it was to be a free wolf. But now, bored with always being given orders and teachings, and 'words of wisdom', Shiva has abandoned his father, and his father's pack in search of something-somewhere to call his own home.
Race: Werewolf
Weapons: Twin Ninjaken. Made a a pair set, and work well for his own personal fighting style, in which he holds his swords backward from that of most fighters.
When he gets lost in bloodlust, he drops the swords and attacks with his far more natural weapons- his claws and teeth. He usually transforms all the way wolf, but sometimes he'll only go to a hybrid form.
Age: Unknown. Approximately 19.
Height: 6ft.
Build: Lithe and muscular. Whipcord thin, yet visibly capable of great strength.
Power: Wind Talking:
He can hear whispers on the wind from others of his own kind, anything and everything they say is spoken to the wind. This only works when there IS wind, so if he's inside a building with all the windows closed, he'll hear nothing from them. Also, he has to focus on a specific wolf, or personal conversation in order to truly understand what is said. He too, can speak to others through the wind, and they'll hear it as whispers echoing around them as the wind passes.
Looks: Sharp features that catch the eye. Skin as fair as the moonlight, and hair the color of mercury, and eyes of shinning blood. His eyes are those of a wolf, always staring, always watching. His silver hair though not overtly long, hangs wildly in his eyes, and across his face. His mouth is small and pale, thin lipped usually pursed in displeasure.
In his wolf form he has silver white fur that seems both tousled and shaggy, as well as sleek and tangle-free at the same time. He has the same crimson eyes, and his claws are a pure mercury color, and his teeth look like polished platinum silver.
History: Born near a Hindu Temple, Shiva's mother begged the temple to tack in her child and protect him from the evil that his father was. They agreed that on the ninth new moon after his birth, they would take the babe, and raise him to be a Hindi monk. She was relieved to know that her son would be safe, and come to the favor of the gods. She prayed too, that he would never taste true love, and thus never break his vow to the Temple. On the ninth moon, he was handed over to the Temple. That night, his father came back for him, and demanded that the woman tell him where his child was. When she refused to say, he killed her.
three years passed, and Shiva had learned meditation, and humility. He was not, however, above the nature of children. One day, when he should have fallowed the other monks to the main building to pray, he saw some children playing outside the temple grounds. He slipped out of the line of monks, and ran over to play with them. They stayed together the entire day, but when night set, Shiva remembered that he should have been on the Temple grounds, back with his brothers, and keepers. Angry that he had skipped out on prayer, and abandoned his day's lessons, they locked Shiva up in the cellar, his room to be for the next two weeks.
Shiva cried to be let out, and begged to be free. He was sorry for his disobedience, but failed to see the issue. When no one came, or heeded his cry, he did the only thing that seemed natural. He howled. Free struck the monks for, in that very moment they knew what they had locked in the dungeon. They also knew that the boy's father had been calling for him for years, and been hunting the villagers out of anger and hatred for the mother. The head Monk raced down to the cellar and beat Shiva to make him quite to scared and trembling to do anything more sensible. Shiva quieted, but a hatred began to build in his veins, one that would bring about the destruction of the Temple, and all its inhabitants.
At the age of ten, Shiva began teaching himself to fight from within the shadows of his cellar room. He hid two sticks under his bed and used them like swords teaching himself to become proficient with them, so that when he was older he could break away, and repay all the pains he'd been given for each and every time he fell to howling, or behaving like an animal. Since the sticks were nearly the same length as a short sword, they were to big and bulky for him to use normally, and he discovered that if he held them with what should be the handle in front and the rest of the 'sword' behind his hand, he had better balance, and could wrangle them into many hit combos twirling together, and stringing along one into the next. At fifteen, he was sent out of the temple to find a place of meditation, and pilgrimage with out food or water for three days. He chose instead to find, and procure some real swords by whatever means necessary.
That night, he returned, with only the light of the stars glinting off his crimson gaze and declaring his blood lust. He lept over the walls with amazing ease, and padded silently to the high priests bedroom. His heart pounding, and blood pulsing hot, Shiva opened the door, sealing his fate. It took the priest no longer than to see the swords, to know that Shiva had fallen into the very evil darkness that his mother had died to save him from. Shiva swung his left hand high raking the ninjato across the priests shoulder and neck, used the spin to thrust another strike from the ninjato in his right hand, the pierced the priest gut, and ripped out the side.
The blood pored out of the lifeless husk before him, and Shiva let cry the most glorious howl he'd ever felt. His own skin tore, and his bones snapped and broke outwards as he shifted into his werewolf form for the first time-it having been sealed away by the high priest long ago when he first arrived under the veil of fear. The rest of the temple fell with ease as he raced through carelessly killing everyone, knocking over torches, and lanterns lighting the very ground on fire.
His silver white fur stained with blood, Shiva growled as he sensed a life moving from beyond the rising haze of heat and smoke from the destruction. The older form, a fellow wolf- gazed back at him. "Well done, my son." The only words he spoke. Words that have both haunted and comforted Shiva since that day. His father took him under his wing for the next few years, and taught him what it was to be a free wolf. But now, bored with always being given orders and teachings, and 'words of wisdom', Shiva has abandoned his father, and his father's pack in search of something-somewhere to call his own home.
Race: Werewolf
Weapons: Twin Ninjaken. Made a a pair set, and work well for his own personal fighting style, in which he holds his swords backward from that of most fighters.
When he gets lost in bloodlust, he drops the swords and attacks with his far more natural weapons- his claws and teeth. He usually transforms all the way wolf, but sometimes he'll only go to a hybrid form.
