| Gethin Cleirach; Ready for review | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 9 2011, 08:25 PM (117 Views) | |
| Gethin Cleirach | Feb 9 2011, 08:25 PM Post #1 |
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GETHIN CLEIRACH Age: 29 Caste: Prince Race:Dharoan Birth Territory: Dheria Home Territory: Glacia Birthright Jewel: Summer Sky (81) Jewel of rank: Opal (33) Description Physical Description: Gethin is a shade over six feet tall (6'2”) but is almost anorexically thin (less than 200 lbs). His face is harsh, angular with prominent cheekbones and a cleft chin. Despite that, it is a delicate face, belonging sculpted out of marble rather than the flesh of a living man, and though it is somewhat effete, there is an inherent masculinity there as well. With a straight and barely acquiline nose, and thin cruel lips Gethin always appears to be smirking knowingly as if enjoying some private jest, most likely at the viewers expense. His hair is dark worn in short loose rings, and his eyes are brown veined with hazel. His frame is awkwardly long seemingly comprised of nothing but limbs and joints as if he never achieved his full growth, though his core is sharply defined with oddly prominent hipbones. He has two redeeming features however one is his voice, which is unnusually deep and oddly vibratto. The second is his hands. Gethin's fingers are long and supple with a grip which can be feather soft or surprising firm at need and for those who have felt the latter, they have a hard time believing the former. Yet he is an expert prestidigitator and practicioner of coin tricks and also a fine muscisian. Because he has long been a pleasure slave, and because that means he has little control over his body, he has always derive his own pleasure from the one thing his owners would allow him to control, his wardrobe. He wears wingtip shoes, black on black, and dark slacks. He wears single breasted sport coats in dark colors over primarily jewel toned button down shirts, with occasionally the top buttons undone to reveal the chain of a necklace on which he wears a worn out coin. Personality: Gethin is a dichautemous individual. He has been the property at Mangan Dubh since he was seven years old, and the slave faired even less well in the Dubh household than did Mangan's mistrees or daughter. Shit, after all, rolls down hill. And Gethin was always at the bottom. As such he is a retiring man, if not precisely shy, as the trait is not intrisic but imposed by all the time he spent under the 'care' of the machiavellian, dispassionate and sadistic Mangan Dubh. Gethin prefers to remain unnoticed when at all possible, and he is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, and unobtrusive to the point that if he is not directly in sight he might be dismissed from mind like a chair. He is cowardly and self serving. Any shred of selfless inclination or alturism having been hammered out of him long ago. Despite his nature his is intuitive and cunning, always looking for advantage and squirreling knowledge, rumor, observation and innuendo away in his capacious (and possibly eidectic) memory for later recall, examination and exploitation. He believes that everything and everyone has a price, as a lifetime of being a commodity has taught him. Similiarly a lifetime of privation and hardship has made him possessive and paranoid, and he has never known a healthy relationship, always expecting a person to want something from him be it favors or semen or service. Despite his rough treatment, Gethin is not a coward in the classical sense, he is well innured against physical pain and numbed to emotional distress, but he is not a masochist and knows his own limits. He has never resisted Mangan or Lucretia or any of the veritable parade of Blood he has been made available too, but he remembers, and he allows himself to fantasize about bloody vengance. Amongst his peers he never faces an opponent on equal footing, always maneuvering and plotting until the game is in his favor. Likes: Music/the cello, brandy, dancing, fencing (though he's never been permitted to try it), astronomy/stargazing Dislikes: Mangan Dubh/Lucretia Crowe, the Ring, his own powerlessness, greed, Glacia History The story of Gethin Cleirach really begins with his father. Iestyn Cleirach was a moderately successful merchant who was plagued with light jeweled daughters. It wasn't until his late twenties, his fourth child, that he finally got the son he had always dreamed of. Unfortunately, this was to be his last stroke of good luck. Iestyn' in short order lost both of his partners in his trading firm (including the majority partner who took most of liquid assets with him). This left him in a difficult position since nearly all of his moderate wealth was now tied up in products of various and sundry types. He organized a sale to another merchant, but the transport of the goods was hampered by poor weather, delays and was attacked twice. The product that arrived was not what had been shipped and so the payment which returned was not as much as anticipated, and Iestyn's situation got worse. With six mouths to feed and none of his children older than a dozen years Iestyn became desperate, and made a series of disasterously bad descisions. He lost (in order) all the stock of his company, his personal stake in said company, his estate, and finally his familes townhome, though he was allowed to stay on by the new owner as a consideration to his children, even though it was a monthly strguggle for him to make the rent. But then Gethin received his birthright Jewel and it was Summer Sky, and a potent one at that. Only one of his daughters was so blessed, and Iestyn took it as a sign his own fortunes were to be reversed. Then he met Mangan Dubh. Prince Dubh was everything Iestyn was not. He was wildly successful, charismatic and powerful, wearing the Grey. Subsuquetly he was also wealthy, and at least superficially he was friendly. Iestyn never saw the contempt in which he was held, as a bug scrabbling for the scraps his better deigned to let fall, and he never saw the trap into which he was walking which would cost him everything. Unthinkingly he went to his friend with an idea for a final, desperate gambit to restore his success and his family name. Mangan countered by saying he needed collateral, and requesting Gethin to be it. Uncomprehendingly Iestyn took the deal, certain that his venture could not fail. Unkowing that his patron would ensure that it did. “Carys!” Iestyn shouted as he burst into his families rented town house, using Craft to expand his voice to ensure she'd hear him. He looked even rougher than usual, his dark hair, usually immaculately combed back was flying away everywhich way and his dark eyes, always baggy from sleeplessness, were wide, the emotion in them obvious but inscruitable. He called his wifes name again as he darted nervously through the four lower rooms looking frantically for someone, anyone. Well, he decided with a shudder, maybe not anyone. “Iestyn?” Carys answered him from the second floor at the same time that his son, Gethin, only seven called to him sleepily. Instantly his wifes face darkened and her confused expression turned into one of annoyance. “Now look what you've done.” She chided him as she moved around the railing, headed for the other side of the house. “No time!” Iestyn answered her, bounding up the stairs two at a time, draggin himself bodily up the railing. “We have to GO . “Iestyn..” Cary's said, “Where would we go?” Her look of displeasure deepening. “This is all we have left..” But Iestyn ran past her apparently unheeding and turning toward Gethin's room. “IESTYN!” But he burst through his son's door and was trying to shove him into clothes as the boy portested sleepily. “UP!” Iestyn shouted. “Get up!” But he didn't stay to see Gethin finished, instead he burst back through the door and ran into Carys. “Where are the girls?” He asked, clutching at her shoulders hard enough to bruise her. “OW, Iestyn..” she answered, irritation fading into fear at the look on her husbands face. “You're hurting..” But he interrupted her, shaking her none to gently and roaring the next word “WHERE!?” “Iestyn,” She asked, shaking now from the fear she was trying to surpress. “What's wrong?” Suddenly Iestyn went still, his eyes widening and staring past Carys to the entryway, from which came a voice of silky vastness. “Hello Iestyn.” It said, quaving menacingly on the air. “You weren't going anywhere without seeing me where you?” His face ashen, Iestyn swore, an invective that Carys had never heard from HIS lips and was shocked to hear now. “Of course not Prince Dubh.” he answered, squeezing Cary's arms befor sliding from behind her. “We're partners aren't we?” The brittle fear that Carys saw in Iestyn as he passed caused her heart to thunder in her chest, and she spoke to him on a Tigers eye thread, distaff to spear. * Iestyn? * She asked, * What's going on? * Worryingly, he didn't answer as he descended the stairs to where a Glacian she had never seen before stood, a stunning contrast to her dark complected husband. The Glacian was dressed immaculately, and the jewel which hung in an ornate pendant was the color of smoke. And it drove a spike of fear into her gut which she couldn't account for. “Partners?” The Glacian asked sneeringly. “Hardly.” He did not move but violence seemed thick in the air suddenly. “Tell me Iestyn,” He asked, forgoing any title for her husband, a plain breach of protocol, but Iestyn said nothing. “If we are partners ,” the Glacian stretched the word oddly, smirking. “Where is my money?” What, Carys wondered as Gethin appraoched behind her to clutch at her leg in sleep induced confusion, was he talking about? Iestyn swallowed several times, and worked his lips with his tongue as if trying to force moisture into them. “You'll get it.” He said to the other man. “By my honor and the Jewels that I wear...” A short bitter laugh interrupted him, and again, Iestyn said nothing. “We know Iestyn,” the Glacian answered, examining his nails as if bored. “just how much either of those two things are worth.” A faith flush crept up Iestyn's throat, but still he said nothing. “Not now...” He said quietly, pleadingly, stretching one hand toward the Glacian. But a look of revulsion twisted the pale man's features and he swatted Iesty'ns hand away contemptuously. “I'm calling in my marker.” He said, his eyes drifting meaningfully to where Carys stood. “NOW.” This was too much for her, who had always been the bolder of them. “What is he talking about Iestyn!?” She said. “What have you gotten into now?” She was afraid of the Glacian, so why was she angry with her husband?” Her face must have been fierce, because Iestyn gasped and took a step back from her and to the side of other Prince, wringing his hands nervously. “No... Nothing..” he stuttered, laughing awkwardly, his tongue again dancing across his lips and his eyes darting from Carys to the glacian and back. “Just take Gethin back into his room,” He said, “and i'll take care of it.” Again the Glacian laughed, high and cruel. “She doesn't KNOW?” He cackled, brushing fake tears of mirth from his cheeks. “She doesn't know what you wagered to fund your latest boondoggle?” Carys flushed, one hand going to her throat anxiously. “Oh Iestyn No..” she whispered, still not understanding. Iestyn's eyes pleaded with her for understanding, but she could not find any. “Enough.” The Glacian spoke and it was like the banging of gavel, and all sound ceased on the knife edge of the silence which descended. “Give me the boy Iestyn.” He said, pinning him with his cold eyes before concluding. “Now.” Carys couldn't breathe. The gasp which the Glacian's words elicited seemingly unending. * Iestyn * she begged, * WHAT have you DONE? * “Momma?” Gethin asked, squeezing her leg for reassurance. “What's going on?” Abruptly the Glacian moved, striding purposefully past Iestyn, his eyes now firmly and silently fixed on Gethin. “NO!” Iestyn cried and lunged, the sapphire on his ring hand burning with a clear light as the Prince dove to the depths of his strength in an instant, aiming a suddenly summoned poinard at the other man's kidneys. However, as fast as he was, Mangan was there ahead of him, and the Glacian spun, a wickedly curved dagger parrying Iestyn's poinard. His other hand thrusting forward, fingers splayed radiating tendrils of Grey energy, a corruscating veil of Red appearing between them . Iestyn's eyes widdened in fear and his cry curdled with terror as his Sapphire strength hit Mangan's Red Shield and curled back, surrounding him for an instant before the Glacian's Grey spear stabbed through it. “NOOOOO!!!!” Iestyn's final cry ended with a wet sound a fine spray of crimson as he spat blood, and was followed an instant later by a resounding explosion with trailed off on an agonized note underlying the sizzling of flesh. Mangan stood on the stairs, brushing negligently at the flecks of blood on his pale skin as Iestyn Cleirach lay dead at his feet, his face and torso dessicated and brittle looking, his left hand a charred smoking ruin, his sapphire ring nowhere to be found, it's gold band a puddle of slag on the floor. “Now,” the Glacian Prince said, turning his eyes back to Gethin, a hard humorless grin on his face. “wasn't that unpleasant?” “Now,” Prince Dubh said quietly, sitting impassively in an overstuffed chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, sipping idly on a glass of brandy before concluding. “wasn't that unpleasant?” Gethin, now grown older, lay prostrate before the Prince and His Mistress. He could not answer. Could not move. Could scarcely think through the haze of agony which had radiated from his groin to envelope his mind. The one thought he could manage was how much he had come to despise that phrase. The muscles of his body were twisted excruciatingly tight, and each felt as if they might tear from the tension they were under. They wouldn't answer, but when they did it was in spastic abrupt movements. “Get up.” The prince spoke, softly, but other than a few furitive twitches, Gethin could not answer the command. The sound of the Princes glass hitting the side table was thunderous in the small space. “Get.” The voice was soft, like silk whispering against it'sself, but it was silk shrouding bone, hard and unyielding but dangerously brittle at the same time. “Up.” Gethin tried. He really did to get to his feet, or at least his knees, but his body was still too spent to respond. Mangan tskd softly, and suddenly a Phantom hand closed around his jaw and lifted him to his feet, to the tips of his toes, where he dangled. Silently, pain and hopelessness and fear rolling off of him in waves. He was only twenty-nine, and he was an Opal Prince, but he had been Mangan's puppet and Lucretia's toy for twenty-two years. And it had become too heavy a weight. He tettered on the edge of the Twisted Kingdom as he hung there, feeling as if he were suspended over an abyss which hungered for him to fall. “Pathetic.” Mangan whispered in a voice which rolled like thunder. “You have been nothing but a disappointment since I acquired you.” The Grey Jewled Prince continued, Lucretia made a sound in her throat which might have been a protest, or might have been a hollow moan. Mangan's psychic scent sharpened suddenly, and derision was thick in his voice when he concluded. “But you've had your uses. Be careful that you don't lose them.” Negligently he tossed Gethin aside and walked from the room, leaving Lucreatia and he alone. A moment later, she too rose and followed Mangan. When he was alone, Gethin curled in on himself and sobbed. Family: Iestyn Cleirach, Father, 'deceased' at age 35, Prince, Purple Dusk - Sapphire Carys Cleirach (nee Argall), Mother, 55 if alive (wherebouts unknown) Hearth Witch, White - Tigerseye Eirlys Cleirach, Sister, 38 if alive (wherebouts unknown) Yellow - Summersky Seren Cleirach, Sister, 33 if alive (wherebouts unknown) Rose - Opal Teagan Cleirach, Sister 30 if alive (wherebouts unknown) Healer Summersky – Purple dusk Adoptable: Any RP Sample: When Althea spoke Mama Loa's words back to him, her voice phantasmic mirror to the other womans, Jelani could have been pushed over by a slight breeze. The woman had been human, for all of her powers, and he himself had watched her grow old, whither and die. He had carried her desicated corpse from her hut and laid it on the funerary pyre. He had inhaled her still warm ashes in the pre dawn light as she had instructed him. She was dead, and though he had feared her all of her life, he had made his peace with her long ago. Or so he had thought until Althea walked into this clearing. Everything about her reminded him of the long dead witch. Her movements, simultaneously fluid and disjointed, made her appear to the bigger african as if she were moving in stop motion. Her accent filled his mind like the smoke of that long ago hut, and cut through his mind like a machete. Her dress could have been Mama's, and her skin was the same shade of velvet midnight. “Mama?” He asked her, one hand half rising in a gesture of pleading, or desperate loneliness, before Jelani caught himself and with a shake of his head forced it to fall back to his side, curling into a fist. “No..” He said, half to himself and with more than a hint of a growl in it. “Mama's been dead for nearly a century.” Unconciously he took a step forward, the spike of icy fear which had driven into his gut's at Althea's parroting had melted now, and become a molten puddle of ativistic anger in his gut. “I carried her to her pyre myself. His fingernails were digging into his palms, the pain slight comparatively, and yet keen enough to sharpen his fear on like a honing stone. “I could kill you.” He said in the odd expressionless voice of a man who was stating a simple irrefutable fact, though his eyes had widened tellingly. He tried to ignore the quavering not of chrystalline fear in his voice. “Right now I could do it. Snap your spine and drink your blood while I watched the light go out from your eyes.” The fear was creeping back in now, and the molten heat of his anger, pointless and directed mostly inward, was chilling rapidly. Before resolidifying into an even heavier, colder lump. “Do you not fear me?” He asked, uncertainly, his head canting slightly to the side as he observed her still. “Do I not intimidate you even a little?” A short bitter bark of a laugh escaped him and he shook his head abruptly. “Of course not. I never scared her either... He let the thought fade as the heady 'scent' of her soothing psychic waves broke over him, fuzing his thoughts further. Suddenly, his fists uncleaned, his palms cut by his fingernails and trickling blood and he tugged his shirt off, discarding it negligently in the dirt, he fell to his knees in weary reverence, his eyes downcast in a bent head. “Oh Mama...” He said the name like a prayer as his hands lay, palms up and oozing blood, “I miss you...” Player Info OOC Name: Phillip Past Characters: N/a I have read the Rules!: Yes |
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5:56 PM Jul 10