Post by meilyn on Jun 29, 2011 22:22:00 GMT -5
♥ It Started Out As A Feeling ♥
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"Now isn't that a shame."
♥ Pick A Star On the Dark Horizon ♥[/color]
Name: Lady Vanessa Harowael (nicknamed "Lady" by her brother)
Age: Thirty-three
Race: Archenlander
Weapons: A curved dagger she keeps either on the inside of her sleeve, or in her boots.
♥ Now we're back to the Beginning ♥[/color]
History:
Throughout her life, the Lady Harowael was famous for her many enemies, and the blatant disregard that she showed for each and every one of them, and they danger they posed to her. Eventually, it would lead to her downfall, and she knew it, but still she had laughed it off - in fact, her favourite saying was "come what may. If I am to die anyway, then I might as well have fun doing it." Eventually, this attitude proved to be her death, but that's later.
Lady Vanessa Harowael's birth was written down in the official records on a rainy day early in the year, under the name of a rich Archenland family. There was no panic following the event, nor any great sense of relief from her father - the mother had survived, but the child was a girl, not the male heir he desperately needed to keep his younger brother from seizing his lands. Still, he cared for the girl, naming her Vanessa because he liked the sound of the name - sharp, like it would add a cunning edge to the personality of this silent, serious-looking daughter of his. Perhaps, without his knowing, it did.
Lady Vanessa spent her childhood within the palace, her father's love growing for her every year, until he could be found actively carrying her all over their home - a large stone castle, befitting a powerful Lord - on his shoulders, and bringing her to meetings, where she would stand at his side, watching everything with a sharp eye. This was how she grew up, so it was no surprise to anyone when she turned out to be shrewdly intelligent, her remarks often cutting - things that only made her father laugh and adore her more. Even after his wife had given him a son, Lady Vanessa (which she insisted everyone call her, even at a young age) was the apple of her father's eye, until she was ultimately named his heir on grounds that she was more suitable for the task.
She was never estranged from her brother, and there was no resentment between them growing up. In fact, sharp-minded Vanessa even had a bit of a soft spot for his babyish curls and dark eyes, taking it upon herself to all but raise him herself, often bursting into the nursery and noisily batting away the wet-nurses, explaining that they weren't caring for her brother right at all. So constant was she in the life of Charlemagne that her father had to gently step in and occupy her more as a result, for her mother wouldn't go near her, citing that their daughter felt more like a sharp-tongued dragon than a little girl. This arrangement suited everyone just fine - the Lady Vanessa continued to attend her father's meetings up until his untimely death when she was twenty-seven, an unfortunate hunting accident that left her the heir to both the Harowael fortune and her father's estates - something not taken very well by the traditional members of society. Still, Lady Vanessa cared not, and she slipped into the spot of leadership like a smug cat, maintaining everything she deemed important like her father had before her.
But the Lady Vanessa was only charismatic when she wanted to be. As she gained more wealth and power, she began making more enemies - members among the nobility who hated her callous attitude and the way she disregarded everything about them, even their very existence, as the lady was wont to do on a regular basis. Tired of her devil-may-care attitude towards them, they began plotting, and Lady Vanessa continued about extravagantly, throwing parties for those she liked and snubbing those who could do nothing for her. By the time she was thirty-two, her brother, Charlemagne, then nineteen, was getting actively nervous, and constantly tried warning her, as their snappy mother had given up trying to do two years previous. Lady Vanessa listened to him, as usual, but she did not hear, and her behaviour continued until her death on the evening of her thirty-third birthday, when she was poisoned by Sir Donald Blakeviel and Lady Blakeviel, previously some of her "closet friends."
Not regretful, and having seen it coming, the lady passed control of the Harowael fortunes to her brother, as she had no heir, but she didn't count on Charlemagne's thirst for revenge. Only weeks after her arrival in Aslan's Country (something that she would never admit had utterly baffled her to no end - why on earth would someone like her be here?), Charlemagne followed, having willed the estate to their cousin Rhalith.
Family:
Arthur Harowael, father (deceased: hunting incident)
Charlemagne Harowael, brother (deceased: killed in action - Aslan's Country)
Viviavess Harowael, mother (deceased: old age)
Rhalith & Liliavich Harowael (cousins)
Magic: None.
Original or Canon: Original
♥ No Need to Say Goodbye ♥[/color]
Sample RP (from Captured):
Ever since he was a young boy, his father had taught him to keep his head low and just blend in with whatever surrounded him - a piece of advice that became not only a crucial tactic to avoid the heretic vampires that Caspar Weiss had never known a world without, but also a law by which he lived without complaint or even much word. It was just always there, a constant presence in the back of his mind - like it was possible he would forget if it suddenly ceased to remind him every day of his life. He didn't think he could, even if he had the gall to try. As soon as he stopped listening to his instincts, he knew he would die, the prey of his prey. The thought was almost ironic for a man who hunted what was supposed to hunt him, and had he not been who he was, perhaps he would have laughed at the very thought. But laughing also meant death, Caspar knew - it meant giving away his position, surrendering it to whomever else lurked out here. He'd already seen one vampire, a lone hunter who had soon been joined by another, though Caspar had been long gone before their voices has drifted to him through the otherwise quiet forest. And one vampire usually meant more.
Narrowing his eyes, Caspar paused in front of a large tree, branches tugging lightly at his clothing - something he had learned at a young age to ignore whenever possible. As long as he didn't make a rash move, the branches wouldn't snap, and he would continue on in unchallenged silence, as he usually did.
Glancing behind him, so as to be sure no one else was present, Caspar reached up to adjust his hood, a dry smile pulling at his lips - a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes. He supposed that, if anyone were to glimpse him, he'd look like a thief in the forest - a skulking vagabond making off, a damned criminal, or perhaps even a runaway slave fleeing from his master, whether his master was a werewolf, vampire or something else. Perhaps they'd think he was an assassin, with his permanently angry blue eyes and grim expression, or even a mere thug.
They wouldn't think him weak, though. It hardly took a vampire's eye to see the lean muscles, especially around the arms and shoulders, which let him draw and release arrows in rapid succession, firing them into the bodies of his prey, whether they be animals, vampires, or even another human such as himself. They wouldn't think him effeminate, either - he was by no means clean shaven, preferring the rough edge he took on as a result, the look of a hardened man ready to kill.
As a hunter, he supposed that was exactly what he was.
Glancing behind him once more, Caspar heard a crack, and almost instantly an arrow had been drawn and notched smoothly, and then sent flying towards his target - a young doe, not quite fully grown. She went down almost instantly, blood leaking from the single wound in her neck, and just as silently as before Caspar moved forward, kneeling beside it and pulling out his knife.
Muttering a low thanks to the deer, the hunter slit her throat, watching stoically as her eyes slowly dimmed and her struggling finally ceased. Almost absently, he reached out to stroke her head, keeping quiet until she breathed her last.
Just another unfortunate to add to the count of the many.
How did you find us: SupportBoards.
Custom Title: The Lady of Reason
Anything you want to say: Not particularly. I'm a fickle roleplayer and my post lengths are inconsistent?
Password: For Aslan!
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