Post by Young Master Renfield on Nov 19, 2007 5:07:00 GMT -5
a tergo velum
[/b][/color][/font]name: I., but you can call me Socrates
age: 21
contact info: charlesmarxii@gmail.com
other characters: none yet for the moment
roleplaying experience: pre internet 7-8 years, post internet 4 months
how you found us: just wandering around
age: 21
contact info: charlesmarxii@gmail.com
other characters: none yet for the moment
roleplaying experience: pre internet 7-8 years, post internet 4 months
how you found us: just wandering around
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fides vulsum
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dramatis personae
[/font]nicknames: Renfield, Isaac
assumed age: 20
real age: 20
birthday: February 29
sexuality: Straight
blood: Red Blood
place of birth: Stratford-upon-Avon
current residence: 15 E 9th St, New York, NY
occupation: Conduit in training, Repository Archivist, Student (Psychology)
other: Philosophy degree holder[/center]
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vultus
[/color][/font]normal eye color: Cerulean Blue
height: 6'2
body type: Lean and slightly muscular. Not too lanky but just right.
distinguishing marks: Several scars near his spine due to an accident.
celebrity portrayal: Alan Rickman (the young version)
overall appearance: Issac can be considered in modern lingual terminologies as a creative anachronist. His overall appearance is very meticulously kept. He only dresses in clothing made for him by the family haberdasher and once in a while he still visits several Savile Row descendants in the Upper East Side to clothe him. He often sports a vest and a coat everyday and his wardrobe has a dainty collection of gentleman's clothing ranging from frock coats to theatre white ties. He always carries with an umbrella and has a nasty habit of synchronizing the two timepieces in his vest. His hair is always well combed and kept with a faint smelling pomade. His manners is the same as his lifestyle, spartan and very aristocratic, which most of the time vexes those who know him for what he really is.
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[/ul]personae[/font]
likes:
tea
biscuits
books
getting a hair cut
his tobacco pipe
writing
logic
building small figurines and sculptures
school
classical music
piano
thesaurus
ancient history
Broadway
white tie occasions
dislikes:
alcohol
indolence
spendthrifts
large crowds
nightclub parties
modern music
strengths: Isaac will lay his life in the line to protect those he has sworn to and given his life. He is quick witted when needed to be and his mind is a terrible to be reckoned with. His verbal virtuosity knows no bounds when he feels like it.
His sense of smell is uncanny and so too with his taste buds which makes him a very finicky gourmet.
weaknesses: He can be quite headstrong at some points. He takes his job too seriously and so with his training with his granddad Master Renfield, which sometimes dampens his social skills. He has also never known how to deal with persons of the opposite sex, he freezes most of the time and just is quite uncomfortable in similar situations.
Isaac is oblivious to many modern equipments such as cellular phones which he still refers to this day as portable handheld communications devices. He seldom can work well with computers and gadgets and often uses a courier service to deliver his letters and other personal communication affects. He also has some disdain for the telephone to some extent.
hobbies/interests:
Composing music
Archiving
Sculpting
Stargazing
Fencing
Kenjutsu
his job
Cooking
Broadway
habits: Isaac has two known major habits which he has developed over the years, one of them is his two timepieces which he always looks at and winds even in the most stressing of situations. The other habit would be his umbrella.
overall personality: Isaac doesn't say much most of the time for two major reasons, one is that he has low social skills and the other reason would be solely attributed to his ancient and structuralized sentence construction. His terminology can range from the mundane to the antebellum, and in those reasons he sometimes just gives quick short responses to questions. When he wants to be however he can be quite a verbose raconteur.
Isaac has the patience of a turtle and he can take mounds of spate and hysteric curses and still keep his temper in check. He doesn't show his anger but he can be a vicious cur when unleashed.
Isaac carries with him a haughty and aristocratic visage and he has deep respect for those in authority. However he will choose not to give respect to authority figures who corrupt their image and does not respect the sanctity of their positions. He also has a habit of observing the most spartan of traditions even though his errand may only consist of buying milk from a local produce purveyor of goods.
Isaac is often times mistaken as an actor for a play due to his well dressed manner and often mechanical finesse when doing a lot of things.
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[/ul]fabula[/font]
siblings: Ishmael John (deceased)
other family: Master Renfield
blood family: Not available
extra/subtracted vampire power: Not available
overall history: Isaac James Archibald Renfield was orphaned at a very early age when his parents and his brother was killed in a freak railway accident. This left young Isaac with no one to go since he had little family relatives left. Fortunately for him, one of the last surviving members of the family adopted him and cared for him. That man was known in several circles as Master Renfield.
Young Isaac grew up in the care of his great granddad. In his young years he fell in love with the Repository since it was there that most of the time his granddad let him be. At a very young age he seemed precocious and often time devoured most of the books and anything of importance in the Repository. He memorized and knew all of books and tomes by heart. But there was one place that his granddad forbade him to be in the Repository. His granddad made him swear and oath not to go beyond the bounds that he set for the little boy. That promise was kept until several years later, when Isaac accidentally stumbled beyond the bounds.
Thirteen years after the accident, Isaac grew up to be a fine young man of 17. He was mostly trained in the ways and conduct by his granddad and was a master at it. He was one of the last remnants of the old guards, conduits bred to the bone and knew all that would entail from this path. One evening as Isaac was returning the ancient books he had purposely borrowed, read and restored, he was reading the book titles aloud in the western wing when a trapdoor suddenly opened. He fell down the spiraling steps and regained consciousness and several broken ribs and minor contusions. He looked around him and tried to understand and guess what this place he fell upon was. He saw a door, made of gold, ebony, and platinum and everywhere around the place was the inscription, INGREDIOR PERCIPIO ANIMUS. And upon the door was a gold key. Whispers where heard from inside, angry voices seemed to stir beyond the portal. The light however was obscuring who were in the room, but Isaac held his ground and painfully trudged towards the door. The light was blinding. As he tried to enter the door, another hand pulled him by his neck and pushed him against the wall. It was his granddad. Isaac was warned and his granddad dragged the young boy towards the passages and stairs and elevators. His granddad was quite angry at first but it was a chance accident that he stumbled upon that place, and the old man managed to soothe his anger. It was then that the formal training of Isaac began both as successor to his granddad and as a worker in the Repository.
About 2 years ago he went to Europe to undertake his philosophy degree in Venice. It only took him a year and a half to finish his degree in his course and for half of the year he visited several key persons as per instruction of his granddad and master.
After his sojourn in Europe, he has decided again to take another course in psychology in New York.
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[/ul]exempoator
sample RP:
Press your ears upon the cold wall of this building. Do not try to feel the harsh elements beating upon you; forget the world and its whispers; forget the city and everything in it. Follow me as we try to walk the same footsteps of a man. As your hand touches the aged stone and cement, try to listen through the walls, listen to those footsteps, machinelike the clicks move away and away. There is a slight limp in the sound but it does no hinder the walker nor does it create an image of a human being that needs assistance. Perhaps it might be in his blood. Besides from his footsteps the air is riddled with a third sound gently rapping the floor. The sound is hollow yet solid, perhaps a cane.
We are far behind him. Don't dally lest we lose him.
Hurry.
The room is dimly lit; eerie at first but it has a sense of security. The door behind us closes now and we now walk towards a corridor of metal and tiles. The air smells of copper and a small trace of metals intertwined with plastic, and if you listen closely muffled whispers and hints of emotions parade through the silent rooms. The fluorescent lighting flickers for a moment as the machineries inside come alive and then dies again, and every now and then grim faced people seem to pop out from rooms and corridors. But hurry we might lose our man, for he still does not stop walking.
As we follow him we go towards the end of the corridor, a metal door guards this exceptional room and guards question us why we are here. We satisfy their ears with lies and we managed to walk through towards the bowels of this area, trying to spy upon the man in front of us.
Look beneath you, the carpet in this harsh lighting is the shimmer of blood in the moonlight. In normal days if we were outside this would be the color and exact shade of blood, but blood in the embrace of the night and the kiss of the moon is black. So to is this room. Bleak at first and very well kept, yet no sign of machinery or any other tools are seen, save for a red sofa and a small coffee table. We try to keep our distance for a moment as the man sits and plucks from the table a magazine about furniture. He glances at the magazine with eyes that of a camera, blinking page per page till he finishes it and takes his time piece and puts it away. He now clutches his hands with those white silken gloves and hums a country tune. We wait.
Our patience reaps now its rewards, a man dressed in white comes into the room and greets the man. Their faces are impassive and they talk rapidly in smooth tongues. The attendant fumbles for something in his pocket and it gives a sharp click. A compartment in the wall, gives a small hiss as the pneumatic machinery operates itself. The attendant carefully retrieves a box inside the freezer and gives it to the well dressed man we have been tailing. He takes a quick look into it and selects a few vials of liquid. His face is still impassive yet if you did look closely into his eyes, you might say that the boyish glimmer flickered and died for a moment. The attendant tries to say something to the man as if he was pleading. Begging for something that he his heart had ached for a long time. The other man nods his said as if to say he cannot fulfill it yet. The attendant smiles for a bit and says something about a host or some sorts. The man walks out of the room.
The attendant smiles again, as though a fit of madness is clinging upon him like a though that won't go away. We move backwards. Away from this room. As we were about to leave the steel doors, there is something that rings in the air. Gunshot. The Velvet Room.
We can try to go back but it would be foolish. We rush towards the corridor trying to look for our target but he is outside of the building, staring into the heavens. A single snowflake falls from the eternal dark of the heavens and he manages to catch it. He stands there as though waiting. Waiting. Yet those eyes are ever alert. Like the devil's. He stands there.
He waits.
anything else to add: bubblegum
is that it?: INGREDIOR PERCIPIO ANIMUS
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