Post by Eimhir Bennet on Jun 17, 2010 2:26:31 GMT 2
EIMHIR OLIVE BENNET
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" Only advance; never retreat"
you say you're curious[/color]
CAN'T LEAVE A THING TO YOUR IMAGINATION[/font][/center]
AGE: 26
GENDER:Female
BIRTHDAY: March 24th
CLASS: Commoner
TITLE/RANK: Eimhir the undeterred
OCCUPATION:Street performer to earn money, but is really a traveling fighter- trying to learn all the different types of fighting styles she can.
ALIGNMENT: Neutral
ALLIGANCE: No one
RACE: Man
CANON:Non.[/SIZE]
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but oh, you seem so serious
[/color]I SHOULD ENJOY THE SWEET INTERROGATION[/font][/center]
HAIR:Dark chestnut brown, ends a few inches past her shoulders.
WEIGHT:142 lbs
HEIGHT:5’8
PLAY-BY:Michelle Rodriguez
GENERAL: From afar, it would be easy to miss her defined muscles and underestimate her tall frame underneath the loose blouses and baggy trousers that she usually adorns. Her long and curly locks tend to lose their sheen and bouncy effect due to the fact that it’s always swept back into a ponytail and a lack of general care. In fact, most of her appearance gives a general sense of lack of hygiene. Pieces of hay cling to her hair and clothes. Her knee-high boots are nearly never polished and you can always find a dirt smudge somewhere on her calloused hands or tanned face- but that never discourages that grin of white teeth from showing.
Scars adorn her whole body, the thickest ones being on her forearms and torso. A little chunk of skin is missing right below her left eye and she has a slight limp on her right side. And, if you looked closely enough, you would realize that the inside of her hands and the pads of her fingers have a constant hint of red to them. They are in such a state from being worn raw one too many times.
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i should not be telling you
[/color]I'M FLATTERED BY YOUR INTEREST[/font][/center]
++Sweets
++Making people smile
++A hard day’s good work
++Performing her tricks
++Meeting new people
++Whistling
DISLIKES:
--Rude people
--Rainy days
--Having nothing to do
--Bitter foods
--Cold nights
--Stealing
STRENGTHS:
++Obeying orders
++Hand-to-hand combat
++Determined
++Dedicated
++Honest
++Will be quick to defend others
++Holds good morals
WEAKNESSES:
--Stubborn
--Tends to tease others too much
--Jumps to conclusions
--Strategic planning
--Easily offended
--Superstitious
--Terrible fear of ghosts
QUIRKS/HABITS:She despises silence, so much so that she is constantly whistling to fill in the gap; Wrinkles her nose when thinking
FEARS:
-Dying before she can learn anything
-Being forced to settle down before she’s ready
-Dying before she is able to pass on her knowledge
-The ghost of her father
GOALS:
-To create a clan of elite fighters
-To learn as many fighting styles as possible until her aging body makes it impossible for her to do so. Once she cannot fight, then she’ll teach
-To die in a glorious battle
PERSONALITY
Despite the fact that she is a performer and is always polite, Eimhir is actually not all that social. If she had it her way, she would just travel this world without interacting with people whatsoever. She would not give her name, she would not have to beg for money, and she would refuse to tell her story to someone to justify her means. If it was her way, she would be a nobody-a speck of dust in the world-slowly growing, bettering herself for no other’s eyes than her own. Unfortunately, the world she is stuck in is overflowing with nosy people. So, even though she can smile and shine just as bright as the best of them, she is secretly wishing that she can just surrender herself to the shadows and cease to exist.
However, that is not to say she doesn’t mean that she cuts herself from the world entirely. In fact, despite herself, she finds herself being dragged more towards people because of this. Due to her slight irritation with the rest of the human race, she finds herself with very little patience for the rude and in-her-way kind. Life is short; there is no reason for that. Therefore, Eimhir has found herself stuck between a rock and a hard place on more than one occasion because of her policy to act and ask questions later for these types of situations. Hey, it’s not her fault. She wasn’t raised to just sit by and be silent when witnessing something she doesn’t agree with. Call it her ‘knight syndrome’, if you will.
Please note that aside from her general grumpiness and bold attitude, to those that can actually get close to Eimhir, she is actually a warm warm person. She treats those that she considers dear as if they were her own flesh and blood. There would be no question in the fact that she would sacrifice herself at a moments notice if it meant the lives of her loved ones.
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you start to hypnotize me
[/color]WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU[/font][/center]
FATHER:Aodh Bennet, Deceased, Blacksmith
SIBLINGS:n/a
OTHER: n/a
FAMILIAR/PET:none
MOUNT: none
PLACE OF BIRTH: Stryklak
CURRENT RESIDENCE:None, she is constantly traveling from one place to the next
WEAPONRY:A handmade bow and arrows mainly for hunting; A large sword with a carved hilt of a lunging wolf with a ruby eye, used only for traditional duels and as a last resort; A yo-yo made out of polished rocks for her tricks and main weapon of choice
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HISTORY: Eimhir was always a chubby child, grown plump and hearty thanks to her mother’s constant obsession with feeding her home-baked sweets. It was when her father, as manly as his pride was, decided that a plump daughter would not allow him to give his blessing to the type of gent that he wanted to changed her life. He brought her out back, placed a stick in her hand and taught her the basics of handling a sword. Slowly, over time, her fat started to give way to muscle. The short and stubby figure she once bore turned into a tall and lean body by the time she became of age to wed. By this age, her father had taught her the basics of fighting with her bare hands as well.
Now, what seemed like an act out of the ordinary- or at least kindness-on her father's part was actually a severe taboo in the family. For, you see, the Bennet family descends from a strong line of knights. Every generation trained and permitted into knighthood only to teach and expect their children to do the same. That tradition was shattered when Eimhir's great grandfather- a drunk to the ultimate degree-failed to get his armor. Now, that wouldn't be such a big deal if the next generations could pick up the slack.
But they didn't.
It didn't matter how hard they tried, the Bennets appeared to be cursed. One denial of entry after another. Yet, they kept on trying. Now this is where the taboo comes in: tradition goes that it is the first man of the house that is to be taught. It was because of this that Eimhir was to keep her newly found skills a secret. Little did her parents now that they just tossed a pebble down a hill that was soon to become a boulder.
It was when she was eighteen that Eimhir tried to become a knight. It was also the same year that the local butcher proposed to her (a plan concocted by both sets of parents, for sure.) It wasn't even a heartbeat that she denied him and prepared herself for her test. When she will be defending the country, what time will she have for raising a family? It was also on the same day that she tried out that she was refused entry.
Eimhir's heart was shattered. Her whole childhood, she kept building herself up to be the savior of the family name. She could almost picture her knightly armor glistening in the sun with her sword held high...
It was a year after her failure that her father died. They said it was from a weak heart, but Eimhir knew that somehow he had heard about her attempt to break the curse and her shame brought him to an early grave. She refused to eat for days on end out of guilt alone. Guilt and grief.
It was on her twenty-first birthday that Eimhir's father had come to visit her. He slipped into her dreams and sat on a wooden chair smoking a pipe. Grey smoke leaked out of empty sockets where his eyes should've been. She confided to her in a bitter tone that the reason of the curse was because they were too old. Their techniques had become predictable and their skill lacking. He pinched his nose and sighed. Eimhir father then jumped up from his chair with such force that the chair underneath him shattered and his face twisted into something horrid. He then told her-no, commanded her-to create a town of warriors. This town will serve only for the sake of battle and justice. She was to learn the different ways of fighting and become feared and respected. If she doubted his word then she should look up in the attic- the family's treasure was hidden up there.
Eimhir awoke and proceeded to her attic, her body shaking violently. It was there that she found the Bennet's finely crafted sword and it was in the next morning that she packed and left on her journey.
Coincidence or no, she didn't dare disobey the word of the dead.
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who am i talking to
[/color]COULD BE A DEMON IN A MASK[/font][/center]
AGE: 17
EXPERIENCE: 1-2 years
CONTACT: pm,please
MEMBER TITLE: Traveling Warrior
ANSWER: fluffy hobbit
EXAMPLE:
From site Oak Cross
Muriel had walked along the beach for what felt like a good hour or so by now. Her red locks fluttered helplessly in the wind as she made her way across the beach. In her thin arms she held a collection of things: a piece of coral found here, a glittering seashell there and pretty much everything else in between. Her green eyes were in a squint at the horizon as if she struggled to find something that laid in the distance. Truth be told, her squinting was just something out of habit alone. Her feet were leading her down a path she had walked many times before.
She was searching for a shack. It was a pitiful sight that was nothing more than merely three walls and a tattered old sheet for a doorway. Yet, she called it her sanctuary of sorts. Once past the faded blue sheet that acted as a door, many shelves lined the interior. Most of these shelves were overflowing with trinkets and discovered items. Some of them had meaning-others not so much. The items she was carrying towards this hut were to be a newly added batch to her growing secret collection.
Heaving a sigh, Muriel allowed her mind to wander to a dreamy state. She imagined herself basking on a nice warm rock and eating nothing but fish all day long. A small smile tugged on the corner of her lips, allowing a shy smile to play upon her face for a few moments; That was, until that smile quickly turned into a frown.
Catching her foot on a crab, Muriel went flying. She was quick to come face-to-face with dirt. Although she was a fan of the beach, she had no real desire to pucker up and land a wet one on the ground, so she howled a foul curse when her body landed with a soft ‘thump’. Her treasures became scattered amongst the sand.
“By the gods!” She hissed as she picked herself up and spat out a mouthful of sand, “If the mother sea damns me for pilfering her loot then I say to hell with her! I may pilfer and steal as I see fit. I ain’t no land-lover, therefore I find myself entitled to take as I please.” With every word, her cheeks turned to a brighter shade of red.
Muriel did not truly believe that her misfortune was due to an angry sea goddess, nor did she really see the sea as something for her to steal from as she sees fit. What she really was cursing about was the fact that her items were scattered all over the place- and that meant someone else could touch them. If there was one thing that she hated more than anything else, it would be other people touching her stuff.
Thus, with hands and knees buried deep in the sand, she scampered from one treasure to the next, anxious to pick them up before someone else sees and opportunity in her misfortune to steal what is not theirs.
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