Post by Ciel Devere on Jul 25, 2011 23:56:13 GMT -8
Devere, Ciel
DEMIGOD
1st year at Camp
(image is streched, so if needed, the link is here: movieenergy.com/images/s/3390771_pbrp.jpg)
Age: 12
Son/Daughter of Hephaestus
Alliance: Undecided
DEMIGOD
1st year at Camp
(image is streched, so if needed, the link is here: movieenergy.com/images/s/3390771_pbrp.jpg)
Age: 12
Son/Daughter of Hephaestus
Alliance: Undecided
Appearance:
Eye(s): Greyish blue
Hair: Dark brown
Height: 58 inches
Build Type: Average
Brief Description:
Ciel's mere appearance is rather unusual, let alone his personality, as though his facial features are that of a young child's, he tends to dress in a manner that implies that he is much older. His hair is virtually never unkept, and groomed to perfection, most of the time, though it tends to go a little wild when he has other things to worry about. He is, despite his youth, unusually mature for his age, as shown by his abnormally huge interest in physiology, and despite his obsessive behavior, he is somewhat dignified and sophisticated, though there is a childishly immature side to him that only shows through on rare occasions. For this reason, he can be easily be confused for a child of Athena, but in truth,he is merely following in the footsteps of his family, on his mother's side. He has a tendency to overlook people who he deems unworthy, though if given reason to, he can and will respect them, though it takes a lot to become close to the somewhat cold and arrogant individual.
Background:
Mortal Parent(s): Monica Devere, mother
Other Family: Allan Devere, twin
Pets: None
Brief History: Ciel was born to a completely human mother, with absolutely no abnormalities about her, who were residing in London at the time, despite being French. She worked as the head honcho in Laura Ashley in charge of overlooking the designs and manufacture of everything in the 'Home and Furnature' department.
Though he was never too great at actually designing objects in general, it was obvious from a young age that he was greatly skilled in constructing small models and whatnot, though he'd never had the chance to use materials such as metals, as his mother mainly worked with wood if she actually built anything at all. At the age if four, Ciel was warmly welcomed into his mother's workshop, being encouraged to fiddle with oddsand ends that were no longer needed, though briefly, as at te age of ten, he accidentely set most of the fabric in the workshop ablaze, leaving little more than scraps, and the interior of the building in ruin. This was the first time that such an event had occured, and his non-existant obsession with matches was to blame. As a result, his mother has been very hesitant to allow him into the workshop again.
Despite this, Ciel's childhood has been uneventful, and normal in many ways, but had very few friends. He is a naturally carefree and happy, but his attitude towards others in general is not. Being the outsider for his frankly scarily jovial behavior, he was subject to name-calling and many kids laughed as he passed in the corridor at school, the snide remarks and jibes becoming an accepted part of daily life. For this reason, his time off was spent at home with his family, though the boy was never known for his social skills, and rarely conversed with them for very long. For this reason, his attitude towards others began to change, in an absent minded attempt to fit in, becoming the seemingly cold and uncaring individual that you see today. He likes to think that he got on rather well with his brother, though keeping in mind that he only ever spoke to him when the moment demanded it, they were never inseparable.
As time went on, in school he became less attentive, and any hopes that he'd had of 'fitting in' dissolved along with it. He would sit in his room for hours on end, fiddling with various odds and ends that he had managed to steal away from his mother's workshop, for lack of something better to do.
At the age of twelve, his mother sent him to Camp, not because he was ever in any form of danger, but simply that he had begun to shun every form of contact with others, becoming unsociable to an extreme extent. His supernatural ability has just begun to surface, and so though he is naturally capable of using Pyrokinesis, he cannot control it, and it has become more prominant over the past few weeks. For example, when in the forges, he has a tendency to accidentely melt through the metal that he happens to be working on, with white hot flames that seemingly errupt from his fingertips when his excitement gets the better of him.
Personality:
Likes:
Dislikes:
Skills:
Weaknesses:
Passions:
Fears:
Hobbies:
Fighting Specialty: Short range combat, using mainly short dwords/daggers of his own creation.
Describe the extent of your powers/abilities:
Resistance to Fire/Pyrokenesis
Ciel's lack of ability in the generation and manipulation of fire is currently minimal, to the extent that he can barely use it at all, and the event in which he set his mother's workshop ablaze seems to have been a completely one-off. He hasn't been able to conjure a single ember since. Despite this, he is completely immune to fire, and can quite happily stand in a blazing building and emerge unharmed.
With it, he is currently capable of:
sensing heat and flames.
-On extremely rare occasions, when emotions get the better of him (though this has only occured once so far) he has been known to throw fireballs/fire bolts, fire blasts, though they aren't very big yet, and extinguish after a few seconds.
- As before, this has only happened once, but the ability is still there, but Ciel is pretty much completely unable to use it. Increasing the heat of his fire, or an already existing fire, enough to shoot white hot flames from his finger that can melt through a chain link.
When fighting, Ciel is able to use his small physique to his advantage, pulling off attacks that most would think were beyond him at a first glance. His preferred, custom made short sword is a light cutting and thrusting weapon that targets the entire body above the waist, except for the hands. The sabre is primarily used to slash, so hits with the side of the blade as well as the tip are valid.
Fatal Flaw:
Arrogance-offensive display of superiority or self-importance; overbearing pride.
Please describe why you think you can stabilize a powerful character. Minimum of two well-developed paragraphs **Big Three Only**:
Please give a brief background on your minor god**Minor Gods Only**:
Theme Song: Losing My Religion-R.E.M
Life is bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
The distance in your eyes
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up
That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no I've said too much
I haven't said enough
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
Every whisper
Of every waking hour I'm
Choosing my confessions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool
Oh no I've said too much
I set it up
Consider this
The hint of the century
Consider this
The slip that brought me
To my knees failed
What if all these fantasies
Come flailing around
Now I've said too much
I thought that I heard you laughing
I thought that I heard you sing
I think I thought I saw you try
But that was just a dream
That was just a dream
...
The Puppeteer:
Name/ Alias: A
Age: 14
How long have you been role playing?: A year? Maybe a little less.
Rate Your RPing 1-5 Stars according to our Star Rule (1 = beginner. 5= most advanced): 3
How did you find us?: Google
READ THIS AND BRING THE CODE WORD: CLICK | Code word: SPONTANEOUS
Role Playing Sample:
(This is a sample of mine that was taken from another site.)
Outside was saturated with cold. White plumes of expelled air rose up from the people huddled in fur coats, hands pushed deep into pockets, heads down against the wind that clawed frost across any exposed body part. In less than twenty steps Leonard had crossed the ice-slimy brick pavement and his manservant pushed open the oak doors to Burlington House, holding them open for the youth before carrying on. Despite being in his own home, the boy was again assailed by people. The chill that had attached itself to his skin and clothes evaporated and Leonard was instantly too hot, even as he was helped out of his mink overcoat.
He paused for a moment before striding towards the grand staircase, watching the staff rushing around him, running simple errands that he probably should have been able to complete by himself, but had absolutely no reason or desire to.
It was then that he noticed a fairly young girl, about his age; one of those that he felt that he should know, but could never remember her name. He watched in slight amusement as she passed, a feather duster in hand, who didn't seem to know that it was winter, what with her outfit of a fairly ill-fitting cotton dress,and almost spotless white apron. She looked rather cold, to say the least.
He quickly averted his gaze from her, as he realized that he was staring, and continued on his way, until she bashed into his shoulder with hers while, at the same time, her feather duster connected with his black leather loafer, in her haste to reach her destination. Like twin beacons of astonishment, an apology flashed up in her eyes. She said it too; breathed the single-syllable word between her plump, pink lips: "Sorry."
Leonard hadn't seen her lately, though she was exactly as he remembered her: her brown-black hair softly sculpted into mid-length peaks away from her face, and her skin retaining that beautiful, pearly white complexion. Her navy-blue eyes that could effortlessly unearth his deepest desires. Her mouth, his favorite part of her face, like firm marshmallows fashioned from a mould of Cupid's bow. His sea green eyes swept over her face again. She hadn't changed a bit.
"It is you, isn't it?" He asked when she spoke no further, her face a mask of uncertainty."The girl from Lewisham, from the..." His voice trailed off, avoiding the word, skirting around it like a pothole in the road. Pretending it wasn't there, as though living in a slum wasn't as bad, as devastating if you didn't utter the word.
She nodded, apparently unable to jumpstart her vocal chords. She moistened her lips, looking ready to attempt a reply, the imprint of shock still on her face. Though when she didn't speak, Leonard felt it necessary to continue, "I'm sorry, but I appear to have no recollection of your name, what with this short term memory of mine." He smiled in a way that he hoped was friendly, encouraging her to speak in that angelic, almost musical voice of hers.
He paused for a moment before striding towards the grand staircase, watching the staff rushing around him, running simple errands that he probably should have been able to complete by himself, but had absolutely no reason or desire to.
It was then that he noticed a fairly young girl, about his age; one of those that he felt that he should know, but could never remember her name. He watched in slight amusement as she passed, a feather duster in hand, who didn't seem to know that it was winter, what with her outfit of a fairly ill-fitting cotton dress,and almost spotless white apron. She looked rather cold, to say the least.
He quickly averted his gaze from her, as he realized that he was staring, and continued on his way, until she bashed into his shoulder with hers while, at the same time, her feather duster connected with his black leather loafer, in her haste to reach her destination. Like twin beacons of astonishment, an apology flashed up in her eyes. She said it too; breathed the single-syllable word between her plump, pink lips: "Sorry."
Leonard hadn't seen her lately, though she was exactly as he remembered her: her brown-black hair softly sculpted into mid-length peaks away from her face, and her skin retaining that beautiful, pearly white complexion. Her navy-blue eyes that could effortlessly unearth his deepest desires. Her mouth, his favorite part of her face, like firm marshmallows fashioned from a mould of Cupid's bow. His sea green eyes swept over her face again. She hadn't changed a bit.
"It is you, isn't it?" He asked when she spoke no further, her face a mask of uncertainty."The girl from Lewisham, from the..." His voice trailed off, avoiding the word, skirting around it like a pothole in the road. Pretending it wasn't there, as though living in a slum wasn't as bad, as devastating if you didn't utter the word.
She nodded, apparently unable to jumpstart her vocal chords. She moistened her lips, looking ready to attempt a reply, the imprint of shock still on her face. Though when she didn't speak, Leonard felt it necessary to continue, "I'm sorry, but I appear to have no recollection of your name, what with this short term memory of mine." He smiled in a way that he hoped was friendly, encouraging her to speak in that angelic, almost musical voice of hers.