My Characters ForOwned By Daemon and Zalia
An unexplained incident has plunged the once glorious city of Bliss into chaos and destruction. Survivors battle for their lives amidst the ruins. |
www.enterthechaos.webs.com
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Arrakis Saphirium Fate
Arrakis Saphirium Fate
Arrakis Saphirium Fate was not born in Bliss with his brother. Quite the contrary. The two siblings were born far, far away, in a different city of a different country altogether. It was simply fate that brought them to Bliss on the very day that it was sanctioned off with no way out. Fate is never necesarily a good thing. Fate is merely the device of a god who weaves the threads of life and death to form a tapestry. And fate had irrevocably entwined doom for the brothers. They were very young when they came to the city. They had been bounced from one orphanage to foster home to another for several years and were quite used to the trips. In Bliss, they were taken directly to a social services building where they would wait out their time till another family more fortunate than they decided to spread their wings and take the two boys in. But that day never came. Barely twenty-four hours after they entered the city's limits, and chaos had reared its shadowed head from the primordial darkness of its birthplace. Destruction and fear rampaged the streets in the forms of terrified and invigorated people. Arrakis and his brother could do nothing but run and hide, waiting for the misery to play itself out. They shivered and hungered in the dark refuse of a subway tunnel under construction, now abandoned as the workers had fled their posts to join the rabble. They stayed underground for days, occasionally finding enough wood to build a fire, and eating off rats and alley cats that wandered down. When the war above died down, they managed to crawl out, but it was all madness still. For years they plundered and fought, tooth and nail, wearing their fingers to the bone, they clawed their existence into being. They were always on the run and the lookout, glancing tirelessly over their shoulders and seeking refuge in the most unlikely places. They were in the heart of the city, right in the thick of it. They survived by Arrakis' endeavors. He, being the elder, now at seventeen years, took it upon himself to protect his brother. His self motto, one he inevitably stole off a patrol car: To Protect And Serve. That is his self appointed role over his younger brother, Eltanin. His constant promise, "We will not die" was the one thing that kept them going through it all. They learned, they adapted. The harsh life they endured did not became easier but became bearable. Feelings such as despair and angst were put aside in the wake of survival. If it wasn't for Arrakis, they may have given up long ago. Arrakis has been worn over the years, and he seems older than he really is because of it. He still carries a charming smile, and walks tall and proud. He is fighting for his life and his sanity, and it's a battle he will not let himself lose. Arrakis has golden hair, like a lion's mane; shaggy and soft. His eyes are a vibrant blue, a mix of sky and water and air. He has his fair share of scars, and many memories and nightmares buried in those wounds. He is very good with electronics, weapons, and equipment. He is very reliable in a pinch, always seems to have a plan, always thinks things through, and prefers the cautious approach to the bold, headfirst charge. His younger brother is Eltanin, and he will protect him with his life. Arrakis' name means "dancer" and is the name of one of the stars in the Draco constellation. His middle name was an elaborate rendition of the sapphire color of his pristine eyes, and as for his last name; he chose it for the god of their circumstance.
Arrakis Saphirium Fate was not born in Bliss with his brother. Quite the contrary. The two siblings were born far, far away, in a different city of a different country altogether. It was simply fate that brought them to Bliss on the very day that it was sanctioned off with no way out. Fate is never necesarily a good thing. Fate is merely the device of a god who weaves the threads of life and death to form a tapestry. And fate had irrevocably entwined doom for the brothers. They were very young when they came to the city. They had been bounced from one orphanage to foster home to another for several years and were quite used to the trips. In Bliss, they were taken directly to a social services building where they would wait out their time till another family more fortunate than they decided to spread their wings and take the two boys in. But that day never came. Barely twenty-four hours after they entered the city's limits, and chaos had reared its shadowed head from the primordial darkness of its birthplace. Destruction and fear rampaged the streets in the forms of terrified and invigorated people. Arrakis and his brother could do nothing but run and hide, waiting for the misery to play itself out. They shivered and hungered in the dark refuse of a subway tunnel under construction, now abandoned as the workers had fled their posts to join the rabble. They stayed underground for days, occasionally finding enough wood to build a fire, and eating off rats and alley cats that wandered down. When the war above died down, they managed to crawl out, but it was all madness still. For years they plundered and fought, tooth and nail, wearing their fingers to the bone, they clawed their existence into being. They were always on the run and the lookout, glancing tirelessly over their shoulders and seeking refuge in the most unlikely places. They were in the heart of the city, right in the thick of it. They survived by Arrakis' endeavors. He, being the elder, now at seventeen years, took it upon himself to protect his brother. His self motto, one he inevitably stole off a patrol car: To Protect And Serve. That is his self appointed role over his younger brother, Eltanin. His constant promise, "We will not die" was the one thing that kept them going through it all. They learned, they adapted. The harsh life they endured did not became easier but became bearable. Feelings such as despair and angst were put aside in the wake of survival. If it wasn't for Arrakis, they may have given up long ago. Arrakis has been worn over the years, and he seems older than he really is because of it. He still carries a charming smile, and walks tall and proud. He is fighting for his life and his sanity, and it's a battle he will not let himself lose. Arrakis has golden hair, like a lion's mane; shaggy and soft. His eyes are a vibrant blue, a mix of sky and water and air. He has his fair share of scars, and many memories and nightmares buried in those wounds. He is very good with electronics, weapons, and equipment. He is very reliable in a pinch, always seems to have a plan, always thinks things through, and prefers the cautious approach to the bold, headfirst charge. His younger brother is Eltanin, and he will protect him with his life. Arrakis' name means "dancer" and is the name of one of the stars in the Draco constellation. His middle name was an elaborate rendition of the sapphire color of his pristine eyes, and as for his last name; he chose it for the god of their circumstance.
Eltanin Emeraldur Fate
Eltanin Emeraldur Fate
What of the days before? Eltanin has no recollection save the hatred, the despise, the revolted aura people presented towards him. Oh yes, he may not remember the sights, sounds, and smells, but he remembers the emotions that needed no words to express themselves. An orphan and foster child alongside his elder brother Arrakis, he was the unwanted one. Everyone loved Arrakis. He was smart, brave, and handsome. Eltanin? He was just an extra. The random child who was thrust into their care. He was little and still learning. He made messes and got on people's nerves. He was unwanted and unloved. All but by Arrakis. Why? He had asked his brother so often. It was suffering he endured alone, the hate of these people who took them into their care. For years it continued. They ignored him as much as possible. Sometimes they would forget his presence, as in, forget to feed him, forget to bathe him, forget that they had left him locked up in a cramped, dank closet. He suffered quietly and suffered alone. The only one he ever turned to for comfort was Arrakis, but even he felt that his older brother had abandoned him. But he never hated his brother. When they came to Bliss, it seemed another dreadful year. But then the incident happened. Chaos erupted. The nightmare began. Eltanin wanted to die. He wanted the end and the relief it would bring. Finally, to enter the underworld where maybe, just maybe, the demons and hellspawn would welcome him with open arms. But no. His brother made him live. His brother gave him life. He raised Eltanin from despair with every passing day, proving to him that he could be loved, could be wanted. Arrakis' love was all Eltanin needed. Arrakis fought and near died for him, and finally, Eltanin felt emotion stir in his heart. He found his relief in the chaos. Though it smothered many in the despairs of nightmares and terror, it clothed Eltanin in peace and serenity. Yes it was hard, yes they starved, yes they crawled into holes and sewers nursing their wounds and crying in pain. But it was relief. It was something, anything. Where chaos was one's nightmare, it was Eltannin's dream. Unlike his brother, Eltanin seems a faded replica. They have the same skin, same smile, same face. But his eyes are a sorrowful, sea green. His hair is a dusty, silver-blonde. He has his scars and his wounds. He has bones that broke and didn't heal properly. But the scars of his skin are incomparable to the scars that mar his heart. Eltanin isn't quite right. He's sneaky, sly, and sinister. He seeks to benefit himself by exploiting and destroying others around him. He feeds off of others misery and suffering. He has no remorse. No true remorse at least. He has not repented of his doings. He has confessed to God, but he has not changed. No matter how many times he fell on hands and knees and begged for forgiveness, he has not forgiven himself. And he has not changed. Eltannin was rightly named. Also named for a star in the Draco constellation, Eltanin means "snake". Emeraldur is merely a fanciful rendition of emerald, for his eyes. Eltannin is fourteen, though he acts much older and comes across as such. He assumed his brother's last name of Fate, for they are blood kin, and they know no other name.
What of the days before? Eltanin has no recollection save the hatred, the despise, the revolted aura people presented towards him. Oh yes, he may not remember the sights, sounds, and smells, but he remembers the emotions that needed no words to express themselves. An orphan and foster child alongside his elder brother Arrakis, he was the unwanted one. Everyone loved Arrakis. He was smart, brave, and handsome. Eltanin? He was just an extra. The random child who was thrust into their care. He was little and still learning. He made messes and got on people's nerves. He was unwanted and unloved. All but by Arrakis. Why? He had asked his brother so often. It was suffering he endured alone, the hate of these people who took them into their care. For years it continued. They ignored him as much as possible. Sometimes they would forget his presence, as in, forget to feed him, forget to bathe him, forget that they had left him locked up in a cramped, dank closet. He suffered quietly and suffered alone. The only one he ever turned to for comfort was Arrakis, but even he felt that his older brother had abandoned him. But he never hated his brother. When they came to Bliss, it seemed another dreadful year. But then the incident happened. Chaos erupted. The nightmare began. Eltanin wanted to die. He wanted the end and the relief it would bring. Finally, to enter the underworld where maybe, just maybe, the demons and hellspawn would welcome him with open arms. But no. His brother made him live. His brother gave him life. He raised Eltanin from despair with every passing day, proving to him that he could be loved, could be wanted. Arrakis' love was all Eltanin needed. Arrakis fought and near died for him, and finally, Eltanin felt emotion stir in his heart. He found his relief in the chaos. Though it smothered many in the despairs of nightmares and terror, it clothed Eltanin in peace and serenity. Yes it was hard, yes they starved, yes they crawled into holes and sewers nursing their wounds and crying in pain. But it was relief. It was something, anything. Where chaos was one's nightmare, it was Eltannin's dream. Unlike his brother, Eltanin seems a faded replica. They have the same skin, same smile, same face. But his eyes are a sorrowful, sea green. His hair is a dusty, silver-blonde. He has his scars and his wounds. He has bones that broke and didn't heal properly. But the scars of his skin are incomparable to the scars that mar his heart. Eltanin isn't quite right. He's sneaky, sly, and sinister. He seeks to benefit himself by exploiting and destroying others around him. He feeds off of others misery and suffering. He has no remorse. No true remorse at least. He has not repented of his doings. He has confessed to God, but he has not changed. No matter how many times he fell on hands and knees and begged for forgiveness, he has not forgiven himself. And he has not changed. Eltannin was rightly named. Also named for a star in the Draco constellation, Eltanin means "snake". Emeraldur is merely a fanciful rendition of emerald, for his eyes. Eltannin is fourteen, though he acts much older and comes across as such. He assumed his brother's last name of Fate, for they are blood kin, and they know no other name.
Violette Niobe Fosterly
Violette Niobe Fosterly
Violette was a queen. A princess. A star. An angel. Now she is nothing more than a long forgotten nothing. She is a beauty, one of the fair, wealthy jewels that graced the richest dwellings of Bliss's crowning empire. From a young age, she could sing, dance, play the piano and the violin, fluently spoke in French, Latin, and Italian, was well read, bred, and learned. All that has become meaningless drivel in the newly forged world, born of fire, hate, and anarchy. Her gentle, delicate hands have been dipped in blood and bruised by far harsher hands than hers. Her long, silky hair has become wild and windblown. Her soft features and plush curves have toughened, leaned out. The angles of her features have become as fierce as they are beautiful. Her silver eyes have become cold. Her rosy lips have become cruel. Her soft, gentle nature is still her own, but in the presence of others, her nature disperses from her, replaced with a brutal, vicious creature who's prominent treasure is her own life and its limitless value. She does as she can to defend herself. Women have the worse of the wear in this new world, for men are insatiable creatures. She has been assaulted more than once, and that has done little to make her situation any better. She has become fearful of people. Not to the point where she will attack anyone she meets, but fearful enough to stay to the shadows and corners. It takes time for her to trust. Unless she is in emotional distress. There are days when she awakens to despair, or moments when the weight of her troubles cascades upon her in a rush. These moments are oft followed by tears and frightened murmurs. She is not a hard woman. Her gentle nature pleads with her to be gentle and to have nothing for her but gentleness, but the world does not pander to the gentle and the meek. Her soft and serene upbringing did not prepare her for this world, and the years she has spent in it, full of turmoil and unpleasant surprises, have yet to make her as strong as she could be. She grows and grows slowly. Now nineteen years old, she wavers between the line of meek and strong. Violette is a beautiful young lady with long, silky, mousy brown hair and gleaming silver eyes. Her skin is a soft, fair color. She has varied scars and abrasions, but most of them aren't prominent enough to draw attention, and she covers what she can of them with her clothes.
Violette was a queen. A princess. A star. An angel. Now she is nothing more than a long forgotten nothing. She is a beauty, one of the fair, wealthy jewels that graced the richest dwellings of Bliss's crowning empire. From a young age, she could sing, dance, play the piano and the violin, fluently spoke in French, Latin, and Italian, was well read, bred, and learned. All that has become meaningless drivel in the newly forged world, born of fire, hate, and anarchy. Her gentle, delicate hands have been dipped in blood and bruised by far harsher hands than hers. Her long, silky hair has become wild and windblown. Her soft features and plush curves have toughened, leaned out. The angles of her features have become as fierce as they are beautiful. Her silver eyes have become cold. Her rosy lips have become cruel. Her soft, gentle nature is still her own, but in the presence of others, her nature disperses from her, replaced with a brutal, vicious creature who's prominent treasure is her own life and its limitless value. She does as she can to defend herself. Women have the worse of the wear in this new world, for men are insatiable creatures. She has been assaulted more than once, and that has done little to make her situation any better. She has become fearful of people. Not to the point where she will attack anyone she meets, but fearful enough to stay to the shadows and corners. It takes time for her to trust. Unless she is in emotional distress. There are days when she awakens to despair, or moments when the weight of her troubles cascades upon her in a rush. These moments are oft followed by tears and frightened murmurs. She is not a hard woman. Her gentle nature pleads with her to be gentle and to have nothing for her but gentleness, but the world does not pander to the gentle and the meek. Her soft and serene upbringing did not prepare her for this world, and the years she has spent in it, full of turmoil and unpleasant surprises, have yet to make her as strong as she could be. She grows and grows slowly. Now nineteen years old, she wavers between the line of meek and strong. Violette is a beautiful young lady with long, silky, mousy brown hair and gleaming silver eyes. Her skin is a soft, fair color. She has varied scars and abrasions, but most of them aren't prominent enough to draw attention, and she covers what she can of them with her clothes.