Remus
Level 1
Posts : 14
Join date : 2011-01-22
 | Subject: Arcúeid, Remus  Sun Jan 23, 2011 5:15 pm | |
|  ~You don't have to be a vampire to join~ 
Given Name: Remus
Middle Name: Hiver
Surname: Arcúeid {Ar-koo-ihd}
Appearance Age: Eighteen
Actual Age: One hundred and thirty three
Gender: Male
Race: Vampire
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual
Teacher or Student? (or Neither) Neither
Hair Color & Style: Styled neatly, albeit choppy in a way, Remus’ hair is a charcoal black, sometimes a gunmetal grey and others the deepest obsidian black. It captures what light is thrown at it, reflecting the darkest of colors, particularly shades of blue, green, and red. He keeps it cut neatly at the back of his neck, brushing the tops of his ears, and with shaggy bangs that frame his charming eyes.
Eye Color: His eyes are a deep, claret red, oft comparable to wine or fresh blood.
Complexion: Pale and white, his skin is forever flawless and akin to marble or porcelain due to his vampirism.
Height: He stands at an imposing six feet, four inches.
Weight: Though fragile, he is naturally built for strength and speed, and weighs in at one hundred and seventy pounds.
Markings: On his neck, he has a tattoo of a cross, covering up the bite marks he received in his youth.
Apparel: Typically, Remus can be seen simply wearing a casual outfit consisting of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. His jeans are ragged around the edges from much walking, and worn soft with constant wear, but still very durable despite a few fading threads. His shirt is typically a simple black t-shirt with a wide and low neckline, covered over by a black jacket with a faux-fur-lined collar, such as shown in his application picture. For footwear, he typically settles for sneakers. If the need ever arises, or occasionally when entering into a professional card game, he dresses formally in a sleek black tuxedo and a white-dress shirt with an open collar.
Personality: With a placid personality overall, Remus is a generally calm man. He speaks in an even, mellifluous tone, but more often than not prefers to stay quiet and observant. Mistakenly, this is often taken for shyness, though, upon finding interest in a subject, he will brighten somewhat and engage in conversation. He carries himself with strength and modesty all in one, and possesses innumerable patience under most situations.
Regretfully, beneath the surface, Remus is hardly as composed an individual as he seems. As a result of his vampirism and the loss of his family—all save for his sister, whom he cherishes dearly—his mental state has been slowly degenerating from the moment his wasting disease halted his struggle against the vampyric transformation in order to survive. At times, he suffers mild bouts of “insanity,” which he feels creeping up on him at every moment and dreads with the deepest threads of his being. Akin to his vampirism, inherited from the vampire who changed him, Remus despises his own mental state, leaving him in a state of constant self-loathing.
Talents: Throwing cards, gambling, and sleight of hand
Habits: Writing down the major events he lives through, as well as anything particularly “historical” which catches his eye; Making bets with himself; Starving himself.
Likes: Alcohol
Playing Cards
Roses
Blood
History
Nereis
Dislikes:
Nereis’ like of alcohol
Losing
Vampirism
Desiring for blood
Soggy toast
Injuring Nereis 
Element: Water
Gift: States of Change
Gift Description: Matter, defined scientifically, is anything that takes up space and has mass. In most cases, there are taught to be three states of matter: solid, liquid, and gas. The solid state of matter is a state in which the molecules or atoms composing said matter are held in a generally fixed state by various types of bonds; the atoms vibrate slightly, increasing in vibration as heat is increased. Liquid is composed of atoms and/or molecules which move in a rapid, fast pace about each other in a tightly packed fashion; the atoms of gaseous matter are sparse and spread far apart. Matter in the solid state has a definite volume and shape. In the liquid state, it has a definite volume, but an indefinite shape, and matter in the gaseous state has neither definite volume nor definite shape.
From birth, Remus has been given the ability to alter the states of matter from solid to liquid to gas, or in any combination. However, a change of state does not affect the identity of the substance. For example, water—whether it is in its solid state (ice), liquid state (water), or gaseous state (vapor)—is still composed of the chemical formula H20, and has not changed from being water. Only the distances and interactions between particles that make up water have changed.
Little known, as well, is a fourth state of matter known as “plasma,” which is a high-temperature physical state of matter in which atoms lose most of their electrons, which releases light and heat. In being able to alter the states of matter, Remus is, as a result, able to create various amounts of plasma depending on the amount of matter at hand.
Disadvantages:- A change of state does not affect the identity of the substance.
- Changing the state of something complex {such as a television}, may result in the inability to restore the original state.
Weapon: Fortuna
Weapon Description: Fortuna, translated as “luck,” or “good luck,” in Latin, is a deck of fifty-two decorative metal playing cards. Due to the peculiar metal which they are crafted from, these cards are as thin and flexible as normal playing cards, but indestructible at the same time; they neither conduct heat, nor electricity, nor can they ever be permanently bent out of shape. Along the edges of the cards are thin, razor-sharp blades that seem only an extension of the cards themselves. These never dull, nor do they ever chip, and have incredible slicing power as a result of their composition; he frequently slices down small trees with an elegant toss while training.
As cardshark adept in card tossing, Remus has experience in throwing, aiming, and shuffling any number of cards. One might say that he “bonds,” with cards, and when it comes to Fortuna, indeed he does. These cards are tuned solely to his mental signature. Simply, his mind creates a path for the card per se and when he throws the card, the card obeys the path.
- Spoiler:
Strengths:
Sleight of hand
Vampirism
<Element>
Weaknesses:
Wasting disease
Vampirism
Continuing loss of sanity
Date of Birth: April 26th
Birth Place: London, England (Victorian Era)
Parents: Orphaned; Ulrich & Eden Arcúeid (Deceased)
Siblings: Nereis Anise Arcúeid
History: He coughed, and stirred, pushing himself up from the ground with a grunt of pain. Blood splattered down from his form, dripping from his mouth and coated over his torso in a sticky, blackish mud half formed from the dust to which he’d been thrust.
“Damn it,” the teenager cursed, “damn him!”
With throbbing, omnipresent ache far worse than any pain he’d yet felt before, the boy dragged himself to his knees, his bloodied and cracked nails clawing at the wooden porch near which he had been felled. The pain made him dizzy, and he fought the urge to retch, coughing up blood as he wheezed for breath. Disheveled and matted with blood, scraps of his hair fell down in his vision as it wavered. He pulled himself along the porch step by aching step, limping heavily and barely breathing, all the while repeating a single phrase in his head:
I have to find her…Nene…
With each painful movement, he felt his strength waning, though at times it fluctuated upwards towards a powerful level he had never before known. His breathing became more labored as he rounded the front of the house, stumbling over the splinters of the ravaged stairs and doorframe. Each painful breath bubbled, as if he was breathing water, and he knew no rest from the incessant coughing. Slumped against the doorframe, he made no sound as the splintered wood dug into his raw wounds; none other than a gurgled moan. The need to find his sister thundered in his ears, droning out all sound and sharply tunneling his vision. As he clutched at the doorframe, he lurched one step into the room, and shouted out.
“Mother! Father!”
He knew, however, when he shouted, that they would not answer. The house reeked of blood, smothering him with the sharp, coppery smell. Bile rose in his throat and he tried to swallow it down against the rawness, only to fail and retch nearby. With black stars swimming in his vision and his sense of sound defaulting to a single, high-pitched whine, he panted and coughed up blood, cursing in a slurred voice. His chest tightened painfully, his heart accelerating, and he let out a sharp cry; if one’s heart could beat too fast, that indeed was what his was doing. Feeling his grip slip, he tumbled to the ground, convulsing on the spot as his pulse quickened to an unbearable pace. And then, suddenly, it stopped. His eyes wide, he stared blankly at the spot laying just before his eyes, lips slightly parted but without breath. Remus Hiver Arcúeid was dead.
Hours later—thank the lord for such fast transportation in the Victorian age—a group of concerned villagers had cautiously approached the house. From without, it looked as if a bear had torn it apart, and from within, it looked no better. Blood was smeared across every wall, pooling on the floor, and all three residents were found and deemed dead. The mother and father of the small family who had once lived there were mutilated near beyond recognition. With terrible wounds inflicted upon his throat and chest, they found the son crumpled in the doorway, soaking in a puddle of his own blood. The daughter was nowhere to be seen.
Superstitious of what had happened here, the family had been gathered with as speedy a ceremony as possible, and buried in the same way. A plot for them in the public graveyard had not been spared, nor had any gravestones or coffins. The massacred, blood-drenched bodies had simply been gathered into sheets, and three separate holes dug for them in the fields the family had been owned. When the dirt had been filled in over each corpse, all that remained of the family were the cinders of a broken down farmhouse—the wreckage burned to ward off any lingering spirits—and three nameless scars in a once golden field.
The first thing Remus felt as he awoke was a burning, endless thirst. A suffocating pressure forced him down, threatening to crush his ribs, and he found he could not breathe; in fact, that he did not want to. Clawing blindly at the area around him, he came into contact with solidly packed dirt, saturated with moisture of some sort. He could not tell if it was blood or water, or any other liquid; only that he wanted to get out. Without the strength or the mindset to do much else, he began to claw his way upwards, feeling how the moisture trickled through the dirt with a painful awareness. The air around him grew frigid as he drew energy from the life around him, tearing his way through the packed down earth.
At last, he broke through the surface with a ragged gasp, clumps of damp earth clinging to his shaggy, matted hair and pressing up under his nails. Blood, water, and mud were expelled from his lungs and stomach as he dragged himself out of the hole, retching onto the freshly turned earth. His muscles shook as his spine cracked and heaved under the pain of emptying his system. The offensive scents still clinging to him made his stomach roil, and at the same time turn over in hunger—his nose was sensitive to an ungodly degree, burning at even the scent of the rain now pouring down over him. Shuddering and retching for the better part of the next few hours, he lay under the icy, torrential downpour, merely wondering how. How was he alive…? As a rabbit darted across the field, out of his sight but not yet out of his new, impeccable hearing, he felt a sharp pain in his jaw, and seemed to move out of his own accord. He had his answer; and so began a cycle of self-loathing.
For a time after his rebirth, Remus searched ceaselessly for his sister, stumbling along the back alleys and roads at night, and huddling into a safe, lightproof spot during the day. Whether it burned him or not, he had no desire to find out, and at any rate, it hurt his eyes to be near bright lights. Most of his waking moments were spent in either a frenzy induced by his never-ending desire to find his sister, or a morose, depressed state over his rebirth, ever the while feeling his sanity waning.
After some time, it had seemed that he had found her. Stumbling along the streets one day, he had sighted her at the edge of Hyde Park, or if not her, then someone who looked remarkably like her. It sounded as if she was arguing with someone, or to the appearance that she was glaring at a book, with something. With a start, he ran towards her, shouting her name; it was the first time he had given an outburst of any emotional kind since the day he had “died.” It seemed she could no longer hear him at this point, however, having been knocked back by the book which lay flat on her chest. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, and terror raced in his heart knowing that look all too well. She was still breathing, indeed, as he reached her, and he dropped to his knees to scoop her into his arms, only to have her torn from them once more. A tearing filled the air as a portal opened nearby, sucking in first the book, then his beloved sister.
“No…NO!” he roared with rage, reaching after her, only to grasp at thin air.
A single piece of paper fluttered out as the tear closed, leaving him inert on the sidewalk. It landed in his lap, and he picked it up listlessly, staring blankly at it. A single date was all that was readable on the peculiar sheet: January 22, 2011. His heart clenched as he knew that his sister would be alive and within his reach again someday; it broke as he came to terms with the fact that he would need live until that date marked on the paper to see her again.
For the next hundred years or so, he devoted what little of his life that he could to learning how to survive in the sunlight, and how to survive for extended periods without blood. Surviving only for the sole purpose of seeing his sister again, Remus took up the occupation of “soldier,” beginning in the First World War. Though fragile because of his wasting disease, he possessed far greater strength and speed than the other soldiers, both enemy and ally. He became a ruthless hunter on the battlefield as he progressed through war after war, particularly when he had gone long lengths without feeding. On the battlefield, his insanity manifested itself in violence as he watched his grip on reality fade. At night, it came in his nightmares, awaking him with a choked cough as his eyes darted wildly about, fearing he might find himself crawling out of a hole in the ground—out of a grave.
“Full house boys, pay up,” he murmured, tossing down his cards with a flourish.
The dully-clad soldiers in the ten groaned in unison, each digging into his pockets for his wager. With a laugh, Remus leaned back, kicking one leg over the other. Dying light faded in through the dusty tent stretched overhead, flicking in curious patterns over his face. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes, serving a second purpose of covering the dark circles under his eyes.
“Here you go, Card Shark,” said one as he dumped Remus’ winnings on his stomach, “though it’s no surprise you’ve won [i]again[/].”
Grinning, the young man lifted his head to look at the other soldier, craning his neck back.
“You could say I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said offhandedly, standing and stretching as he gathered his small winnings into his pocket. “Or just that you guys haven’t learned.”
He left them laughing and jeering good-naturedly after him, shrugging his way out into the oppressive air outside the tent. Explosions and gunshots echoed quietly in his ears far off, and he gave a half-hearted inquiry as to why no one else could hear it, though he knew too well why this was so. Slipping into the shadows along the edges of the encampment, he found his own tent—hidden from the rest—and there hid his winnings. There, he took a moment and gazed down upon the sparse living quarters with disdain and a dull longing for something new to break the scenery before making his way back into the mainstream of the camp.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he lifted his gaze and gave a faint grin. For years, he had waited, taking the identities of dead soldiers, enemy and ally, in order to keep his agelessness a secret. He had starved himself and driven himself near to death fighting in every war that he could manage, but found that a person seemed only able to die by horrible accident once in either of their lives. After all, he was still here to prove it. The metal of his gun hung heavy on his back, and he cursed it mentally with all his might as he wandered aimlessly.
Six years. Six long fucking years he’d been trapped in the same war, itching and waiting for the right time. The year was 2010 now, and three months from the new year; it seemed that with every decade closer to the year in which his sister lay, his patience waned. Normally lengthy and easily testable, his patience could never be broken, but under the stress of this ridiculous war, and so close to his goal, he found it, amazingly, thinning, and quickly so. His only consolation, he settled as he took a deep breath of the thick, dusty air, was that he would be in America soon. The team of soldiers he worked with was due to return to the States by the end of the week. And there, he would make his way towards this “Chicago,” the name barely watermarked along the scrap of paper he’d held onto for so many years. When he arrived, he would find his sister.
As promised, his team was returned to the States by the end of the week, and given a hero’s welcome. For this war, he had dared to use his own name, and new that there would be no family waiting for him at the airport. Stepping into the air-conditioned room, he watched the tearful reunions of sons and families, of boyfriends and husbands to girlfriends and wives; of fathers to sons. He stared apathetically at them all before wandering off on his own. He wasted no time that day in procuring transportation to the city of “Chicago.” For the remainder of the year, he settled himself in an apartment with the winnings he had saved up over the years from various bets. It was a comfortable place to live, he supposed, and it would do; he’d find a better place when he found his sister.
Day after day, he wandered the streets, searching for her, particularly more so as the year drew to a close. When the fated day arrived, he walked the streets of the city with exacerbated intensity, making sure to triple check every newsstand or magazine store—anywhere there might be a chance a newspaper could have been torn upon his sister’s arrival. But perhaps it was that the newspaper was old, for he did not find his sister that day. Disheartened, he searched for years longer, and to no avail. At length, he went through the painstaking task of searching through the state records for any Nereis Arcúeid.
The sight of her name, after so long, thrilled him, as did the knowledge of her location. He had, indeed, gotten his dates wrong, but his sister could not be far. The records had stated she was enrolled in a particular school, and soon to be sent as an exchange student—part of an exclusive, undercover creature-human relations program. He left the government office with a calm smile that day, and packed up his apartment swiftly.
And here it is that Remus Arcúeid was to be found, dragging on what little life there could be said to be in his existence to be reunited with his sister. His destination was an academy known as “Vampire Academy,” once created specifically for vampires, but now open to various creatures and humans alike. To know that it was his despicable transformation which would bring him back together with his sister sickened him to his very core, but all self loathing aside, his determination knew no bounds. He would reach the academy, and he would find his little sister. Perhaps, whence he had, he might learn to live again.
Based off template designed by Bliss on theforgottentime.darkbb.com/forum.htm
(Special thanks to Ceres for taking the time to put together this Character template. And Welcome to Vampire
Academy.) | |
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