Post by Lamira Florian on Feb 15, 2007 23:33:42 GMT -5
Name
Lamira Seuresh Florian
(lah-my-rah see-your-esh floor-EE-en)
Blood
Pure
Age
11
Date of Birth
February 14, 1996
Gender
Feminine
Family
As far as she knows...
Mother - Halyra Mo'arn Shela {married at 18, divorced at 23, remarried at 28, deceased, 50 at death}
-Stepfather - Doarque Altic Shela {married at 59, deceased, 81 at death}
Father - Nabien Seuresh Florian {married at 27, divorced at 32, deceased, 53 at death}
Sisters - Norala Malandor Florian {14}, Prenda Shalia Florian {20), Caroline Sandine Shela {twin of Christopher, 7}
Brothers - Christopher Mandilo Shela {twin of Caroline, 7}
Other - Aunt Marguette Malayn Forcett {sister of Halyra, never married, 52}
Appearence
Lamira is fairly tall with a slim, athletic build. Her green eyes often change to hazel in the spring, and her red hair recieves blond highlights within that same season. She despises both makeup and jewelery, and uses clothes only for their original purpose; covering you up, and keeping you warm. Fashion is at the way low of the 'important list' of her life; she couldn't care less about it.
Though she never tans, in the summer the sun's rays form so many extra freckles, from a distance it looks as though she did, indeed, get a tan at long last.
Her usual outfit is composed of a T-shirt, a light jacket in winter, tennis shoes, and bluejeans.
Despite her everlasting hatred of jewelery, she does wear one thing, given to her by her mother before she died. The beautiful, solid silver gift was a slim bracelet, coiled into the form of a snake. It is meant to swirl it's way up your arm. The head, if when held as it is supposed to be held, winds up in the palm of your hand, as though biting you. The tips of it's tiny, sharp fangs have a large dab of purple venom on them. Scary though it is, it's acutally real venom, recieved from a live acromantula. The venom is ensnared behind a plastic net, so as not to acutally touch your skin. She wears it on her right arm, every hour of every day.
Her hair is allowed to grow out to whatever length it wishes to be. Oftentimes it hangs just below the middle of her back. She brushes it occasionally, and washes it only when dirt and grime cause it to be closer to a shade of black than a shade of red. Appearences portray very little of the real her, since she cares so little about it.
Either way, there is a certain shine about her, a certain beauty, that tends to draw people to her. ((I honestly didn't intend this, but think Voldemort-ish. What with the whole 'having friends but not wanting them' kind of aspect.))
Personality
Lamira does not easily make friends, nor is her trust easy to gain. Oftentimes she prefers to be alone rather than in human company. Always a lover of animals, she makes the best of friends out of dogs, cats, owls, and various other creatures. Despite that, even the sweetest of animals could not coax out a kind word, or a loving gesture. (It's one of her odder talents, befriending animals without so much as stroking them.)
Once a friend is made, rare though it is, the friendship is for life. Decietful and cruel though she can be, she would give her life to save those she loves.
It is by far the easier to course to make an enemy out of her than it is to make a friend out of the red-head. Regardless, her enemies will rarely get a peaceful moment in - or out, occasionally - of her prescense.
Her birth-father's love of purebloods and hate of 'mudbloods' infested her at a young age. However, she does not readily poke fun at those of less-than-pure blood. She only publicly does so if she is given a reason to. Pure bloods find it much easier to befriend her than half-bloods or otherwise; most of the half-bloods or muggles would not seek for her friendship either way.
From her father, she recieved an age-old prejudice; she got something from her birth-mother, as well. Intelligence, cunning, sneakiness, the ability to be sly, to slink around the truth, to weave lies out of thin air - though only on rare occasion. By her own free will, she usually reveals the truth. 'Evil' or not, there is no doubting her perceptiveness to new things, nor can it be said that she isn't able at creating unseen links between things. More often than not, she keeps those findings to herself.
History
A lone cry echoed throughout the land as a hooded demon an his ever-faithful minions passed over the terrace. Inside the house, hardly half a mile away, the family began to panick, shriek, cry, beg... But no one came. No one dared. The pack of killers advanced at a calm, yet frightening pace. A baby girl within the house was totally silent; she slept on in total peace, undisturbed by her parent's shrill screams.
Lord Voldemort and his loyal followers advanced upon the house of pure blooded-traitors. No one saw the girl, as they did not hear her. They focused on the terrified ones; the adults, the parents. A Death Eater saw the baby out of the corner of his slitted eyes, and swept her under his long, black cape...
Minutes later, the police arrived. The house was completely empty, save for the girl's mother and father. They lay on the ground, seemingly shocked to death. There could be no denying it. It was another one of those mysterious cases - no bullet holes, no stab wounds, no nothing. Just fear, uncomprehendable fear.
The police began talking to the neighbors, trying to get answers.
"I saw 'em, sir! Big, black hooded t'ings! Darn near scared me ha'f tah death, jus' seeing 'em!"
A foreign passerby said, shaking the policeman's arm with cold, clammy hands.
"Oh, them? Yah, not very social people. They had a son," One of their neighbors said calmly, "Sent him off to some boarding school. Some PigWarts place. Off in the country, I suppose." She finished with a mild shrug.
Finding that information intriguing, the policeman asked her if the couple had had any other children.
"Children? Oh, yah. Two - the boy I just told you about, and a girl. Couldn't 'a been more than maybe... Two years old, I guess. Why?"
The policeman frowned. A two-year-old? They hadn't found even a trace of a child that young, nor any children at all, for that matter. Not even a crib. Had she been abused, was the neighbor making it all up? If not, then where was she now?
"Shh, shh... He'll hear you..."
Nabien muttered, rocking his kidnapped child. Better stolen and alive than dead, after all. And something had just... Pulled him to her. A sense of power or... Something. Odd, how a sleeping kid could do that.
Her actual parents had been purebloods, their son was at Hogwarts. Not for long though - Voldemort would find him soon, and have him killed. But the Dark Lord knew nothing of this baby. She was safe from his venomous death grip, so long as he never found out she was related to the betrayers...
No, she was his child now. His and Halyra's. Sure, they were old, and had two daughters already - Norala, 5, and Prenda, 11, but... They could take on another. She was a nice, caring woman. She'd understand. True, Prenda wasn't even theirs - they had adopted her as well... But...
"ARE YOU INSANE?!?!?!"
Halyra raged, pounding the mug of beer furiously onto the polished-marble countertop.
"ANOTHER CHILD? NABIEN, YOU SAY YOU SERVE THE DARK LORD SO FAITHFULLY, AND YET YOU STEAL THIS CHILD OUT FROM UNDER HIS NOSE! I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU! YOU ARE WEAK AND INSIGNIFIGANT - I WILL FIND A NEW HUSBAND!"
She stormed, and slammed the door behind her after issuing a series of vile words out of her mouth. Luckily, she did not hex her ex-husband.
But suddenly, Nabien was left with three children, and no way to care for them. Wonderful, how those things happened...
*Several years later, Halyra remarried to an old, rich man, Doarque Shela. They had twins together; Caroline and Christopher. Still seething with anger and seeking revenge, Nabien saught them out, and killed Halyra and her new husband. He left the kids to her sister, Marguette, and made a coverstory for their deaths, and his disappearence. He sent the only child he still loved, the stolen child whom he had named Lamira, off to Hogwarts. Once Voldemort found out about his betrayal, he had Nabien killed. Hardly 5 months later, before Lamira boarded the train to Hogwarts, Voldemort's power was lost. Nabien died thinking the only person he still cared for would die under his old master's unforgiving hand. As such, Lamira turned into a miniature replica of her father - dark, hater, lier, and a lover of seeking revenge. But beneath the hard interior, she had a place in her heart for friendships and love, small though it may be.*
Roleplay Example
*from a different, non-magical site*
"Sy, I wish you'd say something... Anything..."
A mother spoke softly, rocking her seven-year-old child in a rocking chair, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her beautiful baby boy, whom she and her husband had waited so long for, had not even said a single word. Not even baby talk. He obviously understood English; he would respond physically every time - but never verbally. His teachers would always remark with enthusiasm at how smart he was for his young age. At six years old, he had been place in second grade courses, though he had been held back since he had refused to say a word. He could do everything the teachers wanted and more, with obvious ease. He just... Never said a word. Ever. He would describe things with the easy ability of a college professor to a kindergarten classroom, but his eyes would remain blank, no pleasure residing within them. No smile would come to his face when others positively fawned over him; he would nod his head in acknowledgement, but, as usual, never say a thing.
He was a mystery no one could figure out. He was a riddle left unsolved, a puzzle with pieces that wouldn't fit together.
To be so smart, and not even babble away in Gibberish, nor in English, or in any verbal language... No one understood it. So, at the young age of nine, he was sent away to boarding school where his parents hoped he'd finally speak.
He was beaten and hit and cursed upon there, even though he was by far the brightest student there - more so even than those much older than himself. But still he remained silent. He COULD speak - all the best doctors in the world agreed upon at least that much. He could speak. It was personal choice through which he chose against it.
And finally, his parents simply gave up. They waved their final tear-streaked wave as he was placed on the Rapidash carriage, and was taken away to a faraway land, where they desperately hoped he'd find his tongue. He was being sent off on a pokemon journey, from which he would most likely never return. Most people simply got to attached to return home; some gave up and ended it; others got caught up serving others, or forcing others to serve them, and wasted their life away with it.
But he had promised himself, and his caring parents in his own silent way, that he would never return. He would become successful in return for all they had done for him.
So why wasn't he a nice, kind, caring boy? On the way to the Tiraka Region, the carriage was bombarded by thieves, who took the "mute" ten year old captive.
They raised him in a completely different world for the next three years of his life. ((Not literally /different/ world, of course
)) They trained him in thievory, assasaination, and other evil deeds. But more than that, they taught him that such ways of life were GOOD and NICE and FAVORED by the general public. With him as their brightest study, he raised in the ranks quickly, though he never believed what they told him; never once. He never gave verbal directions; he told people only directly below him what the lower-ranking ones were to do. They were the only ones he would ever speak to.
And everything went smoothly for many more months, until one fatal day when a spy entered their ranks. Syrilin had been off on a business trip, and they had let the spy enter their ranks without his permission. The spy was with the police.
When Syrilin returned to his layer after only a week and a half of being absent, he found his entire building being surrounded by the police. He had been smarter than most, and had dressed in white clothes, died his hair, and changed his name until the heat died down.
Then, a few months later, he planned to officially begin his pokemon journey, even though he felt he was quite a bit older than the average beginner.
He didn't care. He had never liked being normal anyway.
Lamira Seuresh Florian
(lah-my-rah see-your-esh floor-EE-en)
Blood
Pure
Age
11
Date of Birth
February 14, 1996
Gender
Feminine
Family
As far as she knows...
Mother - Halyra Mo'arn Shela {married at 18, divorced at 23, remarried at 28, deceased, 50 at death}
-Stepfather - Doarque Altic Shela {married at 59, deceased, 81 at death}
Father - Nabien Seuresh Florian {married at 27, divorced at 32, deceased, 53 at death}
Sisters - Norala Malandor Florian {14}, Prenda Shalia Florian {20), Caroline Sandine Shela {twin of Christopher, 7}
Brothers - Christopher Mandilo Shela {twin of Caroline, 7}
Other - Aunt Marguette Malayn Forcett {sister of Halyra, never married, 52}
Appearence
Lamira is fairly tall with a slim, athletic build. Her green eyes often change to hazel in the spring, and her red hair recieves blond highlights within that same season. She despises both makeup and jewelery, and uses clothes only for their original purpose; covering you up, and keeping you warm. Fashion is at the way low of the 'important list' of her life; she couldn't care less about it.
Though she never tans, in the summer the sun's rays form so many extra freckles, from a distance it looks as though she did, indeed, get a tan at long last.
Her usual outfit is composed of a T-shirt, a light jacket in winter, tennis shoes, and bluejeans.
Despite her everlasting hatred of jewelery, she does wear one thing, given to her by her mother before she died. The beautiful, solid silver gift was a slim bracelet, coiled into the form of a snake. It is meant to swirl it's way up your arm. The head, if when held as it is supposed to be held, winds up in the palm of your hand, as though biting you. The tips of it's tiny, sharp fangs have a large dab of purple venom on them. Scary though it is, it's acutally real venom, recieved from a live acromantula. The venom is ensnared behind a plastic net, so as not to acutally touch your skin. She wears it on her right arm, every hour of every day.
Her hair is allowed to grow out to whatever length it wishes to be. Oftentimes it hangs just below the middle of her back. She brushes it occasionally, and washes it only when dirt and grime cause it to be closer to a shade of black than a shade of red. Appearences portray very little of the real her, since she cares so little about it.
Either way, there is a certain shine about her, a certain beauty, that tends to draw people to her. ((I honestly didn't intend this, but think Voldemort-ish. What with the whole 'having friends but not wanting them' kind of aspect.))
Personality
Lamira does not easily make friends, nor is her trust easy to gain. Oftentimes she prefers to be alone rather than in human company. Always a lover of animals, she makes the best of friends out of dogs, cats, owls, and various other creatures. Despite that, even the sweetest of animals could not coax out a kind word, or a loving gesture. (It's one of her odder talents, befriending animals without so much as stroking them.)
Once a friend is made, rare though it is, the friendship is for life. Decietful and cruel though she can be, she would give her life to save those she loves.
It is by far the easier to course to make an enemy out of her than it is to make a friend out of the red-head. Regardless, her enemies will rarely get a peaceful moment in - or out, occasionally - of her prescense.
Her birth-father's love of purebloods and hate of 'mudbloods' infested her at a young age. However, she does not readily poke fun at those of less-than-pure blood. She only publicly does so if she is given a reason to. Pure bloods find it much easier to befriend her than half-bloods or otherwise; most of the half-bloods or muggles would not seek for her friendship either way.
From her father, she recieved an age-old prejudice; she got something from her birth-mother, as well. Intelligence, cunning, sneakiness, the ability to be sly, to slink around the truth, to weave lies out of thin air - though only on rare occasion. By her own free will, she usually reveals the truth. 'Evil' or not, there is no doubting her perceptiveness to new things, nor can it be said that she isn't able at creating unseen links between things. More often than not, she keeps those findings to herself.
History
A lone cry echoed throughout the land as a hooded demon an his ever-faithful minions passed over the terrace. Inside the house, hardly half a mile away, the family began to panick, shriek, cry, beg... But no one came. No one dared. The pack of killers advanced at a calm, yet frightening pace. A baby girl within the house was totally silent; she slept on in total peace, undisturbed by her parent's shrill screams.
Lord Voldemort and his loyal followers advanced upon the house of pure blooded-traitors. No one saw the girl, as they did not hear her. They focused on the terrified ones; the adults, the parents. A Death Eater saw the baby out of the corner of his slitted eyes, and swept her under his long, black cape...
Minutes later, the police arrived. The house was completely empty, save for the girl's mother and father. They lay on the ground, seemingly shocked to death. There could be no denying it. It was another one of those mysterious cases - no bullet holes, no stab wounds, no nothing. Just fear, uncomprehendable fear.
The police began talking to the neighbors, trying to get answers.
"I saw 'em, sir! Big, black hooded t'ings! Darn near scared me ha'f tah death, jus' seeing 'em!"
A foreign passerby said, shaking the policeman's arm with cold, clammy hands.
"Oh, them? Yah, not very social people. They had a son," One of their neighbors said calmly, "Sent him off to some boarding school. Some PigWarts place. Off in the country, I suppose." She finished with a mild shrug.
Finding that information intriguing, the policeman asked her if the couple had had any other children.
"Children? Oh, yah. Two - the boy I just told you about, and a girl. Couldn't 'a been more than maybe... Two years old, I guess. Why?"
The policeman frowned. A two-year-old? They hadn't found even a trace of a child that young, nor any children at all, for that matter. Not even a crib. Had she been abused, was the neighbor making it all up? If not, then where was she now?
"Shh, shh... He'll hear you..."
Nabien muttered, rocking his kidnapped child. Better stolen and alive than dead, after all. And something had just... Pulled him to her. A sense of power or... Something. Odd, how a sleeping kid could do that.
Her actual parents had been purebloods, their son was at Hogwarts. Not for long though - Voldemort would find him soon, and have him killed. But the Dark Lord knew nothing of this baby. She was safe from his venomous death grip, so long as he never found out she was related to the betrayers...
No, she was his child now. His and Halyra's. Sure, they were old, and had two daughters already - Norala, 5, and Prenda, 11, but... They could take on another. She was a nice, caring woman. She'd understand. True, Prenda wasn't even theirs - they had adopted her as well... But...
"ARE YOU INSANE?!?!?!"
Halyra raged, pounding the mug of beer furiously onto the polished-marble countertop.
"ANOTHER CHILD? NABIEN, YOU SAY YOU SERVE THE DARK LORD SO FAITHFULLY, AND YET YOU STEAL THIS CHILD OUT FROM UNDER HIS NOSE! I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU! YOU ARE WEAK AND INSIGNIFIGANT - I WILL FIND A NEW HUSBAND!"
She stormed, and slammed the door behind her after issuing a series of vile words out of her mouth. Luckily, she did not hex her ex-husband.
But suddenly, Nabien was left with three children, and no way to care for them. Wonderful, how those things happened...
*Several years later, Halyra remarried to an old, rich man, Doarque Shela. They had twins together; Caroline and Christopher. Still seething with anger and seeking revenge, Nabien saught them out, and killed Halyra and her new husband. He left the kids to her sister, Marguette, and made a coverstory for their deaths, and his disappearence. He sent the only child he still loved, the stolen child whom he had named Lamira, off to Hogwarts. Once Voldemort found out about his betrayal, he had Nabien killed. Hardly 5 months later, before Lamira boarded the train to Hogwarts, Voldemort's power was lost. Nabien died thinking the only person he still cared for would die under his old master's unforgiving hand. As such, Lamira turned into a miniature replica of her father - dark, hater, lier, and a lover of seeking revenge. But beneath the hard interior, she had a place in her heart for friendships and love, small though it may be.*
Roleplay Example
*from a different, non-magical site*
"Sy, I wish you'd say something... Anything..."
A mother spoke softly, rocking her seven-year-old child in a rocking chair, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Her beautiful baby boy, whom she and her husband had waited so long for, had not even said a single word. Not even baby talk. He obviously understood English; he would respond physically every time - but never verbally. His teachers would always remark with enthusiasm at how smart he was for his young age. At six years old, he had been place in second grade courses, though he had been held back since he had refused to say a word. He could do everything the teachers wanted and more, with obvious ease. He just... Never said a word. Ever. He would describe things with the easy ability of a college professor to a kindergarten classroom, but his eyes would remain blank, no pleasure residing within them. No smile would come to his face when others positively fawned over him; he would nod his head in acknowledgement, but, as usual, never say a thing.
He was a mystery no one could figure out. He was a riddle left unsolved, a puzzle with pieces that wouldn't fit together.
To be so smart, and not even babble away in Gibberish, nor in English, or in any verbal language... No one understood it. So, at the young age of nine, he was sent away to boarding school where his parents hoped he'd finally speak.
He was beaten and hit and cursed upon there, even though he was by far the brightest student there - more so even than those much older than himself. But still he remained silent. He COULD speak - all the best doctors in the world agreed upon at least that much. He could speak. It was personal choice through which he chose against it.
And finally, his parents simply gave up. They waved their final tear-streaked wave as he was placed on the Rapidash carriage, and was taken away to a faraway land, where they desperately hoped he'd find his tongue. He was being sent off on a pokemon journey, from which he would most likely never return. Most people simply got to attached to return home; some gave up and ended it; others got caught up serving others, or forcing others to serve them, and wasted their life away with it.
But he had promised himself, and his caring parents in his own silent way, that he would never return. He would become successful in return for all they had done for him.
So why wasn't he a nice, kind, caring boy? On the way to the Tiraka Region, the carriage was bombarded by thieves, who took the "mute" ten year old captive.
They raised him in a completely different world for the next three years of his life. ((Not literally /different/ world, of course
)) They trained him in thievory, assasaination, and other evil deeds. But more than that, they taught him that such ways of life were GOOD and NICE and FAVORED by the general public. With him as their brightest study, he raised in the ranks quickly, though he never believed what they told him; never once. He never gave verbal directions; he told people only directly below him what the lower-ranking ones were to do. They were the only ones he would ever speak to.And everything went smoothly for many more months, until one fatal day when a spy entered their ranks. Syrilin had been off on a business trip, and they had let the spy enter their ranks without his permission. The spy was with the police.
When Syrilin returned to his layer after only a week and a half of being absent, he found his entire building being surrounded by the police. He had been smarter than most, and had dressed in white clothes, died his hair, and changed his name until the heat died down.
Then, a few months later, he planned to officially begin his pokemon journey, even though he felt he was quite a bit older than the average beginner.
He didn't care. He had never liked being normal anyway.