Post by JAXON FLEETER on May 16, 2011 13:03:28 GMT 1
JAXON GRIMM FLEETER
[/color]of the Fey Court. [/color]
[/center]CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]
»»FULL NAME:[/b] Jaxon Grimm Fleeter
»»AGE:[/b] 32
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Assassin
»»FACTION:[/b] Fey Courts
»»SPECIES : [/b] Elf
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Evil
»»ABILITY: [/b] Jaxon‘s power comes from his time studing and connecting with shadows, enough that with his heritage, its morphed into an ability to manpiluate them as he pleases. Though, he needs to be within a dark shadowed area to do so, as being out in the blazing sun will only have mere figure shadows to play with. He‘s most powerful in dark, small places such as alleyways where nearly everything rebounds a shadow.
- - -Strength: Darkness Manipulator, quick, fast, reliable in dark places, very powerful at night time
- - -Drawbacks: Only good if surround by objects that can produce shadows/darkness, very unreliable in sunny weather.
THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]
»»EYE COLOR:[/b] His eyes are the rare mixture of green and grey, but when his emotions run high, be it anger or lust his eyes transmit an almost nuclear colour. But when using his shadows ability they often turn hellebore white, dusted with a black coal lining.
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] His hair is messy, close shaven and a dark brown.
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 5ft 11
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Jensen Ackles
»»APPEARANCE: [/b] Jaxon is rather tall for a elf, standing at 6ft 1, slim frame, 145 pounds odd, with a head that looks slightly too small for his muscular body. He has a proud, bully look about him, posture grand and oozing authority, mainly when talking. His hair is messy, sometimes considered shaggy or raven like, mastering his Celtic flare. He has a rugged look, mainly due to the fact his past times involve some elven roots and he’s found mostly clad all in black and leather, Jaxon's clothes look like they hadn't been changed since the last time he had been in Ireland, yet somehow, they look immaculate even though of his activities.
The only thing to set him apart from the rest of the fey was the look of death about him. It was not the colouring of his skin, nor the condition of his physical form, but rather the fact that somehow, the gift of life seemed to have been snatched away from him. He, himself may have been one of the most foulest being ever to set foot through that time, but that did nothing to impact upon his intelligence or his ability to disguise through his ladish charm. In fact, to access such otherworldly brilliance, the mind simply needed to break, allowing unknown forces within the universe, too powerful to comprehend, to offer a minimal amount of their everlasting power to those whom were 'broken'.
When you get to know Jax more and more, the mask slowly reveals the true face, someone that should be kept in an asylum. Like a fracture in a pane of glass, a split in the mind was all that was required to gain that little bit of the power of the ages, whether or not it was wanted. Jax had often wondered exactly what that entity was, but not even the Death could begin to explain to him. He didn't even think such a thing had a name. But whatever it was, it wanted this diabolical realm to succeed. It wanted to destroy all harmony in the universe, and better still, he was like the solider, his armour baring a huge insane grin.
»»PERSONALITY: [/b] Jax is someone who expects nothing but the best. Along with his blinkers that are usually blinding him to the rest of the world, he can be considered cold and judgemental even to fellow members of the Court. Although a young man really, Jax has very traditional views and expectations to anyone who crosses his path. It may not come cross under his veil of mischief, but he is a commander at heart. He's renowned for his almost childish behaviour, his pranks, his warped sense of humour and how he carries out being charasmatic to its full extent. However, really under it all he can’t be done with getting to know people (although on the outside a charmer), or their excuses. He has a cold, sarcastic approach to people when in business mode; often hurting feelings as easily as breathing air. Other then that, he is curious, mischievous. He uses his thick Irish accent to his advantage, making him seem more of a creature from tainted heaven then a devil at heart. He presents himself to people with a harsh brutish charm and unless they tell from the twang of death, he’ll deal them pain just as easily. Jax wears a mask of a seductive nature, most girls would think him to want in get in their pants, but he’d rather get under their skin and taste the meat coiled beneath. He truly wants the world to rot. He wants to taste madness at its best, pain as pleasurable as getting high. From the day he Gareth taught him the ways, the sweet little boy soon took a knock of its personality and become this…creature in itself, the elf fully became real. He has no morals, no reason and his s irrational in every aspect. His expression usually are animated, his brows falling and lifting in all quirky positions.
THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]
»»FAMILY TREE:[/b] N/A
»»IDOLS:[/b] Nuada in a strange sense, due to his ability to stand up to the scum of the race called humans. But really his Father, Gareth who helped him through the years and taught him what he knows now.
»»HISTORY: [/b] Jaxon’s history is as deep and complicated as any labyrinth, dead ends and secret paths weaving their ways through his veins like some tainted timeline. Becoming a member of the 'Sons of the Earth' was only a small stepping stone in his life, prior to this he was in the mists of the great Ireland. As a child, knifes and blood were as glued to his eyes as the gift of vision, as being a wicked child (was swapped by the faeries to be put in place of a human child) his Human Mother thought he was from the devil with his violent acts so sent him to be an orphan. The hardship of a wrong orphanage caused a big black cancer in his memories. Jaxon can still recall the feel of fresh bruises, broken bones, the sick treatment him and his fellow orphans endured as if it was still happening today, only the cold trace of death in his eyes evidence to it.
This was till, one day he was traded amongst the slavers to a new group in New York. In some weird fashion, Jaxon known then as Little Jack, had hopes of banishing his life that Ireland gave him and finding something maybe better in this new world of the neon coloured New York. The winding pits of alleyways and car exhaust nights welcomed him, along with the hard cold hand of his new master that clasped his shoulder authority, deepening his touch to truly let Little Jack know his place. Gareth was the man who held the leash of Little Jack’s life and he truly was a man of vision, and taught Jack to think merely of selfish needs and was a true follower of the dark arts that only were done in the abyss of evil itself.
He showed Jack torture in the eyes of the beholder, the pleasure, and the advantages of coming first. Never be the weak, only the weak lay eggs, we’ll eat the meat, he would say, treating Jack as some prince of darkness to his past times. Jack got as twisted as the evil that bleed him dry of sanity, and soon became as bitterly horrible as any death dealer. Like all the treatment he had received himself would deal out to the other slaves, coming first in the ranks and soon was being considered Gareth’s son. And that, was soon going to be true.
The whole challenge of being the bad seed in the garden was a thrill. With Irish flare, Jack was never one to be unpopular, an affluent lifestyle, especially with his renowned skills of free running and fighting skills; he was a vain young seductive aristocrat within the order of the troll market. He did come to him that his master and fellow superiors were something “different” and finally one night while he was pursuing a contract Jack himself was shown the full glory of what made these men and woman alike into these creatures; elves. Gareth knew Jack would take it on like some prized diamond, the whole entire aspect of being powerful was a deep hunger for him, and soon it was found by the age growth and blood DNA he too was one like them. Though, Gareth knew anyway, by how with Jaxon’s green eyes had irises larger than that of humans, was a sure give away that Jaxon was an elf. How Jaxon, an elf got in the hands of humans was another matter all together, but they know that he was glamoured to look like a human, enough to make his true elfin appearance disappear, only leaving a fragment of the “otherworldly” and “magical” quality in replace.
After passing his tests to be elected to try out in 'Sons of the Earth', as Gareth knew the only was to be high on the ranks was to gain authority through the Fey Court, Jack made it clear he wanted to pursue his Father figures role of being under the royal wing of the Court. His whole experience of being cruel paid off, his sudden obsession to meet the curse itself, his new goal in his fast paced life. And sure enough the curse of serving under this “Court” meet his blood and plucked him dry till only the remains of his soul were etched into meat suit of his new body. He trained hard enough to be within the army, but still he realised he was still a mere piece of bacteria to the Royals, and that included Nuada. Jaxon in a warped sense idolises Nuada, in the sense of how he too has a distaste for humans and wishes for elves to truly become alive again and not bow down to the vermin of the world. Really though, if the opportunity arose he’d rather slit Nuada’s throat then embrace him like a brother; after all he is one of the Royals. And thus, for his reactions to things, he was nicknamed Grimm, declaring it as his given middle name.
Through his short time in the Court, he made it as far as becoming a personal assassin of the Royals, his currency of teeth overwhelming his pockets and chests for such a title. It was clear, even with the money Jaxon was transfixed with the title and enjoyed his job more then anything. This meant dealing with faeries, trolls and even other exiled elves but more importantly pesky humans who were acting as go betweens of the magical world and earth and just anyone the Royal deemed fit to meet the end of Jaxon’s blade. Elf King Balor must of sensed Jaxon’s bloodthirsty nature and appointed him not only kill any contracts, but to be involved in the mundane world, if only to tempt reason that the human wasn’t as bad as Jaxon believed. Though, this never diluted Jaxon’s hate for the kind, it only caused him more angst.
THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]
»»YOUR NAME:[/b] James
»»GENDER:[/b] Male
»»AGE:[/b] 19
»»TITLE:[/b] NUT UP OR SHUT UP
»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]
The atmosphere inside the Hog's Head had reached the consistency of a bachelor's duvet: smothering hot, and damp with all manner of interesting bodily fluids. The air tasted simultaneously sweet and sour, as the competing odours of butterbeer and sweat mixed and mingled along with the talking of tainted deeds. And, all through the space, the humid air pulsed with the heart-beat thump and grind of the music played by the lute, laughter ang shouting. Into this dark jungle, bubbled and rang the most exquisite laugh in the village. Jack’s boyish grin played coy to his vocals as he pulled his goblet closer to him. This was a laugh of character. Of quality. It permeated through the fog of sound like tiny roots, bone-white and china-fragile, but with the strength to prise solid rock apart. It was a laugh that teased and enticed. A laugh that went through one ear and out again, leaving champagne bubbles and giggling thoughts in its wake. It was, in fact, an audio work of art. But that night, Jack's heart really wasn't in it.
"Another double, barman," he said through the last of his chuckles. The laughing had failed to cheer his spirit, so more butterbeer would have to do instead and maybe a delightful torturing later. Nothing can comprehend the feeling that Jack has with toying life in his hands like some ripper of the dead. He tugged at the thick belt of his old, worn jeans, then at the crotch. Too hot, too tight, too everything. The desire for blood was as red as ever tonight in his vision, fresh as new blood on a girl's sheets. His leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and cheap booze, and stuck to his narrow form in deep creases, like a waves on a beach. In contrast, his face was oddly smooth, and almost sliced in half by a mouth seemingly too large for the jaw it was attached to. His eyes were similarly out of place, pale grey/green eyes masking the hungry gaze with a veil of laddish mischief. The drink was also draining out the smell of sweat from the other patrons around him so he welcomed it. His whole being vibrated with the impulse of everything so dark of the inn, the shadows, the lies and deceit, the blood that soared around these peoples life’s like some ruby flooded sewage system. He could just imagine pretty little thinks sinking into their skin, piercing the flesh and how later in the mists of an abandoned alley, Mother Nature would devour one of its children. The Hogs Head is an unfruitful spot, but it didn’t stop beauties venturing from here and far to settle for a drink and a good night. And tonight was no acceptation.
"Another double, barman," he said through the last of his chuckles. The laughing had failed to cheer his spirit, so more butterbeer would have to do instead and maybe a delightful torturing later. Nothing can comprehend the feeling that Jack has with toying life in his hands like some ripper of the dead. He tugged at the thick belt of his old, worn jeans, then at the crotch. Too hot, too tight, too everything. The desire for blood was as red as ever tonight in his vision, fresh as new blood on a girl's sheets. His leather jacket smelled of cigarettes and cheap booze, and stuck to his narrow form in deep creases, like a waves on a beach. In contrast, his face was oddly smooth, and almost sliced in half by a mouth seemingly too large for the jaw it was attached to. His eyes were similarly out of place, pale grey/green eyes masking the hungry gaze with a veil of laddish mischief. The drink was also draining out the smell of sweat from the other patrons around him so he welcomed it. His whole being vibrated with the impulse of everything so dark of the inn, the shadows, the lies and deceit, the blood that soared around these peoples life’s like some ruby flooded sewage system. He could just imagine pretty little thinks sinking into their skin, piercing the flesh and how later in the mists of an abandoned alley, Mother Nature would devour one of its children. The Hogs Head is an unfruitful spot, but it didn’t stop beauties venturing from here and far to settle for a drink and a good night. And tonight was no acceptation.
