The Grim and his Steed. . . .

Silverwolf · May 22nd, 2008, 3:29 pm

Name: Jstrk

Nickname: The Grim

Age: Lost count but appears to be in his early twenties

Skills: Magic Jstrk has a limit to his magic and can only conjure it from sound and taste. For taste, he laps at one of the most stongest substances, which is live blood. He modifies the reactions and sensations he feels to it into magic. With sound, he can either take very beautiful sounds or very chilling sounds. Beautiful is what he can mold easier which is why he is sometimes witnessed with either a black harp, a black love flute or a black lute. These he creates songs that can sometimes hypnotise minds that lack the strength to fight pleasure, when magic is not needed.
Scythe Fighting Coincediently, Jstrk's father was origanally a farmer who owned alot of scythes. Finding them, he taught himself his own methods to use them in combat, whether it be defense or attack when he was only young. For most of his life, he has found scythes reasonable tools for slaughter.

Race: Was once thought to be an elf but is now a mutation

Hair: The ghastliest black in colour yet is dense with a faint tinge of blood-red (since blood stains his body)

Eyes: Very silvery and pale but sometimes is seen with a claret-coloured sheen

Home Village: He was born far away in a nameless village and at the moment titles no place as "home"

Parents: His father was Dale and his mother was Shimmer (since she was blessed with no name)

Siblings: Unknown to him

Personality: Jstrk's true personality is actually rather warm compared to most. He used to be very soft and mild in his thoughts, words and actions, taking every step with a true reason. He could be very sensitive too, crying along with strangers when they cried and mouring along with unknown faces when they mourned, even if he didn't know why. Emotions touched him like nothing else could. He also used to try to seek out new meanings in things and longed to visit the sky and touch the moon and the sun whilst bobbing in the stars. He used to think of laziness and selfishness as evil and tried to become a mentor to others; trying to teach younger generations how to fish out the perfect verses to aid them through life. But his good side never lasted.
Now, his personality is muddled with ravenous desires and the longing to rinse himself in lakes choked with blood. He would be viewed with a very sick and twisted mind (if anyone could view him) and is as bloodthirsty as the core of death's dingy heart. His true feeling are too wrapped up and stuffed inside pit under his thoughts. The only thing that can still escape is charm, which he uses with the higest degree of skill. But even charm can lead astray to nauseating thoughts and ways.

History: When the human race was only seen as a child and the elves were still young (and to some extent, foolish) he was born.
His mother gave birth to him by the water of the murky lake by their tiny village, surrounded by most of her family. All agreed at once that he was the most lovely baby they had ever laid eyes upon, even though he seemed a little too petite and feeble to live on. But Shimmer cared not for their words but only the love that her son had created.
Her mate, Dale, did not admire the baby's existence as much. He dreaded the thought of children and had never wanted an heir, being to proud and constantly adressing himself us utterly "unique". A son would only slow him down and he never shared the words of kindness towards the baby.
Ignoring her mate's cruelty, Shimmer named her son Jstrk; a word she had picked up from an exotic language that a masked stranger once spoke to her in. She didn't care whether it meant ill or was as beauteous as an autumn sunset, she bequethed the name upon her son.
In a run-down hut was where Shimmer brought him up. He had an instant fascination in drawing and creating things with his crafty little hands, ever since he learned how to pick things up. His laugh could make a tombstone sprout lips and smile and never, not once, did Shimmer hear him cry.
Dale was a farmer who worked by cutting crops with scythes to trade with the other men in the village. Every evening, he would go out and carry back the finest of game, to share with him and his mate but never his little boy.
"When I feed that thing with the food I have soiled my hands for," he used to proclaim, "would be the time when crows are picking at my entrails from between my bleached bones!" These words he would say every night along with a collection of other harsh insults. Jstrk relied on his mother to smuggle him food rather than his father.
But when he was only five, Dale took Jstrk out and taught him briefly how to cut crops with a scythe.
"Don't you dare!" Shimmer said, "He'll hurt himsef!"
But it was infact Dale who got hurt. His son let the heavy and deadly tool slip from his fingers by mistake and cleanly cut of several off his father's toes.
That was when his father's outrage arrived. He called both Shimmer and Jstrk the darkest and dirtiest of names possible and soon the entire village began to agree with him. The two became terrible outcasts and were accused of natural disasters and mistakes that others had committed. It grew to a time that when a stillborn infant was born in the village, they set out to slaughter Shimmer.
"Kill the mother and let the whelp suffer!" the folk cried as they tracked Jstrk and Shimmer to a hollow in the forest.
Out of the fear of her own sons death, Shimmer concealed Jstrk in a cluster of brambles and made him swear an oath not to come out. She then fled far away to the lakeside of their settlement where she became cornered.
The people burned Shimmer alive and feed her intestines to starving dogs, all under Dale's command. He became the town leader, and soon in their midst, a king. The remains of Shimmer were then thrown into the lake until it was strangled in blood, all except her collarbone which Dale kept as a token for himself.
Jstrk discovered all this. And the reason he discovered all this is because he was watching every event happen. At that time he was only six, and still shredded no tear. Out of shock or disbelief, it was never known.
But out of sheer rage and naked fear, Jstrk sprinted back to their little hut and stole the bloodsoaked scythe. He ran far into the forest, making a treaty with himself to never return.

For five raw years, Jstrk lived like a feral animal. He constantly travelled in a straight direction through the immense amount of forest, feeding off fruits and others small things he could find because blood and flesh made him feel sick. His black hair grew long and eventually his clothes shrunk and wore away. How he escaped winter's fury was a mystery.
Because there was no one else in his lone world, he began to talk to himself until he forgot how to talk. He never laughed anymore and he still never cried. But it was extremely fortunate that he came across a city.
It was an elven city known as Silthrim. They were astonished to find him and welcomed him with open arms. At first, Jstrk was scared but fear eroded away because they cut his hair to a proper length, bathed him and gave him the softed clothes he had ever imagined. Soon, he grew accustom to their language aswell and could utter it almost fluently.
He was only eleven then, and he told no one of his past. These new folk taught him a different perspective of life and soon, Jstrk would laugh along merrily with them. He understood how they thought and how they moved and how their voices made him tingle inside. He knew that they were right and that he could belong here.
A very sensitive personality hatched inside of him. The type that he felt when Shimmer cupped him in her delicate hands. He began to find a meaning to his existence and could sense how others felt. He would laugh along with them and cry aong with them. Sometimes, he would even feel their outrage.
As Jstrk matured, he became a mentor and philospher. His ideas and theories dawned a new age in elves when they didn't need to worry about farming or being foolish. He taught them how to respect the world that revolved around them and he taught them how to breathe in air that was not grimy by negative thoughts and actions. Some even whispered that he held the secret to immortality because his features never weakened starting from when he was only twenty two. When he was asked how these had occured, he exclaimed over and over again, "Its the natural highs ... the natural highs." which made no sense anyone. Those who asked anyway.
When Jstrk grew to the age of two hundred and thirty two, there was word that a youth had killed a huge creature in the forest. Whatever it was, its kin weren't happy and slaughtered the youth mercilessly.
That began the Du fyrn Skulblaka. It was a very gruesome war, dragons and elves murdering eachother without a single fragment of communication. The elves seemed to have forgotten Jstrk's words and plotted terrible schemes to rip open every dragon's hide. And this was not only a handful of elves, this as every elf. Jstrk's teachings seemed to have fluttered away into a mass of waste. For the second time in his life, he felt like the lonliest man who ever had and ever would live.
His life was swarmed by hungry wants to kill. The blood of the corpses that littered the forest floor seemed to have formed hazes in every souls mind. You could gaze into the gateway, into their eyes, and see nothing but sickening gloom, even in infants. The melody of screams and cries for help soon acted as lullabies for everyone to fall asleep under. Their thoughts were cast under a spell of horrible feelings. All this did Jrtsk record on parchment.
Years passed and the forest weltered slowly since all it feed on was rotten flesh and all it drank was blood that fountained from sliced arteries. Jrtsk couldn't watch anymore. He left.
Departing before Eragon found a white dragon egg....

Once there was a ghastly creature.
This ghastly creature was most grotesque, even though it had no form of its own and could not be followed by eyes, nor ears, nor mouth, nor nose, nor skin, nor thought, nor feeling. It just was there without a purpose.
But this ghastly creature could think. Oh yes, it thought day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, decade after decade, century after century ... and million millenias ... perhaps more ... about pleasure
This creature did not know how to seek pleasure and desired it more than anything else. How could it fish it out? It must be immensely difficult. Every animal complained almost all the time. So it showed itself to someone.
And that someone happened to be Jstrk....

He was dawdling stone-faced through the most harshest environment he had ever seen in a crimson evening. Through a black mist, he glimpsed a huge, charcoal-coloured castle. Wandering up to it, he then realised it was a gigantic tomb in a wind-blown desert.
Jstrk needed to escape the cold so, he unbolted the oaken doors and slipped inside the oversized structure.
He found a place where there was no leaks for wind to intrude through and settled himself down for a long, long sleep.

He awoke with splintered lungs in a pitch black environment. An essence murmured in his ear with a wispy kind of voice. It said the same words over and over and over again
I know Grim...
"Who are you ...?" Jstrk called out but it answer the same and kept doing so. Fear caused his bones to grind against eachother until they were destined to break. The air was clouded with bitterness and screams scarred his eardrums. Something was awfully amiss.
Then the essence made him an offer. An offer that Jstrk couldn't refuse, even if he really wanted to.
I know how lonely you feel ... and I know the past that you have latched into a box a long time ago. You are forever alone, like a scarlet rose petal drifting along a vast and flat sea of massacre. But take my offer and possess it as your own thoughts and I can aid you...
It told him that it would use a forgotten shard of musical magic that would taste devine on is lips and sweeten his ears. It would alter him with new gifts for his thoughts, body and mind. It would make him never be lonely and along with other things that weren't pronouncable in words, only in emotion.
This was what Jstrk had been yearning for, it even said it would grant him a lovely opportunity to get revenge on his father, Dale. Jstrk told the essence that his father would have died a long time ago but the essence said that somehow, it would cause his death to arrive sooner.
The only prices to pay were that Jstrk might always feel phsically hungry in some way. And that his hunger would be that of flesh and blood, yet Jstrk agreed. The essence also told him that the blood of others could stain the outside of his body, yet Jstrk agreed. It also told him that a body, he would have to share. As if driven by some sort of pathetic madness that was literally killing him, Jskrt agreed....

He then found himself strolling towards the waterside village where he had once lived. A black cloak, made from rags laced together with human hair trailed behind him whilst a black hilted scythe he clutched in the pale fingers of his right hand. In his left hand he led the ghostly outline of a young, black-haired boy.
Jstrk then found himself hacking away at the pulp that resembled Dale's screaming body, watching the young boy tear out bones and feed them to starving dogs. He found himself laughing as he strummed an ebony harp while Dale slowly died.
Lastly, he wandered far away, with a swelling of pleasure. Jstrk was no longer an elf ... he was an abomanation, something that elves feared. He now seeked his own pleasure and the pleasure that the essence was looking for. The essence as now part of him; it was him. More so than the bones that gave him his tall, fair frame and more than his silky skin. More than his mild fingertips or the features that fashioned his face. This essence veered him into the core of his own midst. It provided him with thoughts no one else dared to think and feeling no one else dared to feel.
And as he walked away, what remainaed of Jstrk spotted a glittering object in the swirling water of the murky lagoon by the village. The lagoon that his mothers body was fed to. So he bent down and found a bloodied collarbone underneath something that he was honestly shocked at. A dragon egg.
He then departed with both the bone and the egg whilst laughing. But this laugh was not the sort to make a tombstone sprout lips and smile ... this laugh was so cunningly brutal that it would make one sprout lips and vomit ...
And that is why he was nicknamed, the Grim ...

Weapons: He has a collection of scythes but his favourite is the one he named Laced Grace. It has a long, wooden staff painted black with Ra'zac blood and the blade is the same blade that Jstrk used to both chop off his father's toes and then eventually kill him. To hold it in place is Shimmer's collarbone with bolts made from crows' beaks.

Likes: One thing; pleasure

Dislikes: Things that irritate him or stand front on in his way

Animal Companions: His dragon

Physical Discription: Jstrk is perhaps the most fairest young man to ever lay eyes upon, if you removed his repulsive garments. He is about 6 and a half feet tall with a soft mien. He has delicate eyelids and dark, slanted eyebrows. He has very well defined, but not too large, muscles in his arms, stomach, back and legs. His skin is to some extent pale and very smooth. His build is very athletic but the rupture in his looks is the appalling, perminate wound over a segmant of his ribcage under his arm. It looks as if someone had peeled away all the flesh there to exhibit black flesh underneath and raw bone. A terrible burden to bare for his agreement.

Dreams: To become the leader of the gods, to feast on every living thing and to swim in a sea of blood.

Reason for Dreams: Every reason is because the essence wishes for it.

Alignment/side The essence's

Name: Sriphilo

Nickname: Philo

Age: Five

Gender: Female

Parents: Unknown to her

History: Jstrk brought Philo up as her mentor to ghastly magic. She was taught how to mingle taste with her fire to create a supernaturally hungry flame. Perhaps by accident has she stumbled across some misfortunes but has always found a way to worm her way out of them, sometimes even with Jstrk tailing her. Though she owns few battle marks, she has many times been in gruesome fights that have lasted for weeks at a time. Most fights she has participated in though, she has won or shared victory with Jstrk.

Personality: Philo is very cunning and is even a little quirky. She is a lover of war and is always in the desperate need to fight, whether it be alongside Jstrk or not. She possesses a towering air of grace and rarely lets others speak higher than her. She is ignorant in allowing others to express their mind, yet gathers every ounce of information she can from ever individual. She is easy to get carried away if she is feeling bloodthristy.

Colour: Lustrous black but if seen in the correct position in the light she can be blood red.

Appearance: Philo has the structure of a swan when in a calm state but when rage boils in her bones, she has a form resembling a wolf's. She is about 11ft high at the shoulder and fitted with long muscles. Her body is quite serpentine and her face is long and fair. Her spines are unnaturally long and red, in hooked shapes resembling flames. Her eyes are not a firey red but more of a meek and comforting purple-red with pale, cat-like pupils.

Armour: None

Dreams: To bespatter history with her terror and complexion. Also to maybe find a suitable mate.

Reasons for Dreams: Becase she finds fear amusing and because almost every dragon wants a mate for obvious reasons (

)

Well, I hope these two are suitable. And in case any one is wondering, Jstrk isn't the "Grim Reaper" he is just nicknamed the "Grim" because of the simularity in appearance (and bloodthirsty thoughts).

Whoa... I just checked out my history :shock:

Who actually hold the record for the longest?

The Grim and his Steed. . . .

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