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Current Thread:
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Name:
Kirshna

Species:
Human (currently stuck in wolf form)

Gender:
Male

Location:
Adela

Rank:
Lord

Age:
21

Appearance:
A slight build; lively, violet eyes, short blonde hair.

Personality:
Kirshna is kind and optimistic by nature, and he's always ready with a smile and a warm greeting.  He thinks more with his heart than his head, which gets him into no end of trouble, but he believes people are fundementally good and nothing will ever shake that conviction.  He can be shy around strangers at first.  He also has a childlike mischievous side, and all it takes is the right person to bring the trickster out of him. Lately he has begun to shed some of his timidity and lack of confidence, especially when he is protecting someone he cares about or standing up for his ideals. He's a dreamer through and through.

Abilities:
The Roses give him immunity to poisons, hexes, and curses, both magical and natural. He hasn't discovered all the rest of their power yet, but more of it reveals itself as time goes on.

Likes:
Just about everything. He's such a hippie.

Dislikes:
His mother, mean people, dishonesty.

Wins the SotE award for:
Most obvious Quatre ripoff. ^^;

Safe and warm within the den, the white wolf sleeps at last...and dreams.

Exhaustion weighs him down into a death-like slumber, and at first he is only aware of vague, unfamiliar shapes ghosting across the surface of his mind. It is like being underwater, his dream-self thinks...being deep underwater and looking up past the rippling, liquid surface at a distorted world.

Scenes rise and sink in his mind, never fulling forming, never giving him anything to hold on to. He dreams of a great stone beast...no, it is a castle. He stands before a castle, courtiers milling about him like brightly-plummaged birds.

But wolves do not belong in castles, and suddenly he is sitting upon a cool grassy slope, no other wolves in sight.  The sun is rising before him, a splendor of pink and orange painting the sky.  Dawn.  Dawn...

It is the pain of sore joints and mending wounds that wakes him.  He does not know how long he has been sleeping.  Long enough for his wounds to scab over and all of his muscles to stiffen up.  He whines when he tries to move, and looks around for the others...there are other wolves here, yes...his mind is waking, remembering, returning to reality.

Akkiel gives Thorn a couple more swings. The air hums over the blade and it takes a few seconds before the faint red afterglow fades away.  "I had the help of two master smiths in making this, Denkou," Akkiel says, holding the sword up and studying the blade. The deep crimson steel was folded so many times he can see the ripples beneath the smooth surface. This sword belongs in his hand; in a very real way, it is an extension of himself. He can't wait to get some real use out of it. "It was the magic that I contributed. No one can use this sword but me, and anyone who touches it will encounter an unpleasant surprise. And it's not just for fighting. Thorn will be the king's justice. I'll be using it for executions—"

He cuts off when Tarlaka sinks to the ground, and he frowns down at her. She must be more ill than she let on.  "You're no good to anyone if you can't even stand up," he says, and he returns her smile with one of his own as he reaches down to offer her a hand up. "Go get some rest. Denkou can handle your responsibilities 'til you're well again." He glances at Denkou. "Right?"

Akkiel's grin turns slightly suggestive, and he's about to suggest—as a joke, of course— that he wouldn't at all mind a hug from her when she seems to sick up and goes to rest her forehead against the wall.  He watches her with a raised eyebrow. He's never seen her in a state like this before, but before he can say anything she sweeps out of the Great Hall and leaves him wondering what in the world is wrong with her.

Akkiel shrugs and sifts through the bundles leaning against the wall until he finds the one he's looking for. He parts the silken red fabric and examines the contents, smiling to himself, but when he hears Tarlaka returning, he wraps it back up again.  "Y'know when most people get the flu, they make an effort to get better. Surely the castle wouldn't fall apart if you were to rest for a couple days," he says. Odd that Tarlaka would needlessly push herself like that. He would have thought her more sensible.

Denkou makes his arrival then, and Akkiel has to smile at the knight's formality. The weretiger hasn't changed, it seems. "I'm better than ever, Denkou, better than ever! And I'm glad someone knows how to greet his king," Akkiel says with a sly side glance at Tarlaka. Not that he minds her talking to him like he's a real person. He prefers it actually, at least when they're not among the court.

"Go on, stand up, Denkou," he said, holding up the long, wrapped bundle in his hands. "I want to show you one of the things that took me away from Adela." Akkiel sweeps the red cloth away and it flutters to the ground, revealing the greatsword that took him so long to forge. It's a beautiful instrument of destruction, the shimmering blade a dark red metal that calls to mind the color of dried blood. The metal of the grip and hilt are etched with roses, and the brilliant red flowers climb a thorny path up the back of the blade. Akkiel holds it out for them to admire for a moment, for anyone with any sense of swordsmanship could appreciate such a weapon.

Then he steps back and swipes the air. The blade sings along its red arc. "It's called Thorn," he says, watching the blade leave a faint crimson glow in the air. "It's magic-forged.  Took me forever to make it, but it was worth it." He holds the sword steady, and it radiates a feeling of destructive power held carefully in check. "I can do real damage with this thing. What do you think?"

Akkiel is still staring at the two thrones when he hears a familiar voice behind him, and he grins as he turns around. He saw as he was riding up that Adela's guards had thinned out; there weren't nearly as many sentries walking the wall as there should have been, and those that he did see didn't exactly look like trained veterans. At least there was still one familiar face around here, one person he could put his trust in for the difficult talk of pulling Adela out of it's slumbering state.  Was Denkou still here as well?

"I had something to take care of," Akkiel says with a smirk, striding over to lean the long packages he's carrying up against the wall. And I leapt at the excuse to get out of here, he thinks. But I suppose there's no escaping the inevitable.

Akkiel turns back to Tarlaka and scrutinizes her for a moment.  "What happened to you? You look like hell," he says, noting her disheveled feathers and the awkward, uncomfortable way she's carrying herself. "You sick or something?"

The gray twilight just before dawn finds Adela castle cold and dark, and Akkiel notes the feeling of stagnation as he rides toward the gates.  The great castle looks melancholy and pitiful in the predawn gloom. No banners fly from the towering spires.

That will be the first thing he changes.

He throws his hood back as he and his retinue reach the gates, and the astonished guards open the way for him. A knot begins tying up his stomach as he passes beneath the outer wall and into the courtyard, and he doesn't expect it will untie itself any time soon.  The courtiers bow and curtsy as he rides up to the main doors of the keep, and the knot tightens. Your Grace, they call him, eyes wide in surprise, and he tries to look at them the way a king would, tries to ride the way a king would ride and carry himself in a kingly fashion, but it all feels like a bad performance, and he's sure they can see right through it.

But never mind that. He is the king, whether he feels like a king or not, and he's damn well not going to waste time worrying when he's got objectives to meet. He may not know how to act like a king, but he knows how to give orders, and right now that's all that matters.

He steels himself and dismounts, carrying three long bundles wrapped in red cloth. He sweeps past the courtiers and servants and storms into the Great Hall where the two thrones sit upon a dais, and there he stops. Two thrones. All he's heard about this Lykoth is that she exists. Whether or not she's a competent ruler or just a silly girl playing queen he has yet to discover.

AKKIEL ARCHATIA, KING OF ADELA[/b]

"Bloody hell, I forgot how damned weird this place is!" ~ After an encounter with a little dragon that became infatuated with Akki's hair.


Nobody's perfect
What did you expect
I'm doing my best
~Madonna: Nobody's Perfect

Cool Sword . Named Weapon . Greeneyed Redhead . Warrior Prince

Current Threads:
Yahtzee!!
Making History
Like Vultures To A Fresh Corpse
Completed Threads:
A Well Deserved Day Off
So a king walks into a brothel

Name:
Akkiel Archatia (ar-KAY-shi-a)

Species:
Human

Gender:
Male

Rank:
King of Adela

Age:
26

Appearance:
Long red hair, green eyes, and a tall, muscular body.

Weapon:
Akkiel's main weapon is a greatsword called Thorn. The blade is dark crimson folded steel, and the sword is etched with roses. It is magic-forged, and no one but Akkiel can wield it. It will stab long, iron-hard thorns through the hand of anyone who grasps the hilt.

Abilities:
In addition to his superhuman strength and stamina, Akkiel also possesses—or, rather, is possessed by—a power called the Red Rose. He knows very little about the Rose, but recently he has discovered that it is mostly psychic in nature. It gives him powers of telepathy and telekenesis. Also, he has found that what the Rose is most useful for is transforming physical objects and enchanting them with specific powers. He has been able to make transportation gates, for instance, as well as long-range communication devices.  Akkiel was also born with the ability to dreamwalk, and he has prophetic dreams sometimes. Has some latent fire magic in him, but it only flares up under stress and is too weak to be of use.

History:


Personality:
Stubborn, hot-tempered, and sometimes rather crass, being king does not agree with him as he feels far more at home on a battlefield than on a throne. He routinely has to bite back on his usual responses in favor of more kingly decorum, and this is a endless source of frustration for him. His ruthless nature on and off the battlefield has given him a good instinct for politics, though. He's made a reputation with many noblewomen of the court and no few common girls as well.

Likes:
Sex, fighting

Dislikes:
Idealism, thieves

Commentary:
Akki was one of my first two characters here at SotE, the other being Kirshna. I created him around the time I was taking a classical literature class and studying The Iliad, so Akki is a direct result of my fascination with traditional Greek heroes like Achilles and Ajax. He's changed a lot over the years, but the conventions of the Greek hero are still there: superhuman strength, a warrior's spirit, and personal interactions with women of godly nature and power.

Have I? I don't think I have. THANK YOU. Oh man, I love that thing. Especially now that I'm sort of getting the hang of it. And I'm so psyched that I was finally able to draw a semi-decent picture of Akkiel. He really needed one. I can spam the Studio with it, can't I? Sure I can:

<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v67/Talyafera/biopics/redprince.jpg">