 Posted: Sun Nov 30, 2008 5:20 pm
 Leeson;; AydenA Soldier For The Army Of Kes'sarria
A Heart As Cold As Those Eyes, A Sword As Sharp As Those Words Everything On Paper x x || Your Lips Should Say: Ayden Leeson is what it says on all of my papers, but I won't respond to anything but 'Ayd'.x x || Been At This A While: I'm twenty, but that doesn't mean that I'm too young to earn respect.x x || Under All Those Clothes: Despite the long hair, I am in fact a male.x x || Loyal Only To: A proud, pure Kes'sarrian. I would not have it any other way.x x || My Specialty: I am a Swordsman, as it is in my blood. x x || Climbing The Ranks: I may be in the Starter Tier, but once I have been better recognized, that should change.x x || Toil The Days Away: I have very recently signed into the army. Before that, however, I wasn't truly employed- my father has been setting me up for signing up since birth, practically.x x || Hidden In This House Of Worship: --- Just Keep Staring x x || A Tower To You: I'm a strong, thin, six-foot-two.x x || Around Me, It Swirls: Completely black, from root to tip, aside from the shock of white that hangs in my face.x x || A Veil For The Truth: My eyes are a very light grey color, similar to that of dirtied snow.x x || From Head To Toe: Firstly, I should note the obvious. The combination of my hair and my eyes- black and grey -has certainly proven my lineage- I am undoubtedly Kes'sarrian, and I doubt a single soul would combat that.
Oftentimes, people are put off by my appearance. I should be as sweet and charming as others, but it's simply not in my blood. My hair is long, oh-so-long, and oftentimes better kept than the hair of any girl I've encountered. My fingers are often found buried in it, twirling a lock or brushing it away from my face- my hair is the source of almost every nervous habit I indulge, such is why I keep the indulgence. I feel so awkward, socially, where others shine… So I am often nervous, and found avoiding crowds.
I’m tall and willowy, with curves that speak for more than a simple trace of femininity- the hair, and my smooth facial features don’t exactly help, either. My body is thin, lithe, loose-jointed with a talent for quick, flexible movements. I am good at covering others, as I am talented at matching movements and parrying blows- but don't expect me to charge right in. I'm a little too much of a thinker for such foolishness. My build is slight, and I cover it with close- fitting attire, for I don't much like being hindered by annoying frivolities and 'detail'.
The clothing I wear is tight, and accentuates the fact that I am so effortlessly tall. I dress in a darker clothing, blacks and blues. It is a little off-putting I suppose, but mainly it is because I like to frame my pale skin, as I find it to be one of the few features of mine I truly like. I look striking, often threatening, and so many take my antisocial demeanor to the extreme, finding something close to 'scary'. Hah.x x || Tools Of The Trade: I am rarely found with out one of my father's rapiers at my hip, but I find myself most comfortable with a standard, balanced, longsword. That style of swordplay is far more forgiving. It Takes A Key x x || Eligibility: Hah! I'm quite single.x x || My Own Disclaimer: Like a wounded dog, I am both vicious and weakened. I have endured enough, in this life, to turn anyone's face pallid, but I do not come off as such. I am more like a human shield, my sole purpose in life to defend my country, my land. Truly, I know that I am just another one of the Queen's pawns, a nameless face to sacrifice... But I do not mind, in some submissive way. I dream of being close to the power, one day being more than a pawn.
I can force smiles, pretend to be nice, attempt to be social- but it is all just a facade, really. An odd way of protecting myself from suffering another blow, either emotionally or physically. I make myself impenetrable, one wall, the body in front of every arrow shot at my companions. All that matters is my land's prosperity, the completion of this war. I will do as as I am bidden, weave my swords with dainty slashes falling like ice onto chilling flesh. I control the blade, twist it's uses in ways few have ever experienced. I am truly frightening, when defending my one and only.
But that is what I am. Defense. Something akin to a bodyguard. I am not the attacker, I am not the type to run headlong into things without deciding the need, first. I am the stalwart guide that directs my land's anger, channels into our purpose. I have no anger, no seething fury in me... I am cold, no fire burns for hatred. I am icy and merciless inside, and I need only the faintest sign of possible harm to my country to be provoked into back into my icy state. I know I can be terrifying, when I am doing what I was born for, fighting.
But fear is my greatest weapon.x x || Turn These Pages: Until I reached about five years of age, my father was a general in the altogether unused army of Kes'sarria. He stepped down only because of my mother's death, and he did it to 'tend' to me.
I was a very girlish sort of child, as my father had never been home, and my mother had treated me more like a daughter, raising me the way she had been raised. All of that was abruptly turned around when my father took her place, as his parental style was more akin to 'training' than anything else. I had my hair cut, my clothing changed, my toys and gifts all removed. On my sixth birthday, my father put a dagger into my hand and had me start to skirmish with him out back.
I was isolated from the other children, taught to cook dinner, sleep, and train. Those were my only duties for as long as I can remember with him, and it never seemed to phase him that I was a child, not a soldier. Every misstep during my lessons with him would get me smacked with the flat of the blade, every time I requested something not usually allotted to me, I was banished to my room without food until my father decided I was 'deserving' again.
By the time I was thirteen, I was beating him at his own game. I would never strike him, but whenever he would come at me, he was disarmed within moments. As you could imagine, he didn't take kindly to it. He began to see flaws in everything I was doing, in every style of swordplay he was having me versed in, and the blows dealt with his sword became heavier and more routine.
I was sick of it, entirely fed up, and on my nineteenth birthday I told him I was leaving. I was going to go join the army, and I was leaving him behind to take care of himself. I had never seen him truly angry until that day, and when I close my eyes, the thought still scares me. He is the man that has hardened me into ice. I was then kept there for one more lingering year, until I could disarm him every day, every time he came at me, for three months. Now, finally free of that sickening perfection and staggering expectations, I'm headed to the only thing I could ever truly be good at- war.
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