இ The Basics____________________ Name : Requiem Driscoll Nickname(s) : None Age : 19 Gender : Male Sexual Orientation : Not gender specific Stage : Second stage (?)
Faction : Cereberus Knights Race : Majin Magic Theme : Synchronic Crescendo (aka music). Abilities : Anything musical he tends to exceed at. Occupation : Musical instrument restoration. Battle Style/Magic: Requiem hums a certain tune of healing magic, which enables him to feel a sense of warmth and regeneration. It doesn't entirely heal all wounds, and only provides a bit more comfort to extreme injuries, but it works well on smaller scrapes and bruises. Favored Weapon/Item: Stiletto daggers. Notable Skills: Because of his quiet, unobtrusive nature, he is more capable of being stealthy and secretive than physically strong. He needs a great deal of work when it comes to physical strength, and is more useful in places where stealth is considered an asset. Quote: My lyrics are written on the soul.
இ Physical Description_____________ Eye Colour : Gold Hair Colour : Pale Hair Length and Style : Mid-length and wispy. Skin Tone : Tan Body Build : Slender, a little effeminate Fashion : Muted colors, quiet and simple. Extra : Nothing yet
Personality : He is a calm individual, quiet and stoic. He speaks only when spoken to (usually) and is not the type to enjoy extraneous small talk. This isn't to say he's unkind or unfriendly; most of the time Requiem just keeps to himself because of the darkness in his mind and soul. He is the type who does not like to show others his weaknesses or share his problems, intent on solving things for himself. He struggles daily to control his cravings, which is something he is absolutely determined to overcome. He is a kindhearted person, but the type that does things discretely and without all the pomp and circumstance and frivolity surrounding it. Requiem is the type that will silently pull out a chair for a young woman to sit in, stand when a girl enters the room, leave a rose on a doorstep. Quiet and subtle acts of kindness, rather than loud, exciting ones. He feels no need nor desire for fame or greatness; everything Requiem does is so that he can overcome his own weaknesses. Strengths : Being calm minded, intelligence. Weaknesses : Physical strength, speaking up for himself. Talents/Hobbies : Playing the piano, anything musical, reading and learning (education in general).
Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2013 2:13 pm
History: . Requiem's cravings are dark; he longs for the lifeblood of the witches. But he refuses to give into these urges, though they threaten to destroy and consume him. Instead, Requiem focuses solely on becoming better, his stubbornness and pride driving him to try and become a member of the Cerberus Knights.
Plots: N/A at the moment:
History solo from previous LH:
II. Piano Keys
When he was younger, Requiem had not enjoyed the music.
"No, no, no! That is wrong! Do it again, and this time do it right!
His instructors had been harsh; unforgiving when his fingers - unused to the music, with the baby fat still making them clumsy - had slipped, accidentally pressing down the wrong key and making the entire piece sound off. It was moments like those that made Requiem's face color a deep shade of red, his eyes downcast as they stared dejectedly and ashamedly at the floor. He was sorry, of course. Sorry that he couldn't do what they had asked of him, sorry that he was causing such a beautiful instrument to make such a horrid sound.
Sorry that he wasn't what he was supposed to be.
At age nine, Requiem Driscoll was still a human being.
At age ten, he was a Majin.
At age ten and a half, his instructors refused to teach him anymore.
"What do you mean, you're leaving?!"
His father's voice, loud and angry, the sound of a bear roaring in the forest. A big, strong man, Erik Driscoll was a man used to the ways of the world, used to the way people whispered, murmured, cast surreptitious gazes towards his son. He had no qualms with Requiem being what he was, but the world did not tend to agree.
The instructor was a thin, willowy man with a pointed nose, sallow skin, and sunken eyes. "I said," he repeated, laying heavy emphasis on the word. "That I refuse to teach....teach him. I cannot, in good conscience, teach a boy who isn't...one of us."
There was the thunderous sound of footsteps. Erik had stomped down the stairs to yell angrily into the tutor's face. It went on for quite some time. Requiem, hiding in the recesses of the small parlor within his home, pressed his back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly. He was too young to do anything about the situation; not that he would have anyway.
Ten was not an age where anyone listened to you.
The tutor was only the first in a long line of instructors that eventually left.
"I can't teach him, he's not willing to learn."
"He's too quiet. It's eerie. Doesn't he ever speak?"
"What's with those eyes of his, anyway? Strange kid, strange, strange kid...
His parents had told him not to worry, to just ignore the comments and the stares, and for the most part Requiem had followed their advice. It did him no good to dwell on things he couldn't change, after all. But he did feel a little useless. The piano was not the only thing he was having difficulties with - it had started...the dark cravings, the nightmares, the waking up at midnight desperately thirsty for something he could not drink.
Hungry for food he could not consume.
"Why don't you try playing, Requiem?"
Liliana Driscoll was a tall woman, nearly as tall as her husband, and reed thin, slender and beautiful. She shared her son's fair hair, pulled back into a neat bun at the base of her neck, though her eyes were a pale blue rather than gold, like her son's.
Requiem blinked owlishly up at her, his face expressionless. "But Mother, I do not like playing. And I am not good at it."
Liliana had shrugged, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You never know what might happen," she answered him cryptically, and when he had given her a strange look, she had merely smiled demurely. After breakfast that day, while his parents had gone out for their midday errands and Requiem was left alone with their nanny, he had found himself wandering into the music room of their small house. It was a cramped room, barely enough space for the piano against the north wall, and there were dozens of scribbled papers stacked haphazardly on top of both it and the bench (his lessons and practicing had always taken place at his instructor's homes, and therefore the Driscoll piano was, for the most part, unused). Carefully Requiem had moved the stacks, one by one until they were all neatly on the floor instead, and then he climbed atop the bench. For a few moments he just looked at the glossy black instrument, and then carefully he pushed up the cover, exposing the pale, pristine whiteness of the keys, the stark contrast between black and white. His hand ran along the smooth ivory, both curiosity and frustration welling up inside of him. One finger pressed down.
Plink.
A clear, crystal note. Requiem swallowed. Another finger pressed down.
Clink.
Such a beautiful sound. Beautiful and lonely, a single note just by itself. Requiem slowly raised his other hand, tentatively resting it lightly atop the keys. Then he pressed down both hands at the same time.
pllinkkkbbbbblfffffddonkdonkdinkclinkdooooonk.
A significantly less pleasant sound this time, but Requiem had expected that. He wriggled in his seat, getting more comfortable, before gritting his teeth, the corner of his tongue peeking out from his lips as he concentrated.
Three fingers of his left hand, two fingers of his right.
Music. Slow, unsteady, unsure. But music nonetheless.
It had taken Requiem several years to become as good as he was now. Several years of struggling to remember everything he had been taught, the way the notes sounded, the way they were supposed to sound. Now, at seventeen years old, he had long since mastered the art of piano playing.
♯ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♯ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭
The sound filled the room, low and clear; a haunting melody, not a pleasant one. Tragically beautiful in a way that Requiem could relate to. Not that he considered himself beautiful in any way, but it was more of a melody to him than most of what he played. The song he had composed was a simple one, comprised of only a few sheets of music, but it was for himself after all; no one's ears but himself. Perhaps one day he would share it with someone, but that day was a long way off and now was not the right time. Requiem's eyes moved across the piano keys again.
Black and white. Dark and light.
Quietly he began to play again.
kuropeco
Dramatic Marshmallow
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Vanilla Cryptid Captain
Timid Bloodsucker
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Posted: Mon Feb 25, 2013 7:50 pm
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★✰
It seems good so far, except one thing in his history:
Majin got changed to basically being half-breeds between a Spiritus and a witch or human. Actually saying "human" would now imply humans, meaning the race who lives in Midgard. xD while Makai would have some folks who weren't super capable with magic, it's more or less a very common thing there.
Other than that, I don't see any problem~ c:
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★✰
Posted: Tue Feb 26, 2013 5:43 pm
OK I JUST TOOK THAT PART OUT so the tl;dr version of his history is that he's just been struggling his entire life with being a Majin :'D
Ty Omie!
kuropeco
Dramatic Marshmallow
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Kyrieko
Hilarious Werewolf
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Posted: Sun Mar 10, 2013 10:35 pm
A whisper on the wind, soft and lyrical, calling to you. Come. Come and write your tale.
இ The Basics____________________ 
