Post by The Tormentor on Jul 29, 2010 2:10:46 GMT -7
How did you find us? I stumbled in. And was told I could never leave
First Name: Unknown
Last Name: Unknown
Middle Name: Unknown
Alias: The Tormentor
Age: Older than you
Height/Weight: 5"7, you don't need to know my weight
Eyes: Deep green, almost black with pale pupils.
Hair: Depends on my mood
Character description/personality: You're living, dead, whatever I don't care. I'll torture you and enjoy your screaming all the same. Your pain is my pleasure and I dominant your brain with any number of torture methods. I'm the first and last you'll ever see and my name will remain upon your lips as you die. I don't discriminate; children, adults, male, female, werewolf, vampire. As long as you scream for me we're all good.
Persuasion: evil
Type of Creature: vampire
Powers: Heightened senses; speed, agility and strength. Regeneration. etc
Weaknesses: Usual sunlight and decapitation. Desire to inflict pain. Enjoys torture. Screams of her victims.
History: I was born in the 1600s. My family were rich and considered wealthy and powerful. As the eldest of the family, my father had wanted a son. He demanded a son and wasn't at all happy that his first born child was a daughter. A warlord who was often away anyway, he left Mother to do her duties and care for the house hold. Often he'd bring back little things of those he killed; teeth, skulls, other bones. I became fascinated despite him telling me to stay away from his 'collection room.' He was cruel to his enemies and the only one he ever dared to be remotely nice was Mother. Growing up as a wealthy child, there was much to be expected of me. Learning was daily while I was taught to be a proper woman. I'd be married off as soon as I was able to, and then I'd have children until it was no longer what I could do.
Sneaking into my fathers room was normally fun; I desired a challenge and it was always thrilling whenever I entered; knowing I could get caught was the backbone of why I did it. One day I was admiring a skull; I was five years old and fully aware of what I was doing. Getting wrapped up in thoughts of destruction, I never heard him enter fully clothed in his gear. At once he snatched a whip from the wall and struck me; again and again until I was on the floor in pain, crying and shuddering as he continued. Many lashes framed my body; red welts and cuts that would scar my body for the rest of my damned life. He was cruel and desired power and at once he knew he had power over one. Me. Didn't take long for the abuse to start. Whippings and beatings became common. He had an outlet and he knew I'd never talk. He was feared and respected and no one would ever listen to a child.
I would run in fright, hiding in the nearby woods, bleeding and scared whenever he came home and was abusive. It turned sexual as he raped me when I got older, and I desired for revenge against the man who was my father. The woods became a refuge as my mother turned a blind eye and my siblings never knew. The village didn't get many visitors, but people riding in horses from nearby towns would often come. A young couple striding in for their business came across me in the woods. The female jumped off, wanting to help while the man simply stared, a blade strapped to his leg and a bow and arrow set lingered upon his back. I played my part, already my twisted mind was set, my intentions known only to me as I had frustrations that needed venting. I cried to the male only to grab his blade and slice his foot nearly clean from his leg. There was no catalyst for my attack. I imagined him as my father and these were easy prey. Perhaps I was always evil. I'd never know.
As a baby they thought I was blind; my eyes were pale and I was not exactly a fast baby. Crawling and rolling over took a few more months than most. Anyway, the man screamed as the woman drained off all blood in her face. Years of being lorded over, being the victim, I struck quickly. Stabbing her wasn't enough. I wanted her to be in complete pain like I'd been when I was growing up. I tied the horse to a tree and grabbed their things which included pegs and a tent. I drove the pegs into his hands and then his feet, pinning him towards the ground. The female wasn't my concern yet. I sliced his belly, and then I started work on the female while her mate was screaming in pain. I disposed of her quickly; she was not important. That night I stayed up, watching as the rats came to nibble at the males dying body. His screams were the music to my ears as I took the horse back home. This was only the first in my torture victims.
The older I got the more victims I claimed. I played the part of the innocent girl, going to functions that were required of me, meeting my so called future husband. When the abuse continued I imagined the screams of my victims, and that was what got me through. I became darker, twisted, death was what I desired and torture was the one thing that could always make me happy. It became my drug. When bodies of my victims were found I was only nineteen. My father defended me, not knowing it was me but didn't want his reputation as a warlord destroyed since fingers were pointed everywhere. That night he rode off with his army for an invasion on a nearby township and I took a horse and rode off into the darkness myself leaving my family behind. The next town I came upon was where I started torturing again. They never suspected the innocent girl until I was careless and the victim went free. I was chased, not even my wealth could save me but only one; Maricul.
The details are hazy; even I cannot recollect everything. But she found me, cut and beaten and running for my life. It seemed I had tortured the daughter of the towns most respected couple and for that, my punishment was to have what I did to her, done to me. But she saved me. I remember her voice, her holding me, offered a choice which I accepted. The pain and darkness before awakening up in a small house. She was my maker. Waking up I felt different. I was stronger and with that, I spurred off into the night and where I roamed, I tortured and killed and drunk the blood of men, women and children. I found my father. In all his gear he stood like a soldier near his horse. He saw me and ordered my own death. My own horse was killed and I struck him down. His few men fled as nails tore into his skin, rippling his flesh and pulling out all his organs. It took him a few hours to die while I kept him alive, his screams the last of his vocals as I ate his heart, liver, kidneys and everything else I could scavenge before devouring all his blood. Now I scavenge the world, perfecting my torture abilities, making everyone scream and suffer by my hand. And yet, I still look for the one who helped save me; the one who gave me back my own life.
Canon or Original?: Original
Character is from (series, book, creator, or author, if it applies): -points to Maricul-
First Name: Unknown
Last Name: Unknown
Middle Name: Unknown
Alias: The Tormentor
Age: Older than you
Height/Weight: 5"7, you don't need to know my weight
Eyes: Deep green, almost black with pale pupils.
Hair: Depends on my mood
Character description/personality: You're living, dead, whatever I don't care. I'll torture you and enjoy your screaming all the same. Your pain is my pleasure and I dominant your brain with any number of torture methods. I'm the first and last you'll ever see and my name will remain upon your lips as you die. I don't discriminate; children, adults, male, female, werewolf, vampire. As long as you scream for me we're all good.
Persuasion: evil
Type of Creature: vampire
Powers: Heightened senses; speed, agility and strength. Regeneration. etc
Weaknesses: Usual sunlight and decapitation. Desire to inflict pain. Enjoys torture. Screams of her victims.
History: I was born in the 1600s. My family were rich and considered wealthy and powerful. As the eldest of the family, my father had wanted a son. He demanded a son and wasn't at all happy that his first born child was a daughter. A warlord who was often away anyway, he left Mother to do her duties and care for the house hold. Often he'd bring back little things of those he killed; teeth, skulls, other bones. I became fascinated despite him telling me to stay away from his 'collection room.' He was cruel to his enemies and the only one he ever dared to be remotely nice was Mother. Growing up as a wealthy child, there was much to be expected of me. Learning was daily while I was taught to be a proper woman. I'd be married off as soon as I was able to, and then I'd have children until it was no longer what I could do.
Sneaking into my fathers room was normally fun; I desired a challenge and it was always thrilling whenever I entered; knowing I could get caught was the backbone of why I did it. One day I was admiring a skull; I was five years old and fully aware of what I was doing. Getting wrapped up in thoughts of destruction, I never heard him enter fully clothed in his gear. At once he snatched a whip from the wall and struck me; again and again until I was on the floor in pain, crying and shuddering as he continued. Many lashes framed my body; red welts and cuts that would scar my body for the rest of my damned life. He was cruel and desired power and at once he knew he had power over one. Me. Didn't take long for the abuse to start. Whippings and beatings became common. He had an outlet and he knew I'd never talk. He was feared and respected and no one would ever listen to a child.
I would run in fright, hiding in the nearby woods, bleeding and scared whenever he came home and was abusive. It turned sexual as he raped me when I got older, and I desired for revenge against the man who was my father. The woods became a refuge as my mother turned a blind eye and my siblings never knew. The village didn't get many visitors, but people riding in horses from nearby towns would often come. A young couple striding in for their business came across me in the woods. The female jumped off, wanting to help while the man simply stared, a blade strapped to his leg and a bow and arrow set lingered upon his back. I played my part, already my twisted mind was set, my intentions known only to me as I had frustrations that needed venting. I cried to the male only to grab his blade and slice his foot nearly clean from his leg. There was no catalyst for my attack. I imagined him as my father and these were easy prey. Perhaps I was always evil. I'd never know.
As a baby they thought I was blind; my eyes were pale and I was not exactly a fast baby. Crawling and rolling over took a few more months than most. Anyway, the man screamed as the woman drained off all blood in her face. Years of being lorded over, being the victim, I struck quickly. Stabbing her wasn't enough. I wanted her to be in complete pain like I'd been when I was growing up. I tied the horse to a tree and grabbed their things which included pegs and a tent. I drove the pegs into his hands and then his feet, pinning him towards the ground. The female wasn't my concern yet. I sliced his belly, and then I started work on the female while her mate was screaming in pain. I disposed of her quickly; she was not important. That night I stayed up, watching as the rats came to nibble at the males dying body. His screams were the music to my ears as I took the horse back home. This was only the first in my torture victims.
The older I got the more victims I claimed. I played the part of the innocent girl, going to functions that were required of me, meeting my so called future husband. When the abuse continued I imagined the screams of my victims, and that was what got me through. I became darker, twisted, death was what I desired and torture was the one thing that could always make me happy. It became my drug. When bodies of my victims were found I was only nineteen. My father defended me, not knowing it was me but didn't want his reputation as a warlord destroyed since fingers were pointed everywhere. That night he rode off with his army for an invasion on a nearby township and I took a horse and rode off into the darkness myself leaving my family behind. The next town I came upon was where I started torturing again. They never suspected the innocent girl until I was careless and the victim went free. I was chased, not even my wealth could save me but only one; Maricul.
The details are hazy; even I cannot recollect everything. But she found me, cut and beaten and running for my life. It seemed I had tortured the daughter of the towns most respected couple and for that, my punishment was to have what I did to her, done to me. But she saved me. I remember her voice, her holding me, offered a choice which I accepted. The pain and darkness before awakening up in a small house. She was my maker. Waking up I felt different. I was stronger and with that, I spurred off into the night and where I roamed, I tortured and killed and drunk the blood of men, women and children. I found my father. In all his gear he stood like a soldier near his horse. He saw me and ordered my own death. My own horse was killed and I struck him down. His few men fled as nails tore into his skin, rippling his flesh and pulling out all his organs. It took him a few hours to die while I kept him alive, his screams the last of his vocals as I ate his heart, liver, kidneys and everything else I could scavenge before devouring all his blood. Now I scavenge the world, perfecting my torture abilities, making everyone scream and suffer by my hand. And yet, I still look for the one who helped save me; the one who gave me back my own life.
Canon or Original?: Original
Character is from (series, book, creator, or author, if it applies): -points to Maricul-
