Post by Le Fantôme De l'Opéra on Mar 30, 2008 0:13:49 GMT -5
Age: 37
Personality: Erik is a dark sort of man, that relies mostly on his taciturn judgments. But, with provocation or without his temper can flare like a blazing flame. Genius in mentality not only for the arts of music, or architecture but his own stoic abilities in assassinations.
Skills:
+Assassination by Punjab Lasso
+Architect
+Composer
+Writer
+Vocalist
+Scientist
+Fencer
+Magician
+Hypnotist
+Illusionist
+Ventriloquist
+and of course a Genius
History: (Leroux/Webber)
Erik was born in a small town outside of Rouen, France. Where he was born hideously deformed, and proclaimed a subject of horror upon his family. A mask was given to him first, and foremost by his mother whom did not take his disfigurements well. After a time of ill treatment, and a very young boy: Erik ran away and fell in with a band of Gypsies and clowns. Making a mediocre living as an attraction in the Freak Show paying his way through his own self expense.
Known as 'Le Mort Vivant' (the living dead). Erik learned skills as he made his way through the life in the tribe. Excelling in the arts of illusions, magic, and ventrilloqy. Soon gaining a reputation for these skills and for his beautiful singing voice spread quickly from each showing. Until a fur trader mentioned him to the Shah of Persia.
Upon this mentioning the Shah himself ordered the Persian to fetch Erik and return him to the palace. To where the Shah commissioned Erik, as a chief architect in constructioning of an elaborate palace. Erik designed an edifice with so many trap doors and secret rooms, orchestrating the structure of his work to carry sound through ought a myriad of hidden locations. Secrecy even in whisper was not to be considered so secret within the Palace. Erik even with such talents learned the art of assassination by using a unique noose (Punjab lasso), the personal assassin of the Shah.
Mazenderan was Erik's first architectural feat, however nothing goes unwarranted with such genius and the own paranoia of power. The Shah had ordered Erik to be blinded with the removal of his eyes, yet superior minds could find away and for fear the Shah ordered Erik to be executed.
Escaping by a thread with the gracious help the daroga (the Persian), Erik sook another home. Constantinople was the target of this searching, where he was employed there as well for architecture. Helping to build certain edifices in Yildiz-Koisk. However his stay was short lived as ones who knew too much would easily lose their lives least of all their eyes.
Seeking a different life, Erik contracted on to the building of the Palais Garnier (Paris Opera House). Here he made his grounds of amusement with the same trap-doors and hidden rooms. His own artwork that he would be the owning of it all, and yet he would not own it. Building himself a house in the cellars, a sanctuary from man the main beasts of the world.
Erik settled himself to pen and paper composing 'Don Juan Triumphant' for several years. Until on a certain day, he was distracted from his harassment of the management, and the corpse de ballet for a girl. A girl so lonely as he and he longed to make her whole for she was a bit of himself. In doing so his madness fell to desperation, love, primal and cruel. For he would be her Ange De Musique (angel of music), sent by her father. Feeding off that childish tale, Erik immersed himself in Christine Daae.
His plans to bring her to his home and wed her were destroyed once she tasted the Lime Light. The Vicomte and Comte De Chagny seated in the audiences sent his life into a spiral downward. Deaths were of little consequence even when the Comte drowned within the river Seine, and the hanging of Joseph Buquet by his own will to avoid tortures were washed from his hands.
In all he sought to win her love, or force Christine to his side. But she had chosen, taken the Vicomte and disappeared into time itself. Weakly he had told the Persian of his love, and how he would die of it. His frame frail from the emotional impact Erik elected to lay in his bed and simply never wake up. Each time he did he grew stronger, and now he seeks to find love in his music, or a fire as passionate or as mad as his own.
Anything else: Please tell me if you'd like anything edited.
Other characters on site: Formorian Carlisle
Sample post: *Awarded Audition Post*
"Of love...daroga...I am dying...of love...That is how it is.... loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was... when she let me kiss her...alive...It was the first...time, daroga, the first...time I ever kissed a woman.... Yes, alive....I kissed her alive ...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead."
Dead she was. The little witch had chosen the Vicomte and happily they had floated away upon the lake. A fading light more ghostly than himself lead their path, the lantern of his gondola. How could he have cracked so easily? Like some pup scolded for a bad behavior or a child with a hand caught in the cookie jar? He had let them go, he had let her go! Madness! Madness all of it! But her voice filled him, her voice moved his music and his music consumed her.
Such innocence! Oh such innocence, should be his and his alone. Why did he release her? A living bride! His living bride, and now she was dead. Dead to him in his heart as she had been when her pitiful kiss had rocked him to the core and he had relented, yielded, weakened.
Sighing heavily, Erik looked down at his disfigured features upon the shard of mirror that littered the floor. Ghastly was the sight of him, so inhuman, and still so human within. His heart beat, his heart hurt, his pulse raced and fell, and his soul ached. Shedding a tear he willed himself not to cry-not to be human.
Kicking in irate anger, he sent the shards tinkling over the moss covered bricks, splashing them into the lake. The glass surface now complaining with the impact of objects sinking down to its depths. Erik knelt, lifting up the pieces of music that had fallen far from the organ built into the wall. The mob had long since been gone, nearly three weeks, and the Persian had written in the Époque that he was dead.
Erik is dead.
It had read simply, and he had waited for Christine to return. To keep her promise to burry him and no she had not. The Diva, the Prima Donna had found her way into the world of Cold unfeeling light. While he would remain here unsaved from his solitude. She'd not take him with her, and he would not linger.
Sitting down before the ivory keys of the organ he began to play manically. No real tune to his madness though slowly out of the noisy chaos a melody boomed through. It was anger, hate, spite, and a promise of retribution. Tossing back his head, the scared and deformed side of his face rising in a snarl-He laughed to his insanities content.
Personality: Erik is a dark sort of man, that relies mostly on his taciturn judgments. But, with provocation or without his temper can flare like a blazing flame. Genius in mentality not only for the arts of music, or architecture but his own stoic abilities in assassinations.
Skills:
+Assassination by Punjab Lasso
+Architect
+Composer
+Writer
+Vocalist
+Scientist
+Fencer
+Magician
+Hypnotist
+Illusionist
+Ventriloquist
+and of course a Genius
History: (Leroux/Webber)
Erik was born in a small town outside of Rouen, France. Where he was born hideously deformed, and proclaimed a subject of horror upon his family. A mask was given to him first, and foremost by his mother whom did not take his disfigurements well. After a time of ill treatment, and a very young boy: Erik ran away and fell in with a band of Gypsies and clowns. Making a mediocre living as an attraction in the Freak Show paying his way through his own self expense.
Known as 'Le Mort Vivant' (the living dead). Erik learned skills as he made his way through the life in the tribe. Excelling in the arts of illusions, magic, and ventrilloqy. Soon gaining a reputation for these skills and for his beautiful singing voice spread quickly from each showing. Until a fur trader mentioned him to the Shah of Persia.
Upon this mentioning the Shah himself ordered the Persian to fetch Erik and return him to the palace. To where the Shah commissioned Erik, as a chief architect in constructioning of an elaborate palace. Erik designed an edifice with so many trap doors and secret rooms, orchestrating the structure of his work to carry sound through ought a myriad of hidden locations. Secrecy even in whisper was not to be considered so secret within the Palace. Erik even with such talents learned the art of assassination by using a unique noose (Punjab lasso), the personal assassin of the Shah.
Mazenderan was Erik's first architectural feat, however nothing goes unwarranted with such genius and the own paranoia of power. The Shah had ordered Erik to be blinded with the removal of his eyes, yet superior minds could find away and for fear the Shah ordered Erik to be executed.
Escaping by a thread with the gracious help the daroga (the Persian), Erik sook another home. Constantinople was the target of this searching, where he was employed there as well for architecture. Helping to build certain edifices in Yildiz-Koisk. However his stay was short lived as ones who knew too much would easily lose their lives least of all their eyes.
Seeking a different life, Erik contracted on to the building of the Palais Garnier (Paris Opera House). Here he made his grounds of amusement with the same trap-doors and hidden rooms. His own artwork that he would be the owning of it all, and yet he would not own it. Building himself a house in the cellars, a sanctuary from man the main beasts of the world.
Erik settled himself to pen and paper composing 'Don Juan Triumphant' for several years. Until on a certain day, he was distracted from his harassment of the management, and the corpse de ballet for a girl. A girl so lonely as he and he longed to make her whole for she was a bit of himself. In doing so his madness fell to desperation, love, primal and cruel. For he would be her Ange De Musique (angel of music), sent by her father. Feeding off that childish tale, Erik immersed himself in Christine Daae.
His plans to bring her to his home and wed her were destroyed once she tasted the Lime Light. The Vicomte and Comte De Chagny seated in the audiences sent his life into a spiral downward. Deaths were of little consequence even when the Comte drowned within the river Seine, and the hanging of Joseph Buquet by his own will to avoid tortures were washed from his hands.
In all he sought to win her love, or force Christine to his side. But she had chosen, taken the Vicomte and disappeared into time itself. Weakly he had told the Persian of his love, and how he would die of it. His frame frail from the emotional impact Erik elected to lay in his bed and simply never wake up. Each time he did he grew stronger, and now he seeks to find love in his music, or a fire as passionate or as mad as his own.
Anything else: Please tell me if you'd like anything edited.
Other characters on site: Formorian Carlisle
Sample post: *Awarded Audition Post*
"Of love...daroga...I am dying...of love...That is how it is.... loved her so!...And I love her still...daroga...and I am dying of love for her, I...I tell you!...If you knew how beautiful she was... when she let me kiss her...alive...It was the first...time, daroga, the first...time I ever kissed a woman.... Yes, alive....I kissed her alive ...and she looked as beautiful as if she had been dead."
Dead she was. The little witch had chosen the Vicomte and happily they had floated away upon the lake. A fading light more ghostly than himself lead their path, the lantern of his gondola. How could he have cracked so easily? Like some pup scolded for a bad behavior or a child with a hand caught in the cookie jar? He had let them go, he had let her go! Madness! Madness all of it! But her voice filled him, her voice moved his music and his music consumed her.
Such innocence! Oh such innocence, should be his and his alone. Why did he release her? A living bride! His living bride, and now she was dead. Dead to him in his heart as she had been when her pitiful kiss had rocked him to the core and he had relented, yielded, weakened.
Sighing heavily, Erik looked down at his disfigured features upon the shard of mirror that littered the floor. Ghastly was the sight of him, so inhuman, and still so human within. His heart beat, his heart hurt, his pulse raced and fell, and his soul ached. Shedding a tear he willed himself not to cry-not to be human.
Kicking in irate anger, he sent the shards tinkling over the moss covered bricks, splashing them into the lake. The glass surface now complaining with the impact of objects sinking down to its depths. Erik knelt, lifting up the pieces of music that had fallen far from the organ built into the wall. The mob had long since been gone, nearly three weeks, and the Persian had written in the Époque that he was dead.
Erik is dead.
It had read simply, and he had waited for Christine to return. To keep her promise to burry him and no she had not. The Diva, the Prima Donna had found her way into the world of Cold unfeeling light. While he would remain here unsaved from his solitude. She'd not take him with her, and he would not linger.
Sitting down before the ivory keys of the organ he began to play manically. No real tune to his madness though slowly out of the noisy chaos a melody boomed through. It was anger, hate, spite, and a promise of retribution. Tossing back his head, the scared and deformed side of his face rising in a snarl-He laughed to his insanities content.