Stojan

[Stojan]

Name: Jerom Stojan Donar

Age: 68

Race: A beautiful peoples with a tall and noble appearance, seeming wise, their physical representation lasts in a youthful state. Often a peaceful peoples; there is an opposite, dark and rather sinister, yet still strikingly attractive way about him. With opposite morals of selfishness. Value nature and honor the gods; believed to be descendants from nature itself.
( http://www.monstropedia.org/index.php?title=Sidhe ) Reference.

Proportions: Jerom stands straight and nonchalant at a six foot four inches, often with arms crossed, having little to no trouble lugging around his battle readiness.

Weight: 195

Habitat:
There are rumors and tales of the Sidhe stretching to the western continent where they are said to have settled. Said to live in underground lairs, castle and the like; Fairy mounds. These areas are a mix between the Astral/magical plane, having a life of its own and the physical world which can coexist with humans and species alike.

Physical Description:
As all Sidhe Jerom is a beautiful creature of an agile and well muscled nature. With Sleek shoulder lengthen hair, combed from the left, held to the right in a large ongoing braid. A handsomely chiseled face, seductive, well trimmed brows, little to no facial hair and long curvy pursed lips of a dark flesh hue. His shoulders and neck are triangular in structure and neatly disproportionate, being broad and thin. No belly button and less than impressive abs, yet strong and smooth. Jerom’s legs give testament to his physical movements as they are thick then skinnier to his normal sized feet. Missing a right eye, the other an ugly skinned over area, the other a blue ringed, grey filled black pupil eye, piercing and tranquil; his clans tattoo of a Sluagh Eagle(rather destructive fae creature resistant to most magical intervention) stretching over his back and arms, wrapping talons around waist. A true noble Sidhe demeanor.

Possessions:
The Talisman of his clan, a black tribal sun wrapped octopus like around a less common blue pearl, with markings of his species old language. Also supplied with a hang alone eye patch to cover his grotesque facial anomaly and a silken bandana of solid maroon color which latched around the back of his head, to cover scarring. A custom made purple lined maroon heavy robe, covering battle cross material leathers, also of maroon color. Adorning his hands are his seven rings that honor each God he prays to.

Powers or Strengths:

When Shape Shifting, this is never a sure process, for he calls upon his gods of the ethereal/earth to take his physical self and re structure such into a given form; Muscle and sinew make up a Sluagh eagle, shrouded in darkness, consuming surrounding light gives this being a frameless appearance, solid concentration is required, but the end process can be a resurrection into a true being which is represented upon a tattoo wrapped through ought his body. A most hideous and grotesque spectacle to witness.

Through meditation Jerom is able to mend wounds of a minor nature, though often than not the action, lying of hands on the area in question would do. A rib may be healed, or cut sewn back together.

As all Sidhe, he has the innateness of combat, having enhanced strength he is able to pick up a large boulder upon his shoulders, or punch through steel, much stronger than humans and more than equal to a troll, agile nature honing such skills.

Immortal as a word in itself is awe inspiring to humans but to a Sidhe a way of life, whom cannot be killed by physical means, a arm could be lopped off, and finding a adequate healer could be mended, yet minced into pieces allows no ethereal soul to remain, so they fade. Magic on the other hand is a Sidhe’s weakness, they can live through curses, but major spells can cause a catastrophic paradox in which in essence, they can be killed quite easily.


Weaknesses:
Jerom is missing a right eye; his peripheral vision to this is non existent and allows for a disadvantage in life and battle. Having loved and lost he yearns for the ideal and softens his otherwise ruthless, cold demeanor. Rather compulsive actions thwarting his rational process, he hates with all the emptiness inside himself and Daydreams of a great many coveted figures, person or object. His intelligence is lacking knowing little mathematics or scientific processes. A magic-laced poison has been introduced into his blood stream and would kill him, if not for his constant healing habits. Involving this, vengeance is always his utmost priority, when a task is at hand he will stop when he is in pieces and lying before his enemy.


History:

Jerom Stojan Donar was born in the western continent, among his people of the Sidhe, a noble court and family but of no royal ties. His father was a torturer and head of the Kings illustrious dungeons, each year Donar would accompany his father into those pits of darkness and return to his outstretched mothers arms covered in blood; not of his own. Not a shy people to the ways of torture, for after his father was finished the tormented would be returned to their families and over time heal. This was the supreme punishment of the fae, the creatures of hills and magic, living in castle of ethereal recesses, enjoying every commodity that came their way. Duty and honor ever present in this two faced society.

Each morning Stojan would wake to sex and seduction, quite normal and nonchalant in a Sidhe atmosphere, and it was from a young age that Stojan acquired his own slave, and wife, Alec. A half Sidhe fae who looked of grey ash from head to toe and groveled at his feed everyday, un allowed to speak or make and sudden movements, this creature suffered a slow and disgraceful fate. It was with this gray fae that the Sidhe Stojan learned of humility and compassion, being a kind and gentle man, for all Sidhe are known as men from the day they are ripped from their mothers whom.

His slave was well educated and taught Stojan every step of the way, but without word, she was taken into his fathers dungeon, and was never seen again, so abrupt was this that Stojan hadn’t notice she had left for quite some time. Here began his seed of hate and darkness. Stojan acquired reliable information that she was still alive, and descending into the dungeon place where he was never allowed to go alone, found her quite easily hanging from chains, shredded from head to toe that beautiful grey figure a wreathing mess of muscle. She was still alive! Stojan knew his father had done this but the reason escaped him, and he was to never find out why, for she faded in front of him, and was never again alive. He touched a prodded the body in an attempt to resurrect her but to no avail.

And the father entered the dungeon, so mad and full of hate was he that he tortured his son for seven days and on the eighth released him to his mother, she never said one word to him in all the years he grew with his family planning vengeance on his father, but she finally said that day, “I am sorry” and faded into nothingness.

Lost and alone, Stojan past the years training for the day he would be able to take vengeance eon his father whom he had heard fled to a land called Tian Xia. His heart ached everyday for the slave woman he loved and grew to have compassion for, most likely one of the only Sidhe who boasted such a characteristic. The sword and lance where the first weapons he was taught by the head guard of the Sidhe kingdom mound, a unyielding opponent, who one day slashed the side of his face with a magical weapon and left him scarred for life, missing one eye.

The guard later said that Stojan would grow to view this as a remembrance of the fall of their kingdom under the suffrage of his father, who had gone mad and tortured the royal court, one by one. He hadn’t inherited his father’s prowess with magic, but instead his mothers shaping. A gift from the gods.

On his journey to track his father, Stojan crossed oceans and lands of nature’s different moods, to this land close to where his father hid, and here he honed his skills and set out to adventure and learn the cultural customs of such a land, whom hated the fae as much as he did, and despised magic.


Writing sample.

The mind numbs and senses overtake pain into an enveloping fear and survival struggle to want and need a physical form, the process strenuous on the nerves, never knowing for a fact that form would be granted, simply the never ending cold and darkness that shrouded while the process continued on. Concentrate and survive, break and fail, there is one mind, there is no mind, I hear and I feel, taste, touch smell; none of these exist, I am nothing, that which is in between, the nothingness of my dreams, the daylight and night, I am eternal.

His attention wavered.

And he focused more. I am the nothingness, I am. I am form, that which exists, here I am, my scent is strong, my hearing is far, I can touch everything around me, my mind is growing, Talons reach out from the Darkness, feathers of death, skin tight, taunt around bones of steel. I feel. The touch of air, the ocean of sky, my form, Life, I take on the animal, the ethereal, a creature of dreams, of Gods, of flight! I exist as Sluagh, I am the night flyer, I am the terror from above, I am the Night prince. I am of the dark sun; take flight, I flap wings large and boney, of muscle and leather like skin, my claws scratch and cleave.

I am Stojin. I take flight.

The flight felt miraculous, born again into the ethereal sky of Pal Tehrenor, dipping and diving among the trees, soundless flapless, the eternal glide of gods, I feel of the darkness of oblivion, pitch black and frameless, I engulf the surrounding with my evil, I am neutral. I am here to fly, I am-

Falling…

The form aches, no time to trade, the magic is strong, it hurts, I cannot relieve this, I have become overcome, by what? What creature is this that takes me from my skies, what being dares defy the shrieking blackness, the thorns of Sluagh. The ground came close, and sudden, the formlessness dissipating into puffs of darkness around a thriving figure of beauty, his muscles clenched and were released. His feet curled and were undone. Figure out stretching and basked in the moonlight, lay upon soot and ground, the infernal boil of blood and soft texture of skin. I am one, I am, here I lay, here I have fallen, it is here where I wanted to be, upon the ground by this hut that I have built myself, yes, this land in which I tend and the future I have escaped.
Past and present are functional and so I speak my name in the final bout of form, I am Sidhe, the Fae. Throat hoarse and unforgiving, “I am Stojin”

And the Sidhe, beautiful and handsome combined, knelt upon his land, weeping into his hand, of the pain of the flight, a sense of nothingness frightened him, and his call to the gods was ultimately granted, but the Sluagh, the demon, still remained waiting, wanting. But there would be no trade to nature now Stojin thought, whit finally about him.

“I am Sidhe, I am a man.” Throat parched, wanting of water and substance, to replenish his weakened frail figure. He raised those tear soaked hands and drew around himself several pinnacles of the gods, circling his lying figure in the dirt, and began to heal himself, concentration and persistence, a battle of will in a will-less body, he would have to create something from the fractures bones of his body. To mend his soul this leaked darkness into his self. The trade of flight and distance for pain, a fair trade he thought.
And thought again, activating those runes with his mind and healing inch by inch, pushing back the sickness inside, calling upon the ethereal.

Stojin wept again, crying the ageless dream away.

[Frug]

Approved.