Bregan [Famine]
07-11-06, 12:49 AM
Name: Coin Serfaret
Age: 30
Race: Human/Risen Undead
Gender: Male
Class: Baron/Ghost Fencer
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 170 lbs
Physical Description: Coin stands at 5'11" tall, his lithe frame fairly muscular, but hardly hulking or brutish by any stretch of the imaginagion. Rather, he puts off the impression of being a speed fighter, and one entirely accustomed to using parts of his as weapons in ways others couldn't even imagine. His brilliant green eyes, a hypnotically lighter shade in the center, speak of strain and of chaos...of chained dementia whipped and beaten into an obediant and servile form. They're seductive eyes, and crazy eyes...but perhaps only the first because of the second.
His hair, black and styled, is cut at various lengths and, in general, rests against his shoulders. Because of his shaky connection with the world of the living, neither sleep nor the wind can stir or mess the strands, leaving the Baron...flawless. Only his own hands; his own will can actively change his appearance beyond his clothing, giving his a distinct advantage in certain social situations. Bewitching and fey, the lord was a striking figure even before his demise, and the markings of the grave have only served to underline this.
Garments born of his own ghostly essence as he forced life back into his corpse mark him as basically different from those around him, which suits Coin perfectly fine. Tight-fitting light fabric pants bound together with thick black threads deck out his lower body, loosened at the bottom to allow for his flexible fencing boots. A white leather belt holds the piece up and firm, which rests just below the line of the shirts. Of these, a form-fitting duet of cotton garments shield his chest, the first being plain and white, and the one above it beind simply black with a white heart emblazoned across the upper-center of the chest. His right arm, wrapped in black rags, carries the most definitive mark of his return in that it is fleshless; nothing but living bone and the memories of what he was.
A variety of necklaces, from shards of stained glass to strange symbols, hang from his neck. Though few have much personal significance, Coin treasures the accessories greatly...they come from the tombs of his family; the history of his very blood is a part of them. Finally, a thin set of metal rings piece his lower lips in a 'snakebite' fashion, the result of slightly poor planning on his part.
Personality: The Baron is a remarkably...grave individual.
His full memories of the Beyond were damaged and fragmented by the costly return to the land of the living, but Coin recalls enough to feel the relentless purpose that drove both he and his brother to such terrible lengths. As a result, a shadow of the same drive applies to his current being, but it is...unfocued; restless. Until he grows strong enough to regain all that was once his, both in this world and the next, Coin will truly be a man divided.
A sort of strange madness drives the lord, from the constant grating of life against death. Neither in one place nor the other, the strain of simply existing can be very trying on the older Serfaret brother. While not entirely unstable, it would hardly be inaccurate to describe him as 'unbalanced', or, alternatively, 'dangerous.' The pleasures of this life, while still possible for him, seem...pale and wasted in the unfocused memories of what has been.
It haunts him, much as he haunts his very flesh.
Skills:
Ghost Fencing: Although his ties to the land of the dead and the spirit world are all but useless at the moment, Coin still, in essence, is a ghost fencer. Inherantly on a par beyond those mortals on his own lowly tier, this makes him unique...and makes him deadly. In time, the strength of the grave will flow more freely through his broken being, but for the present, whatever energies he can feed to his senses and his sword are more or less negligible.
Still, the talents of his former life shine through his fall and ressurection, giving him noteworthy skill with a small variety of blades. Agile and deft, Coin is all too happy to send others down his former path if it gets him closer to what he needs.
Deathlessness: Basic Knowledge: Fragmented knowledge of what is beyond the horizon; on the other side of the sky.
Singing: Coin has a fine voice, and while it's hardly as enchanting as a professional, one can consider him a talented amateur.
Equipment: Serfaret Guard Saber: Taken from the tombs of his family's ancient protectors before leaving the ruined estate with his brother, this is the simple fencing tool of a long-forgotten guard. Strong, but fairly unremarkable, Coin chose the blade for the simplicity thereof; trusted the lack of a higher nature within over that of his own sealed tools.
Fencing Leathers: Oddly preserved against the passage of time, this durable, flexible armor is perfectly suited to a gentleman fencer.
History:
The House of Serfaret...a minor family in the grand scheme of things, but on which has an unfortunate tendancy to align themselves with justice. Giving birth to any number of fine swordsmen and jacks-of-blades, the close ties and trust of its family saw it through purges and strikes by greater groups who would move against such a stinging thorn. Drawing their riches from mining and timber, the Serfereti also maintained a fairly tenacious position as a noteworthy supplyer to mercantile organizations over a wide area.
Their good lot, unfortunately, came to an end with the death of the Lord Baron Gishmael Serfaret, officially by illness; unofficially by poison.
The weakness in the change of leadership to his oldest son, Coin, was a chance that many of the enemies of the family saw fit to take advantage of. In his inexperience, lands and treaties were lost or hemmed from what they had been by tactics that his sire had been all too familiar with. Few in his clan blamed him, though, for these failures...he would have ample time to learn from his mistakes, they imagined, and become stronger because of them. The idea that their opponents would stoop so low as to resort to outright murder was, at the time, unthinkable; even between enemies, there were supposed to be rules.
How tragically wrong they proved to be.
In an act of unpredicted brutality, a shadowy alliance of clans struck against Coin and his younger brother, Viktor, in the early summer. The more venerable and powerful members of both the guard and the family were spread across the network of the group's interests, leaving their manse nearly without defenses. The two-dozen soldiers stationed at the grounds fought like bloody tigers, but fell almost to a man against the odds. Perhaps six escaped from the fray with their lives, if that, and none have been heard from since.
Viktor died at the gates, brought low by the portcullis and the sharp blades of the assassins. Selflessly and without thought for his own life, he dragged himself, torn and bleeding, through the halls of the mansion to warn his brother of the coming death, but was too late by far.
Coin, cut and wounded from dozens of slashes, breathed his last in the throne room of the house, as the sword of the lithe hunter Hector Velius pierced his throat, pinning him to the wall beside the great chair. The fact that he had killed better than fifteen men was for nothing...all was for nothing.
The brothers were dead; the Serferet were falling.
Unable to rest after their violent deaths, both for the pain of the end and for the shame of their failure, the two rose as ghosts, to haunt the halls of their decaying manse as it became broken and wasted before their very eyes. Powerful as his demise had made him, though, he little more than a whisper in the world of the living...and what power did a whisper have to give rise to revenge?
And so they made a plan...and made a pact.
A pact most vile.
Shedding their strength, Coin and Viktor gave rise to new life in their corpses; used their bitter lamentation to pierce the veil. Although imperfect and only a shadow of what they had been in either world, the brothers had returned, years later, to reclaim what had been stolen from them.
Age: 30
Race: Human/Risen Undead
Gender: Male
Class: Baron/Ghost Fencer
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 170 lbs
Physical Description: Coin stands at 5'11" tall, his lithe frame fairly muscular, but hardly hulking or brutish by any stretch of the imaginagion. Rather, he puts off the impression of being a speed fighter, and one entirely accustomed to using parts of his as weapons in ways others couldn't even imagine. His brilliant green eyes, a hypnotically lighter shade in the center, speak of strain and of chaos...of chained dementia whipped and beaten into an obediant and servile form. They're seductive eyes, and crazy eyes...but perhaps only the first because of the second.
His hair, black and styled, is cut at various lengths and, in general, rests against his shoulders. Because of his shaky connection with the world of the living, neither sleep nor the wind can stir or mess the strands, leaving the Baron...flawless. Only his own hands; his own will can actively change his appearance beyond his clothing, giving his a distinct advantage in certain social situations. Bewitching and fey, the lord was a striking figure even before his demise, and the markings of the grave have only served to underline this.
Garments born of his own ghostly essence as he forced life back into his corpse mark him as basically different from those around him, which suits Coin perfectly fine. Tight-fitting light fabric pants bound together with thick black threads deck out his lower body, loosened at the bottom to allow for his flexible fencing boots. A white leather belt holds the piece up and firm, which rests just below the line of the shirts. Of these, a form-fitting duet of cotton garments shield his chest, the first being plain and white, and the one above it beind simply black with a white heart emblazoned across the upper-center of the chest. His right arm, wrapped in black rags, carries the most definitive mark of his return in that it is fleshless; nothing but living bone and the memories of what he was.
A variety of necklaces, from shards of stained glass to strange symbols, hang from his neck. Though few have much personal significance, Coin treasures the accessories greatly...they come from the tombs of his family; the history of his very blood is a part of them. Finally, a thin set of metal rings piece his lower lips in a 'snakebite' fashion, the result of slightly poor planning on his part.
Personality: The Baron is a remarkably...grave individual.
His full memories of the Beyond were damaged and fragmented by the costly return to the land of the living, but Coin recalls enough to feel the relentless purpose that drove both he and his brother to such terrible lengths. As a result, a shadow of the same drive applies to his current being, but it is...unfocued; restless. Until he grows strong enough to regain all that was once his, both in this world and the next, Coin will truly be a man divided.
A sort of strange madness drives the lord, from the constant grating of life against death. Neither in one place nor the other, the strain of simply existing can be very trying on the older Serfaret brother. While not entirely unstable, it would hardly be inaccurate to describe him as 'unbalanced', or, alternatively, 'dangerous.' The pleasures of this life, while still possible for him, seem...pale and wasted in the unfocused memories of what has been.
It haunts him, much as he haunts his very flesh.
Skills:
Ghost Fencing: Although his ties to the land of the dead and the spirit world are all but useless at the moment, Coin still, in essence, is a ghost fencer. Inherantly on a par beyond those mortals on his own lowly tier, this makes him unique...and makes him deadly. In time, the strength of the grave will flow more freely through his broken being, but for the present, whatever energies he can feed to his senses and his sword are more or less negligible.
Still, the talents of his former life shine through his fall and ressurection, giving him noteworthy skill with a small variety of blades. Agile and deft, Coin is all too happy to send others down his former path if it gets him closer to what he needs.
Deathlessness: Basic Knowledge: Fragmented knowledge of what is beyond the horizon; on the other side of the sky.
Singing: Coin has a fine voice, and while it's hardly as enchanting as a professional, one can consider him a talented amateur.
Equipment: Serfaret Guard Saber: Taken from the tombs of his family's ancient protectors before leaving the ruined estate with his brother, this is the simple fencing tool of a long-forgotten guard. Strong, but fairly unremarkable, Coin chose the blade for the simplicity thereof; trusted the lack of a higher nature within over that of his own sealed tools.
Fencing Leathers: Oddly preserved against the passage of time, this durable, flexible armor is perfectly suited to a gentleman fencer.
History:
The House of Serfaret...a minor family in the grand scheme of things, but on which has an unfortunate tendancy to align themselves with justice. Giving birth to any number of fine swordsmen and jacks-of-blades, the close ties and trust of its family saw it through purges and strikes by greater groups who would move against such a stinging thorn. Drawing their riches from mining and timber, the Serfereti also maintained a fairly tenacious position as a noteworthy supplyer to mercantile organizations over a wide area.
Their good lot, unfortunately, came to an end with the death of the Lord Baron Gishmael Serfaret, officially by illness; unofficially by poison.
The weakness in the change of leadership to his oldest son, Coin, was a chance that many of the enemies of the family saw fit to take advantage of. In his inexperience, lands and treaties were lost or hemmed from what they had been by tactics that his sire had been all too familiar with. Few in his clan blamed him, though, for these failures...he would have ample time to learn from his mistakes, they imagined, and become stronger because of them. The idea that their opponents would stoop so low as to resort to outright murder was, at the time, unthinkable; even between enemies, there were supposed to be rules.
How tragically wrong they proved to be.
In an act of unpredicted brutality, a shadowy alliance of clans struck against Coin and his younger brother, Viktor, in the early summer. The more venerable and powerful members of both the guard and the family were spread across the network of the group's interests, leaving their manse nearly without defenses. The two-dozen soldiers stationed at the grounds fought like bloody tigers, but fell almost to a man against the odds. Perhaps six escaped from the fray with their lives, if that, and none have been heard from since.
Viktor died at the gates, brought low by the portcullis and the sharp blades of the assassins. Selflessly and without thought for his own life, he dragged himself, torn and bleeding, through the halls of the mansion to warn his brother of the coming death, but was too late by far.
Coin, cut and wounded from dozens of slashes, breathed his last in the throne room of the house, as the sword of the lithe hunter Hector Velius pierced his throat, pinning him to the wall beside the great chair. The fact that he had killed better than fifteen men was for nothing...all was for nothing.
The brothers were dead; the Serferet were falling.
Unable to rest after their violent deaths, both for the pain of the end and for the shame of their failure, the two rose as ghosts, to haunt the halls of their decaying manse as it became broken and wasted before their very eyes. Powerful as his demise had made him, though, he little more than a whisper in the world of the living...and what power did a whisper have to give rise to revenge?
And so they made a plan...and made a pact.
A pact most vile.
Shedding their strength, Coin and Viktor gave rise to new life in their corpses; used their bitter lamentation to pierce the veil. Although imperfect and only a shadow of what they had been in either world, the brothers had returned, years later, to reclaim what had been stolen from them.