Meathods of Madness
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- #120
- Joined:
- May 4, 2011
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[align=center]It's not a question of why and if she'll make it It's more a question of when and how she'll take it Standing out there alone completely naked Another secret's been kept and left her tainted
There's nothing more she can do to make them change it She does the best that she can to rearrange it There's still the question of how she's grown so tainted A tattered canvas unfurls, watch as they paint it

-Crystal by Kia-[/align]
Character Number- 3rd
Name- Isil Hywel
Age- 30
Gender- Female
Sexuality- Heterosexual
Appearance- 
Standing precisely at 5'5”, Isil is neither abnormally short or monstrously tall for her gender. Her curvy frame is neither overweight nor twig-like. Her skin is the delicate color of a fresh peach, refreshing and ethereal yet still deceptively average. Just as the rest of her figure safely settles within a neutral norm, her face is neither sharply angular or flawlessly rounded, but a collaboration of the two.
Set above the straight, flawless bridge of her nose are a pair of honey golden eyes much too rich to be confused for hazel. Isil's eyes seem to perforate whatever the object of their focus and carry a permanently mischievous gleam. Her lips are lush, but the upper lip slants downward, giving her a predominant pout unless they are pulled into an exaggerated, mirthless grin. The voice that trills between these lips is a lovely, purring coloratura contralto- light, agile, and flexible. The hair that frames her face and cascades down to just past her shoulder blades is straight and ruddy rust in hue.
Isil keeps her nails well manicured and long, careful to avoid cracks along their perfection whenever possible. Just as her fastidious nature with her manicure, her attire consists of crisp, provocative pieces. She's typically seen wearing eye catching colors with voluminous sleeves that hang off both shoulders and equally billowy skirts cinched at her waist by decorative cloth belts. Every now and again she can even be caught in dresses slit clear up to her thigh to frame and flash her legs to passersby. Even more rare is the sight of her in pants, she tends to avoid them altogether unless the need is absolute. She carries an identical pair of sais on her at all times, pictured here.
Personality- - Isil is quite the twisted person which her somewhat median figure does not belay. Bordering on insanity, she's prone to random outbursts of verbal rage and vehemence. Her psychopathy, regrettably, isn't the “laced in a straightjacket talking to walls” form. It's the heated and methodical huntress variety, well concealed to the unknowing eye and wrapped in a pretty package to make innocence all the more convincing.
Her tact towards common onlookers is one of benign neglect. She'll talk like the next person, walk like the next person, but never really relate to them and could care less to try. She prefers a more savage state of mind, letting her musing thoughts dictate darker images of past kills and potential memoirs of future victims. For being such a wicked predator, she has a gifted silver tongue. She can woe those around her should it please her to do so.
Although not openly known and seldom divulged to anyone, she is masochistic. Pain is a pleasure for her, and a victim's violence towards her is seen as merely an added bonus to the game. She's very keen on her surroundings and can adapt quickly and quietly as the need arises. Much like a chameleon, she can blend with the best of her kin and mirror the emotions and actions of those around her until she has isolated her prey and confined them to closed doors.
Rank- Dagger of the Cudgel Shell
History- - Isil's history prior to her darkening is nothing but blurred clips and phrases within her mind. She has little recollection of her parents or birthplace on a fertile ranch nestled in the Zavan Plains. Her modal, comfortable upbringing by her landlord for a father and his wife was punctured at the age of 14 by a passing Taint raid which swept their lands and leveled the plantation, leaving her parents to an unknown fate and house in shambles. But fate would not let her simply wake from her unconscious stupor and attempt to pick up the shards and rebuild. It had other plans for her.
Following the maraud like carrion shadowing predators were a band of nomadic slavers, sifting through the wreckage left in the Taint's wake in hope for easy pickings. The baleful leader of the unit that found Isil buried under debris swiftly claimed her as his own possession. It was here the adolescent's corruption began.
The torture and turmoil started within the secluded and safe walls of his home. When left alone during the slave-driver’s escapades she was locked away in his stuffy, secretive abode left with only enough rations to scrap by and still be alive upon his return. He broke her down slowly, meticulously over the years until a mere wraith of the former girl remained bound in servitude to him and him alone. He ruled her in every physical and mental way possible, but as the years began to bleed together within Isil's comprehension of time, one day a bout of the physical abuse and domination snapped something deep within her. The pain she had come to know and tolerate suddenly didn't carry the same stinging, spiteful sensation.. it was.. euphoric.
While she still let ravaged screams escape her throat out of habit, the outcries had turned from fearful hurting to delighted vocalizations. The change went unnoticed by her master, a scream was just a scream. He couldn't comprehend that enjoyment could be found from his heavy handed demeanor both in and out of bed. And so the alteration within Isil went unseen, and now at the adult age of 18 and with Isil, in his thoughts, twisted around his finger he began allowing her to venture out of his home while he was not there to tend to it. He considered her to be a well trained and whipped dog that would still come to her master's beck and call at his homecoming.
His speculations were rewarded, and just as a dog, she returned promptly back to his house after his dealings were over and done. This new development meant that he was returning to a well-stocked fortress instead of immediately having to run errands after arriving back. These outings into the world evolved her from mindful cub to lioness under her master's very nose. Her sickened curiosity had been thriving, pondering if inflicting pain upon others was as satisfying as it was for herself, but one thing stood in the way of her finding the answer; the marionette's master.
The only conclusion her mutated mind could draw was simple, kill what restrains her growth. It was he himself that had told (threatened) her that others far more brutal than himself lay beyond those doors and since pain was becoming more of a want than an uninvited guest, why was getting him out of the way such a bad thing? So thus she started implementing her plan into action, meeting with a poison brewer and selecting one that seemed like the safest bet her overlord's money could buy.
So it was that the night of his return home from another successful excursion that the ruler found himself bedded with a predator turned from prey. The maltreatment went on as usual, falsified shrieks filling the air just before ten cardiotoxin-coated nails found purchase in the meat of his back and carved bloodied ribbons into his flesh. The minor injury surged his vigor, but did not hint to him the real dangers that had been injected. Exhaustion seemed to be creeping through him, causing his lashings to be sluggish until four minutes' time he lay motionless on the bed before Isil, heart seized from the venom that had taken hold. She had found her calling.
She cleaned out her former ruler's house, taking what there was of value and saddled his dramatically colored stallion, leaving her sinful secondary home behind. She became a gypsy, flitting from town to town occasionally murdering by the same means to sate her new lust, but the positive stimulus derived from these actions began to quickly wane. Like most serial killers falling from the high with an amounting headcount, she sought to change her tactics and evolve her signature.
She traded the cardiotoxic poison for a tetrodotoxin, constructed to paralyze but not kill. Also acquired were a pair of sais blades to further enhance the carving ability her fingernails could not accomplish. Isil found that harrowing her victims while still alive but unable to defend themselves returned the lost sense of accomplishment she was seeking. The shift in profile was made at the age of 20.
While she still uses her body and words to lure unsuspecting prey to their isolated demise, she's already beginning to crave more from her practiced art. The whispers of Tainted dragons that hunt the land, where the whole chain of events had began, begin to coax her motives and drive her towards the point where her life had become such a tangled web. A binding would bring her either a remorseless end or to a new degree of power to fuel her hunger.
Pet(s)- Former owner of Embarr. Now pet-less.
The Dragon
[align=center] By Balu Commission By Sullivan on DA Drawn By Bloo Drawn By Semp Drawn By Nherva Commission by Zilowar[/align]
Name- Guillotine
Age- 8
Gender- Female
Element- Razor, copper variant
Appearance- - The first impression of this unique Razor is that of an avant-garde statue. She is surreal, a metallic figurine that leaves no outward hint of sentience should she chose to stand perfectly still. Guillotine, being a true bred Razor as opposed to a mutated Sekkai Metal, will not grow to immense size yet will still grow to an impressive length of 40' and an unusually tall height of 13'. One glance at her and it is evident why she is bound to grow to a greater elevation than her kin; her legs are like organic spindles. She has carefully crafted, almost mechanical motion from joints that make form a scapula, humerus and olecranon (elbow). Where would be forearm, wrists, and paws were replaced by stilt-like extensions that prove far more terrifying and deadly than any amount of the lacking talons she may have possessed.
Her aberrant image does not end merely with her odd limbs. Her frame is typical of a razor, sleek and streamlined, but the pincushion of bladed quills that line most every inch of a standard Razor are more organized upon Guillotine. She has a crest of needles atop the crown of her head then proceed to descend in length as they trail down her sinuous neck. Trails of these spines also run the length from elbow to mid-forearm and from ankle socket to halfway down the hind leg shafts. Her chest cavity and between her shoulder blades are protected from thick, triangular plating complete with malevolently sharp edges to either deter attackers or sheer of a digit for its troubles. Her wings are also honed down to basic trilateral shapes with cruel bladed borders built for both darting aerial speed and agility along with decapitation. This Razor's tail is every bit as lethal as her pinions, though with a twist; instead of a blade ending the tail's length, she has two horizontal fans of beautifully crafted quills that look like fanned knives.
Poured over her like molten ore over a mold is a rich, sunset orange copper hue that is finished with a mirror shine polish. Ever inch of her is glistening alloy brought to life over weaker tissue and bone. Guillotine's eyes are the only living exception to her metal coating, ablaze with life and devious emotion within the stunning green irises. They are like a pair of socketed malachite gems fitted perfectly into her narrow skull. Last of all to her appearance, and most obliquely hidden, is her crystal. It rests between the two tail blade fans, nestled safely between them on the underside of her tail's length. The haunting gem is a cruelly edged, curving loop of infinity. A figure-eight with a faceted frontal face, but edges cold and sharp as the blade of a knife. It is thickest at the base where the glamorous ribbon begins, wrapping around itself to become narrow at the upper looped crossing only to inspissate once more to meet end with beginning. Both paunchier ends were pools of obsidian black which slowly eroded along its winding road into a splotched, murky green.
Personality- Wicked, Swindler, Glamorous- Guillotine is the personified Queen of Hearts, a foul-tempered monarch. She fancies herself a young queen of knives, haughty and arrogantly imperial. She is a swindler, double-dealing if she believes the exchange will benefit her or her bonded or if she just feels the need to deceive for no other purpose than self indulgence. Trust is something to take lightly with her; viewed through her eyes as a temporary contract with no signature to seal her favor permanently. Only a select few will ever gain her true loyalty, and even then, she'll be loathe to fully commit to anyone's cause other than Isil's or her own.
Beware, this Razor's personality is every bit as sharp as her copper armor. She's already a wicked, malevolent piece of work and will only grow more edged with time. She is fairly short-fused, and its fairly safe to say her bite is far worse and more damaging than her bark. Guillotine is a believer in sentence before verdict; she'd just as soon as lop off a head than spend time trying to discern whether or not the action is warranted. Much like an proud royal, however, flattery and fair compliments content her. She believes herself a glamorous work of art, divine and unique, and quite enjoys being reminded as such by others. A few well worded lines of praise can raise her opinions of another with the drop of a hat.
Parents- Abyssal Ostoglos x Metal (Steel) Hephaestas
Children- By (Iron) Razor Viscer -Female (Steel) Razor Rouge -Female (Iron) Metal Amalgam
By Sonic Buccinal -Female Sonic Mezcal
Hatching Post-
- Quote:
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With candidates gathered and a number of glittering crystals scattered over the mire there was no need to draw out the wait for hours of agonizing anticipation. Leech's child was already writhing grotesquely within the amber fluid of its egg, and now it became apparent the Abyssal matrons were to lead this new regiment of hatchlings to take their first, foul breaths under Mother's sweltering paunch. Ostgolos, who had taken a Steel mate and subsequently had the unique displeasure of having to birth a Razor egg, now overlooked the first egg to actively rock within its nest. The brilliant copper shell gleamed like a jewel in the loathsome trench it had been placed in, the numerous cruel thorns curving out from its sides splintering the light into a thousand shards of light that flickered and danced maliciously across its parent. With smooth, precise motions the egg was pulled one way and another, revolving in sleekly its nest as the hatchling inside undoubtably drew its blades across every inch of the inner shell look for a weak point. A high, rising sound like blades caressing came from the egg as a result of these unseen ministrations, creating obscene allusions of a music box filled with razors. The tune had a certain alluring quality, drawing in one's attention to try and look for a melody in the half-realised notes and strains of consonance. All of which was a cunning ruse to draw in the listener and catch them off their guard as the shell suddenly fell to pieces, sliced expertly into narrow rings that slid apart to unlock their canny prisoner in a spectacular oscillation of polished copper. The dragonet that was revealed behind those metallic rings was an extraordinary creature, not a single piece of her scintillating form seemed to belong on a living organism. She resembled an avant-garde statue come to life, all sharp angles and plated joints. Her tail, limbs and wings were all simplistic in nature, worked down into bare shapes like skewed triangles and stilt-like extensions. Her chest was more architexture that articulated, sporting flat planes that reflected even the dim rays that filtered past Mother as bands of blinding white light. Every feature seemed to defy the belief that she could be a living, breathing dragon, but the sensual movements of her long neck and her heavily-lidded eyes spoke novels of their own. Her armour might have been more mechanical than others, restricting her movement mostly to the smoothly rotating joints nestled in artistic sockets, but the sweet flesh hidden deep beneath metal hide moved her as gracefully as if she made of water instead. The footless spires she danced upon kept her far above the cloying filth of the swamp as she abandoned her mother with a haughty toss of her head, for she had no doubts nor indecision about who was to be her darling rider. There was the girl with blood running down her arm, pooling beneath the makeshift bandage that had revealed a glimpse of her smooth calf. The Razor hatchling saw her own soul, coiled in those eyes the girl made passing attempts to hide. The shard held delicately in the pincers of Isil's nails thrummed like an eldritch conduit, and the Razor knew her pain was pleasure. Her movements were sultry and subtle, putting aside flashy displays to indulge in this most intimite moment of bonding. "Sweet Isil, my love.. You are bleeding. Let Guillotine help you.. " Serenly she arched her back and extended a wing to the membrane's razor edge against Isil's wounded arm just below the bandage, her macabre imitation of a comforting stroke that painted another line of bright red across the girl's peach-coloured flesh. And if there were any doubt of their bond, it was dispelled when Guillotine's tail (which had appeared to be rigid as a steel blade) coiled upwards over her hindquarters like a scorpion, revealing the identical crystal embedded safely between the two vast fans of quills on either side of her tail tip. [align=center] Razor Egg
 Guillotine Female (Abyssal Ostoglos x Metal Hephaestas) Wicked, Swindler, Glamorous Isil, 22, Female (Nimirra)[/align]
User Information
Username- Nimirra
Contact- See previous characters or PM
Yourself- I'm alive. Sort of.
How did you find Sekkai? Foxifloof.
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