Sylvius & Xeres

Name: Sylvius.
Age: 37.
Gender: male.
Birthplace: Scytan Deadlands.
Build: stands much taller than an average human, but possesses a slight build with compact muscles.
Height: 6'5".
Eye Colour: dark brown.
Hair Colour: black.
Complexion: olive.
Rank: Priest.
Occupation: Sorcerer.
Marital Status: single.
Sexuality: heterosexual.
Family: --
Friends: Rahmah Javaherian.
A large black eagle named Xeres.

General Appearance:
Thick black locks that curl messily lie as they will, unable to be tamed by any comb, occasionally having to be swept from his dark chocolate eyes. Their clean-shaven face is sharp, angular; even their nose is without curves or bumps. His complexion is a darker shade of olive, and despite possessing a rather imposing height, he lacks the bulkiness of most other men of his stature. Raiments are of fine cashmere; a black hooded surcoat embroidered with silver moons and stars lies over likewise decorative tunic and trousers. A sash of dark crimson serves the same purpose as a belt customarily would. While a vicious looking scimitar hangs by his side, one would have a hard time imagining such a kind looking fellow ever finding cause to draw it. Walking with a staff, he is seldom found without his companion, a large black bird of prey.

Personality:
Kind and charitable; never quick to anger.

Sample Post (History, Part I):
The wind screamed through the ancient gorge like an animal in pain. It was a cursed place, this land; it possessed a mind of its own, working to repel the invaders with all of it's power. The sandstorm had blown in without warning. Coarse red sands whipped at the warriors who still pressed on - a company, perhaps less - tearing at their skin and striking them blind. It was impossible to tell that the valley had been host to battle only moments before. The debris of war machines had been buried beneath the sands, the desert reclaiming the bodies of her sons and daughters. The storm had torn at their backs for many days and nights; breaks were infrequent and brief. The boy, bound in chains around his ankles and wrists, his throat dry and his stomach empty, had been told that they were being punished for their failure, before their captors had silenced his elder. He believed him, and believed that none of them would survive this walk. Days blended into weeks - every day was the same, the blood-soaked sands obscuring his mind and his vision. He began to hear songs on the wind and voices, just soft to make out the presence of but not to understand, playing in the back of his mind. He knew it could not be his captors. Their spirit was broken so that they no longer even yelled for them to hurry along and their arms too weak to lift their whips. They did not give chase when prisoners ran. There was no hope for survival in the surrounding wastelands.

Day by day, their numbers dwindled. Many died, but miraculously, he did not. He was shepherded to where he would later learn to be a Scytran border province. Here, he was fed and tended to, although he couldn't understand why. He had caught the understanding of some words of their unfamiliar language, but there was no one to speak to. Outside the power of his ancestral home, the world had taken on a new form. Great white cities of stone with massive walls and spires that reached to the clouds raised from the sands, but none more impressive than Um-Pharos. Seeing the city through the slits in the back of the closed carriage, it took his breath away, as he was unprepared. Herded into the square, his captors finally addressed him by name: slave. In front of a crowd, he was auctioned off - for a low sum, for what good was a slave that could not understand orders?

Your IRL Age: 18.
How often do you think you could be online?: I can at least check in every day.
Have you read the mandatory pages on the Wiki?: Yes.
Anything to say to support your application? :3 : How about these credentials *grabs crotch*

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