forum Choose your character! (1/1)

Started April 07, 2023 by @Eli-the-transboi group

tune

Name: Chryses Alarie (Chrys for short)
Age: 972
Species: vampire
Gender: male
Sexuality: pan
Occupation: used to be a medical care worker.
Personality: chrys is a gentleman and also requires respect. He gives what he has been given, so if you show respect and kindness, he will repay you tenfold. He is an incredibly smooth talker and almost never needs to pause to think of what to say next. (You’ll learn more about him soon. Hehehe)
Looks: Chrys is a tall man, coming at 6ft7. He is fairly muscular as well, proving he still cares about taking care of his body.

Conditions (if any): surprisingly, he has ocd and adhd. (He also has a prosthetic leg, but that’s a secret-)
Anything else!: you’ll see heheheheh

(You’ll see why I put a date)

Date: Friday, December 19

~~

Rodya kept the bright and charming smile plastered on his face as he talks to one of the kings stablehands. He looks at the huge black animal with a white star on its forehead, petting its muzzle. “Hey, NightShade. . . How are you holding up in this warmer weather?”

Rodya had brought his own horse from Russia, Wanting something personal besides his clothes to remind him of home. He had missed the snowy fire lids of his countryside manor the moment he’d left, as well as his sister. He also was dreading marrying one of the laides from King Charles’ court. He wasn’t a laides man.

He hops onto his horse, kicking her off at a canter, chuckling softly to himself; no, he was a gentlemen’s man. He keeps laughing softly, waving to the stablehands and then taking off at a full gallop, riding away from the palace and towards one of the surrounding forests.

Rodya had heard gossip. He’d heard plenty of it, how he shouldn’t go into the woods. But Rodya wasn’t one to listen to the superstitious ramblings of a bored court. So he kept up the gallop, knowing full well NIghtShade would have no problem in the woods, despi8te dangerous roots and branches, She could go at full gallop through snows that came up to he forelocks in the middle of woods in russia.

After about thirty minuets of riding, he slowed to a stop, dismounting and leading his horse to a stream to drink and leaving her there after pulling out a quill, ink pot, board and paper from the saddle bags. He moved to a rock in the sun, sitting down and began to write.

Chrys smiles softly as he steps outside, looking around. It seemed like a nice day for a walk. He hums softly as he shoves his hand in his pockets, walking down a slightly carved out path where most animals and himself have walked before.

As Chrys walked down the path, he hears a horse from not too far away. He follows the sound to a stream and sees a young looking man sitting on a rock by a river, writing. Chrys smiles warmly, kicking at a few leaves to make his presence known. “Hello there, sir…”

Date: Friday, December 19, 1643

Rodya looks up, his face instantly going into the couture smile, but like always, it looked genuine, “Greetings.” He puts his stuff down, rising to his feet, “I didn’t think anyone else was here.” He laughs softly, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Rodya keeps looking at the man, his fingers itching to shove his papers into the saddle bags, but they were too far away to do it without seeming like he was hiding something. And, well, he was. He didn’t want anyone knowing he was a writer. Not yet. Not when his father was shoving being an ambassador down his throat.

Rodya looked the other man up and down, noting the green eyes, very similar to his own, the dark hair, not too corona among the Englishmen, but common enough to not stand out too much in a crowd, pale skin, some inches taller than himself as well. And defiantly taller than most Englishmen.

Chrys smiles warmly, “Oh you’re not intruding at all. I don’t own the forest.” He chuckles softly, listening closely to the man’s heart beat. Calm and steady. He watches the man closely, keeping a warm smile on his face. “You sound Russian. You must be suffering from this weather.” He grins slightly, avoiding showing any teeth. Somehow, Chrys had a slight Chinese accent, mixed with some Arabic.

(Yes- his moms from china and his father was from Sadi Arabia- and hes so used to living alone that he kept that mix of accents-)

Rodya laughs, “Ah, I’m not, England is my second home. It’s my horse who seems to be suffering. Her thick hide and fur made for the deep snows of my parts of Russia.”

He keeps the smile on his face, picking his papers up and making his way over to his horse, “But, she’s doing well, I’m going to need to send her home soon, all this warmth isn’t very good for her. I’m going to miss her.” He runs his hand over her muzzle, his smile turning soft with affection.