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Post by kaliea uruen kraien on Jan 3, 2010 21:47:22 GMT 10
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female, thousands of millennia old, daemi, wanderer, generally found in azrazel.
PERSONALITY,
When you live through an age - a long, long age, you do not regain the full height of what you were, originally. You grow, and build upon that person within the first centuries, and perhaps many more after, but sometimes you lose bits of yourself, as well. You forget... you forget exactly what you're supposed to be, who you're supposed to be. Sometimes it's hard to discern how to act. You forget the names of your past fellow generations, as well as the sons and daughters you never really knew. And after a time of losing little bits of yourself and the few acquaintences you've had, after thousands of millennia, you realise how lonely and desperate for something you really are.
Kaliea wasn't destined for a great future nor a healthy mental balance. From the start, as a kid, she was thrown into the center of a War that she didn't properly understand, to fight battles that she didn't really know how to win, and accept fate as an adult would. But at the time when her God disappeared for what she took as forever, Kaliea lost that hardness, the coldness prized in Daemi, and she ran away from everything in daze of confusion and amidst the instinctive need to survive.
She aged, mentally, very slowly. Growing up in the wild does that to anyone. Without tutelage to nourish the brain, Kaliea was just an estranged child clinging to life. It hardened her, more then her battles ever to. That never ending loneliness and the instincts that were bred into her from birth. However, as uneducated as she was, Kaliea was intelligent and eventually she did learn, she learned a lot, but mostly just retained the necessary knowledge needed to survive fluidly in a Realm of monsters.
And survive has she, through all the millennia that the ages have thrown at her, taunted her through, and closely followed her along the edge of what would have been an unsightly loss of sanity. But her will and determination and the pure refusal to fall, to fall like all the other weak bastards before her, just because of dear Father Time.
To this day, Kaliea is a cold, intelligent woman, as if hardened like solid stone. She has a lot of strength, physically and mentally. And while she has past the typical roots of her fellow Daemi's nature, she still has traces it's wickedness, the terrible evil that made them in the first place; as it will always run through her veins in her blood. But it has been a long time since she ever showed it. For to survive the ages as she has, Kaliea has had to adopt the concept that if she did follow true to her nature, she would already be dead. One cannot be a blood-thirsty, power-hungry monster without having someone stronger stride along to bring you down.
However, for all the cold intelligence, Kaliea is old. Very old. And age can do a lot of damage to the mind of a being who is not Godly. Immortals, perhaps, weren't meant to live quite as long as this, she figures. Or perhaps just not quite as long in the conditions she was. Kaliea is a little, understandably, unstable - in many, many ways. She's a little nutty, probably more so crazy, here and there. And sometimes her anger can shake the earth beneath your feet. She'll pretend to be calm, cool, in control. But really, sometimes all it will take is the slightly tick and she will snap.
APPEARANCE,
Kaliea is exotic; from the dark, light brown skin, the light gray-white hair and the brightly intense blue eyes. She holds true to the stunning, dark and alluring beauty of a Daemi, with a rough edge to the mix. She has seen her fair amount of years, but has regained the image of a young, twenty-six or so year old. She also chose another appearance she once held, of her much younger self, from millennia ago. She never has, or has not yet, chosen a third form.
As her adult form, Kaliea from a glance looks like a formidable women, with a strength to the toned, smooth muscles of her body, and the cold, calculating look in her eyes. She's tall, with a curved figure and probably breasts that are a little too large, which she hates, because they usually just get in the way. Her skin is a smooth shade of light brown, with both faint and harsh scars here and there. Her hair, the shade of white tinged with gray, is long, reaching down to her lower back. It's wavy, unruly, and sometimes curly. Her facial features are soft with a hard edge, and her eyes are rimmed in darker skin. This form, in many ways, is her strongest.
Her child form is a lot more innocent looking than her adult form, and always has been, even through the war. It's small, even for a child, and a little chubby. She still has the same shade of skin and gray-white hair, and her eyes are just a little brighter, but she's smaller and seems much more insignificant. Her hair's shorter, choppier, and she shows a lot more expression. In this form, when she changes into it, Kaliea normally changes her personality with it to suit the image and appeal of a child.
Over all, aside from her obvious generic traits, there are two things that follow Kaliea in whichever form she is in. One is the 'helmet' mask, from her past; the skull of an animal now extinct in the world, with half of it's front teeth missing. And the scar that came from the very blow that broke it, which is the most prominent scar Kaliea has; a nasty, jagged one that reaches from her forehead down across her nose and stops just at her cheek. These are her most defining traits, and should anyone actually recall the blue eyed Zafrire, they recognize her because of the mask and scar.
POWERS&SPECIALITIES,
Kaliea was brought into the world for one purpose and one purpose only; to assist in the Great War. She was to be used, regardless of being a child, as a front-line device to thwart opponents. Her specialty was a ground shattering strength that rivaled even the Selaphi at the time. She was used as a source to disrupt the enemy lines and to take out the lesser game. And she did. She took out as much as she damn well could. Of course she was sloppy and inapt in the arts of fighting at that time, and for all the strength she had, her speed was only at best, at the height of a Mazzikim's.
As she aged, Kaliea learned the basics of fighting and hand-to-hand combat, and with those basics built upon them with her own strengths. She never bothered to learn much with weapons, as she never had the proper reflexes to truly harness them. That, and when she did try to harness them, they usually broke. Instead, Kaliea simply retained hand-to-hand combat skills, which weren't necessarily the most spectacular, but with her strength behind them, beautiful movement in her technique doesn't really mean a damn thing. She's a cruel and calculated fighter when needed, however when pissed off, she's messy and probably even more dangerous.
HISTORY,
There is not enough time in one life, two or three or even more, to recount for the thousands of millennia that Kaliea has witnessed, experienced, thrived in and hid from, died amongst and been lost in. Her birth dates back to years before the Great War instigated by her Father, her Creator, her God and her Life, Sien the Illusive. She was specially designed for the specific purpose of the War, a last test subject of such fearful strength that even though she was but a little, insignificant and tiny six year old girl – a monster. She was designed for one purpose, and one purpose only, to kill in a War she understood not much about; only that it was what her God wished of her, and for him, she would the utmost damage the she possibly could.
Kaliea walked onto the battlefield of the Greatest War a child, a child with unimaginable strength that could shift the earth, with a cold, heavy heart and a stern grim little mouth set in determination to damage and maim and hurt and destroy and mostly, kill. She was at the front lines of the third wave which hit their Malaki counterparts like a hurricane. Kaliea didn’t stop fighting for a long time after they clashed. She fought, and blocked and dodged and delivered bone crunches attacks of her own. Barachi and Jegudi Malaki piled up around her; she tired, she became exhausted and sloppy, but she didn’t know when to stop, she couldn’t. When the Malaki finally retreated to their lines, and she was stopped from going after them by the stern hand of the Zafrire Daemi who had trained her and grudgingly looked after her since infancy.
He was a strange man, with blood red hair and completely black eyes, called Nikane. But she comforted towards him because he praised her for everyone she had taken down that day, and he picked her up all the time and carried her around the camps. It was foreign and warm and the touch was rough and entirely unneeded, but she never wanted to be put down. She asked a Shedim about it, and the lady told her with a shrug and a nonchalant tone, that it was just because Kaliea was a still a little girl. And it was right. For no matter what race you were, no matter what damn God created you, nothing could take away a living creature’s childhood, their innocence and their cravings and dire needs for attention and affection. Of course, if the child was placed amongst a war and told to kill with their brute strength, that would cause their childhood to go awry.
A lot of time seemed to pass after that first encounter with the enemy; more and more Malaki and Metamorphi fell, and the Daemi and Naoi that fought along side of her fell too. There was a lot of death, a lot of blood and a lot of cries in agony. Kaliea was invincible herself, for all of the power that had to been thrust onto her, and she got hurt too. She was no God, just a servant to one, and even though she was a Zafrire, she lost a lot of blood herself, and came close to death many times in her inexperience and youth. Her strength waned, day by day that came without rest, just more enemies to kill and earth to smash up in their wake. She didn’t take much notice of the entire War’s status, of what lines had fell and which Gods were battling, nor anyone else. She simply set her eyes straight ahead to a destination she didn’t know.
Nikane fell to Lucivar, the son of Niare the Warrior. She came across the scene after been called for backup, but she hadn’t been quick enough. Lucivar was grinning ear to ear in victory. He didn’t take any notice of Kaliea; she was just a little Daemi bitch. She didn’t try to engage him in battle; it would have been folly, even if he was wounded and tired from the fight, he was a God’s son, and she was just a little girl compared to his experience. Even then, she could calculate that much. She found Nikane sometime after Lucivar had gotten bored of waiting for her to attack. He was staring, open eyed with those hollow, soulless black eyes staring at the clear blue skies above.
He was still alive; taking shallow, fading breaths, blood dripping from his mouth, and pouring from the gaping wound on his stomach. He didn’t say anything, but he never really spoke anyway. She just lay down next to him for a while, and watched the sky with him. He died with a sigh that seemed rather content. Kaliea continued to watch the sky, though, not thinking or wondering or anything. When the sky tinged orange, and the sun was kissing the horizon, she sat up and observed the dead body of the man who had been the closest thing to her father figure. She didn’t feel sad or cold and she didn’t want to cry. Nikane favoured the skull of a fierce animal that invested Azrazel which he’d killed; he was loosely holding onto it, his fingers clamped around the bone that was stronger that stone. He usually wore it as a piece of shoulder armour. Kaliea took it, held onto it for a while, and placed it on top of her head, to the side, before she toddled back off to rejoin the battle.
She killed some more Malaki and a few Metamorphi the next few days. The remaining forces of the third wave she had been in stuck with her in a group; none of them took notice of whether they were winning or losing the war, they just kept on fighting with everything they had. But eventually their time ran out, a specialized group of Malaki, cluttered with two Selaphi and a ten Jegudi met them on the battlefield. Kaliea was the only Zafrire left in her group, with ten Mazzikim and a handful of Shedim. The Selaphi held experience and age over her. One was all they needed for her. The other, along with the Jegudi, took out her group in a fierce battle.
Kaliea herself fought against her opponent with everything she could muster from her very core. She couldn’t disappoint her God, she couldn’t die. The Selaphi was blonde, pretty, with a smiling face; he treated it like a game. Playing with a little vermin girl. Kaliea couldn’t stand it, the mockery. She wanted to smash his face with her fist and break every bone in his body. And she almost did when he miscalculated her. But luck was not on Kaliea’s side that day, and when the Selaphi landed a direct, impossibly harsh hit to her head – even with the protection of the skull armour she had taken from Nikane – she fell a long way into the depths of a strange, eerie darkness.
She didn’t die, that day, nor the next day after. She felt like she did, she felt like there was nothing left but a vast emptiness. But there was also a strange, foreign feeling, something exploding in her head, pounding and scratching and shaking the very foundations of her body. It’s very hard to kill immortals. They’re cockroaches. No matter how many times to stomp on them, they seem always be able to scatter and scamper away. Kaliea was lucky that day. She’d been stomped on, but not gutted. The Selaphi were careless – such righteous, unforgiving creatures wouldn’t have been merciful; they hadn’t checked to see if she was alive, just glanced over the beaten and broken body of a very little girl and ran off to the next battle.
Kaliea survived the Great War by a fragment. She was saved, barely, by the mask she had taken from Nikane. Half of the front side, half of the skull’s teeth, had been broken, and cracked, and lost. She woke up days after, to the sounds of the cleanup crew, dragging bodies onto a heaped pile to be burnt. The war had ended, she realised, in the fog that clouded her, the pain in her head that stabbed her. But it wasn’t their victory. She felt cold, and alone. The presence that had given her the strength and determination to thrive through the War was lost and she could not feel him, not in the blood running through her veins nor to the depths of her bones. He was gone. Sien, the Illusive, God and her Creator, was gone. She could not tell if it was forever, or just a little while, but she felt too cold to have high hopes.
Like a coward, Kaliea fled the fields of death and ran. She ran for a long time, and did not look back. The mindset of a little girl that she had been suppressing since she was told to suck up any tears and be a soldier, leaked out through the cracks and eventually shattered her tough girl act, and she cried. She sobbed and wailed and moaned and ran some more. She was alone, desperately alone and she didn’t know what to do. Sometimes she didn’t want to do anything. She didn’t have to eat, or drink, and sleep was debateable. She wanted to be picked up and comforted and told that everything was just fine. But she never found anyone.
So Kaliea hid herself; she hid herself for a very long time. Somewhere in the very depths of Azrazel, avoiding all other living things and watching, just watching, as everything changed. Nazura became ruins; Daemi verged on the edge of extinction because of the Malaki extermination groups, taking out the possible threats. She changed, herself; she grew older and older, until instinctively, she chose only two forms she once had to switch back between. She matured a lot, during that time, as well. Taught herself the basics and even learned from other non-threatening Daemi she came across. Much later, centuries later, she attended a gathering that one of the very few Zafrire left had called together. But it was pointless to try and recoup, for without their God to keep them together, they were all bitter, sour, ugly creatures who just wanted everything for themselves. The loss of Sien, even after centuries of being gone, had destroyed the semi-peace Daemi had once had, long before. Kaliea found that kind of sad.
More long, long years passed. The Great War seemed so far away in the past. And in truth it was. Kaliea was a Daemi, a strong one and a smart one at that, so she passed through the great age. She didn’t feel the need to start fights with other Daemi, or start rebellions or try to control the rest of the population. She kept a relatively low profile, and eventually, people forgot her. The new generations didn’t even know her. The older ones, possibly, the other three Zafrire still alive, they remembered her. In all the years they were all alive, they might have passed by one another maybe six or seven times. However for the most part, Kaliea became nobody to every one in Azrazel. And she preferred it that way.
Kaliea had a few kids in her day; in all the millennia she’s been alive. She’s either watched them die, or heard of them die, or even killed them herself because they tried to pick off Mummy. She never fully understood why she bothered; why she bothered to actually stop the few that did try to kill her, or why she clung onto life so long, to this very day. There’s only ever been a gut feeling, way down in the pit of her stomach, to survive. To bite and kick and throw herself through the ages, to overcome time and live, live for as long as she damn well can. Maybe it’s because she does have some kind of hope for the future, and has an instinctive feel to wait, and hold on for something. But she hasn’t got anything better to do, so she listens to her gut and she refuses to die. She lives and watches… and waits.
FACE CLAIM,
Neliel Tu'Oderschvank from Bleach. Chosen for the over all character appearance. She's not dainty or fragile looking, and has a toned looking body that would be likely belong to a Daemi that has a hell of a lot of strength. Nel is also just super sexy and, when she's a kid, cute.
TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF,
My name's Allie, but you might know that. I think I'm thirty years old, but my birth certificate tells me I'm actually fifteen. I like beer, vodka and sometimes rum if I can stomach it. I'm on the computer too much, and I love graphic design and writing, reading, Supernatural. Typical nerdy, geeky stuff.
WHAT IS PRELUDE?
It's a complete load of crap with a shoddy timeline and errors throughout the site, created by some lazy loser. But she loves it. And some other people seem too, as well. So let's all live it up while we can.
EXTRA INFO,
I like you.
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