![Braeden ]] Avatar](http://storage.proboards.com/forum/images/defaultavatar.png){kind=avatar}
Post by Braeden ]] on May 10, 2008 20:49:06 GMT -5
Basic Information ]]
First Name ;; Braeden
Middle Name ;; Gavyn
Last Name ;; Jovani-Easton
Age ;; 386 (18)
Birthday ;; May 18, 1622
Eye Color ;; Hazel
Hair Color ;; Black
Weight ;; 155
Height ;; 6' 3"
Lineage Information ]]
Species ;; Vampire X Shape Shifter
Originally From ;; Spain
Fluent In ;; Spanish, English
Parents ;; Unknown
Siblings ;; None
Inner Information ]]
Personality ;;
Braeden is a very solitary person, he prefers lounging in a comfortable place with a good book, or wandering at odd times of the night over meeting and being with others. He doesn’t like getting close to other people, for reasons of his past, so therefore he can sometimes be rude to those who try and get close to him. All in all he is usually a fairly quiet person, an unsolved mystery to all those around him. It’s best to stay away from this beast though, he is nothing but a malicious killer. His past has left his heart hardened with ice, he no longer cares about anything; including himself.
Likes ;;
- Wandering at night
- Animals
- Hunting and Blood
- Being alone
- Reading
- Playing the guitar/singing
Hates ;;
- Humans
- Monotonous people
- Human food
- His birthday
- Being in the sunlight
- Getting close to people
Bad Habits ;;
- Lying about things he doesn't wish to speak of
- Being unable to control his hunger at times
- Purposely avoiding becoming friends with another
Fears ;;
- Letting another get to know the real person beneath
- Walking down hallways
Strengths ;;
- Enhanced senses
- Expeditious speed
- Potent strength
- Mystical charm
Weaknesses ;;
- Constant solitary has left his social skills slightly damaged
- He always states his opinion which usually gets him in trouble
- He judges too quickly
Background Information ]]
History ;;
Braeden Gavyn Jovani-Easton was born May 18, 1622 at 11: 46pm. His father was a pure Hispanic male, his mother a mix of Caucasian and Swedish. His devoted parents raised him for the first years of his existence; and there wasn’t a single problem in his life. Though of course, as all good things… this had to end. It was a lovely morning, the cool zephyr drifted from his slightly open window awakening him. A couple birds chirped in the distance, their melody echoing in his wooden room. He sleepily pulled the covers from his body and made his way out of his bed, a smile already sitting upon his jaunty facials. The day of his eighth birthday. All the treasures and wonders he assumed would be waiting for him made his stomach turn with excitement, adolescent energy coursing through his veins. Scurrying to the door he turned the brass knob and flung it open, meandering into the main room of their small homestead. He had only taken a few steps down the diminutive hallway, though he could already tell there was something wrong. Chairs were upturned; things scattered across the entire house, and papers were everywhere. Adrenaline replaced the earlier excitement, his heart thumping cruelly in his ribcage. Unthinkingly his locomotion reciprocated into a sprint down the short hallway, rounding the corner with record speed. Never before had his little legs carried him so expeditiously. As he turned he nearly fell to the ground in convulsion, his movements sliding to an abrupt halt. Before his young eyes were the bodies of his loving parents, their clothing stained in blood, a brutal attack. At first he stood there wide eyed, unable to move, to blink, to think, to breathe. His heart caught in his throat, and after a minute of utterly overwhelmed and appalled silence his plump lappets spread while a timorous shriek escaped his larynx.
He didn’t know what to do; his first instinct was to go try and help, though the exanimate gaze of his mother never left his scrutiny, he knew there was no helping anything now. The odor flooded his nostrils, he couldn’t stand the scent. Suddenly his wobbly legs gave out and he fell to the ground. Puke ran up his esophagus and unwillingly leaked out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long he had been puking, though it covered every inch of his frame. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull himself up from the ground, and even more to turn and leave. He failed. Breaking into a sob he turned on his heels and ran back toward his parents, collapsing upon his deceased mother. Tears ran promptly down his cheeks though he was unable to stop. He pressed his shivering body against that of his mothers, her sanguine fluid soaking his clothes. He turned to look at his father, reaching helplessly toward him and grabbing his hand. “Get up!” His weakened baritones were meant to be a clamored bellow, though it was in all reality nothing above a mere whisper. He dropped his father’s hand, lids tediously fluttered shut over his hazel chasms, his cerebrum shaking from side to side. He buried his face in his mothers blood soaked top, the chain of her necklace scratching the side of his cheek. Slowly he opened his eyes, attempting to avoid the unadorned gaze of his mother, he couldn’t bare it. Trembling fingers began to reach gently toward her neck, grabbing the necklace carefully and unclipping it from her frigid flesh. He gripped it protectively as he rose his zenith languidly, his cracked lips pressing delicately upon his mother’s cheek. A soft whimper liberated his gullet, causing a cough to rattle his chords, tears continuing to stream down his semblance. Doddering willowy crawled toward his father, toppling at his side. He laid his head on his fathers chest, senile hands grabbing the arm he had earlier taken a hold of and wrapping it around his own body. He lay there for a few minutes, his stomach clenching in pain from the mixed smells of blood, puke, and death. Again he used all the potency his little body could manage and lifted himself from the premise. He couldn’t help but allow his gaze to wander to his mother’s callous stare, locking upon it brokenheartedly. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears that still ran from his oculus, he couldn’t stop himself from crying anyway. Looking down to the necklace still held in his hands he turned and left the house and family that was his life. That was the day his heart died.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been running, he knew he hadn’t stopped for a breath since his left the confinements of his home. He couldn’t recognize anything around him, not as though he had to worry about getting lost; he didn’t have anywhere to go. He soon began to find it difficult to continue forward, his legs barely able to support his weight. He saw a house a little ways down the road, though this was not what caught his eyes. Aside the house was a small shed, he could stay there for the night. He forced himself forward, only slowing when the house was just right ahead. Skillfully sneaking through the lawn and toward the shed. Upon reaching it his crimson soiled paws gripped the door, partially bewildered to find it unlocked, he had lucked out. It was caliginous inside, even more so as he walked within it and cautiously shut the door. It was shallower inside then it had looked from the outside, but it was a refuge, he wouldn’t complain. He found a comfortable enough spot lying across a wooden box he didn’t dare open and he lay there until sundown, shivering, and cold; he cried himself to sleep.
Voices came from outside the thin door, he stirred awake instantly. Fuzzy hued vision cleared as he awoke more, forcing himself to do so. Footsteps were heard, seemingly coming in the direction of his ‘home’ for the night. Panicking he rolled off the box and hid behind it, crouching down as low as he could possibly accomplish. He held his breath as the door was opened, light seeping into the dusky storehouse. He could distinguish a man and woman’s voice, and the woman was the first to notice him. A startled gasp was perceived as the female stranger rushed into the room. He began to tremble as the matron slid the box aside, staring mutely at him. She extended a hand and he recoiled at the touch, whimpering as he did so. The lady turned toward her spouse who stood emotionlessly at the door. “Look at him…” Her voice was a near plead as she averted her gaze from her husband back to the boy. Indeed Braeden was not looking his best at the moment. Black hair was tousled and caked with blood and sweat. Clothes were damp and alike his hair immersed with perspiration and hemoglobin. His mother’s necklace was now around his neck, he had dropped it in the middle of the night and entered a ferocious wailing frenzy. He had vowed from then on as he placed it around his neck never to remove it. Dirt was coated on nearly every measurement of his body where blood wasn’t. The male merely gruffed to the ladies words and turned to walk away, he obviously wasn’t as enthralled as her in this entire situation. “Come on love.” She cooed, though he was still reluctant. After hours of talking and prodding the female had finally gotten him to come with her from the shed and into the house.
He stayed with the couple, now known as Sophia and Andrew for the remainder of his youth; though the years were hell. Andrew hadn’t ever liked Braeden, not when they first met, and not at all through the series of years he lived with them. In fact, when Sophia wasn’t around or sleeping a drunken Andrew would come into his room and beat him mercilessly. Smart he was though, never making a mark where clothes wouldn’t cover. There were a couple cases were Andrew had broken a rib or two, however these were suffered through untreated as though they weren’t there. Braeden had grown to form a rather competent bond with the lass demystified as Sophia; she was the mother he wished he still had. Oh how inclined he was to tell her of Andrew, though he was too afraid to try, too intimidated to even attempt it. So he held it inside, the anguish, the desolation, and the ill treatment. He cried himself to sleep every night clutching the necklace around his throat.
Then came the day, another birthday. This was the year that Braeden was to turn 18. Sophia had been ranting of this day for weeks now, apparently it was suppose to be a big deal. He was a man now. He had never liked birthdays since that one fateful forenoon, and dreaded the event each time it came around. He wanted to tell Sophia not to do anything each year so badly, but she was always so excited; he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She had done so much for him and he wouldn’t ruin this for her. He sat up in bed groggily, his hands reaching up and rubbing his chasms half-heartedly. Pulling the covers off his now immense and well-muscled physique he opened the drawer aside his bed, threw on a shirt and a pair of pants and made his way out to the main room. He moved slowly down the hallway, flashbacks of creeping down his house’s hallway as a child flooding his mind. A paw absentmindedly gripped his mother’s necklace, pain easily showing itself upon his handsome countenance… ten years later and each day was harder then the next. As he came closer and closer to the primary chamber of the residence a familiar scent arose within his nasal passages. His hair immediately stood on its ends as his arms fell to their sides, his heart pounding cacophonously. Blood, and lots’ of it. His body jolted forward, lower ligaments maneuvering into a sprint. He turned the corner of the hallway and fell to his knees in despair, one look and he was anesthetized. Right before his eyes was the mangled body of the only person he had ever considered a friend since his life ended ten years ago. She knew of everything, he had told her all, and now right before him was the reenacted scene. He lay powerlessly on the floor, curling into a ball as he clutched his knee’s morosely. He couldn’t recall how long he was lying there shrieking but little did he know his problems were just beginning. A manacle laugh thundered behind him, and reluctantly Braeden turned to face the one person left in his life, oh how he loathed him. “She threatened to take you and leave me.” His depraved words cackled through a smile. “Get up weakling, fight me like the man she kept telling me you are becoming.” He was inebriated again, Braeden cold smell the rankness of his breath from feet away. However, no matter the threat he couldn’t help but continue to lie there. “Máteme, kill me.” Braeden’s words were choked, it was harder to speak then he thought. He doesn’t remember much past that moment aside from feeling his body being tackled and numerous hits to every place imaginable. However blackness promptly took over his vision, and he gradually drifted out of consciousness.
His lids tediously fluttered open as he tried to sit up, an awkward sensation filling his willowy. Pain coursed through his body, starting from the left side of his neck and down. Contiguously his hand lifted to his pained spot, a wound covering the entire side of his jugular area. He shuddered lightly, his hand was ice cold; in fact his entire body was. Though this was not the reason for the shiver. Wide-eyed he lifted himself from the loam, with more ease than it had taken earlier to sit up. He hadn’t taken a breath since he had woken, and soon figured out he didn’t need to. Forcing himself to inhale the more prominent fragrance of blood seeped into his carcass, but it now drove his insides to clench from hunger instead of pain. He didn’t understand, and little did he know it would take him but two days to figure it out.
He left the house, finding it rather laborious to ignore the smell of dried gore. Astonished to find it was past night he comfortably slid within the shadows, becoming the monster he’d never known existed. That was the day his heart stopped.
[[picture in siggy]]
First Name ;; Braeden
Middle Name ;; Gavyn
Last Name ;; Jovani-Easton
Age ;; 386 (18)
Birthday ;; May 18, 1622
Eye Color ;; Hazel
Hair Color ;; Black
Weight ;; 155
Height ;; 6' 3"
Lineage Information ]]
Species ;; Vampire X Shape Shifter
Originally From ;; Spain
Fluent In ;; Spanish, English
Parents ;; Unknown
Siblings ;; None
Inner Information ]]
Personality ;;
Braeden is a very solitary person, he prefers lounging in a comfortable place with a good book, or wandering at odd times of the night over meeting and being with others. He doesn’t like getting close to other people, for reasons of his past, so therefore he can sometimes be rude to those who try and get close to him. All in all he is usually a fairly quiet person, an unsolved mystery to all those around him. It’s best to stay away from this beast though, he is nothing but a malicious killer. His past has left his heart hardened with ice, he no longer cares about anything; including himself.
Likes ;;
- Wandering at night
- Animals
- Hunting and Blood
- Being alone
- Reading
- Playing the guitar/singing
Hates ;;
- Humans
- Monotonous people
- Human food
- His birthday
- Being in the sunlight
- Getting close to people
Bad Habits ;;
- Lying about things he doesn't wish to speak of
- Being unable to control his hunger at times
- Purposely avoiding becoming friends with another
Fears ;;
- Letting another get to know the real person beneath
- Walking down hallways
Strengths ;;
- Enhanced senses
- Expeditious speed
- Potent strength
- Mystical charm
Weaknesses ;;
- Constant solitary has left his social skills slightly damaged
- He always states his opinion which usually gets him in trouble
- He judges too quickly
Background Information ]]
History ;;
Braeden Gavyn Jovani-Easton was born May 18, 1622 at 11: 46pm. His father was a pure Hispanic male, his mother a mix of Caucasian and Swedish. His devoted parents raised him for the first years of his existence; and there wasn’t a single problem in his life. Though of course, as all good things… this had to end. It was a lovely morning, the cool zephyr drifted from his slightly open window awakening him. A couple birds chirped in the distance, their melody echoing in his wooden room. He sleepily pulled the covers from his body and made his way out of his bed, a smile already sitting upon his jaunty facials. The day of his eighth birthday. All the treasures and wonders he assumed would be waiting for him made his stomach turn with excitement, adolescent energy coursing through his veins. Scurrying to the door he turned the brass knob and flung it open, meandering into the main room of their small homestead. He had only taken a few steps down the diminutive hallway, though he could already tell there was something wrong. Chairs were upturned; things scattered across the entire house, and papers were everywhere. Adrenaline replaced the earlier excitement, his heart thumping cruelly in his ribcage. Unthinkingly his locomotion reciprocated into a sprint down the short hallway, rounding the corner with record speed. Never before had his little legs carried him so expeditiously. As he turned he nearly fell to the ground in convulsion, his movements sliding to an abrupt halt. Before his young eyes were the bodies of his loving parents, their clothing stained in blood, a brutal attack. At first he stood there wide eyed, unable to move, to blink, to think, to breathe. His heart caught in his throat, and after a minute of utterly overwhelmed and appalled silence his plump lappets spread while a timorous shriek escaped his larynx.
He didn’t know what to do; his first instinct was to go try and help, though the exanimate gaze of his mother never left his scrutiny, he knew there was no helping anything now. The odor flooded his nostrils, he couldn’t stand the scent. Suddenly his wobbly legs gave out and he fell to the ground. Puke ran up his esophagus and unwillingly leaked out of his mouth. He wasn’t sure how long he had been puking, though it covered every inch of his frame. It took every ounce of strength he had to pull himself up from the ground, and even more to turn and leave. He failed. Breaking into a sob he turned on his heels and ran back toward his parents, collapsing upon his deceased mother. Tears ran promptly down his cheeks though he was unable to stop. He pressed his shivering body against that of his mothers, her sanguine fluid soaking his clothes. He turned to look at his father, reaching helplessly toward him and grabbing his hand. “Get up!” His weakened baritones were meant to be a clamored bellow, though it was in all reality nothing above a mere whisper. He dropped his father’s hand, lids tediously fluttered shut over his hazel chasms, his cerebrum shaking from side to side. He buried his face in his mothers blood soaked top, the chain of her necklace scratching the side of his cheek. Slowly he opened his eyes, attempting to avoid the unadorned gaze of his mother, he couldn’t bare it. Trembling fingers began to reach gently toward her neck, grabbing the necklace carefully and unclipping it from her frigid flesh. He gripped it protectively as he rose his zenith languidly, his cracked lips pressing delicately upon his mother’s cheek. A soft whimper liberated his gullet, causing a cough to rattle his chords, tears continuing to stream down his semblance. Doddering willowy crawled toward his father, toppling at his side. He laid his head on his fathers chest, senile hands grabbing the arm he had earlier taken a hold of and wrapping it around his own body. He lay there for a few minutes, his stomach clenching in pain from the mixed smells of blood, puke, and death. Again he used all the potency his little body could manage and lifted himself from the premise. He couldn’t help but allow his gaze to wander to his mother’s callous stare, locking upon it brokenheartedly. He didn’t bother to wipe the tears that still ran from his oculus, he couldn’t stop himself from crying anyway. Looking down to the necklace still held in his hands he turned and left the house and family that was his life. That was the day his heart died.
He wasn’t sure how long he had been running, he knew he hadn’t stopped for a breath since his left the confinements of his home. He couldn’t recognize anything around him, not as though he had to worry about getting lost; he didn’t have anywhere to go. He soon began to find it difficult to continue forward, his legs barely able to support his weight. He saw a house a little ways down the road, though this was not what caught his eyes. Aside the house was a small shed, he could stay there for the night. He forced himself forward, only slowing when the house was just right ahead. Skillfully sneaking through the lawn and toward the shed. Upon reaching it his crimson soiled paws gripped the door, partially bewildered to find it unlocked, he had lucked out. It was caliginous inside, even more so as he walked within it and cautiously shut the door. It was shallower inside then it had looked from the outside, but it was a refuge, he wouldn’t complain. He found a comfortable enough spot lying across a wooden box he didn’t dare open and he lay there until sundown, shivering, and cold; he cried himself to sleep.
Voices came from outside the thin door, he stirred awake instantly. Fuzzy hued vision cleared as he awoke more, forcing himself to do so. Footsteps were heard, seemingly coming in the direction of his ‘home’ for the night. Panicking he rolled off the box and hid behind it, crouching down as low as he could possibly accomplish. He held his breath as the door was opened, light seeping into the dusky storehouse. He could distinguish a man and woman’s voice, and the woman was the first to notice him. A startled gasp was perceived as the female stranger rushed into the room. He began to tremble as the matron slid the box aside, staring mutely at him. She extended a hand and he recoiled at the touch, whimpering as he did so. The lady turned toward her spouse who stood emotionlessly at the door. “Look at him…” Her voice was a near plead as she averted her gaze from her husband back to the boy. Indeed Braeden was not looking his best at the moment. Black hair was tousled and caked with blood and sweat. Clothes were damp and alike his hair immersed with perspiration and hemoglobin. His mother’s necklace was now around his neck, he had dropped it in the middle of the night and entered a ferocious wailing frenzy. He had vowed from then on as he placed it around his neck never to remove it. Dirt was coated on nearly every measurement of his body where blood wasn’t. The male merely gruffed to the ladies words and turned to walk away, he obviously wasn’t as enthralled as her in this entire situation. “Come on love.” She cooed, though he was still reluctant. After hours of talking and prodding the female had finally gotten him to come with her from the shed and into the house.
He stayed with the couple, now known as Sophia and Andrew for the remainder of his youth; though the years were hell. Andrew hadn’t ever liked Braeden, not when they first met, and not at all through the series of years he lived with them. In fact, when Sophia wasn’t around or sleeping a drunken Andrew would come into his room and beat him mercilessly. Smart he was though, never making a mark where clothes wouldn’t cover. There were a couple cases were Andrew had broken a rib or two, however these were suffered through untreated as though they weren’t there. Braeden had grown to form a rather competent bond with the lass demystified as Sophia; she was the mother he wished he still had. Oh how inclined he was to tell her of Andrew, though he was too afraid to try, too intimidated to even attempt it. So he held it inside, the anguish, the desolation, and the ill treatment. He cried himself to sleep every night clutching the necklace around his throat.
Then came the day, another birthday. This was the year that Braeden was to turn 18. Sophia had been ranting of this day for weeks now, apparently it was suppose to be a big deal. He was a man now. He had never liked birthdays since that one fateful forenoon, and dreaded the event each time it came around. He wanted to tell Sophia not to do anything each year so badly, but she was always so excited; he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She had done so much for him and he wouldn’t ruin this for her. He sat up in bed groggily, his hands reaching up and rubbing his chasms half-heartedly. Pulling the covers off his now immense and well-muscled physique he opened the drawer aside his bed, threw on a shirt and a pair of pants and made his way out to the main room. He moved slowly down the hallway, flashbacks of creeping down his house’s hallway as a child flooding his mind. A paw absentmindedly gripped his mother’s necklace, pain easily showing itself upon his handsome countenance… ten years later and each day was harder then the next. As he came closer and closer to the primary chamber of the residence a familiar scent arose within his nasal passages. His hair immediately stood on its ends as his arms fell to their sides, his heart pounding cacophonously. Blood, and lots’ of it. His body jolted forward, lower ligaments maneuvering into a sprint. He turned the corner of the hallway and fell to his knees in despair, one look and he was anesthetized. Right before his eyes was the mangled body of the only person he had ever considered a friend since his life ended ten years ago. She knew of everything, he had told her all, and now right before him was the reenacted scene. He lay powerlessly on the floor, curling into a ball as he clutched his knee’s morosely. He couldn’t recall how long he was lying there shrieking but little did he know his problems were just beginning. A manacle laugh thundered behind him, and reluctantly Braeden turned to face the one person left in his life, oh how he loathed him. “She threatened to take you and leave me.” His depraved words cackled through a smile. “Get up weakling, fight me like the man she kept telling me you are becoming.” He was inebriated again, Braeden cold smell the rankness of his breath from feet away. However, no matter the threat he couldn’t help but continue to lie there. “Máteme, kill me.” Braeden’s words were choked, it was harder to speak then he thought. He doesn’t remember much past that moment aside from feeling his body being tackled and numerous hits to every place imaginable. However blackness promptly took over his vision, and he gradually drifted out of consciousness.
His lids tediously fluttered open as he tried to sit up, an awkward sensation filling his willowy. Pain coursed through his body, starting from the left side of his neck and down. Contiguously his hand lifted to his pained spot, a wound covering the entire side of his jugular area. He shuddered lightly, his hand was ice cold; in fact his entire body was. Though this was not the reason for the shiver. Wide-eyed he lifted himself from the loam, with more ease than it had taken earlier to sit up. He hadn’t taken a breath since he had woken, and soon figured out he didn’t need to. Forcing himself to inhale the more prominent fragrance of blood seeped into his carcass, but it now drove his insides to clench from hunger instead of pain. He didn’t understand, and little did he know it would take him but two days to figure it out.
He left the house, finding it rather laborious to ignore the smell of dried gore. Astonished to find it was past night he comfortably slid within the shadows, becoming the monster he’d never known existed. That was the day his heart stopped.
[[picture in siggy]]
