Post by JONATHAN MORGENSTERN on Feb 19, 2010 17:19:57 GMT -5
the one i wish i knew!
[/size][/center]your name; Kye
your age; Twenty
your activity levels; Pretty decent on weekends, not so great mon-thurs most likely. College sucks =P
your rp level; Haven’t RPed for months buuut decent.
the one i know!
[/center]characters name; Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern (Sebastian Verlac)
nicknames; Try it and you’re dead.
characters age; Eighteen
grade; He was home schooled by the best, any other educational facility is unnecessary.
species; Shadow Hunter w/ demon’s blood/Nephilim
celeb/face claim; Guillaume Varki
picture;
appearance;
Jonathan resembles his father in most ways, from his lightly colored hair and dark eyes to his fit physique and style of dress. When born he was said to have pitch black, soulless eyes etched into his skull that are symbolic of the demons blood running through his veins. It is an almost clear indicator that something isn’t right about him and for others to stay away for their own safety. That may be the case but if one were ever granted a closer look into those dark depths they’d see that his iris is more of a black coffee specked with amber contained in an even darker lining. His dark eyes are laced with lightly colored feathered lashes that cast long shadows over his strong cheekbones whenever he looks down. More often than not they have a malicious and mischievous intent behind them or look simply harsh and unkind. They are eyes filled with an inner turmoil he’d never admit to possessing, dark secrets to be shared with no one and a sadness he isn’t even aware of.
In contrast to the utter darkness of his eyes, his hair is a shock of pale blonde just before the point of being an unreal platinum. Normally its worn in a neat fashion, cut so that it tickles his ears and the base of his neck. There is hardly ever a moment where a hair is out of place on his head, save for those times where he’s just woken up or just doesn’t give a damn because naturally he’ll always look good. There are occasions where his hair will be dyed a black matching that of his eyes. It’s during those times when he’s attempting to not stand out that his black hair looks wrong and too different matched with his too pale skin. He has very strong and handsome facial features that can be a bit misleading, letting a person believe him to be perfectly trustworthy and friendly. A pearly white smile accompanied by a boyish grin normally graces his features (when in the company of those easily fooled) and adds to shield of charisma he possesses. However, even when he’s pretending there is an underlying hint of danger to him that just screams “bad boy, avoid at all costs”. It doesn’t matter how well his act is, even he manages to slip in the slightest ways whether it be the flash of hatred for most things in his eyes, the twitching of his strong jaw or clenching of his fists.
Like all Shadowhunters he has an intricate pattern of light, silvery scars decorating nearly every inch of visible skin at all times. They intertwine across the length of his lightly muscled biceps and forearms, back, thighs and chest but stop just short of his collar bone. The signs of a mutilation of his body meant to serve and protect him when necessary, traces of what he is that can never be hidden. He wears the marks proudly, barely hiding them beneath open leather vests or nearly translucent white collared button downs. The majority of his wardrobe consists of dark colors (grays, blacks, blues and burgundy) with a bit of white thrown into the mixture. He’s about six feet two inches tall with a wiry physique, he has strong broad shoulders and abs cut nicely into his abdomen. He’s long and lean with light muscle in the appropriate places and is clearly cut and fit. In the center of his back is a starburst shaped scar, still reddish and etched deep into his back. It’s the only evidence left that he’d ever been stabbed there and is currently his only Achilles heel.
personality;
A r r o g a n t && S a d i s t i c }}
Although it is likely a cause of his upbringing the arrogance comes almost too naturally to him and is perhaps one of his most genuine qualities. He carries himself with air of importance and it is obvious in his manner of speaking that he thinks himself better than those around him. It is also in his nature to be the sadistic bastard that he his, however that’s mostly due to the demonic traits he picked up in his mother’s womb. He finds the greatest amusement in the grief and suffering of others or through horrible acts like drawing blood in the most sensitive of places or causing pain until it is unbearable but the victim is still conscious. It’s all in good fun in his opinion.
A m o r a l && V i n d i c t i v e }}
“Good morals” isn’t a phrase that can be found in Jonathan’s vocabulary simply because he hasn‘t a single sense of morality. Despite his father’s clear distinction between what was wrong or right based on his personal beliefs, his son never adopted that quality. The young man only sees the world in black and white, where he’s right and everything/everyone else’s opinions are of no importance. Where his father would give people the chance to surrender or join him, Jonathan would prefer to do things his way. He would rather rid the world of all the Shadowhunter trash that betrayed his father, all those who side foolishly with the Clave. Instead of granting them a moments hesitation on his part, he’d strip their choice and end any and all Nephilim life at present to start anew with a fresh generation of Shadowhunter who would follow his ways. Truthfully he wishes nothing more than to cause the current generation pain and suffering for his own amusement, and show them something worse than death in memory of a true Shadowhunter -- Valentine Morgenstern.
C h a r i s m a t i c && D e c i e t f u l }}
Because what bad ass isn’t dubious beyond reason? The man uses whatever means necessary -- be it his wit, abundance of charm or simply his excelled skills as a Shadowhunter -- to gain what he wants. Conniving would be a perfect word to describe him in this case. Every move he makes is calculated and predetermined in order for him to get the required outcome. For this reason he has no friends, but many allies, acquaintances and tools that he keeps around for the sole purpose of aiding him in his endeavors when necessary. Concrete tools aren’t his only means of weapons, he makes good use of his natural, but mostly feigned charisma and limitless skills of persuasion. Smooth words and a captivating smile are perhaps the most dangerous tools given to mankind. But don’t be fooled no matter how convincing or enchanting his words may seem, he wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of you if it suited his cause.
M i s u n d e r s t o o d && L o n e l y }}
Valentine was the only person who truly understood and loved Jonathan for what he was and accepted him as such despite all his faults (seeing as they were all his father’s to blame). And as such his father was the only one who’d ever been there for him and the only one he’d ever learned to love to the smallest of degrees. It was an easily noticeable thing to anyone who saw him when he stood next to his father. But it was more of an admiration and vying for his attention than full-blown genuine love on his part. Even still (although he wouldn’t admit to this or realize it himself) he needs that minor connection with someone so once he lost his father a nearly non-existent portion of his mind spiraled into loneliness. There isn’t anyone in his life at present who holds any true importance to him, not a single person that matters enough to tame any part of him as Valentine’s love for him once had. And truth to be told he isn’t out looking for anyone to understand or love him (at least that’s what he’ll claim). It is a concept he doesn’t completely understand or care for, one he sees as another tool to weaken the mind and make one forget their true purpose in life. A silly thing that diverts a person from their goals and causes them to act foolishly in the name of another being. It is an utterly unnecessary waste of time and thought.Though certainly there’s someone who change his view on that aspect of life.
I m p a t i e n t && T e m p e r a m e n t a l }}
As seen on several occasions Jonathan has very little patience and a low tolerance for anything standing in his way. Instead of waiting for the best moments he chooses to strike when it feels right to him, not wanting to wait the extra measly five minutes that can have a major effect on the outcome of something. Although he is more of into taking action than thinking too deeply he’s getting better at doing both when called for. Unlike his impatience, his flashes of anger are a rare side of him that aren’t easy to uncover. Jonathan shows scarce to no emotion save for when its false, leaving most to believe the face he wears is simply a mask to prove his own cold heartedness and self belief in his own invincibility. It’s either that or he’s more vulnerable than he’s letting on. Regardless he’ll only show minor sparks of irritation or rage in the twitch of his lips or a brief flash of his eyes. It doesn’t last long before he returns to his sarcastic, cruel taunts and placid smirk as if he weren‘t phased in the slightest. It isn’t until he’s truly outraged that he may shout a string of obscenities and show an even darker side.
history;
Instead of having a normal birth and childhood like most children, Jonathan was doomed to a life of torture and sin from the beginning.
Valentine Morgenstern was a fierce warrior determined to achieve all his goals through whatever means necessary. Even if that meant experimenting on his own family and potentially causing harm to his unborn son. While Jonathan was still gaining nourishment in his mother’s womb, his father secretly poisoned his wife‘s (Jocelyn) meals with demon‘s blood. The demonic property of the blood was meant to strengthen the boy in his early stages of life, cause him to become one of the most powerful Shadowhunters known to existence -- a new breed of warrior if you will. Unfortunately it had greatly exceeding Valentine’s expectations.
The boy was born in early December with the name Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. And he was born evil. At least that’s what Jocelyn thought when she first laid eyes on her newborn and took in his inhuman, black as the empty space eyes. It was obvious to her that her baby boy was different from other children, he was far too silent and a dark aura seemed to exude from him. Naturally Valentine told her it was all in her imagination, that she was sick. It wasn’t until later when she thought she’d heard her usually deadly silent baby crying out that she discovered what was truly wrong with him. Discovered the caged demonic creatures hidden in the basement hanging on to a thread of life; the notes revealing all his secrets over the past few months to her. Discovered that her child was actually a monster tainted with the blood of a demon by none other than her husband.
It was close to a year later when the Uprising finally sprang into action after months of gathering followers and plotting. However it wasn’t to be carried out as planned due to an interference by Jocelyn and her dear lycanthrope friend Lucian. Valentine knew of the betrayal and jumped into action before hand, taking his son to another home near Lake Lyn. In turn he burned down the home he and Jocelyn had lived in, taking the lives of her parents in the fire, and throwing in the bones of Michael Wayland and his child to fool any who happened across the charred bodies into thinking that he and Jonathan had died in the fire as well. For years Jocelyn and everyone else had thought just that.
---
Jonathan grew up in the house by the lake in Idris, quite often being left alone while Valentine went to see his “other son”. He knew as much as he needed to about the other boy -- Jace Wayland, whom he’d never met at the time -- for his father rarely if ever lied to him. His existence was of no consequence to him though, it didn’t affect his upbringing or the useful skills he was taught. From a very young age he was taught how to fight like a true Shadowhunter and thanks to the demon’s blood flowing so freely through his bloodstream he excelled at it. He was the perfect little warrior, stronger than any other before him, faster and more intelligent. He was taught the art and style of various weapons, how to decapitate a man with one flick of the wrist and a sharpened weapon. He learned the most tender, vital breaking points of the human body and how to push each to the edge without letting them go completely over. The older he got the closer he was to being invincible, he had an abundance of knowledge in skill and most every aspect of the Nephilim. However, Valentine regrettably noticed that there was one thing he lacked in, something that couldn‘t be taught. Emotion.
Without even realizing it Valentine had created an abomination, a half-demon creature parading around as an innocent child. The boy was cruel, careless, amoral in every way and damn well inhumane. Very rarely did Jonathan ever showcase affection for anything, display a care for anyone other than himself (and his father). It was as though all the good natured qualities of a typical person had skipped gleefully over him and left him with all the bad baggage. His only hope was to make his father proud of him by helping him accomplish his goals and leaving a trail of pestering dead bodies in his wake.
It seemed that the older he got the worse he became.
---
There weren’t many who knew that Jonathan was still alive, save for Valentine and Hodge. As such it was an easy task for him to play the role of a spy to suit his father’s purposes. He killed the cousin of a rich French Nephilim family, a Shadowhunter named Sebastian Verlac, then dyed his originally silvery blonde hair black and took on his identity. While playing his role he met the girl who he knew was his younger sister -- Clarissa Fray -- and (again for his father’s purposes and his own sick fun) developed a small, entirely phony and brief thing with her. In the end it amounted to nothing seeing as it didn’t gain her trust or assistance, and quite frankly he didn’t give a damn or think she was worth the trouble anyway.
While assuming the boys identity he murdered both Max Lightwood and Hodge Starkweather before being found out for the sham he was. It wasn’t until later after he fled that he got what was coming to him (as far as everyone else was concerned). The battle between the Valentine and the Clave and the Downworlders was nearing, and he was left with the simple task of unleashing his and his father’s demon forces at midnight. Before that time came however Jace found him and the two got into a fight. It was clear that Jonathan had the upper hand the entire match, but he allowed himself to be distracted when Isabel Lightwood severed his hand. It was at that moment when he proceeded to kick and whip the life out of her that Jace managed to approach him from behind and stab him through the back, breaking his spine and piercing his heart supposedly leaving him for dead.
Jonathan’s unconscious, broken and bleeding body was washed away down the river and to another part of Idris some distance away. It hadn’t taken very long for someone to notice that half dead boy caught amongst a tangle of branches and a cluster of rocks. The Shadowhunter who’d found him knew nothing of who he was and as such half dragged half carried him back to their home. There he was treated as any Nephilim would be treated, iratzes were drawn onto his skin, etc. If it weren’t for the demon’s blood in his veins and the healing/mending runes so hastily etched into his skin he likely would have died within moments of being stabbed. Thankfully the strong blood in him kept his heart pumping and even worked to strengthen his spinal cord. Even still after that little fiasco that point in his back is a dangerous weak spot for him and the most insignificant of pricks to it can render him immobile for some time. Because of this you’ll hardly see him putting his back to anyone for any reason, especially during a fight. He’s more on guard than ever now.
Under the careful watch and care of his “rescuer” he regained full health within a week. Upon awakening he had no knowledge of his father’s failure and thought only to rejoin him and kill his savior should she get in his way of leaving -- which she did. After she told him of the Clave’s victory in the battle it took all the self control he had not to kill her and everyone else in the vicinity, then storm off to Alicante and reign hell on all those self righteous bastards. However with his father now gone he couldn’t just jump carelessly into action as he usually might. No, he’d have to sit back, plot and calculate his every move before officially making them. Screw ups weren’t allowed anymore.
Instead of killing the girl he chose to charm her and gain her trust and assistance. With her help (and others most likely) he’d eventually create a new regime. He had a pretty huge goal and it would take many small steps to reach it. But where his father had failed he would be sure to succeed. And numero uno on his to-do list? Murder Jace Wayland, the false brother who likely had a hand (if not both) in the murder of Valentine. He was extremely doubtful, but if not that troublesome, always interfering, good for nothing angel boy then who? Regardless the blame has to be put somewhere and who better to pin it on than the person he hates most.
sexual preferance; Heterosexual
family;
Grandparents (on Jocelyn‘s side) - Deceased
Valentine Morgenstern - Deceased - Father
Jocelyn Fairchild - 42 - Mother
Clarissa Fray - Seventeen - Sister
Jace Wayland - Seventeen - “Adoptive” Brother
pets; Those who choose to follow him
those random skills!
rp sample;[/size]Jun 20, 2009 4:18:17 GMT -5 @valentine said:
when there ain't nowhere you can go
(RUNNING AWAY FROM PAIN)
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
A low, horrible sound emitted from the murky greenish brown waters of Styx. Bubbles formed, swelling up to medium size before bursting and releasing what sounded like a chorus of distorted cries. Multiple thick and slow voices dragging in an effort to be heard. Not much could be understood, for it sounded as though burning blood or some vile liquid might be scorching their insides or clogging their throats and in turn causing a horrifying guttural noise. If one listened closely enough if was obvious what the voices set out to do, it was an endless, grotesque parody of a hymn. The music of those having fallen victim to the sin of wrath ringing evermore from beneath the waters, the only company -- besides a silent ferryman -- to those traveling through the foul smelling river shrouded in constricting fog and mist.
The angel never could get over the stench of Styx, no matter how many times he traveled in the ferry, arms crossed tightly against his chest, eyes closed taking in the unpleasant sound of the eternally damned. There wasn’t a single portion of Hell that was pleasing to the eye, and with each step taken one only found themselves venturing into an even worse part. The levels of torture there were always a sight to marvel…unless of course you were becoming a permanent resident. In silence the man crossed the river, eventually breaking through the thick, white fog that he would never purposely breathe in because he knew better. Going through Hell in its entirety was a thing he did from time to time, checking on all of the denizens, and he was nearly done with this particular visit, on his way to the Dis. And there, as he rose from his seat and opened eyes stood an unexpected visitor awaiting his arrival.
Momentarily stunned, he stood there staring at thelittle girlno, woman that stood just outside the shattered gates of Dis. Long mahogany curls adorning her head, full lips curved into a teasing smile, skin just the right shade of tan and freckles splattered across her nose just below eyes the color of a solar eclipse. What was possibly more unsettling than the dangerous eyes was the small horns protruding from the otherwise smooth forehead and the large and black feathered appendages extending from her spinal cord. Was this to be her fate?
“Lucia…”
Being jostled awake from what was essentially a chronic dream by a shadow beasts mingled barking and human words wasn’t exactly the sort of morning he’d been expecting. Before being roughly beat on the chest with an oversize paw, he waved his hand dismissively and muttered something that sounded peculiarly like Duck cough Fruit. Then he felt the massive weight of him as he’d leapt onto his bare chest , shoving him out of the bed. Without being able to catch himself, Valentine landed hard against the cold floor, nearly hitting his head on the dresser. Amber eyes flashed open, scarlet gradually coloring them, to the sound of Nuit’s barking as if he were in some normal house pet demanding food and refreshment. Clearly irritated, the man rose to his feet, black wings flapping in and out a few times as if dusting themselves off. He put a hand to his head and shot the shadow beast a murderous look, “FUCK, Lassie. If you’re going to try and give me a goddamn concussion you’d better have some important shit to say and in English for fucks sake.”
His teeth were gritted as he spouted multiple obscenities, and his vision slowly cleared from his initial rage having been set off by his natural crankiness when being awoken against his will. Once his eyes reverted back to amber he noticed the blood trailing across his once white, satin sheets -- had he not been concerned, he would have been even more furious. “Nuit…” he began, for once unable to keep the worry from his voice or face. The man didn’t need to hear what Nuit told him next and he didn’t need to ask any questions regarding the statement. If the mutt was in such bad shape, bleeding and with a broken paw, that only meant one thing -- that Lucia was being harmed and he wasn’t there to protect her. Shouldn’t his Lucy’s in danger senses began tingling long ago if something like this were going to happen? No, he shouldn’t have left her side in the first place, not even to give her time to consider his wish proposal. It was due to his lack of consideration that she was somewhere hurt and frightened, calling for her angel.
There wasn’t any time to beat himself up over it however, that could be done later once he went and got her. Before Nuit even finished asking if he needed directions, Valentine was out of the front door of his home without another glance back. The man didn’t put on any shoes nor a shirt or a trench to hide his devil’s wings, no he ran barefoot in nothing but a pair of lounging jeans. Dawn was just breaking, cobalt blue light filtering through the many trees lining the avenues of Park Slope. Light hit his body at odd angles, casting a slight shimmer to the pale white swirl of scars decorating his abdomen, arms and neck. His back however muscular looked terrible, the deep gashes having not been fresh for ages, still very noticeable and painful in appearance. The angel didn’t care who saw at this point, all that mattered to him was getting to his little Lucy in time. And so he ran at impossible speeds, confident in his tracking abilities which were greater than that of a bloodhound.
All that was needed was the smallest of scents and then a path would basically map itself out for him and he’d be able to follow it directly to her without issue. Eventually he found what he was searching for, just near a television store, the place she’d last been he presumed. Once he got it, a force seemed to pull him in another direction towards where she probably waited for her savior. Without a second thought his wings flapped and he took off into the air, flying at great speeds despite the wind attempting to push against him. Nothing would stop him from getting to her, he’d already faced the greatest force known to those who chose to believe.
Within a few minutes he was at someone’s home without hesitation flew through a partially opened window. The glass shattered and cut at his already scarred skin as he landed in a roll and stayed in a kneeled position for only a moment, glaring about the darkened living room he was now in. Was it the home of that bastard? It had to be, he could only imagine what sort of torture he was trying to bestow on Lucia… Cursing under his breath, he leapt up and sprinted up the stairs, being pulled now towards a room down the hall on the second landing. The man all but kicked the door open, there was nothing hesitant or quiet in his manner of doing things, he was in too much of a rush of blind fury and worry. And there she was, waiting curled up in the sheets, trembling slightly, lilac eyes gazing off into space. They seemed empty, but even still he could read the fear in them.
Valentine walked to her, hearing the distant sound of running water -- a shower, he guessed. Without saying a thing he sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in the safety of his large wings. He closed his eyes and held her head against his chest, while his other arm was tightly around her waist. Mentally the man was furious, and wished nothing more than to have that sadistic bastard’s blood on his hands. Instead of voicing that, he tilted her head back with his finger and pressed a kiss against her forehead then looked into her eyes, his own soft but a vicious vermillion.
“Your angel is here,” he told her quietly, “and I will protect you.”• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
(WHEN YOU'VE BEEN VICTIMIZED)
tales from another broken home
were you recruited by anyone? if so, who/how'd you find us?;; Hmmm advertisement on some other forum.
APPLICATION TEMPLATE [ C ] holy fiddlesticks, BATMAN ?!
