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On that note, I'll do mine too, for the my incoming character.
Format shamelessly ripped off from Sercon.
The curse breaks most, turning them into mindless undead. Those who 'survive', often cling to their strongest personality traits to hold themselves together. Iris is, in many ways, a product of the demarcation between them-the curse has shattered her wholly, yet she remains whole enough to know her self, and to remain human for now. She fights a constant internal battle between nurturing and rejecting the abyss within and without, dancing on the knifes edge of mortality, finding dire inspiration on the edge of the cliff...the thing that keeps her from outright seeking destruction is her overbearing pride, which bears no stings without reprisal, constantly seeks ever greater challenge, and refuses to accept that she will not ultimately succeed.
She was born a commoner, yet she found herself serving the nobility in her lifes calling. She can very much manage the image of the consummate professional-gracious and polite in high company, ingratiating and inoffensive, nonthreatening, yet intriguing...yet, her real personality is different. Ultimately confident and proud, a vein of bitter humor tinging her every word, and haughty-vain of her looks and artistic ability, and waspish toward detractors-yet, she was once kind and warm towards her old friends, often romantic and adventurous, and prone to acts of charity and graciousness, to those who were not as gifted as her. Her highest joy, was once teaching art to young children...these last traits have been somewhat subdued in these times, for obvious reasons, though they remain buried perhaps not of reach.
Now, driven only to seek masterful perfection in her art (truly, the only thing she has left that matters), Iris ultimately has no hope for this world-she considers it irreparably ugly, fit only to be the backdrop of her masterpiece, a blank easel to be painted over. She has lost nearly everything and everyone she cared for in the world, a bitter irony she clings to-for one who has always craved the adoration of an audience, warm friendship, and wide acclaim, the now empty theater of this world is the highest of bitter jests, a grand cosmic joke that has undone all she held on to.
Iris is ultimately reckless in battle-she wants to be pushed as close to comforting obliteration as she can stand, and is willing to engage past the point of reason. These 'moments of perfection' she believes, the absolute point of balance between life and death, give her insight into how to complete her ultimate work and escape, or perhaps remake, what she considers a broken and dying world. It shouldn't be said she doesn't enjoy her work, however, or she would willingly surrender to unmaking. The destruction of her 'critics', being the undead, is the purest and brighest joy-Iris has always celebrated and treasured beautiful things (firstly, herself), and she considers these 'ugly' things as waterstrains on the canvas of the reality she will repair, or replace (it should be said, she has not quite decided on which). She has no pity or thought for who they were, and freely takes out her artistic frustrations on their rotten hides with amused and violent abandon.
Food: Only her closest friends know of Iris's love of fine dining, and joy of cooking-something she's actually quite skilled at, a gift from her parents, who were loving and masterful bakers, and as much a symbol of her old life and what she lost than anything else. She hasn't had much to cook aside from Estus soup, lately.
Gods: Iris has no doubt the Gods exist (for who else could this grand cosmic joke be attributed to but grand cosmic Jesters?), and she neither hates, nor loves them-she has merely decided they are one more part of this broken world she will likely have to purge, if she can. She has long entertained dark dreams of using Godsblood in her paint...
Home: Iris could speak for hours on the wonders of Ariamis, her hometown-she grew up in it's poorest quarters, was risen by her skill to it's richest and most glorious heights, and saw it brought down to crashing ruin all in the space of her young life.
Needs of the Nobility: Iris was, once, a highly famous artist-she painted everyone who mattered. It's entirely possible she's done portraits of members of the group, though they may not remember the slender, dark haired artist, who minded them with such professional grace and poise, and offered little of her true self to them.
Truskhang: A place to set her easel. Another tattered page of a book that no one wants to read. She has little opinion about the place, except about how ugly it is.
The Magic of Art: Few people could claim to know as much about the act of creation, as herself-Iris once created beautiful, living pictures that adorned the walls of Lords and Ladies manors, and the castles of Kings and Queens. She grows melancholy when asked about them, but supplies tales readily enough for those interested.
Her Masterpiece: Iris absolutely refuses to show anyone what she is working on (her creation itself hidden inside a magically folding easel that fits in the palm of her hand), but if asked, she will go to lengths to explain what it is she is creating and intending to do-logically, she has learned to make a semblance of life, through the manipulation of positive and negative energies. It says something of her pride, that she has actually volunteered herself to do this task in the first place, the act of quite literally saving or rebuild the entire world.
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Topic: Dark Souls Emblem OOC: Praisin' ain't easy (Read 99045 times)