Sindre // Norway

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Sindre // Norway

Post  Sindre on Sun May 08, 2011 4:26 am

[: D E M O N :]

fate changes faster than the death of light,
you provide the envy and i'll provide the spite.


reflections cutting every face in two,
casting shadows in the pale shade of blue.


:basic:

Name: Sindre (Lovdahl -- short, simple, inconspicuous)

Nation: The Kingdom of Norway (Kongeriket Norge)

Physical Age: 25

Appearance:

If only looks could kill, then certainly Sindre would be a murderer based on that alone-- his empty stare is a famous one, cold and devoid of any earthly emotion whatsoever. Standing at a rather impressive height, the man's deep, indigo eyes seem to be constantly cast downward as if the entire world is beneath him, never concealing his judgemental arrogance.

He carries his lean, sturdy frame in an overly dignified manner, snow white skin a striking contrast against his pitch black wings. He has an angular facial structure, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw-- a rather handsome profile to behold, framed by short, ash blonde hair normally pinned to the side with a cross-shaped hairclip, though he is far from holy enough to bear such a symbol. Apart from his complete lack of expression, perhaps his most unique feature is the tiny and gravity-defying curl of hair that seems to be a separate entity floating beside his head.

Sindre's demonic garb consists of a robe and sash in dark violet and navy hues, matching his eyes, and often a long, pointed tail can be seen swaying and twitching beneath the garments, matching the curved horns upon his head. He keeps his talons and teeth as piercing as his gaze.
Under a human guise, the Norwegian's choice of dress is rather formal and grayscale-- black dress shirts, showy vests and an expensive brooch or two, usually with a thick pair of gloves, as he's not the type to dirty his hands on the job.

If ever a smile were to grace his stoic mouth, it would be a most unpleasant situation, for his cruel grimace only makes itself known before the suffering of others. It should be apparent upon a glance that he's not the sort you want to make a petty enemy of.


:special:

Class: Demon
Vices: Pride, Sloth
Former Virtues: Patience


:advanced:

Personality:

Even as an angel, he'd always stood apart from the masses-- strong, silent and colder than ice, Sindre carried a terrifying sort of aura that inspired fear which shouldn't have existed in Heaven. Deeply disturbed by closeness of any calibur, he kept all those below God at a considerable distance, disguising this fear as nothing more than stubborn pride, as if no one was worthy of his company. The only other seraph he opened his hardened heart for was his beloved younger brother, Erik, and when around the boy he would soften to an unrecognizable degree, becoming calm and even affectionate.

But then came the fall from grace-- upon admittance to Hell's gates, gone were any traces of warmth the Norwegian had held, and his heart truly froze over.

He became the very definition of the demon that he is today; purposefully cruel, ill-tempered and hostile, a man of few words and even less sympathies when breaking a fragile mind. Sindre is intelligent and shrewd and trusts no one, keeping his thoughts and emotions hidden away behind a constant, cold mask. He speaks as if bored all the time, but takes great pleasure in seeing others in pain, and torture and bloodshed can bring out his sicker, 'playful' side. His pride is also a crippling thing, and he seems to view everyone and everything as mere dirt beneath his shoes.

However, most of the time he is the calm and collected contrast to the wild personality of his partner of sorts, Sebastian. Despite this, he still holds strong, protective feelings for Erik-- though their vice and virtue clash horribly, his brother is the only being he refuses to lay a harmful hand on, even attacking other demons should they go after him without a care for the consequences. Perhaps deep down he's softer than he seems, but his true intentions are hard to figure out.

History:

There had been a time when Sindre was a man of virtue, holy through and through, a selfless saint who carried the will of God with nothing less than reverence and served as a guardian for his dear brother. However, despite the strength of his loyalty, he was far from a sociable angel, and his silence and solitude often aroused suspicion. He kept no companionship apart from Erik, and occasionally that brute of a seraph named Sebastian. No one could ever quite tell what sort of thoughts worked behind that passive face, and the other angels began to fear the Norwegian's aloofness.

But he paid no mind-- the important thing was keeping his sibling in line. And yet, there was only so much that he could do for the boy, and knowing that frustrated him to no end. How he envied the archangels... how he wished he could be that strong for that one person. How he fretted, how he worried! His faith began to wane along with a crowd he was unaware of, but it soon became apparent that he wasn't the only one to feel this way-- powerless.

Sooner or later as these thoughts tore at his mind, he was visited by someone who could grant him that power.

He was, by far, not at all of a weak conscience, but... Lucifer, the rebellious seraph that he was, promised that Erik would be far safer out of God's hands and into Sindre's own, exactly as the elder brother would have preferred. The offer was one he couldn't pass up. The Battle began shortly after.

But, lo and behold... though the Norwegian offered a hand to his brother through all the chaos with a smile, he was rejected-- Erik refused to join him. What a blow to Sindre's heart! Nothing could convince the younger to come with him, and they parted ways on a painful note. They may have even fought. He's not sure, he has suppressed their separation from his memory.

However, the fallen angel learned to accept this tragedy, embracing his new identity as a demon-- it suited him far better, anyway. He would continue to watch out for his brother, even if it hurt to look at the boy now. The only proof he'd ever been a part of Heaven stayed with him in the form of a cross-shaped barette, a gift from Erik given to him long ago.

It didn't surprise him in the slightest that Sebastian had joined him here in the pit of Hell, but even as annoying as he found the other, he needed some sort of familiar face. The wrathful Dane is the only other person you'll find in Sindre's company nowadays.

RP Sample:


When it all came down to it, he was a monster.

Sure, he had never been all too comfortable with the body of an angel, feeling as if he didn't deserve to be among holier beings than he, but Sindre's new form all but disgusted him.

A 'demon', they called it, that's what he was now.

The Norwegian cocked his head as he stared long and deep into the puddle before him. It was pouring, but he enjoyed this sort of weather and paid no mind, even as he became completely drenched under the dark sky. Something about the storm seemed to match his mood as he observed his reflection, crouched not unlike a cat upon the empty dirt road.

Horns jutted from the sides of his blond head and spiraled outward, and though they were smaller than most of the other demonic appendages he'd seen, they had still been a pain to sprout. God, the agony. His head tipped again, parting his lips, making sure he checked every angle. Long, razor-sharp fangs protruded from the top of his jaw, his lower canines matching. He really was grotesque, wasn't he? Like some sort of fairy-tale beast.

Curious still, the man stretched his wings-- black, scaly, a reptilian horror to behold, with that curved bone peaking at the top of each one. He peered down at his hands and feet, covered in mud from his perch, upper lip curling in disdain at the talons that grew from them.

And then there was the matter of that tail...

Truly a nuisance, it seemed to have a mind apart from the rest of his being, and more than once he had tripped over the stupid thing before remembering he could fly.

But what intrigued him the most were his eyes-- sharp, bright and blue-violet, glowing like an indigo flame. A dead giveaway in the dark. A purple blur seemed to trail after them with every move he made.

It was...

With a loud snarl, Sindre raised a clawed hand and viciously slashed at the puddle, watching with a dulled sense of satisfaction as his reflection warped and rippled. But it only seemed to make him uglier.

Hideous.

How would Erik ever look at him now?

...with contempt, that's how. It hit him like an arrow and he curled up as if in pain, drawing his thin limbs to his chest. His brother could only ever hate him at this point, and he honestly couldn't blame him. But if that was so, then the Norwegian would harbor that same hatred-- for himself.

After all, he was nothing but a monster.


:ooc information:


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Re: Sindre // Norway

Post  Jin on Thu May 12, 2011 2:23 pm

I swear these RP Samples are making me feel all bubbly inside~ Yours was so good I read it through thrice ^///^

:ACCEPTED:
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