Tarrak
Portrait
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A monster lies in wait in me,
A stew of wounds and misery, But fiercer still in life and limb, The me that lies in wait in him. Name: Tarrak House Name: Never Reveals. Race: Ilythiiri Age: Never Reveals Eye Color: Radiant Gold Hair Color: White Height: 6' 1" Character: Dominant, Rebellious, Defiant, Spiteful. Occupation: Hunter, Assassin, Beekeeper, Vagabond. ~Outline: Tarrak is a creature of rampant contrast and contradiction, while at first glance one may hastily judge his rough-and-tumble appearance for the makings of a savage, his behavior -lest spurred into action- seems as tranquil as the predawn woods. Misleading as this state of composure may be, the Drow is a spectacle of mixed, mismatched and seemingly erratic signals which, eventually coalesce into an eccentric whole. The Ilythiiri had seemingly foregone the elegant yet lethal demeanor of his kin, favouring the latter and in result verging between beast and Drow. His tattered clothes indicate time spent in the wild and are festooned with mementos of his hunts. Scalped manes, scales, nigh-shamanistic bone trinkets - all in conjunction with his sharp predatory features - set him apart as an anomaly among his kin. Should one be inclined to break words with Tarrak, they would soon find themselves at the mercy of his whims. The Drow is fueled by the ever churning drive to experience more - yet as potent as his hunger may be - he wouldn't be caught dead showing premature interest. Tarrak is a demanding creature, fastidious as to whom he would humour. Provoked, he would grace the inquisitive party with a hoarse low voice - one that resonated deep from within his chest and surfaced with a purr-like rumble rolling up his throat. Tarrak tends to speak in hushed tones which either risk being outright ignored or demand enough focus on his elocution to unnerve those seeking lengthy dialogue. Jeopardizing his social life, most are likely to be met with a trenchant, sarcastic reception. Upon gaining the male's attention however, one would find oneself being slowly picked apart by various prods and provocations as the Drow began taking in all of his new playmate. Upon weathering his initial wave of caustic behavior, the vast recesses of his twisted personality and anomalous system of values would lie open to submerse oneself in. Given time, one may see Tarrak for what he truly is - a man in constant flux, drunk on life and hungering for whatever he may survey, filled with a ravenous craving for anything and everything he can rip from the world and make his own. Underneath the maelstrom, however, lies an unsettling composure, a sort of reverence for his gift of freedom and strength of will carved deep into his bones. What stands testimony to this Drow's treacherous lethality is that for all his feral inclinations manifested on the surface there is a cold, calculating intellect keeping them in check - unwilling to squander his inner fire on petty, unprovoked manifestations of rage. After all, the man wasn't born a beast - he chose the path himself. In the end, the wayward male found himself trapped between the drive to give in to his feral aspects and the ever surfacing call of reason - shackling him to a certain dose of civilized behavior. And so, contrary to some misbegotten assumptions - left without a driving factor - Tarrak behaves almost modestly, remaining pleasantly static until a spur of fancy pushes him into action. Only then do his movements betray the toxic concoction of arrogance, confidence and ferocity simmering within. ~Physical Appearance & Traits: The very first thing painting Tarrak as an oddity is his height, which is anything but normal given Drow standards. The man towers above his kin and his physique resembles that of an athletic human or mixbreed rather than a pureblood ilythiiri. Underneath his ebon skin lies woven a substantial mass of tangled, sinewy muscles which in conjunction with a strong, sharp collarbone chisel his contours to resemble a statue of gladiators of yore. Yet what his physique aims to mold into perfection - his skin rebels against. A myriad of scars, interwoven with tattoos that do a bitterly poor job at masking them together form a mosaic telling the tales of his endeavors. A keen eye may discern the mixed origins of these imperfections, stemming from sharp blades and animal claws. More disturbing still are the remnants of stitches, testifying numerous surgical incisions - shedding a light on the source of his peculiar physique. Two radiant golden orbs first draw attention to Tarrak's countenance. His eyes, akin to firelights harbor a malice and brew of depravity worthy of any Drow. They stare luridly through the shifting crowds as if to pick new prey among them. Finally, should Tarrak reveal his face - be it from underneath hood or cowl - one could notice sharp features, revealing his aggressive, predatory nature before he gets a chance to speak. His angular face is decorated with defined, sharp cheekbones and a relatively strong jaw. Two piercing-riddled elven ears frame his head, their symmetry only broken by the missing, bitten off tip of his right ear. The final, defining stroke on the canvas of his face - his lips - which, when provoked sport a grin - carnivorous and lusting. A grin which in unison with his piercing gaze further reinforces the impression of a beast beset upon the prowl. ~TL;DR Version: Feral looking drow with an identity crisis, unable to consequently choose what he wants to be - beast or man. Ex-slave and runaway experiment, his aforementioned moral dilemma stems from the carte blanche he was given. Imagine a grown man locked up for most of his life only to be finally cast free into a world of possibilities where he can reinvent himself as he sees fit. ~Author's note: Comments and criticism are -always- welcome, no beating around the bush required. Whatever can help me improve my writing and roleplay is most appreciated. I'm fairly upfront and cordial. My characters are not me and I don't treat them as the best thing since sliced bread. I'm struggling with my bio writing. I'm simply bad at it and I find them lacking a casual, pleasant feel. I can't shake the feeling, when redacting them that they're just a tad heavy of a read and draw the unfortunate impression that while sketching my characters I'm just giggling with glee at how abso-fucking-lutely amazing they are and what a prodigy writer I am. They're not. I'm not. I know. No fishing for compliments intended. Lastly, as a plea for undestanding: I haven't RPed in ages and I've gotten bloody rusty. Bear with me as I type slowly, grace you with occasional brainfarts (English isn't my native tongue.) and wander around awkwardly as I'm a bit overwhelmed with the scale of the server. I'll get back in the saddle eventually. ~Lights: Being limited in space to cover everything regarding traffic lights, I'm forced to send you over to Tarrak's f-list. Dreadful, I know. https://www.f-list.net/c/perdition%20-%20tarrak |
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| Player: | Perdition |
| Gender (Visually): | Male |
| Race (Visually): | Elf |