MORTENSEN, kristmar ísaia
Jan 13, 2016 2:11:06 GMT
Post by kristmar mortensen on Jan 13, 2016 2:11:06 GMT
Kristmar I. Mortensen (Caelestis)
NAME Kristmar Ísaia Mortensen | AGE Ninety-six |
GENDER Male | BIRTHDAY 13/12/1919 |
SEXUALITY Pansexual | SPECIES Demon |
RESIDENCE Shibuya | OCCUPATION Freelance musician, full time mooch |
FACE CLAIM /INAZUMA ELEVEN/ (Afuro Terumi) | PLAYED BY MACHINE |
PERSONALITY
POSITIVE TRAITS: • breezy • confident • determined • leisurely • musical • optimistic • perceptive • playful | NEGATIVE TRAITS: • devious • guillible • impatient • narcissistic • possessive • provoking • reticent • vindictive |
LIKES • instruments, mainly the piano • warm sunshine and cold, dark nights • toying around with humans • panic, chaos • people with bite to them • hosts who make his effort worthwhile • his latin name being spoken • fresh blood, not that donated and bottled stuff | DISLIKES: • feeling insulted • weakness • alluding to his human days • solitude, loneliness • arrogant hosts • losing • his latin name being known • his weapon form being handled incorrectly |
HISTORY
Kristmar's human days are a faint blur, a temporary state before he was turned into the superior being he was born to be. He remembers vague glimmers, small memories, his parents' faces and voices just barely and the peaceful feeling that came with sitting at a piano in front of a large bay window on a sunny day. In spite of growing to regard humans with disdain, he's certain that his years growing up as a human hadn't been terrible. Born into a comfortable household, Kris had an easy childhood, a slightly spoiled one perhaps, where he wasn't scolded when he broke his toys.
He remembers with a little more vividness when his humanity was stripped away from him, although even that's a bit foggy in parts. It was a night in November or maybe December, perhaps even January since he recalls it being a horridly cold night, the kind of cold that stubbornly seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you wear. Over the course of a couple of weeks, Kris had been getting this antsy feeling while walking home from the lounge he played piano at during the evening. Putting it down to the cold, he'd brush it off, unknowing that a pair of watching scarlet eyes were to blame for his inexplicable discomfort. One night, however, inescapable fate happened and the vampire acted, fed. Fear, Kris remembers, was the most predominant feeling that gripped him, followed closely by powerlessness. A weak human stood no chance against a hungering vampire.
For reasons that the vampire didn't share, she turned him into the same creature she was right then and there.
The days, weeks, that follow that event are lost to a haze. Kris doesn't remember his first taste of human blood or the first times he went hunting with her, Elvira. She was his guardian, his teacher and - a couple of years down the line - his lover.
It was just him and her, her and him, and that was perfectly fine. She indoctrinated him, passed on her opinions and thoughts when it came to lesser humans, their food, their sheep. She showed him how pathetic they were, how lost and greedy they were, how deep their selfish tendencies ran. How filthy and prurient they could be. Humans were rotten little animals, blinded and guided by their own shallow avarice. Kris reached the point where it sickened him a little to think that he'd ever been one to begin with.
Years blurred into one another while he and Elvira travelled around Europe, watching with their own eyes as humans fought humans during one of their wars.
Elvira and Kristmar didn't last forever though. She wanted to head East, traverse the Atlantic Ocean and reach America, but Kris preferred West. Each of them tried pulling in their own direction and ended up whittling a small divide between them both. In the beginning it was silly arguments, petty quarrels that were easily mended, but eventually they drew out longer and longer, their words louder and their comments more scathing. It grew and grew until Elvira just left. She went hunting and just didn't return.
In spite of their fighting, a little worry niggled at Kris and he went to investigate. He trailed her scent through the bomb-torn ghost town, into the dense black forest that bordered it until he reached a clearing. As soon as he stepped into it, he instinctively knew something was wrong. He wasn't sure what set him off exactly but a sensation of dread gripped him. Kris went to steal a step back, out of the sun-drenched clearing, when one, two, four... six... too many faces to count appeared from the shrubbery.
It all happened too fast for him to fully register, but he knows he was restrained and rendered unconscious.
And it must've been weeks until he woke up again because, when he eventually did, the only thing he remembers feeling was a maddening thirst. Whether it was night or day, whether he was inside or outside, whether he was alone or in the presence of his captors, Kris doesn't remember. Those were all superfluous details while he felt a thirst that burned his throat and gut with what felt like literal fire. The fact that he could smell food nearby just teased his hunger further, unhinging the young vampire little bit by little bit. It might've been days, it might've been mere hours, but it was too long before he blacked out.
From then on, Kris was no longer a vampire, but something more, something darker still.
While he was still out cold and unable to resist, the freshly spawned demon was sealed in a weapon - dual tessen fans - and stored away in wait for a host.
Years. Years it took until someone came along. Years of being confined in solitary and forced darkness. Years of sitting in his own mind, wondering at times if he was even alive, only his thoughts to serve as company. Kris would reach out and, sometimes, he'd feel the faintest glimmer of a foreign presence but no one approached him. No one approached the crimson box that contained the two inky black tessen fans, neatly folded closed.
A girl finally approached him one day though. He was rudely jolted awake from his dormant state as the lid to his box was unclipped open. Light, blinding artificial light, poured into the dark confines of his box and, if he'd been able to move, Kris would've cowered away. But, instead, he felt the potential contractor reach for him and brush him with her fingertips.
Desperation to make contact with someone, anyone, from the outside world made him accept the girl with hardly any testing on his half. A hesitant human, filled with doubt and immature worries, she was weak, not ready for a contract with a demon, but she plucked him out of that box and he was able to see the world once again.
Two months later though, she was possessed. Dead.
Kris quickly had gotten tired of being a weakling's toy once the novelty of being back out in the open had worn off a little.
Ugh, she'd been disgusting. She didn't like killing, didn't enjoy slaying, didn't like getting blood on her person. She hesitated too many times when dealing decisive blows. She showed too much mercy. He wasn't going to get anywhere far with someone as weak in mind as they were body. Taking control of her had been so easy. Hardly a challenge at all. Effortless. Boring.
Kris has had three hosts since then and none of them honestly lasted. There's a certain entertainment to be found in delving into a human's deepest, most guarded memories and secrets, peeling back their defenses and making a mockery of them, testing, pushing, baiting them. Toying with them, Bending them until they break.
Always on the lookout for a host that'll make things interesting, Kris drifts from place to place now that he's reacquired his humanlike form. For the time being he's settled in Shibuya, taking advantage of the peacefire that's been declared.
He remembers with a little more vividness when his humanity was stripped away from him, although even that's a bit foggy in parts. It was a night in November or maybe December, perhaps even January since he recalls it being a horridly cold night, the kind of cold that stubbornly seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you wear. Over the course of a couple of weeks, Kris had been getting this antsy feeling while walking home from the lounge he played piano at during the evening. Putting it down to the cold, he'd brush it off, unknowing that a pair of watching scarlet eyes were to blame for his inexplicable discomfort. One night, however, inescapable fate happened and the vampire acted, fed. Fear, Kris remembers, was the most predominant feeling that gripped him, followed closely by powerlessness. A weak human stood no chance against a hungering vampire.
For reasons that the vampire didn't share, she turned him into the same creature she was right then and there.
The days, weeks, that follow that event are lost to a haze. Kris doesn't remember his first taste of human blood or the first times he went hunting with her, Elvira. She was his guardian, his teacher and - a couple of years down the line - his lover.
It was just him and her, her and him, and that was perfectly fine. She indoctrinated him, passed on her opinions and thoughts when it came to lesser humans, their food, their sheep. She showed him how pathetic they were, how lost and greedy they were, how deep their selfish tendencies ran. How filthy and prurient they could be. Humans were rotten little animals, blinded and guided by their own shallow avarice. Kris reached the point where it sickened him a little to think that he'd ever been one to begin with.
Years blurred into one another while he and Elvira travelled around Europe, watching with their own eyes as humans fought humans during one of their wars.
Elvira and Kristmar didn't last forever though. She wanted to head East, traverse the Atlantic Ocean and reach America, but Kris preferred West. Each of them tried pulling in their own direction and ended up whittling a small divide between them both. In the beginning it was silly arguments, petty quarrels that were easily mended, but eventually they drew out longer and longer, their words louder and their comments more scathing. It grew and grew until Elvira just left. She went hunting and just didn't return.
In spite of their fighting, a little worry niggled at Kris and he went to investigate. He trailed her scent through the bomb-torn ghost town, into the dense black forest that bordered it until he reached a clearing. As soon as he stepped into it, he instinctively knew something was wrong. He wasn't sure what set him off exactly but a sensation of dread gripped him. Kris went to steal a step back, out of the sun-drenched clearing, when one, two, four... six... too many faces to count appeared from the shrubbery.
It all happened too fast for him to fully register, but he knows he was restrained and rendered unconscious.
And it must've been weeks until he woke up again because, when he eventually did, the only thing he remembers feeling was a maddening thirst. Whether it was night or day, whether he was inside or outside, whether he was alone or in the presence of his captors, Kris doesn't remember. Those were all superfluous details while he felt a thirst that burned his throat and gut with what felt like literal fire. The fact that he could smell food nearby just teased his hunger further, unhinging the young vampire little bit by little bit. It might've been days, it might've been mere hours, but it was too long before he blacked out.
From then on, Kris was no longer a vampire, but something more, something darker still.
While he was still out cold and unable to resist, the freshly spawned demon was sealed in a weapon - dual tessen fans - and stored away in wait for a host.
Years. Years it took until someone came along. Years of being confined in solitary and forced darkness. Years of sitting in his own mind, wondering at times if he was even alive, only his thoughts to serve as company. Kris would reach out and, sometimes, he'd feel the faintest glimmer of a foreign presence but no one approached him. No one approached the crimson box that contained the two inky black tessen fans, neatly folded closed.
A girl finally approached him one day though. He was rudely jolted awake from his dormant state as the lid to his box was unclipped open. Light, blinding artificial light, poured into the dark confines of his box and, if he'd been able to move, Kris would've cowered away. But, instead, he felt the potential contractor reach for him and brush him with her fingertips.
Desperation to make contact with someone, anyone, from the outside world made him accept the girl with hardly any testing on his half. A hesitant human, filled with doubt and immature worries, she was weak, not ready for a contract with a demon, but she plucked him out of that box and he was able to see the world once again.
Two months later though, she was possessed. Dead.
Kris quickly had gotten tired of being a weakling's toy once the novelty of being back out in the open had worn off a little.
Ugh, she'd been disgusting. She didn't like killing, didn't enjoy slaying, didn't like getting blood on her person. She hesitated too many times when dealing decisive blows. She showed too much mercy. He wasn't going to get anywhere far with someone as weak in mind as they were body. Taking control of her had been so easy. Hardly a challenge at all. Effortless. Boring.
Kris has had three hosts since then and none of them honestly lasted. There's a certain entertainment to be found in delving into a human's deepest, most guarded memories and secrets, peeling back their defenses and making a mockery of them, testing, pushing, baiting them. Toying with them, Bending them until they break.
Always on the lookout for a host that'll make things interesting, Kris drifts from place to place now that he's reacquired his humanlike form. For the time being he's settled in Shibuya, taking advantage of the peacefire that's been declared.
aeron of thq