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Darkseeker
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please don't post if your name is not in the title! |
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Darkseeker
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Edited at January 20, 2025 07:24 PM by Honey
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Darkseeker
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Name Marlow Namiss Rilrynth Name Meaning Remnants of a Lake Name Pronunciation Age 19 Appearance Marlow has a strong, chiseled face with the softness of youth still apparent. His features are a blend of ruggedness and beauty, with a sharp jawline that shows signs of an emerging stubble on some days, but which always maintains an air of elegance. His high, defined cheekbones lend a regal quality to his face, often accentuated by the intensity in his bright blue eyes. His nose is straight and somewhat long, a feature that balances out his angular face, while his lips are full and slightly curved, as if in a perpetual half-smile, always ready for a witty remark or a gesture of camaraderie.
Marlow's eyes are a vivid blue, like the skies before a storm, intense and piercing. There's an almost supernatural clarity to them, a depth that reflects the vast skies and limitless horizons he's accustomed to navigating. His gaze is unwavering, sharp with determination, but there is a softness there too—a flicker of empathy that comes from his bond with his dragon.
His hair is a tousled mass of sun-bleached blonde waves, falling in little curls around his ears. The natural waves in his hair give him a wild, untamed look, fitting for someone who spends most of his days riding high in the sky, with the wind blowing freely through his locks. His hair, while not overly thick, has a natural sheen, light-catching highlights that seem to shimmer in the sun. There's a certain carelessness to the way it falls around his face, the strands often pushed back hastily when he's riding or preparing for battle.
Marlow's skin is sun-kissed and naturally tanned from exposure to the elements. The bronzed hue of his skin is complemented by the occasional scar—a faint line from a past dragon-training accident on his forearm, a mark from a skirmish that speaks of the perilous lifestyle he leads. His skin is generally smooth, and his strong physique adds a muscular definition that's more about agility and endurance than sheer strength, built from years of dragon riding and combat training.
Marlow stands at about 6 feet tall, with a lean yet athletic build that speaks to his agility rather than brute strength. His frame is long, with well-defined muscles, especially in his legs and arms, both of which have been honed through the physical demands of riding and combat. His shoulders are broad, supporting the weight of his armor and gear during missions, yet still nimble enough to handle the intricacies of dragon riding. Despite his strength, there's an inherent grace to his movements, as though he has been molded by the air, the wind, and the very nature of his partnership with a dragon. His posture is confident but relaxed, his movements fluid and natural, almost as if he's perpetually attuned to the rhythms of flight.
His hands are long and deft, with strong fingers that are both capable of wielding a sword and handling delicate reins with ease. His palms are calloused from years of gripping his dragon’s saddle or handling weaponry, but his fingers retain a certain nimbleness, the touch of someone who has worked closely with animals and the intricate art of battle. His nails are short but well-kept, and his hands, while rugged, still have the faint elegance of someone accustomed to great heights. Personality Marlow is known for being a rather cocky and brash young man, always using ten words where he could've used two. When he was younger, he was desperate to maintain a somewhat mysteriousness about him, but his extroverted and easy-going nature sort of ruined that effect. He maintains a sense of respectfulness with ease, and prefers to be respected than loved or feared, since either other emotion is ever-changing. He uses threats to his advantage, but also uses them sparingly, hating the notion of power plays over natural born pleasantries. Marlow loves to play by his own rules, and is not keen on being reminded of the more conventional directives. He is socially intelligent, and has been known to be slightly manipulative on certain things, especially when put in groups of people who are more financially well off than he is. He is eager to try new things, and for the most part, excels at the concepts he undertakes. He is extremely food motivated, and has a palate for rich, saucy foods. He especially enjoys Italian cuisine, and has been known to travel to Italy simply to treat himself to the breathtaking landscapes, breezy sea air, and a huge plate of Alfredo.
Despite his external effervescence, Marlow struggles with the pain and harshness of his childhood. Although he was raised in a very well-to-do home, his parents were more than distant. Raised almost never seeing them, he was constantly berated for being a failure by teachers, nannies, and extended family. He still occasionally doubts whether the love shown to him is real, or whether it's all an elaborate ruse, and will come crashing down on him. Also, thanks to his plain childhood, he has become quite the thrill seeker. If something is dangerous, might end up costing him his life? Marlow would choose to accept the invitation in a heartbeat. The adrenaline almost helps fill that gaping emptiness inside him, though thanks to close friends and new hobbies, his mental state has found a certain amount of stability. In an academic sense, he is rather lazy, prioritising his desires over the more important, but in his opinion, less interesting parts of his life. Even so, he is a smart young man, and if he really applied himself, he could probably have been a straight A student, but he was content with the B's and C's that consistently came his way.
As a lover, this young man is rather over the top. He loves to gift his partner with loads of things, from tiny knick knacks, to houses and lavish vacations. He treats his significant other like a goddess, and will consistently be telling them how much he loves them. Because as a child, words of affirmation were not granted to him, he now craves this, and assumes everyone does, and will constantly reassure his partner of his undying love. Marlow doesn't expect much in return, only a consistent and affectionate presence alongside him. He values his friends almost as much as his lovers, and keeps them close to his chest. Voice & Accent Marlow’s voice is warm and smooth, carrying a certain ease that reflects both his youth and the seasoned confidence of a rider. His tone is deep enough to command attention but not so heavy as to be intimidating. There’s a natural melodic quality to his speech, like the wind through a vast open sky—gentle yet strong, with a rhythmic flow that makes him easy to listen to. When he speaks of his dragon or the thrill of flight, his voice lifts slightly, laced with a sense of awe and excitement, as if every word is imbued with the rush of adventure.
Marlow’s laughter is light and contagious, always accompanied by a slight twinkle in his bright blue eyes. He has a way of speaking with sincerity, but when engaging in banter or teasing, there’s a playful edge, hinting at his mischievous side. His voice becomes more serious and commanding in moments of tension, his words cutting through the air with the precision of someone who’s accustomed to battle. Even in these intense moments, however, there’s an underlying warmth, a reminder that he’s someone who leads not out of cold authority but out of loyalty to his dragon and those he cares for.
In quieter moments, Marlow's voice softens—calm and introspective—allowing him to communicate the depth of his bond with his dragon, and the serenity that comes with their shared connection. It’s a voice that holds the strength of someone who has spent countless hours in the sky but also the vulnerability of someone still discovering his place in the world. Strengths -Vivacity- -Smart- -Perseverance- Weaknesses -Perfectionist- -Over idealistic- -Depressed- Other Marlow's bonded dragon and he have a very complicated relationship. His dragon is a Blue, and is called Cath. |
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Darkseeker
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Name Ardian Mikhail Canuto Age 18 Gender Male - he/him Sexuality Bisexual Appearance Ardian is rather unremarkable when it comes to his build. He stands at a fairly average 5'9 and has a lean, slender body. Looks can be deceiving, though; he's quite strong and has a good amount of muscle, particularly in his legs and core. Ardian's skin is a sunkissed color that tans remarkably quickly, indicative of the time he spends in the sun. His face is round in shape, and his youthful cheeks add to its appearance. His jawline and chin are quite sharp compared to the rest of his face and give his features a bit more definition. His nose is small and sloped, and his lips are full and a charming pink in color. These soft features give him a somewhat androgynous appearance. Ardian's eyes are a pretty dark blue, reminiscent of clear, deep water or sparkling sapphires. They are large and round, outlined by thick, dark lashes and short, straight brows. His eyes are always an indicator of his emotions; he can keep his face perfectly neutral, but his eyes are incredibly expressive. Ardian's hair is a thick, dark mane that is a beast to tame. Naturally, it's curly and often sticks up in every direction. He's learned to manage it over the years, though, and keeps it cut fairly short, just long enough for the strands to curl. When he wants to look more serious or professional, he combs it back with gel to make it appear straight and neat. Ardian generally prefers simple yet elegant attire. He often chooses tunics and pants made of luxurious fabrics and materials. However, he does have a pair of worn leather boots that he's particularly attached to despite their scuff marks and faded color. He typically accesorizes with gold rings and bracelets, and has a helix piercing in his left ear that he usually wears a small golden hoop in. Personality Ardian is an incredibly charming young man. In public, he almost always has a smile on his face and seems comfortable around everyone, even total strangers. He is constantly relaxed and at ease, and this behavior often influences others to feel the same way. He rarely allows himself to get angry, irritated, or even mildly annoyed in public; he perceives it as a way for his rivals to spot weakness, and he wants to keep his reputation spotless as well. In reality, though, Ardian is not the easygoing, relaxed character that he shows off to others. He is often quite alert and paranoid. While he seems quite comfortable talking to almost anyone, he really only does it so he can get a read on them and their personality. He would much rather uncover their weaknesses first then have them unroot his. This paranoia stems from the abuse and manipulation he experienced from his father as a child. Ardian himself can be quite manipulative as well, though. His charming facade makes him seem like an honest, trustworthy person, but any information you tell him is filed away for him to pore over later. He has an incredibly good memory and remembers even the smallest details about others. He uses these details, however, to deceive others, whether it's to keep them from prying too deep into his personal life or to get a leg up or advantage in something. Stengths · Decent physical strength · Intelligence and creativity · Prowess with weapons, especially daggers and shortswords · Cunning Weaknesses · Distrustful · Arrogant · Somewhat paranoid · Generally indifferent towards others Likes · Anything to do with music, especially playing the violin · Cooking · His mother · Spicy food Dislikes · The rest of his family, honestly · Math and science - they don't make sense to him · Cold weather · Rain |
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Darkseeker
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The snow crunched softly under Ardian's feet as he trekked across the courtyard. Everywhere he looked, a thick blanket of white lay across the landscape. The mountains to the east of the school had disappeared into the monotonous gray horizon; every so often, he could spot a flash of their peaks from behind the thick snow clouds. Thanks to its location in the south of Dazuria, Ralore rarely received winter weather of any kind. In his years at the school, Ardian had only ever experienced the persistent dreary rain that seemed to envelop the campus like a shroud. Now, though, great drifts of snow nearly as tall as Ardian sat against the stone towers and halls of the school. Ardian shuddered and pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. Despite the weather, Ralore and its professors had insisted upon still holding classes. If not, Ardian would have still been curled up in his bed under a pile of blankets. Instead, he was struggling through knee-deep snow on the way to his military strategy class. Finally, the hulking shape of one of Ralore's towers loomed out of the gray fog blanketing the campus. Ardian sighed in relief and hurried towards the massive oak doors, nearly slipping on a particularly slick patch of ice in the process. Most of the various classes at Ralore were held within this tower. The school's purpose was to prepare its students for all-out war, so most of its courses focused on some aspect or another of Dazuria's military force. Strategy courses in particular were designed for students who intended to pursue opportunities in the upper ranks of the military, as officers or even commanders. Ardian wasn't particularly considered about what rank he ended up in, but his father had made it abundantly clear that he was expected to take on some type of leadership role upon his graduation from Ralore. Ardian shoved the door open with his shoulder, its hinges complaining loudly of the cold. The heat emanating from the fireplace in the main hall enveloped him like a warm cocoon, and he untied the laces of his cloak at his throat. The strategy classroom was tucked away in a dimly-lit back hallway of the tower. A handful of students were milling about as he entered, and the professor stood at the head of the room, flipping through the pages of a thick book resting upon his desk. Ardian made his way towards his desk in the center of the room, disentangling his satchel of books from his cloak as he took a seat. A thin layer of snow had accmulated on the bag during his walk, and he brushed it off with a disgruntled sound. He slid his books onto the surface of his desk as more students began to trickle in, low murmurs and complaints of the weather outside filling the room. |
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Darkseeker
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Marlow had been up for hours. He was a morning person through and through, the sort who rose before dawn with happiness, energized by the quiet softness of the world before it stirred. Bad weather was no deterrent to his disciplined routine, and that morning was no exception. He had dressed carefully, pulling on his warmest tunic and wrapping himself in his heaviest cloak before stepping out into the chill. The wind cut sharp and cold, but he paid it no mind. There was work to be done, and he never shirked his duties. The Crags were his first stop, as they always were. The jagged, wind-swept cliffs served as the nesting grounds for the dragons of Ralore, and it was here that Marlow’s own dragon, Cath, had taken shelter. He found Cath curled into the back of a shadowy cave, wings tucked tightly against her blue body, radiating displeasure at the cold. Marlow crouched a few feet away, watching her. She was breathtaking—a sleek, gleaming creature, all sinewy grace and sharp edges. Her blue scales shimmered even in the dim light, each one like a sliver of the sea. Marlow adored her. Cath was everything he could have wished for in a bond: intelligent, powerful, and fiercely loyal. And yet, there was always a thread of unease running through their connection, a tension he could never quite shake. Dragons needed their riders. They craved the bond, not for companionship, but for synergy—for the violence they could channel through a human partner. Marlow had felt that wild fury before, the searing rage that burned through their bond when Cath was provoked. It frightened him. How could something so magnificent harbor such bloodthirsty instincts? And from the human side of the bond, it was even more terrifying. If the dragon were to die, or decide it wished to break the connection, which only happened in very rare cases, the rider would die. The severing of the connection was simply too much. He shivered at the thought, both from the cold and from memory, then gently laid a hand on Cath’s warm side. She snorted, a puff of hot air curling from her nostrils as if to scold him for disturbing her rest. “Sorry, love,” he murmured. “I’ll let you sulk. Just don’t freeze.” He left the Crags soon after, trudging up the path toward the school as an icy wind whipped around him. Marlow pulled his cloak tighter and blew on his hands to keep them warm, his breath visible in the frosty air. The climb was a familiar one, the trail winding up through snow-dusted pines and past ancient stone outcroppings that bore the marks of centuries of dragon talons. Technically, Marlow could have been a graduate. He had completed his training and earned his place among the riders of Ralore. But he had stayed on, thanks to a rare and coveted opportunity: the Aeryarch program. The title, which meant “high nester,” was reserved for those chosen to lead a squad of dragon riders. Marlow wasn’t yet the full Aeryarch—that honor belonged to Perrin, a senior rider with years of experience just past his twenty-first birthday. But Marlow had been selected as an under-leader, a second-in-command of sorts, to gain the practical experience he would need to one day lead a squad of his own. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement at the thought. Perrin was a natural leader, firm but fair, and watching him whip the new recruits into shape would be a sight to see. The squad assignments were due to be announced soon—possibly by the end of the day. Marlow quickened his pace, eager to get to class and avoid being late. Strategies was his favorite class by far. It wasn’t just the subject matter that drew him in, though the intricate puzzles of war planning never failed to engage his attention. Professor Myron was engaging and cheerful, plus his teaching was amazing. They always received maps and plans straight from the battlefield, ones that had already been fought, and the students would gather round tables, with small figurines and plan out what they would do if they'd been there. At the end of the class, the strategy that had actually been employed would be shared with them, and they would debate on whether it had been the best course of action. The classroom was a welcome respite from the biting cold outside. Warmth enveloped him as he stepped inside, the air filled with the chatter of students and the faint scent of damp wool cloaks drying by the fire. Marlow slipped into a seat near the back, letting out a contented sigh as he dropped a stack of slightly damp books onto the table. This was his world—a place of learning, of camaraderie, of quiet purpose. For all the tension in his bond with Cath, for all the challenges that lay ahead, Marlow felt at home here. Ralore was his home-away-from-home, possibly even better than where he'd grown up. The affection shared between students, and the ever present and shared desire to be the best bond that had been seen in years. |
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Darkseeker
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As the last few students filed into the classroom, shivering in their cloaks and bemoaning the bitter cold beyond the hall's stone walls, Professor Myron lifted a large leather satchel from the floor. He dumped it out onto his desk, revealing its contents; stacks of worn maps and scrolls, and a small wooden box that clattered as it hit the desk's surface. Myron cleared his throat and turned to the room full of students. "Good morning." His voice was coarse and gravelly, and his tone was flat with little intonation. He very rarely shared any personal details about himself with his classes, but it was widely known across campus that he had been a renowned captain in Dazuria's army - before his dragon had been shot down and the subsequent injuries forced him into an early retirement. Myron reached for the wooden box on the desk and slid the lid off, revealing the tiny figurines inside. "Today, we'll be analyzing the Battle of Red Water." He shook a few of the figures out of the box, and they skittered across the maps littering the desk. "As you should already know, the Battle of Red Water was the deadliest skirmish in Dazuria's war against Aspes some twenty years ago. It took place along the Emerald Tributary, and earned its moniker because the amount of blood spilled into the river turned its waters red." With that, he lifted a handful of maps and dropped them unceremoniously onto the nearest student's desk. That was the class's cue to begin. They scrambled out of their seats; Myron was a man of few words, but none of them wanted to invoke the wrath that came when he believed his students were wasting time. Ardian shouldered his way through the crowd until he stood directly before the desk. The maps littering its surface were clearly old; they were cracked and peeling along the edges, their parchment stained a deep yellow from the hands that had held them over time. Faint lines of ink were scattered across the paper, marking the location of various regiments' camps or attack plans to be deployed. Ardian always felt strange handling these maps. Aside from getting a brief glimpse into the minds of some of the most brilliant strategists of their time, it was eerie to know that the scratches on these papers had determined the fates of so many. Ardian chewed at his lip as he studied the map before him. They had previously learned that the Dazurian army had been in the middle of corssing the Emerald Tributary when they were ambushed by an Aspesan fleet that had been lying in wait up the river. The Dazurians had been surrounded by their enemies' boats and trapped in the water, the dragon riders overhead unable to do anything out of fear of injuring their own troops. It was a clever move, Ardian had to admit; Aspes was an island nation in the middle of the Bevernach Sea, while Dazuria was landlocked on three sides. Of course the Aspesans would prevail in a water battle, even if their opponents had dragons. Sibella, one of Ardian's dormmates, idly slid one of the dragon figurines farther up the river. "They should've had more scouts in the air," she mused. Myron nodded silently as he passed by her, and she shot a triumphant smile at Ardian. The major issue, which they all knew, was that Dazuria had never practiced naval warfare before the conflict with Aspes. They had naively believed their dragons were superior weapons that were impossible to best in any sort of combat. It was obvious now that this was untrue; the Battle of Red Water had depleted Dazuria's forces so severely that they agreed to sign a peace treaty with Aspes, effectively ending the war with no victor. Ardian scooped up one of the human figurines and rubbed his fingers over it. Its wood was faded and chipped, its tiny features almost entirely smoothed away by time. He sighed and set it back down on the painted river snaking across the map, consigning it to its watery doom. |
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Darkseeker
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Marlow frowned, feeling the pang of disappointment settle more heavily as he scanned the map laid out on the table. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the academic exercise—he did—but he far preferred when the strategies and battles were more recent. Maps from decades ago felt distant and theoretical, lacking the immediacy of current conflict. For a fleeting moment, he considered abandoning the room entirely and braving the snowstorm to spend time with Cath in the Crags. But just as the thought crossed his mind, a gust of wind howled against the windows, rattling them ominously. He shivered involuntarily and decided against it, stepping forward to join the table nearest to him. A familiar map of a river valley was spread out across the table, and Marlow found himself shoulder to shoulder with his usual group. On one side was Fiora, her bright, sharp features matched only by her equally sharp wit, and on the other was Ty Valarr, Perrin’s younger brother, whose roguish good looks were almost as distracting as his quick mind. Marlow grinned at them both as he slid into place. The three of them dove into the map with practiced ease. They already knew the details of this battle—how the strategy employed had failed disastrously and why. Marlow moved a small dragon figurine to hover above one of the rivers while Beckett, another student at their table, countered with a boat below, mimicking the naval engagement that had taken place. “I don’t think the problem was the lack of navy,” Fiora said, her tone as brisk as ever. She tucked a stray lock of copper hair behind her ear, her eyes fixed on the map. “The real issue was that the riders weren’t an asset in this battle. They were barely involved.” Marlow nodded in agreement, but Ty was already waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, come off it, Fiora. You know the risks involved. If a dragon goes down, the rider dies. That’s bad, sure, but losing a dragon? That’s catastrophic. They wouldn’t risk getting within cannon range of those ships. Do you know what a single cannonball can do to a dragon’s wing? Complete disaster.” He arched a brow at her, a sly grin on his face. “Wasn’t your uncle in this fight? Maybe ask him about it.” Fiora’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mouth to retort, but Marlow tuned them out. His attention was drawn to Professor Myron at the front of the room. Myron was a fascinating figure, though not in the conventional sense. He was enigmatic to the point of mystery, his limp and gravelly voice telling stories he himself never shared. Everything the students knew about him had come secondhand—whispers of his past as a celebrated warrior bonded to a dragon as legendary as he had been. The war had changed all that. His dragon had been gravely injured, and though not killed, the pair had retreated from the public eye. Now, no one saw the creature anymore, not even in the Crags. Marlow’s gaze lingered on the professor, a thousand questions buzzing in his mind, but he pushed them aside. He had a more immediate concern—the assessment coming up later that week. He stepped away from his table, weaving through the rows of students to make his way to the front. Navigating the cramped space proved difficult. He was jostled several times, and at one point, he accidentally bumped into a dark-haired boy sitting near the front. Marlow turned quickly, cheeks warming as he fumbled an apology. “Ah, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice flustered as he straightened. “These desks are so close together." His brow furrowed as he floundered for the other boy's name. "Ummm. Ardian?" He tried. "Right? Marlow. I think we might have had basic training together first year." |
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Summer Month: 3 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
