Post by Marcus on May 8, 2008 6:29:16 GMT -5
Marcus Volturi
Look at him now he's paler somehow, but he’s coming around he's starting to choke it's been so long since he spoke
But he can have the words right from my mouth
STATISTICS
Full Name:Marcus Volturi
Nickname:To his face? None. Behind his back? I’m sure there’s plenty of imaginative ones.
Your age now: 3008
Your age when you were changed: 21
Power: The ability to see relationships. To Marcus it is merely like reading a facial expression. The years have taught him how to use such a power to his advantage and it holds far more power with his manipulative hands to force it along then most would ever imagine. Although over the years, with the loss of his mate the gift has become far more alike a curse and Marcus heavily resents how it forces him every moment to see the light and loves in others hearts were his own lays empty and alone.
Coven: The Volturi Clan
BEAUTY
Hair Color: Pitch Black
Eye Color: Red with small wisps of white that hint to his age
Overall Appearance: Handsome in a ‘pretty’ manner with a strong jaw and high cheek bones. Thick red lips hint at his ancient Italian heritage. His skin is deathly pale more so then most vampires clinging to aged blue veins. He stands rather tall, slim but wiry in build. His accent clings to that of his youth, a Italian long since forgotten to the rest of the world.
Likes:
The arts
Women
Literature
Power
Beauty
Sarcasm and wit
Being rich and able to get away and take what he damn well pleases
Dislikes:
Those who challenge authority
Not getting his way
Werewolves
Memory’s of his lost lover
Those who lack sophistication, intelligence and loyalty
Strengths:
Wit and sarcasm
Manipulation
Large self control
Wisdom
Artistically Talented
Charming
Intelligence
Weaknesses:
His temper when pushed to far
Cold to the state of utter apathy
Absolutely bored with life
Any mentioning of his mate
Can be exceptionally rude and crude
Habits:
Drums long fingernails when bored
Arch’s his eyebrows
Has a certain pompous look that crosses his face unbidden when faced with someone less intellectual
First Impressions: At first glance Marcus has a strange slight creepiness to him, something about him even with fashionable clothing that refuses to fit in with his surroundings. Depending upon what kind of a mood you’ve caught him in, your gender and alliance Marcus can be both the most charming and seductive of creatures or the foulest of cockroaches sometimes managing to pull off both.
Personality: Marcus is a total enigma. An artistic soul who can flitter between emotions and thoughts as easily as traffic lights change colour. Little shocks or entices him, truly in his long life he has seen it all and with the death of his lover he can no longer bring himself to care. His only lingering fascination lies with the arts and beauty and even those he finds are starting to become terribly repetive.
Sarcastic and pompous, his long years have gifted him with an infinite intelligence and a strong opinion in just about everything. But with his downfalls Marcus also has a charm beneath his rudeness, a knowing of people and just how to manipulate them. He lusts for all and anything that will give him a momentarily release from his own thoughts and that deep hole left in his heart.
HISTORY
(Takes a deep breath)
Life:Born in the Millennium of 1000BC! Marcus son of Volturi (The middle later dropped as soon as they were turned) was the youngest born of his three brothers. In a world even historians know little about the majority of the people were nomads, their mother – a woman who could be considered in some senses a witch with her uses of herbs and plants was the companion of their father Volturi. She put a stop of their nomad life upon reaching a part of the country that would later under the three brothers egos became known as Volterra. She fell inlove with the countryside and slowly a type of castle was constructed. The castle under the Volturi brothers has remained relatively the same although through the need of refurbishment and recreation it is practically no longer the same castle at all. Slowly around the castle encampments started to form gradually growing into a town of sorts.
Marcus lived the life of a spoilt brat, rich, handsome and charming the boy soon grew into a teenager renowned for his exploits. At the age of five his mother had died after several years of growing sicker and sicker with each passing winter. Their father found a new hatred for the three boys and chose instead for the ‘slaves’ (for they were certainly treated far differently to what the term is used today) to care for them, his presence only ever there to give a firm beating when they misbehaved or at occasion meals. He and Marcus hated each other with far more passion; Marcus incredibly proud refused to accept a beating when he was 14 refused to allow that to be the end of it and his pride be demanded. A vicious circle of games began the father punishing his youngest son only for the boy to seduce his fathers mistresses or wives and daughters of important friends – only to be punished more and the cycle to start again.
Still life was enjoyable with it’s fleeting pleasures, until one day a strange woman with dark hair and white skin came to the mansion and the three once sociable Volturi brothers and all their slaves were not seen leaving the mansion again.
Afterlife: Three days after the appearance of the strange woman Marcus awoke screaming with such a thirst he had never known. The house was eerily silent from it’s once bussing with life save he and his brothers who also felt the thirst. For days their ‘dark mother’ as Marcus would later name her kept them torturously starved. She had easily won his two brothers over when she returned with substance but Marcus forever the most inquisitive and curious, filled with questions on the world was a harder case. For him there was a special gift of substance, his current lover who if he had stayed human he would have probably married more from love on her behalf and a gentle affection to his. It had taken but moments for Marcus to destroy her any guilt of feeding after that never comparable.
For years the brothers and their Dark Mother lived in peaceful happiness, feasting gloriously the three now godly handsome boys wrecking all the havoc a teenager would with infinite power. It was this woman who gradually began to talk them into ideas of building an empire of sorts, of taking control and ensuring justice and rules instead of chaos in the vampire world. She vanished rather suddenly without a single whisper and for over 2000 years there has been not even a whisper of her presence to the brothers. But her mission was successful and the Volturi brothers began calculating and building guidelines to rules that would later be followed throughout the entire vampire world.
It was after this Marcus took several decades, separating from his brothers to travel the world and see it in all it’s finery, spread words of the Volturi to vampires, sample the worlds beauty with his artists eyes and bachelor status. After years of seeing everything there was to offer, travelling with Nomads, walking through the halls of Greece – he returned home to find his beloved Italy blissfully in the middle of the Roman Empire thriving with sophistication and art and his brothers awaiting him in the old mansion.
For the remainder of the years he remained in Italy mostly watching as the empire faded in disgust to be replaced with uneducated brutes. But still finally after years the dark ages ended and sophistication returned. The brothers lived quite content in their manor like kings, enforcing their rules, seducing and taking what they pleased a happy securing of power and a growing guard beneath there feet.
All was well until Marcus fell for a beautiful fair haired women. Ever the womanizer it was terribly unexpected when he sudden chose to settle down, when other women lost all interest to him. He watched her for weeks not realising until it was far to late that he was falling, feeling something he had only ever felt tiny hints of in the past. They soon grew together, she begging for he to change her as their relationship grew. And though it was a torture, though her blood sang to him with such rich temptation, though he feared he would take her life or she would decide not to be with him when he changed her he eventually bowed to her wishes. For many years they lived happily, Marcus actually committing to a monogamous relationship his life only for her, an obsessive perhaps unhealthy love between them.
With her death at the hands of anarchists in a battle he had forbidden her from Marcus changed. After weeks of locking himself in his grief in a room, starving maddened in his grief he was finally forced to re-emerge. He never returned to the man he had once been. Now cold and quiet in his dealings, passion abandoned for apathy.
Coven Info:
Aro: Well… he’s family. While part of Marcus respects Aro his chirpy enthusiasm has long since lost it’s amusements. Brotherly ties that had once kept them so incredibly close weakened and shrivelled with age. Still no-one knows Marcus as well as Aro and vice versa, no-one but each other know their most darkest secrets and that keeps them together.
Caius: Always the one so heavily bound by his need for justice. Like Aro there is a lingering respect and perhaps a small affection, the three know one another better then all other vampires could know anyone having seen one another in every situation and with their gifts.
(Hummm… Could I possibly be exceptionally cheeky and ask to skip the guard as so little is known about them everyone plays them so differently! I don’t want to write anything that would clash with anyone’s character)
ALL ABOUT YOU
Name: Kaitlyn (come on who else ever plays Marcus?)
Age: 16
Other Characters: N/A but I might take up a human - need some fresh blood
Other Sites: Visions of the night, Beyond Twilight
Experience: 4-5ish years…
Example1:
visionsofnight.proboards105.com/index.cgi?board=oldd&action=display&thread=348&page=1
Marcus and a NBPAC *never to be played again character*
Example2:
The idea that she was gone was not one he could contemplate. He hadn’t left his rooms in weeks, remaining at the battle long enough to ensure the Volturi victory, long enough to see friends and enemies burnt in a pile of corpses so no human would stumble upon any evidence. He had refused to let her join that pile. It was cruel, that all others were little more then ripped chunks of charred meat while his lost love lay perfect, without blemish as if she would open her eyes at any given moment. He had clung to her for hours, so sure if he just wanted it enough, if he just waited long enough it would wear off and she would return to him. One of his brothers had literally had to tug her corpse from his arms, literally had to pull him from the blood soaked ground. Caius had probably been close ensuring his insults were spoken, he had not heard a word.
Somehow and he could certainly not remember how he had come to his rooms and though he was unaware himself, he had not left for verging on two weeks. Time had stopped, the windows covered with whatever he could find, furniture, paintings anything so long as the light could not flitter into the room. That evening found him in the same position he had been for weeks, absolutely unmoving save the odd twitch of a finger or the blinking of eyes. His arms were covering his face, hands grasped at now oily hair, knees bent to his chest, silent in his darkness. He could barely understand what he was feeling, what he was doing. He knew full well as Marcus, as a prince of the dark Volturi many had just expected him to continue on, to lament but keep it private as he spent his days doing what he had always done. It’s what he should be doing. Yet the tiniest of movements sent a agony shooting through him that he had never known. A loss, as if a limb had been torn from him and he could not place which one. He had never known such agony, never felt so out of control and could barely understand what it was he was doing, what it was he was suffering.
She was gone and there was nothing lying as a statue would do to change it, the words repeated frantically through his devastated mind and yet he could not tear himself from the sofa. The room around him was utterly destroyed, ripped to shreds by maddened hands, paintings depicting her faces set ablaze and tore, furniture sprawled across the floor in tatters, broken glass filled with blood scattered in every direction. He seemed not to notice, regardless of his coal black eyes, his skin whiter then white clinging desperately to the bones beneath.
He had not cried a single tear; it was maddening how he stopped it. How he did everything to ensure he did not display such weakness even when locked alone in the darkness. Desperately attempting not to move for he was certain if he didn’t keep himself so curled up, so constricted he would overflow and the tears would never stop. Her face was imprinted behind his eyelids, her gentle smile, her soft laughter, her sobbing that she always tried so desperately to ensure he did not hear. It was all lost, her beauty would never again make the gardens pale in comparison, never would he see her smile, or tell her that he had loved her far much more then it was healthy to. He had stolen her… left her attentionless as he flirted with all around her, as he took all those who would steal her love away from around her, depriving her of freedom. Ensuring he was the one who always aw her smiles, but in the process making them so fake. He had destroyed her. Years ago he could have set her free, had begged her to leave – she should have fled, he should have made her flee for now she would still be alive. In a small cottage by the sea perhaps, with the twins at her side and some handsome man who showered her with attention and adoration.
He knows what his brothers had done with her now. Probably placed her on a bonfire and watched the smoke. There was so much he should have said, so much he should have told and shown her – far to frightened that he would appear weak if he explained how his cold heart was hers, how his very existence seemed to be just for her and now she was gone. And now she could never know, she would never know why he kept her so encaged, why he had wooed her from her sweet innocence, from a potential happiness merely desperate to have her for himself. He should have spent every moment he could in her presence, should have set her free when he knew he was tainting her.
He had been tortured many times, lost many, psychically been ripped to shreds yet nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to the desperate aching of his dead heart as he tried so frantically not to ponder the eternity stretched out before him – alone. Trying not to ponder how he could possibly deal with this grief, with this maddened twist of emotions and all these god forsaken questions and regrets for the rest of existence. He would rather die. Rather face the nothingness he knew came with death then face an existence with that. Yet his body refused to move, refused to pick up the glass on the floor and bleed himself before setting himself aflame or begging his brothers to end it. Refused to move for fear the moment he did he would erupt in frantic sobs, the weight of the world he had lost crushing him.
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
- William Blake
Look at him now he's paler somehow, but he’s coming around he's starting to choke it's been so long since he spoke
But he can have the words right from my mouth
STATISTICS
Full Name:Marcus Volturi
Nickname:To his face? None. Behind his back? I’m sure there’s plenty of imaginative ones.
Your age now: 3008
Your age when you were changed: 21
Power: The ability to see relationships. To Marcus it is merely like reading a facial expression. The years have taught him how to use such a power to his advantage and it holds far more power with his manipulative hands to force it along then most would ever imagine. Although over the years, with the loss of his mate the gift has become far more alike a curse and Marcus heavily resents how it forces him every moment to see the light and loves in others hearts were his own lays empty and alone.
Coven: The Volturi Clan
BEAUTY
Hair Color: Pitch Black
Eye Color: Red with small wisps of white that hint to his age
Overall Appearance: Handsome in a ‘pretty’ manner with a strong jaw and high cheek bones. Thick red lips hint at his ancient Italian heritage. His skin is deathly pale more so then most vampires clinging to aged blue veins. He stands rather tall, slim but wiry in build. His accent clings to that of his youth, a Italian long since forgotten to the rest of the world.
Likes:
The arts
Women
Literature
Power
Beauty
Sarcasm and wit
Being rich and able to get away and take what he damn well pleases
Dislikes:
Those who challenge authority
Not getting his way
Werewolves
Memory’s of his lost lover
Those who lack sophistication, intelligence and loyalty
Strengths:
Wit and sarcasm
Manipulation
Large self control
Wisdom
Artistically Talented
Charming
Intelligence
Weaknesses:
His temper when pushed to far
Cold to the state of utter apathy
Absolutely bored with life
Any mentioning of his mate
Can be exceptionally rude and crude
Habits:
Drums long fingernails when bored
Arch’s his eyebrows
Has a certain pompous look that crosses his face unbidden when faced with someone less intellectual
First Impressions: At first glance Marcus has a strange slight creepiness to him, something about him even with fashionable clothing that refuses to fit in with his surroundings. Depending upon what kind of a mood you’ve caught him in, your gender and alliance Marcus can be both the most charming and seductive of creatures or the foulest of cockroaches sometimes managing to pull off both.
Personality: Marcus is a total enigma. An artistic soul who can flitter between emotions and thoughts as easily as traffic lights change colour. Little shocks or entices him, truly in his long life he has seen it all and with the death of his lover he can no longer bring himself to care. His only lingering fascination lies with the arts and beauty and even those he finds are starting to become terribly repetive.
Sarcastic and pompous, his long years have gifted him with an infinite intelligence and a strong opinion in just about everything. But with his downfalls Marcus also has a charm beneath his rudeness, a knowing of people and just how to manipulate them. He lusts for all and anything that will give him a momentarily release from his own thoughts and that deep hole left in his heart.
HISTORY
(Takes a deep breath)
Life:Born in the Millennium of 1000BC! Marcus son of Volturi (The middle later dropped as soon as they were turned) was the youngest born of his three brothers. In a world even historians know little about the majority of the people were nomads, their mother – a woman who could be considered in some senses a witch with her uses of herbs and plants was the companion of their father Volturi. She put a stop of their nomad life upon reaching a part of the country that would later under the three brothers egos became known as Volterra. She fell inlove with the countryside and slowly a type of castle was constructed. The castle under the Volturi brothers has remained relatively the same although through the need of refurbishment and recreation it is practically no longer the same castle at all. Slowly around the castle encampments started to form gradually growing into a town of sorts.
Marcus lived the life of a spoilt brat, rich, handsome and charming the boy soon grew into a teenager renowned for his exploits. At the age of five his mother had died after several years of growing sicker and sicker with each passing winter. Their father found a new hatred for the three boys and chose instead for the ‘slaves’ (for they were certainly treated far differently to what the term is used today) to care for them, his presence only ever there to give a firm beating when they misbehaved or at occasion meals. He and Marcus hated each other with far more passion; Marcus incredibly proud refused to accept a beating when he was 14 refused to allow that to be the end of it and his pride be demanded. A vicious circle of games began the father punishing his youngest son only for the boy to seduce his fathers mistresses or wives and daughters of important friends – only to be punished more and the cycle to start again.
Still life was enjoyable with it’s fleeting pleasures, until one day a strange woman with dark hair and white skin came to the mansion and the three once sociable Volturi brothers and all their slaves were not seen leaving the mansion again.
Afterlife: Three days after the appearance of the strange woman Marcus awoke screaming with such a thirst he had never known. The house was eerily silent from it’s once bussing with life save he and his brothers who also felt the thirst. For days their ‘dark mother’ as Marcus would later name her kept them torturously starved. She had easily won his two brothers over when she returned with substance but Marcus forever the most inquisitive and curious, filled with questions on the world was a harder case. For him there was a special gift of substance, his current lover who if he had stayed human he would have probably married more from love on her behalf and a gentle affection to his. It had taken but moments for Marcus to destroy her any guilt of feeding after that never comparable.
For years the brothers and their Dark Mother lived in peaceful happiness, feasting gloriously the three now godly handsome boys wrecking all the havoc a teenager would with infinite power. It was this woman who gradually began to talk them into ideas of building an empire of sorts, of taking control and ensuring justice and rules instead of chaos in the vampire world. She vanished rather suddenly without a single whisper and for over 2000 years there has been not even a whisper of her presence to the brothers. But her mission was successful and the Volturi brothers began calculating and building guidelines to rules that would later be followed throughout the entire vampire world.
It was after this Marcus took several decades, separating from his brothers to travel the world and see it in all it’s finery, spread words of the Volturi to vampires, sample the worlds beauty with his artists eyes and bachelor status. After years of seeing everything there was to offer, travelling with Nomads, walking through the halls of Greece – he returned home to find his beloved Italy blissfully in the middle of the Roman Empire thriving with sophistication and art and his brothers awaiting him in the old mansion.
For the remainder of the years he remained in Italy mostly watching as the empire faded in disgust to be replaced with uneducated brutes. But still finally after years the dark ages ended and sophistication returned. The brothers lived quite content in their manor like kings, enforcing their rules, seducing and taking what they pleased a happy securing of power and a growing guard beneath there feet.
All was well until Marcus fell for a beautiful fair haired women. Ever the womanizer it was terribly unexpected when he sudden chose to settle down, when other women lost all interest to him. He watched her for weeks not realising until it was far to late that he was falling, feeling something he had only ever felt tiny hints of in the past. They soon grew together, she begging for he to change her as their relationship grew. And though it was a torture, though her blood sang to him with such rich temptation, though he feared he would take her life or she would decide not to be with him when he changed her he eventually bowed to her wishes. For many years they lived happily, Marcus actually committing to a monogamous relationship his life only for her, an obsessive perhaps unhealthy love between them.
With her death at the hands of anarchists in a battle he had forbidden her from Marcus changed. After weeks of locking himself in his grief in a room, starving maddened in his grief he was finally forced to re-emerge. He never returned to the man he had once been. Now cold and quiet in his dealings, passion abandoned for apathy.
Coven Info:
Aro: Well… he’s family. While part of Marcus respects Aro his chirpy enthusiasm has long since lost it’s amusements. Brotherly ties that had once kept them so incredibly close weakened and shrivelled with age. Still no-one knows Marcus as well as Aro and vice versa, no-one but each other know their most darkest secrets and that keeps them together.
Caius: Always the one so heavily bound by his need for justice. Like Aro there is a lingering respect and perhaps a small affection, the three know one another better then all other vampires could know anyone having seen one another in every situation and with their gifts.
(Hummm… Could I possibly be exceptionally cheeky and ask to skip the guard as so little is known about them everyone plays them so differently! I don’t want to write anything that would clash with anyone’s character)
ALL ABOUT YOU
Name: Kaitlyn (come on who else ever plays Marcus?)
Age: 16
Other Characters: N/A but I might take up a human - need some fresh blood
Other Sites: Visions of the night, Beyond Twilight
Experience: 4-5ish years…
Example1:
visionsofnight.proboards105.com/index.cgi?board=oldd&action=display&thread=348&page=1
Marcus and a NBPAC *never to be played again character*
Example2:
The idea that she was gone was not one he could contemplate. He hadn’t left his rooms in weeks, remaining at the battle long enough to ensure the Volturi victory, long enough to see friends and enemies burnt in a pile of corpses so no human would stumble upon any evidence. He had refused to let her join that pile. It was cruel, that all others were little more then ripped chunks of charred meat while his lost love lay perfect, without blemish as if she would open her eyes at any given moment. He had clung to her for hours, so sure if he just wanted it enough, if he just waited long enough it would wear off and she would return to him. One of his brothers had literally had to tug her corpse from his arms, literally had to pull him from the blood soaked ground. Caius had probably been close ensuring his insults were spoken, he had not heard a word.
Somehow and he could certainly not remember how he had come to his rooms and though he was unaware himself, he had not left for verging on two weeks. Time had stopped, the windows covered with whatever he could find, furniture, paintings anything so long as the light could not flitter into the room. That evening found him in the same position he had been for weeks, absolutely unmoving save the odd twitch of a finger or the blinking of eyes. His arms were covering his face, hands grasped at now oily hair, knees bent to his chest, silent in his darkness. He could barely understand what he was feeling, what he was doing. He knew full well as Marcus, as a prince of the dark Volturi many had just expected him to continue on, to lament but keep it private as he spent his days doing what he had always done. It’s what he should be doing. Yet the tiniest of movements sent a agony shooting through him that he had never known. A loss, as if a limb had been torn from him and he could not place which one. He had never known such agony, never felt so out of control and could barely understand what it was he was doing, what it was he was suffering.
She was gone and there was nothing lying as a statue would do to change it, the words repeated frantically through his devastated mind and yet he could not tear himself from the sofa. The room around him was utterly destroyed, ripped to shreds by maddened hands, paintings depicting her faces set ablaze and tore, furniture sprawled across the floor in tatters, broken glass filled with blood scattered in every direction. He seemed not to notice, regardless of his coal black eyes, his skin whiter then white clinging desperately to the bones beneath.
He had not cried a single tear; it was maddening how he stopped it. How he did everything to ensure he did not display such weakness even when locked alone in the darkness. Desperately attempting not to move for he was certain if he didn’t keep himself so curled up, so constricted he would overflow and the tears would never stop. Her face was imprinted behind his eyelids, her gentle smile, her soft laughter, her sobbing that she always tried so desperately to ensure he did not hear. It was all lost, her beauty would never again make the gardens pale in comparison, never would he see her smile, or tell her that he had loved her far much more then it was healthy to. He had stolen her… left her attentionless as he flirted with all around her, as he took all those who would steal her love away from around her, depriving her of freedom. Ensuring he was the one who always aw her smiles, but in the process making them so fake. He had destroyed her. Years ago he could have set her free, had begged her to leave – she should have fled, he should have made her flee for now she would still be alive. In a small cottage by the sea perhaps, with the twins at her side and some handsome man who showered her with attention and adoration.
He knows what his brothers had done with her now. Probably placed her on a bonfire and watched the smoke. There was so much he should have said, so much he should have told and shown her – far to frightened that he would appear weak if he explained how his cold heart was hers, how his very existence seemed to be just for her and now she was gone. And now she could never know, she would never know why he kept her so encaged, why he had wooed her from her sweet innocence, from a potential happiness merely desperate to have her for himself. He should have spent every moment he could in her presence, should have set her free when he knew he was tainting her.
He had been tortured many times, lost many, psychically been ripped to shreds yet nothing compared to this. Nothing compared to the desperate aching of his dead heart as he tried so frantically not to ponder the eternity stretched out before him – alone. Trying not to ponder how he could possibly deal with this grief, with this maddened twist of emotions and all these god forsaken questions and regrets for the rest of existence. He would rather die. Rather face the nothingness he knew came with death then face an existence with that. Yet his body refused to move, refused to pick up the glass on the floor and bleed himself before setting himself aflame or begging his brothers to end it. Refused to move for fear the moment he did he would erupt in frantic sobs, the weight of the world he had lost crushing him.
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
- William Blake
