"Upon their marble peaks, those things-- those Gods stare down, and their gaze... their gaze is relentless."
Name: Ceryeth Starsunder
Moniker: 'Wish', 'Eternity', 'Star', 'The Bloodied Prince'
Age: ~11,000
Gender: Male
Race: Highborne Kaldorei
Birthplace: Elun'dris (Zin-Azshari)
Alignment: Chaotic Evil, Chaotic Neutral
Affiliation(s): The Highborne, The Kaldorei Empire, Nefeli Cloudwalker
Status: Alive
Residence: Kalimdor
coming soon
From their marble structures and porcelain towers, the Highborne have forever stared; their gorgeous figures hidden from sight, tucked amongst the decorated windows and their unblemished frames- but the knowledge, and knowledge it were, that they were immaculate reached the heavens forever yonder. The Highborne were forever marked as the perfect, unscathed supremity; with their illustrious hair, blazing eyes and infused skin. No lowborne, creature or otherwise could top the regal figurines of Azshara in her splendour.
Ceryeth is no abnormality. Dancing, hovering and soaring like a spectral thing through the once-mighty structures of the prior rulers of Kalimdor, his figure remains absolute and graceful; charged with all the beauty of his kin and of his ancestors before him. He strides like a ghost; a ghost with a hundred thousand years to practice each individual moment, not a single step out of place- his every step infused with deliberation, determination and endless grace.
The perfect, scarlet armor that tops his scarless figure is a true memoir of his people; a token of the high-and-mighty. In stature, Ceryeth is a god; and godlihood, to these immaculate idols, is a birthright. Behind his crimson helmet bores two harshly-torn orbs; perfectly silver like the broad side of the moon, but with two sharp, jagged rifts of arcane origin splitting the very hems of their wispy strands.
Godhood is a thing spawned from birth; and only the most noble, most regal and most divine of figures are born into it. These few are known commonly as the Highborne; and no more fitting title for the vessels of such superiority. In all of their years, they never wither, never fade or tire; in all of their years until, of course, that dreadful day. The Sundering is the hallmark of Ceryeth's downfall; a perfect statue of an elf, turned into a blackened core- the bloodied prince.
Ceryeth is, however, a perfect candidate for such Highborne godhood; in stature, mind and ability, Ceryeth upholds the divine-favored traits of the Highborne with utmost precision. His figure is perfect, with illustrious, dark hair; his mind is perfect, a memory spanning thousands upon thousands of years and never truly failing him; and his ability is uncanny, his control over arcane a force to be reckoned with. All of this is knowledge to the elf; and knowledge he flaunts without regard, uncaring of the opinions of lesser beings.
The best way to describe this divine creature's personality is truly hazy; for none, save for one that shan't be named, truly know his nature. 'True' Highborne are the only figures garnering even the slightest window-peek into his traits, and even then it is obscure, as though looked at by a sheet of hazy glass. To any other creature or lowborne, Ceryeth is cold and hostile; and each judgmental look from the beast spawns paranoid thoughts of terror, as though that black, unseen, menacing thing hiding in his eyes weren't a seperate entity; but simply Ceryeth himself.
STARGAZER
Gazing upon the tower that is Ceryeth is strange, a daunting experience; looking at him imposes upon one an optical illusion, one which bends the mind and preys on the weak-willed. The nature of the illusion is a disorientating sense that he is much further away than he actually is, or so very close that one step toward him would send you crashing into him- despite your senses knowing that he is down the road. It seems to take a lot longer than it should to cross small distances; and similarly, blinking lasts far too long.
Stemming primarily from the sheer amassment of arcane energies winding through the bloodied tower's body, similar distortions are common; such as the blacks in the corners of one's eyes taking on a shimmering golden hue upon looking at or near him, or the hairs on the back of one's neck sticking on end as though something were breathing down it.
LIGHTBENDER
Luminal distortions are a common thing within Ceryeth's presence. Whether by the sheer amassment of arcane building up in his body or some other, external source; peculiar and unusual occurrences become quite usual for those who find themselves within Ceryeth's reach; near the statue, unusual bright lights or flashes at the edge of one's vision are common. Unexplained dimming or brightening of the vicinity (at odds with the, if any, actual light sources or their positions), light coming from seemingly nothing and/or only illuminating specific objects or people, and peculiar shadows cast from what lights are present are a few of the most rumored.
DISCORD
Within Ceryeth's vicinity, it is not unusual to hear things. Anywhere else and it might be odd... but when one is around Ceryeth, even the most chilling of things may just become a harsh reality. Hidden, tucked behind the wind as though frightened of something and yet unable to simply disappear, the distant echo of unintelligible whispering or muttering in a language which is not Eredun but just as eldritch is often heard. As Ceryeth speaks, discordant and unharmonious music that you have never heard spins, blisters and winds behind his voice with no rhythm, order or conduct.
