A P P L I C A T I O N
OOC
Name: Tori
Contact: mad circuitry (AIM)
shot_thecircuit@yahoo.com (E-mail)
Age: 18
Current characters: waywardshepherd
ofthestar
IC
Name: Ibn-La'Ahad, Altaïr
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
History link: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Alta%C3%AFr_Ibn-La%27Ahad#Biography
Age: 25
Canon point: The end of the first game, after he defeats Al Mualim and becomes Grand Master of the Assassins.
Personality: Time and traumas have tempered Altaïr's attitude. When once he was nothing but a brash, overconfident young man who believed himself to be the best, now he stands as a level-headed leader of many. Altaïr is much calmer, humbler and more restrained than he was in the past, able to see his own faults as well as other's strengths, and his ego has been deflated to tolerable levels - no longer does he carry himself everywhere with a haughty, holier than thou attitude, choosing instead to learn anything and everything he can from everyone he meets and leads, as to further his own growth and make certain to not repeat mistakes of the past. At the same time, he can also be an intensely private person, sharing his thoughts and feelings only with those he trusts implicitly. But he's fiercely loyal to those who he calls friends and allies, though he may not always show it, and would do anything he could for them.
All the same, he's still growing and learning. This means there are moments that, when pushed beyond the limits of his patience, he will react with anger and perhaps even a bit of violence if the transgression is serious enough. There are still traces of old pride and self-assurance to be seen underneath, and the easiest way to bring it out is by challenging him to something. He can still be headstrong and more than ready to show someone who is the best of the best should they push all the correct buttons. In short, though he has definitely changed with everything he's seen, done and learned, the core of his personality is still there, waiting for the right moment and set of circumstances to show itself.
Though Altaïr is fantastic with split second decisions and immediate strategies, he, admittedly, doesn't have much of a head when it comes to long-term. He is very much a man of the present and tries not to let himself be bogged down by concerns of the past or the future, taking what's he's learned from the past, applying it to the present, and seeing what road it forges for the future. While he is fantastic at tracking down information and stalking a target for as long as needed, these are also things that were trained and bred into him; when it comes down to plotting details in order to accomplish a different long-term goal, Altaïr is very much out of his field of expertise. This, for the moment, he leaves in more capable hands, and this also serves to show that he's also swallowed his pride enough at this point that it means he can recognize when he's in over his head and ask for help accordingly.
Of course, he might just try exhausting every other available option first.
Powers/Abilities: Nearly since birth, Altaïr has been trained in the ways of the assassin, pushing his body past its limits and back in order to be in top form so as to complete his given tasks quickly, quietly and efficiently. He is, in essence, a finely-tuned killing machine. He may be only human, but he's capable of near inhuman feats of athleticism and agility.
Altaïr is the master of an art called parkour, which can be defined simply: it's the challenge of getting from point A to point B in the fastest way possible - a straight line - without letting obstacles stop you. He's run great distances across cities without slowing down or pausing, weaving both through busy streets and bounding across rooftops, under duress from angry guards or simply the constraint of time. His upper arm strength is incredible, allowing him to make a flying leap and grab onto a ledge and climb up without it slipping from beneath his fingers and sending him plummeting to the ground.
Besides that, he is incredibly skilled with both the use of many kinds of blades - longswords, short swords, throwing knives and the hidden blade that is the trademark of his Brotherhood - as well as proficient in hand-to-hand combat. He has a very keen sense of observation, able to use the immediate surroundings around him to his advantage, whether this means giving an enemy a well-aimed shove into some shaky scaffolding or using the crowd to disappear from sight.
Prose sample: It stunk of death.
Rubble, ruin and decay laid in every direction as far as Altaïr could see, and it was a shock for him that he didn't allow to show on his features. There was no disgust in his eyes, or fear in the set of his shoulders; the only thing that gave away any of his emotions was the set of his jaw, suddenly tight, teeth grit together in an almost painful fashion as he looked around him. That, and the quiet curse in Arabic that he allowed to slip past his lips, so quiet that it blew away on the breeze.
What had happened? This couldn't be - it had to be a dream. Some sort of nightmare, perhaps, a haunting image of fears that lurked in the dark corners of his mind in the days he worked to rebuild the damaged Brotherhood. That had to be it, simply a dreamscape born from the stress that weighed down on him. That and nothing more.
The breeze blew again, causing an eerie howl as it weaved through ruined buildings of make Altaïr couldn't even begin to make sense of. It sent an involuntary shiver running down the Grand Master's spine. This entire landscape unnerved him to a great degree, for more than just the fact that it left him wondering what had happened here, just what could have caused it. The fact that the ruins of the buildings left behind were nothing like he recognized was also a cause for concern, making him wonder if his dream theory was so legit if he was dreaming of buildings the likes of which he'd never seen in his entire life.
He forced himself to shake it off, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths, counting backwards from five. Though the same images greeted him when he opened his eyes once more, at the very least he was calm again, able to take this all in and think about it without overloading himself with it all. And whether or not this was a dream, there was no way to figure out what to do next without some exploration. He took a final look around himself before moving further into the ruin, footfalls silent against broken stone. He needed a high point, somewhere to get a better view of everything around him, a starting point.
He found it in the form of yet another ruined building, clambering up to a ragged edge of stone and perching there, looking out over the area. He found himself growing unnerved again when he was greeted with more of the same - land that looked as if it had been stomped flat and buildings that jutted like the broken ribcage of a long-dead beast out of the dirt. Yet in the distance he could see the faint twinkle of lights, like many brilliant torches, a sign, surely, that there was some form of other life around this barren wasteland.
With that in mind he hopped off his perched and bolted off across the dusty earth, off towards those lights, and something in the back of his mind noted the distinct irony of this situation. For once it wasn't the darkness he was fleeing to, but rather, fleeing from.
Name: Tori
Contact: mad circuitry (AIM)
shot_thecircuit@yahoo.com (E-mail)
Age: 18
Current characters: waywardshepherd
ofthestar
IC
Name: Ibn-La'Ahad, Altaïr
Fandom: Assassin's Creed
History link: http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/wiki/Alta%C3%AFr_Ibn-La%27Ahad#Biography
Age: 25
Canon point: The end of the first game, after he defeats Al Mualim and becomes Grand Master of the Assassins.
Personality: Time and traumas have tempered Altaïr's attitude. When once he was nothing but a brash, overconfident young man who believed himself to be the best, now he stands as a level-headed leader of many. Altaïr is much calmer, humbler and more restrained than he was in the past, able to see his own faults as well as other's strengths, and his ego has been deflated to tolerable levels - no longer does he carry himself everywhere with a haughty, holier than thou attitude, choosing instead to learn anything and everything he can from everyone he meets and leads, as to further his own growth and make certain to not repeat mistakes of the past. At the same time, he can also be an intensely private person, sharing his thoughts and feelings only with those he trusts implicitly. But he's fiercely loyal to those who he calls friends and allies, though he may not always show it, and would do anything he could for them.
All the same, he's still growing and learning. This means there are moments that, when pushed beyond the limits of his patience, he will react with anger and perhaps even a bit of violence if the transgression is serious enough. There are still traces of old pride and self-assurance to be seen underneath, and the easiest way to bring it out is by challenging him to something. He can still be headstrong and more than ready to show someone who is the best of the best should they push all the correct buttons. In short, though he has definitely changed with everything he's seen, done and learned, the core of his personality is still there, waiting for the right moment and set of circumstances to show itself.
Though Altaïr is fantastic with split second decisions and immediate strategies, he, admittedly, doesn't have much of a head when it comes to long-term. He is very much a man of the present and tries not to let himself be bogged down by concerns of the past or the future, taking what's he's learned from the past, applying it to the present, and seeing what road it forges for the future. While he is fantastic at tracking down information and stalking a target for as long as needed, these are also things that were trained and bred into him; when it comes down to plotting details in order to accomplish a different long-term goal, Altaïr is very much out of his field of expertise. This, for the moment, he leaves in more capable hands, and this also serves to show that he's also swallowed his pride enough at this point that it means he can recognize when he's in over his head and ask for help accordingly.
Of course, he might just try exhausting every other available option first.
Powers/Abilities: Nearly since birth, Altaïr has been trained in the ways of the assassin, pushing his body past its limits and back in order to be in top form so as to complete his given tasks quickly, quietly and efficiently. He is, in essence, a finely-tuned killing machine. He may be only human, but he's capable of near inhuman feats of athleticism and agility.
Altaïr is the master of an art called parkour, which can be defined simply: it's the challenge of getting from point A to point B in the fastest way possible - a straight line - without letting obstacles stop you. He's run great distances across cities without slowing down or pausing, weaving both through busy streets and bounding across rooftops, under duress from angry guards or simply the constraint of time. His upper arm strength is incredible, allowing him to make a flying leap and grab onto a ledge and climb up without it slipping from beneath his fingers and sending him plummeting to the ground.
Besides that, he is incredibly skilled with both the use of many kinds of blades - longswords, short swords, throwing knives and the hidden blade that is the trademark of his Brotherhood - as well as proficient in hand-to-hand combat. He has a very keen sense of observation, able to use the immediate surroundings around him to his advantage, whether this means giving an enemy a well-aimed shove into some shaky scaffolding or using the crowd to disappear from sight.
Prose sample: It stunk of death.
Rubble, ruin and decay laid in every direction as far as Altaïr could see, and it was a shock for him that he didn't allow to show on his features. There was no disgust in his eyes, or fear in the set of his shoulders; the only thing that gave away any of his emotions was the set of his jaw, suddenly tight, teeth grit together in an almost painful fashion as he looked around him. That, and the quiet curse in Arabic that he allowed to slip past his lips, so quiet that it blew away on the breeze.
What had happened? This couldn't be - it had to be a dream. Some sort of nightmare, perhaps, a haunting image of fears that lurked in the dark corners of his mind in the days he worked to rebuild the damaged Brotherhood. That had to be it, simply a dreamscape born from the stress that weighed down on him. That and nothing more.
The breeze blew again, causing an eerie howl as it weaved through ruined buildings of make Altaïr couldn't even begin to make sense of. It sent an involuntary shiver running down the Grand Master's spine. This entire landscape unnerved him to a great degree, for more than just the fact that it left him wondering what had happened here, just what could have caused it. The fact that the ruins of the buildings left behind were nothing like he recognized was also a cause for concern, making him wonder if his dream theory was so legit if he was dreaming of buildings the likes of which he'd never seen in his entire life.
He forced himself to shake it off, closing his eyes and taking slow, deep breaths, counting backwards from five. Though the same images greeted him when he opened his eyes once more, at the very least he was calm again, able to take this all in and think about it without overloading himself with it all. And whether or not this was a dream, there was no way to figure out what to do next without some exploration. He took a final look around himself before moving further into the ruin, footfalls silent against broken stone. He needed a high point, somewhere to get a better view of everything around him, a starting point.
He found it in the form of yet another ruined building, clambering up to a ragged edge of stone and perching there, looking out over the area. He found himself growing unnerved again when he was greeted with more of the same - land that looked as if it had been stomped flat and buildings that jutted like the broken ribcage of a long-dead beast out of the dirt. Yet in the distance he could see the faint twinkle of lights, like many brilliant torches, a sign, surely, that there was some form of other life around this barren wasteland.
With that in mind he hopped off his perched and bolted off across the dusty earth, off towards those lights, and something in the back of his mind noted the distinct irony of this situation. For once it wasn't the darkness he was fleeing to, but rather, fleeing from.