- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Preferred Character Gender
- Female
- Genres
- I am a fantasy lover all the way. I'm willing to try new things though. My favorite types are medieval plots, forbidden romances, and plots with a lot of action. (My favorites are Slave X Master, Royalty meets Commoner, Kidnapper X Captive, overall just forbidden romance that's included in most plots I have set up^^)
Demetrius (Demetri) Morganti
Gender: Male
Age: Looks about 20; actual age= around 150
History:
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The sun was beginning to set, and the shadows grew larger, spreading across the forest like a thick cloak. A shield, one might say. Not that the darker inhabitants of this forest were exactly dependent on the cover of night; it was more of a luxury. And the fact that prolonged exposure sunlight- or any bright light, for that matter- wasn't too kind to their health. Moonlight was much more preferred among them.
Among the branches of a tall pine tree sat a young man. Young, by demon standards, that is. Ancient by mortal standards, nearing a century and a half. Demetrius Morganti is what he goes by, among his own kind. The humans tended to call him 'monster' or another such trivial nickname. As if they feared saying what he actually was. The word demon seemed to terrify most mortal beings; except a select group. The hunters, or slayers, depending upon the person. Some who vanquish only the threats they face, and others who go out of their way and make it their mission to defeat every demonic creature alive. The latter kind was foolish, but dangerous in their determination if one was not careful. The former was much more reasonable... usually.
Demetrius looked out over the city that he and his clan now considered theirs. It might as well be, beyond the influence of the hunters within its bounds. Rarely did they actually hunt among the streetlights, however; luring out unfortunate and foolish mortals was more befitting. The forest was their home, after all, so who could blame them for feasting upon the creatures who enter it? That was the view of those surrounding Demetri, anyway. The rest of his kind, on the other hand, often crossed the boundaries of the city when night fell, and ransacked houses. Some even needlessly slaughtered humans, like animals, for their own amusement. The thought of these pathetic creatures- his clan calls them rogues- made him scowl and sigh with heavy annoyance. The nerve of some, to trespass into another clan's land and cause unnecessary distress, especially at the cost of the rest of their kind. His distaste for them, perhaps, even rivaled that of the hunters themselves.
Once the sun had partly fallen behind the horizon, Demetri made his way down from the treetops. His clan was probably looking for him, now that night was falling. The wind brushed his shadowed black bangs into his face, and with a distasteful click of his tongue he flung the hair away from his line of vision. 'Why didn't I just cut these stupid bangs off?' His sister would kill him. She has always liked his hair long. It reminded her of their mother. He put his hands into the pockets of his long black cloak- a piece of clothing that he always wore during the day, to protect himself from the sunlight- and walked along the forest path, away from the edge of the city. It was then that the wind wafted a familiar scent his direction. His footsteps halted, and he leapt back into the trees, following the source of the smell. A particularly human scent. One of the very few that he personally could identify. 'It's her. Must be chasing down another rogue again. Damn vultures; the sun has barely gone down and they've already begun snatching up prey. Pathetic.'
((Sorry, that was a bit long and ramble-ish))
Among the branches of a tall pine tree sat a young man. Young, by demon standards, that is. Ancient by mortal standards, nearing a century and a half. Demetrius Morganti is what he goes by, among his own kind. The humans tended to call him 'monster' or another such trivial nickname. As if they feared saying what he actually was. The word demon seemed to terrify most mortal beings; except a select group. The hunters, or slayers, depending upon the person. Some who vanquish only the threats they face, and others who go out of their way and make it their mission to defeat every demonic creature alive. The latter kind was foolish, but dangerous in their determination if one was not careful. The former was much more reasonable... usually.
Demetrius looked out over the city that he and his clan now considered theirs. It might as well be, beyond the influence of the hunters within its bounds. Rarely did they actually hunt among the streetlights, however; luring out unfortunate and foolish mortals was more befitting. The forest was their home, after all, so who could blame them for feasting upon the creatures who enter it? That was the view of those surrounding Demetri, anyway. The rest of his kind, on the other hand, often crossed the boundaries of the city when night fell, and ransacked houses. Some even needlessly slaughtered humans, like animals, for their own amusement. The thought of these pathetic creatures- his clan calls them rogues- made him scowl and sigh with heavy annoyance. The nerve of some, to trespass into another clan's land and cause unnecessary distress, especially at the cost of the rest of their kind. His distaste for them, perhaps, even rivaled that of the hunters themselves.
Once the sun had partly fallen behind the horizon, Demetri made his way down from the treetops. His clan was probably looking for him, now that night was falling. The wind brushed his shadowed black bangs into his face, and with a distasteful click of his tongue he flung the hair away from his line of vision. 'Why didn't I just cut these stupid bangs off?' His sister would kill him. She has always liked his hair long. It reminded her of their mother. He put his hands into the pockets of his long black cloak- a piece of clothing that he always wore during the day, to protect himself from the sunlight- and walked along the forest path, away from the edge of the city. It was then that the wind wafted a familiar scent his direction. His footsteps halted, and he leapt back into the trees, following the source of the smell. A particularly human scent. One of the very few that he personally could identify. 'It's her. Must be chasing down another rogue again. Damn vultures; the sun has barely gone down and they've already begun snatching up prey. Pathetic.'
((Sorry, that was a bit long and ramble-ish))