Tanagura App

[couldhavebeencassiline]

OOC INFO
_NAME:Rinjii
_PLURK: MissRinjii
_AGE: 18+
_CONCURRENT CHARACTERS: n/a


IC INFO
_CHARACTER'S NAME: Alcuin no Delaunay
_CANON: Kushiel's Legacy
_CANON POINT: After his death in Chapter 37 of Kushiel's Dart
_CHARACTER'S PHYSICAL AGE: Between 17-18
_CHARACTER'S MENTAL AGE (IF DIFFERENT): Between 17-18
_CHARACTER'S HAIR COLOR: White
_TANAGURA (elite) OR MIDAS (mongrel)?: Tanagura
_HOUSING PREFERENCE: No preference
_LINK TO TEST DRIVE THREAD: N/A

_HISTORY: The history of the Kushiel series is very long, though it has many parallels to various myths in Christianity, Judaism, Shintoism, and Hinduism, among others, so far as the more elaborate fantasy elements go, while it’s geography and general history closely resembles that of our own world during the Renaissance era.

In the beginning of the history of Terre d’Ange, the land Alcuin hails from, there was Elua. He was conceived from the blood of Yeshua ben Yosef( Jesus) and the tears of (Mary) Magdalene in the womb of Earth. Elua was rejected by many in his travels as being the illegitimate son of God.

Elua was arrested in Persis (Persia), and eight of God's Angels (Azza, Anael, Camael, Cassiel, Eisheth, Kushiel, Naamah and Shemhazai) --who became Elua's Companions--came to Earth to free him. Naamah went to the King of Persis and offered herself for one night in exchange for Elua's freedom. Each of the houses of the Night Court (a highly respected city-within-the-city where prostitution is a holy art and highest form of worship) have their own explanation for Naamah's motives. Fearing Elua and his Companions, the King went back on his promise and put them in a boat after giving them strong wine. The boat came to shore in Bhodistan (India). There, Naamah slept with strangers in the stews so that Elua could eat.

Eventually Elua and his Companions traveled to Terre d'Ange, before it was so called, where he was finally accepted. Elua and his Companions settled, and each Companion save Cassiel founded their own territory. Elua claimed no territory except the City of Elua, which was the only place he ever lingered during his travels. Elua gave his precept as "Love as Thou Wilt," and he and his Companions lived with the populace, creating a nation of people with angelic bloodlines.

They caught the attention of the One God, who sent his messenger to welcome Elua into heaven. Elua rejected his offer, taking Cassiel's dagger and slicing his palm. He informed the messenger that because heaven was bloodless and he was not, he would not go there. This led to the creation of the Terre-d'Ange-that-lies-beyond, where Elua and his Companions went and where D'Angelines believe they go after death.

Prior to their arrival, Terre d'Ange (France) had been part of the Tiberian Empire (Rome) but had little history to speak of. Elua and his Companions arrived after many years of wandering and the people welcomed them. They lived among them and had many children. Thus, the people of Terre d'Ange are literally descended from fallen angels. They gave many gifts to the people, most prominently incredible beauty that often lasts well into the twilight of their lives and is recognized as a trademark of their people even in other countries where Elua is believed to be nothing more than a heathen myth.

It is unknown how long Elua and his Companions stayed in Terre d'Ange, but by the time of the series they have been gone approximately a thousand years.

After the initial creation myth, much of Terre d’Ange and it’s history closely resembles that of Europe through the ages, with Terre d’Ange taking the role of France, Alba being Scotland, the Caerdicca Unitas being Italy, etc. with other countries represented by their fantasy counterparts.

The Tiberium Empire ruled much of the world but was eventually pushed back, their territories being absorbed by each country that sought to appropriate their lands and cultures once more. Every country thrived in it’s own way; Terre d’Ange flourished with the blood of Elua and his Companions, though it was, as with all lands, occasionally tainted by war.

In recent history there was The Battle of Three Princes--Prince Rolande de la Courcel, Prince Benedicte de la Courcel, and Percy de Somerville-- that took place during the reign of King Ganelon de la Courcel in a mountain pass in Camlach on the Skaldi border. Anafiel Delaunay (Alcuin’s mentor and brief lover and at the time, Rolande’s lover) fought alongside Rolande. The three princes shared command of the armies with Rolande commanding the vanguard and Benedicte and Percy commanding either flank. The armies of Terre d'Ange were to charge on horseback quickly engage the Skaldi (Germanic barbarian/viking) fighters they encountered, and retreat three times, hoping the Skaldi forces, who were on foot, would retreat.

During the third charge, the horse of Rolande's standard-bearer broke it's foot, causing Rolande's men to hesitate, thus Rolande charged into the Skaldi forces alone and was killed. When Anafiel realized what was happening, he rode to Rolande's defense and others followed. Though Terre d'Ange won the battle, Rolande died. Anafiel swore many things to his fallen love, not the least of which promising to guard and protect Ysandre, Rolande’s daughter, no matter the cost. That promise sparks the events of the novels.

In order to carry out his promise, Anafiel loses face among the nobles and firmly entrenches himself into the underbelly of society where he plays a dangerous game of intrigue, protecting Ysandre from plots beyond her understanding as he works to see her inherit the throne. In pursuit of that goal, Anafiel adopts Alcuin and trains him to be the perfect spy, gathering intelligence as they attend parties and take assignations with society’s elite.

By Alcuin’s point in canon, Terre d’Ange has existed roughly a thousand years, is known and fairly respected among most cultures and remains largely free of conflict within it’s own borders. Due to the political machinations of some few people, the games of intrigue became more complex than ever and during the events of Kushiel’s Dart, the only book in which Alcuin plays a role, Anafiel and Alcuin are both slain in order to prevent them from solving the riddle of a terrible plot against the throne spanning decades of planning.

With his last breath, Alcuin imparts the knowledge that he can to his adopted sister and fellow spy, Phedre, tipping the scales and balancing the playing field, arming her with the tools she needs to keep her on the right path and help her eventually see Ysandre to the throne and the safety of Terre d’Ange ensured. Immediately afterwards Phedre is captured and sold into slavery to the Skaldi who play the role of the first pawns in a dangerous game of politics and warfare that eventually encompasses nigh upon the whole world.

Notes on the society itself: Because of their religious beliefs, Terre d'Ange is an extremely sex-positive culture. All forms of sexual relationships between consenting adults are welcomed. The concept of infidelity is virtually non-existent and it is not at all uncommon for someone to have a consort and lovers in addition to a spouse. A consort is an officially-recognized partner. They do not have the legal status of a spouse, but they do have some standing.

Marriage seems to be done primarily for alliances and having children. It is not considered to be the ideal romantic relationship or better than other relationships. Gay marriage is not practiced. Forced marriages do not happen because they would be heresy, but love may not always be the primary factor in a union among the nobility. Even so, no D'Angeline will remain in a loveless marriage. Divorce is not seen in the series, though it seems unlikely that it would be prohibited.

D'Angeline women typically light a candle to Eisheth and pray for her to open their wombs when they get married. A D'Angeline woman cannot conceive until she does this.

Many D'Angelines think quite highly of themselves and have a tendency to be snobby and isolationist toward other peoples. They are exceptionally beautiful due to their angelic lineage. Even the men have a certain delicacy to their features and they do not have any facial hair.

The culture of Terre d'Ange is largely egalitarian, though women do not fight. Men and women both inherit and descent is reckoned through both parents.


_ABILITIES: While Alcuin is physically of the human norm in terms of strength and ability, he was trained since early childhood in various arts of acrobatic and academic skill. He is lean and fit with a supple body made quite flexible by countless hours of exercise, dance and escapist arts. He trained briefly with the Cassiline brother Joscelin for his own pleasure, though he was never formally trained in the art of the sword.

Alcuin is an accomplished horseman and speaks, writes and reads numerous languages quite fluently. He is enormously skilled at gathering information, blessed with an eidetic memory and a very unique attention to detail. He enjoys the arts of being a spy, less for their nature as tools of war and more as a game, though he spends no less time honing those skills as such. His particular talent for gathering intelligence is often noted with envy by Phedre, who becomes the most accomplished spy her world has ever known, suggesting that had he not perished, Alcuin’s skills might have outstripped Phedre’s.

_PERSONALITY: Despite what he was - a prostitute and spy - Alcuin was never hardened by his training and activities, and was described by others in nothing but the fondest terms, even by those that envied his skills. He is described as merry, gentle, compassionate and clever, a quote from Phedre being “It was impossible not to love Alcuin, who loved nigh the entire world.”

Alcuin was very fond of learning and would have lived a long and prosperous life had he been in a scholastic pursuit instead of the dangerous art of spymastery.

Alcuin was a uniquely lovely young man who took no pride in his looks and focused on his work above all else. He was one of those people who had the ability to control the mood of a room with his pleasant demeanor calming presence alone, as well, and was often tasked by Delaunay simply to be present during talks.

Quote: “Unlikely as it seemed to one raised in the Night Court (the district of prostitution), he (Alcuin) was unaware of his startling beauty, which only increased as he got older. He had a quicksilver mind and a prodigious memory, which I (Phedre) envied, and yet he took no pride in it save the pride of pleasing Delaunay (Anafiel, the adoptive guardian and mentor).”

Quote: “Alcuin stood by to serve wine or cordial at these affairs, and while I (Phedre) was contemptuous of his lack of sophistication, I could not deny that he was a charming sight, all untutored grace and gentle eagerness, the vine-cast shadows throwing traceries of green on his moon-white hair. When Alcuin proffered the wine-jug with his grave smile, as like as not guests smiled back and raised their glasses, whether they wished them refilled or no, merely to see the pleasure of serving light his dark eyes. Many a tongue was loosened in that courtyard by virtue of Alcuin's smile.”

At the age of 14, Alcuin was sworn into the Service of Naamah, a sort of priesthood in which worship is made through sex, coupling for material gain or services as the angel Naamah did for the sake of Elua. Though taught a great many things by that point, Alcuin never had a passion for the arts of Naamah and as such had always taken an entirely academic approach to the nature of sex. Once his training began in the arts of pleasure, the world opened in an entirely new way, though he never fully adapted. He was so devoted to Delaunay and learning that even offers of coupling with Phedre, later renowned as the most desirable woman in all of Terre d’Ange, could not sway him.

Quote: “For Alcuin, it was a revelation. I had not understood fully, when we witnessed the Showing, the depth of his naivete. Astonishing though it seemed to me, he had no comprehension of the mechanics of the deeds by which one offers homage to Naamah. I, who had never entered the dance, nonetheless knew the steps by heart. Alcuin had only the instincts of his gentle heart and eager flesh, such as any peasant in the field might have.

Later, I understood that this was part of his charm, as Delaunay meant it to be. The unspoiled sweetness that was ever a part of Alcuin was part and parcel of his charm, and irresistibly seductive to the oversophisticated palate. But then, I did not understand. I would watch him in the evenings when we studied together, reading with lips parted and wonder suffusing his features. "The caress of winnowed chaff," he would read, murmuring. "Place your hands on the waist of your beloved, drawing them upward slowly, gathering and lifting your beloved's hair so that it floats like chaff above the threshing floor, letting it fall like soft rain. Did you know that, Phedre?"

Yes." I gazed into his wide, dark eyes. "They did that at the Showing. Remember?" I had known these things since I was a child, had grown up learning them. It was slowly and surely driving me mad not to practice any of them.

"I remember. The caress of the summer wind." He read the directions aloud, shaking his head in amazement. "Does that really work?"

"I'll show you." If I knew no more than he in practice, I at least had seen these things done. I led him to the floor, where we knelt, facing each other. His features were grave and uncertain. I placed my fingertips lightly on the crown of his head, barely touching his milk-white hair, then drew them slowly down; down the silken fall of his hair, over his shoulders, down his slender arms. My heartbeat quickened as I did it and a strange certainty rose in my blood. I was scarce touching him, fingertips hovering above his pale skin, but where they passed, the fine hair rose on his arms like a wheatfield stirred by the summer wind. "See?"

"Oh!" Alcuin drew back, gazing in awe at his skin, shivered into gooseflesh with subtle pleasure. "You know so much!"

"You are better than I at the things which matter to Delaunay," I said shortly. It was true. As much as I had learned, I could not match the quicksilver facility with which Alcuin observed and recorded. He could remember whole conversations and relate them in their entirety, right down to the speakers' intonations.

"Alcuin." I changed my own tone, putting on the murmurous, beguiling inflections of Cereus House that I heard underlying Cecilie's voice. "We could practice, if you like. It would help us both to learn."

Alcuin shook his head with a susurrus of moonlight-colored hair, wide eyes ingenuous.

"Delaunay doesn't want us to, Phedre. You know that."

It was true; Delaunay had made it explicit, and not even the lure of gathered knowledge was enough to tempt Alcuin to disobedience. With a sigh, I returned to my books.”

On the eve of Alcuin’s 16th birthday, his virginity was auctioned off for the highest price ever fetched in the Night Court. He took no pride in it, and in fact never learned to love the Service of Naamah as Phedre did. Despite his dislike of the service, it did not change him, did not harden or corrupt him. He bore the duration of his service, including the sale of his virginity, with a dignity unrivaled.

The only thing that fascinated Alcuin more than the mysteries of the world were the mysteries of his master, Delaunay. when the boy set his mind to as task he could unravel the deepest of secrets with a little time and effort, and there was no effort Alcuin would not make in pursuit of answers. If Alcuin had any fault that his friends and family noted, it was that he would seek his answers regardless of the risk. Occasionally his risk-taking would have higher stakes than anyone could predict of the careful and calculating youth.

In order to free himself from the service of Naamah, Alcuin orchestrated a very dangerous and inadvisable assignation with a man willing to kill Alcuin for the sake of not losing the right to see him again. Forcing the man’s hand, Alcuin very nearly got himself killed for his information and freedom.

Quote: “But if I thought my skills considerable, they were nothing to Alcuin's. I had heard in his voice and seen in his face the depth of his loathing for Vitale Bouvarre, yet in the days before his final assignation, no trace of it reflected in his demeanor. He was the same as he had always been, gentle-spirited and gracious, calmly accepting whatever fate dealt his way.

That which yields, I thought, is not always weak.”


Alcuin’s distaste for the service of Naamah was sharply outweighed by his love and devotion for Delaunay, and unlike Phedre, whose service was a matter of contract, Alcuin chose to become a Servant of Naamah of his own will that he might better serve his mentor. He was willing to risk the greatest blasphemy out of love. As such, he completed his service to Naamah and was absolved of guilt by the church, leaving the service once he completed his marque - the sign of Servant rising from novice to master.

In short, there are numerous points in which Alcuin’s character is described, but all accounts are in agreement: Alcuin no Delaunay was a kind, compassionate and devoted soul, quicker to smile and off succor to others than concern himself with his own needs. He was blessed with an extraordinary intellect, outstripped only by his kindness and all hiding a will of iron that helped him survive as long as he did, even as he did things he found repulsive simply to further the goals of the man he loved and protect the members of his household.


_ITEMS: Alcuin will arrive with the clothes on his back - simple but of fine d'Angeline make - and a few books, mostly about religion and mythology in his world.


WRITING SAMPLES
_NETWORK SAMPLE:

[ Dark eyes with the faintest hint of violet gaze quietly at the screen as he sits, forming his words in his head. He looks like a marble statue, white-skinned, white-haired and unmoving but for the occasional rise and fall of his chest. When he finally speak, his words are elegantly accented, carefully enunciated and in a voice like a cool wind. ]

There is an event occurring in the city, three days hence. I don’t usually participate in the trading of flesh but I find my home strangely lacking. I could use the entertainment, though I have very little interest in wasting my time on anything dull or broken. I prefer complicated puzzles that I can put together on my own to an already completed and framed puzzle that I am left merely to gaze upon.

[ All the while his expression remains remote, only the smallest of smiles playing upon his lips. He is so very good at this game, playing the role of lord in his castle, so above it all, so perfect and resolute in his ways, an Elite subject to no whims but his own, playing with mongrel lives like pieces on a chessboard. He means none of it, of course, but good luck to any trying to see that in his eyes or hear it in his voice. For all appearances he is every part the ruthless Elite seeking to abate an insatiable curiosity. ]

As such, if anyone is selling anything of particular note I would like to be informed. I prefer to bend and shape things to my own will without having to undo the clumsy work of others less aware of my particular intentions. I think I should like very much to find something larger and more unruly than the last. [ He remarks, drawing attention to the lean, dark-haired man standing behind the chaise upon which he lounges. The Mongrel remains motionless, staring ahead with heavy-lidded eyes, leather collar resting against his throat the only scrap of clothing he appears to wear, though his loins remain discreetly hidden behind the curved back of the chaise. ]

If anyone has something with longer hair, perhaps? Ah, and don’t worry about cosmetic damage: scars are simply interesting stories for me to read along the way.

At any rate, do keep in touch. [ That said, he concludes the feed, turning away from the screen and leaning towards the Mongrel with an outstretched hand just as the image goes dark ]

_SMUT LOG SAMPLE:

He shuddered under the dark hands rasping softly against his milky skin, arching into them even as they pressed him down again. The fingers of one hand tightened against his throat dangerously while the other pinched a nipple into rising, accompanied by his sudden, unrestrained mewl of pain and desire.

He had never aspired to the cruel agonies his heart-sister Phedre so desired, but there was something particularly poignant in his coupling with the Mongrel servant. There was a level of despisal there that he could never quite rid the man of, despite his best efforts; no matter what, they were always Elite and Mongrel, Master and Slave.

While Alcuin afforded the man every courtesy and leniency he could under the circumstances, the resentment always remained. It was only in their coupling that the white-haired youth could see any measure of acceptance. When he was beneath the Mongrel, pinioned by ferocious passion and misdirected rage, Alcuin could see a hint of wary regard. After all, what Elite in their right mind submitted to a Mongrel? Allowed his life to be threatened in such a way, fingers at his throat able to squeeze the life out of him even as a filthy Mongrel cock plunged into his pristine, Elite body? None.

The Mongrel - whose name was Kestrel, as Alcuin had learned after a particularly brutal night of coupling - always started violently; choking, slapping, shoving, anything to prove that Alcuin wasn’t what he presented himself to be - a compassionate owner offering as much freedom as possible. Every time, Kestrel would try to force Alcuin to show his hand, prove he was just like the others, and every time, Alcuin submitted despite the cruelty that he so abhorred. The Mongrel refused to admit it, but the patient acquiescence was wearing him down, bearing too heavily upon him. The weight of his actions bowed his shoulders every time he had to watch his Master rise from the bed and clean himself, powdering bruises so that the other Elites wouldn’t know what went on behind closed doors.

It was always the same, never reported. Kestrel was never dragged away for obedience training, never punished for his rages and Alcuin, his frightfully gentle Master, simply accepted it until the anger wore off and the passion claimed them both. He was beautiful, Kestrel noted with a hint of disgust, just like all the other Elites, but different somehow. His white skin and white hair reminded the Mongrel of moonlight on a clear night, and sometimes he thought of the Elite as cold and remote. Then Alcuin would laugh and every preconceived notion shattered.

For Alcuin’s part, he did the only thing he could to bridge the caste gap between himself and his first purchase made on a whim. He knew that the slave would resent him, though he had never imagined how much. Naamah’s teachings were such that love and compassion could heal even the most deeply cutting cruelties. He made himself endure Kestrel’s rages because he knew it was the only way to convince the man of his freedom. The Mongrel never seemed to realize that the only thing shackling him was his own institutionalization. The way he raged against Alcuin was like a bird avoiding flying through an open window because too often before it had crashed against the glass of the closed one. Much as Kestrel liked to believe he was unbroken, he was, just not in the traditional sense.

So Alcuin waited for the anger to pass, even as he grew dizzy from lack of air. Never did he struggle, never did he beg for leniency or call for help. He waited, and in time, Kestrel’s body did the rest of the work. They moved together, clutching and kissing, Alcuin’s white legs wrapped around Kestrel’s brown hips as they pumped, crushing them together. It was always frantic and rushed the first time, as though Kestrel were determined to finish before the authorities could rush in and beat him senseless; his release was all that mattered, like having the last word in an argument. Afterwards he would lay atop Alcuin, spent and wary, waiting for the inevitable arrest, and all that would happen would be his Master’s cool hands gently caressing his sweaty back and buttocks, teasing him to life once more. And when the guards never came and he was left to have his Master a second time, there was no reason to be quick and cruel.

Alcuin always enjoyed the second time. He only wished he could make it something more real and cathartic for Kestrel - which was why he had made his purchase that afternoon. As the door to his room hissed open and the young woman cautiously padded across the floor, drawing Kestrel's eyes, Alcuin knew he had made the right choice. It hadn't been easy to find the Mongrel's lover, sold and resold time and again. It had cost him an ungodly amount, but the stunned look on the man's face as the girl leaned down to kiss Alcuin's cheek in gratitude was enough to make it worthwhile.

Their patient unraveling of his body afterwards was merely a pleasant reward for his efforts.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT MY CHARACTER IS THE FOLLOWING:
_SENTIENT: Yes
_MENTALLY ADULT: Yes
_CAPABLE OF CONSENT: Yes
_CAPABLE OF SEXUAL AROUSAL: Yes