Post by Corbin Muunokhoi on Apr 29, 2011 9:39:14 GMT -6
Corbin Ivan Muunokhoi
“The rising moon so bleak and old
Its darkened grin poisons my soul
Mist pledges the darkness
I ride this night - lustful with pride
The lurking mist appears out here
Breaths of evil fire through the snow
This cloudless night smells of fear
Keep my soul - dark and cold.”
Full Name: Corbin Ivan Muunokhoi
Nicknames: Muunokhoi (Vicious Dog), Ghengis, ‘Vicious,’ Jugat (Halfbreed), ‘Dark Fae’
Physical Age: Appears to be 34, really somewhere around 430 years old.
Date of Birth: Unknown
Hometown: Moscow, Russia
Current Residence: New Orleans, Louisiana
Occupation: Resident power hungry Fae who’s sole purpose is to take over the Realm.
Relationship Status: Unusually Obsessed…
Character Type: (WORK IN PROGRESS) Half-breed Fae
Affiliations: Evil; works only for himself.
Gender: Male
Hair: Mostly shoulder length dark brown, with enough tangles to make any sane modern woman want to take scissors to his head.
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 232 lbs
Body Type: Large and stocky; the epitome of an old warrior who’d rather be swinging an ax at someone’s face than playing the couch potato.
Best Feature: His eyes. If they're really windows to the soul, they're probably the only things that a person could use to judge the vicous fae's current mood.
Worst Feature: Definitely his cruelty. Think Jack the Ripper was bad? Try pissing in this guy's Cheerios.
Sexuality: If it can scream, he’s perfectly happy.
Personal Style:
Really does prefer au nauteral, bloody teeth and animal skins to anything else, but when he does chance into human form, it's normally with a simple pair of loose fitting pants and an old, tattered, slightly scary looking fur coat that he'd fashioned out of the skins of those who betrayed him.
Face Claim: Marton Csokas
Abilities: Unlike his full blooded brethren, Corbin only has the ability to control low level spells and other natural magic. But, where he lacks in the power of the Fae, he makes up in his ability to shift into the powerful form of a larger-than-normal wolf.
No, he isn’t a Werewolf or a shifter out to romp in the hay. He’s just your average, homicidal weirdo.
Personality:
To use one word to sum up the ever elusive Corbin Muunokhoi, it would have to be something along the lines of ‘vicious.’ If there is one person in the world that he is most concerned about, it is himself and truth be told, he’s proud of it. According to him, the world is a dog eat dog kind of place, and there’s nothing to do but look out for one’s self...and rip one's enemies into little, blood pieces, while throwing a party in their blood.
At the same time, however, he holds a very strict- albeit warped- sense of honor very close to his chest. He won’t abide standing in the background when an ‘injustice’ occurs in his army and has been known to challenge random people to fights to the death.
But do not be fooled; Corbin Muunokhoi exists solely for his own benefit. He might act cool and composed, but within him lurks a power hungry monster that will forever lust for more of everything.
Likes:
• A certain mouthy Fae/Witch
• Being in control
• Fine wine
• The lovely sound of a terrified scream
Dislikes:
• Erik Kincaid
• Being called a half-breed
• Being wrong
• Fabric softener
Strengths:
• Is a Fae-cockroach
• Is a natural born fighter
• Is an expert body language reader
• Human lie detector
Weaknesses:
• Marissa Skye
• Torturing his enemies
• The drink
• Old weaponry
Mother: Sarangerel ovogt Dumaagiin Sodnom Father: Ivan IV, Czar of Russia
Siblings: Too many to count, mostly illegitimate Others: Terrence Filenze, second in command
Bio:
Born during the end of Ivan the Terrible's reign in Russia, Corbin was the illegitimate son of the well known czar and a captured Mongolian woman. Because of her exotic looks, his mother was sought after by those looking for pleasures within their ruler's household, and he learned early on to hate the race that gave him life.
On the night he turned five, his mother sent him away to live with her people, believing that under their tutilage, he could return with the skills to avenge her. But, as it was, living as a halfbreed in any society was enough to turn a young man into the monster that his guardians prided themselves on forging. Instead of learning the ways of the warrior by hard, yet understanding uncles, Corbin was thrown into the Mongolian army, ridiculed and spat on for his Russian blood. He was called Jugat, fittingly 'halfbreed,' and sent on missions that would surely result in his death. But, like any good cockroach, the boy always managed to stay alive, where others perished.
There is not much known about his early life, but from hints that are dropped from time to time by the man himself, Corbin always possessed the bloodthirsty nature that he is known for today. Despite his family's desire to have him killed- he'd had to learn to sleep with both eyes open, as his uncles would have loved to run him through while he slept, for 'dishonoring' their sacred house- he managed to climb through the ranks of the Kahn's army, succeeding in making a name for himself amongst his fellow soldiers. 'Muunokhoi,' or 'vicious dog,' he was called, for his love of hacking his enemies to pieces on the battle field. Mercy and compassion were not in his vocabulary, and it made him one of the fiercest Mongolian warriors of his time.
It was really too bad that he had his father's Western looks and, on the night of his 21st birthday, found himself sitting by a lake, supported by four legs, rather than two. Ah, mothers. They did so love to keep secrets from their children.
And Corbin’s mother’s secret? Definitely more valuable than the Czar’s many territorial handholds, much to his ignorance. Fascinated by the human world, a little Fae girl by the name of Sara ventured out into the Great Green in search of adventure. She found lands to roam, people to study, languages to learn…and, unfortunately, slavery to bind her once glowing spirit. After being captured by a Mongol tribe and later taken by the Russian army, Sara- then known as Sarangerel ovogt Dumaagiin Sodnom- wished of another adventure…leading home.
In the end, the only real gift that she’d bestowed on her son was the power of her bloodline. And, according to Corbin, it was enough.
Which was when his thirst for power really began. Forget the fickle squabbling of humanity. There was a wider, darker world for him to forge an empire in, and he would do his predecessors proud.
The next phase of his life was devoted to acquiring as much power as he could. Rumor had it that the poisoning of his father had been done by his hand, the fulfillment of his mother's last wishes being the only speck of compassion he's ever shown, but it is unknown. He moved from country to country, invading Europe as his ancestors had China and made the name of Muunokhoi a legend amongst the supernatural beings of his time.
As the years went on, and the age of the warrior turned to industry, the Muunokhoi faded into the background, content to stalk the wilds of India and the cold mountains of Russia. By the Victorian Era, he had acquired an army of willing- for the most part- followers and ruled them with an iron hand, moving from territory to territory with the sole goal to depose the current owners and claim it for his own.
It is in this way that the shifter has moved through the years, mainly keeping to the wilds of Europe than the civilized West. But, for reasons that are currently unclear, he took the name 'Corbin,' and he and his army have moved themselves to the States, settling in the marshes and boggy bayous of New Orleans. It is speculated that it is an attempt to throw off the scent of various shifters and other Beings in Europe hunting for his blood.
But in all reality? There is a shifter whose fame and fighting prowess is known to all of his kind, and Corbin thirsts for his blood. If he could kill the famous Celtic shifter, he would become the most powerful wolf in the land, would he not?
And that is all that counts, in the world of the Jugat: power and blood.
RP Sample:
Ah, the smell of dirt, mold and decaying things. Just the things that any red blooded girl needed to replace coffee, to make her morning complete. Not to mention that ‘morning’ really meant ‘3 freaking AM,’ but she SO wasn’t going to go into that one without throwing an unholy fit.
Resting her forehead against the tombstone in front of her, Ilani resisted the urge to start banging her head against the cold stone. New Orleans’ main cemetery was old, mysterious, large and filled to the seams with ghosts, ecstatic to see a psychic in their midst. She’d only gotten ten steps through the large iron gate that marked the entrance of the cemetery before she’d been surrounded by ethereal figures of men, women, children and animals, all clamoring over each other to catch her attention.
In short? It was a freaking horrible way to start off what was quickly becoming a horrible day. Thank all that was holy that she’d managed to snag Cash and her Confederate buddies, or she might have gone stark raving mad right there.
Talk about a bad time to forget one’s banishing potions. It was a good thing that the soldiers knew self defense, and Cash had the know-how to manifest certain weapons to keep the ghosties in check. Man, this was like tossing her brain into a piranha pond…but hey, needs must.
But back to the work at hand. Straightening, she looked down at the small grave in front of her knees. The dirt was without grass, brand spanking knew and sporting carnations and pictures of the poor, dearly departed. From a wreath of red roses, a little girl’s smiling face seemed to grace the depressing atmosphere of the cemetery, ethereally lit in the soft glow of candles below.
She really did hate this part of the whole ‘help the ghosts’ game. As if being thrown around a room wasn’t enough; now that she was recovered enough to realize that the spirit was angry enough to lash out at her boyfriend, she knew that the only way to understand what the thing wanted, was to go to it.
Aka, traipse around a cemetery in the ass crack of dawn, hoping that the caretaker was asleep and there weren’t any orgies going on where she had to set up shop. Man, talk about really awkward…who the heck would want to get it on in a CEMETARY, she had no idea, but after finding a mass of naked bodies and black robes, she’d made it a point to bring a baseball bat with her, during these morning excursions.
