[Navras]

Shadows are deep within the room. In the depths, a slight glimpse of a figure stands. Back turned. A light breeze flows through the air, causing the fabric of the figures dark cloak to wave so elegantly. The sound of steel, sheathed, echoes through the room. A bright glare from a sword shines, as the point slowly travels to the floor. An unsettling sound becomes audible as the figure turns around, making the sword follow, grinding at the floor. The face of a man is revealed, but the face is not of man. He lifts the sword, following it with his eyes. With a glare from his eyes, almost seductive, he looks deep into her.

"Navras..."

A vampire, unlike any.

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[Amanda]

A young woman, with very light skin, comes into the room. She has long straight black hair, and blue eyes, very light. Her lips are light pink, just like her cheeks. She wears an elegant shirt, with a rose on the neck, and a knee-long skirt, with cachemira stamps. She wears elegant shoes that would probably be Jimmy Choo or Prada. You can feel her parfume from a long distance, you know she's coming. She carries a small bag and an umbrella. Probably to protect her from the sun, though it's almost night. She smiles, and you spot her sharp teeth. So this is why she carries the umbrella... She's a Vampire!, you think, when she finally speaks, with a very soft voice.
My name is Amanda Simon Lopes.

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[Devi]

It was one of those days where the fair weather and favonian breeze would tempt you to close your eyes and succumb to the relaxing power of the world and nature itself.

Devi was not, however, one in touch with nature. She stepped carefully down the streets, ignoring the mild winds, blind to the clear skies. It was people she cared for. Lightly brushing back a blue strand of hair, her sharp eyes watched for passing cars. She routinely minded the punctilios of public behavior--not that she was trying to impress. It was too grounded into the average day that she no longer had to think about whether her speech flowed correctly, whether it was appropiate to sit or stand. Like a typical young businesswoman that expected respect, whether or not she would actually get it. (except that she wasn't a businesswoman, and frankly had no interest in that field)

But her blue hair always attracted stares. The majority was hidden beneath the hat she wore, (that, for the closeminded human, conveniently covered a pair of ivory horns) but it was still visible. At the time she had dyed it, it may have been an act of rebellion...but she kept it years later because it was a symbol of her individuality. It set her apart.

As the demon reached a small restaurant, she peered inside the window, searching for familiar faces. Dev put on a smile and stepped inside, where a group of feminists were waiting, each a good friend.

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[Faer]

Materializing from a higher plane in a quick rush of air and maybe a pop, Faer drifted down unconscious and happened to land on a small cloud enlivened by the interplanar turbulence and thus flicked away leaving Faer to fall another few feet to finally come to rest on a larger cumulonimbus. Leaving run-ons behind, the rumbling of the storm cloud woke Faer who looked up startled at his new surroundings.

In the dimension he previously inhabited, Faer had been a fire elemental and so was understandably suprised at the gray, soft, dry, contraptions now sprouting from his back. 'Perfect portable tinder I guess,' Faer thought with a shrug.

Although taking the whole thing relatively calmly, he was disturbed by these recent turn of events and was fearing a drastic change in personality. Suddenly -- 'Why does everything have to happen so suddenly... my head hurts.' -- Faer didn't know who he was and quickly developed a calm, passive countenance but with easy potential for necessary action. 'And maybe some action not altogether necessary, I would hate to be the kind of creature who sits and dies... man what a drag that would be!' thought Faer with a finality that seemed quite final.

He decided to have a look around his new white and gray and wet situation.

[OOC: hope that was enough to give you a feel for Faer]
EDIT (forgot that people usually look like something):

With a second thought Faer walked back to where he landed and sat down and looked photogenic.

Now that Faer had come over his fire to flesh experience, he could concentrate more on his looks. Blue eyes, wavy blond slightly-past-shoulder-length hair, fit build, huge powerfull green wings he could probably knock over a full-grown dragon with. Other than the wings, he guessed he looked pretty much like he shoud, and he really did mostly since he didn't have those wings.

'I could make these grey things into a hat!'

But in all seriousness, Faer is only temporarily affected by all this. He isn't really this naive.


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If you read my post a bit more carefully I think yoi'll realize that it wasn't a description as much as it was wishfull thinking on the part of Faer. I apologize for the confusion, but I think I didn make it clear enough that Faer does in fact have downy grey wings.

[Erilyaer]

A small girl flies down in front of you. She looks about 12 years old. She has jet black hair that falls over her face and is shoulder length. She has dark green eyes, and sharp teeth that emerge from her upper lip; she must be a vampire. Her clothes include a black short skirt, black and red stripy tights, a red net shirt and black shoes.I'm..... Erilyaer. I shall tell you a bit about myself.

She tells you about how she is an orphan, how she has tried to fight back many times, and also how she has lost everything, including many people who meant a lot to her.

She draws her sword which has a crimson ruby encrusted in it's pommel, with tips of black round the blade and handle and holds it by her side, pointing outward slightly. So, where do I start?

Mod-edit: Fledgling Vampires cannot fly, nor can a fledgling bring such a strong weapon into Elysia. Please edit your post accordingly.

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[Ilire]

A young demon walks in.

He's skinny, with laughably wilted silver hair and two strange eyes - one blue, one gold.

Nothing very spectacular in the way he walks, but it's a leisurely step, snappy and lifelike; none of the sobriety that his angular features would suggest.

There's something in his mismatched eyes; they're bright and raw and bored with life. He holds himself stiffly, shoulders back and chest out. Measured steps.

"I'm Ilire." He murmers, with a lazy drawl. His thin lips curl around each word as if he can literally taste each one. Like he's crazy.

"Ih-LIE-reh" He adds, sticking out a finger for each syllable.

You point to his face, curious to know what he's done to it.

He simply touches the heavily tattooed side of his face, and a mirthless smile flickers across his delicate features. Men... you think, with some irritation. He says nothing but continues his idle tracing of the bizarre symbol.

Demons are generally strange. This creature is no exception.

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