Post by pan on Nov 30, 2008 15:01:12 GMT -5
PAN
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Come where the round of the dance is trod, horn and hoof of the goatfoot god![/center]
you shine the light on hidden parts : CHARACTER
name meaning: Debatable. Some say it means “all”; because he pleased all the gods. Others say it relates to pastures and agriculture.
gender:Male
age:Unknown
birthday:Unknown
god or human? God
[/ul]the body lunges forward : APPEARANCE
body type:A muscular torso, a goat’s limbs.
hair: Curly, brown.
eyes: Deep hazelnut browm.
distinguishing physical features: Goat’s legs and large horns.
clothing style: None
overall: Pan’s appearance is the purest form of the masculine archetype. His muscular body and his animalistic limbs show the wild and uncontrollable aspect to his confusing nature. His long, horns tell of a vitality and sexuality beyond human understanding. And his deep, wise, loving eyes show the concealed sensitivity and love that resonates within him.
Pan does not wear clothes, preferring instead to run wild and free within nature’s true bounty. Nothing about him is tamed; his crazed hair, his short beard and his manic expressions are left to their own business uninterrupted. He lives in the wild, and wild is his appearance.
Foliage and flowers adorn his head, sometimes, in a beautifully entwined verdant crown, made for him by the nymphs and dryads who accompany him on his travels. He often wears the pipes which bear his name around his neck, blowing on them as he dances through the forests of Greece.
[/ul]in the hysterical realm : PERSONALITY
dislikes: –Prudishness
-Hierarchy
-Unnecessary killing
goals:-To sleep with anyone he desires
-To be accepted amongst the higher ranks of the gods
-To be loved
fears:-Zeus
-Being involved in a war
-Having to give up his way of life
strengths:-Seductive (despite his appearance)
-Strong
-Musically talented
weaknesses: –Wine
-Sex
-Attractive women
most valued possession: The Pan-pipes
most valued relationship: His friend Dionysus
habits:He often laughs manically for no apparent reason, or forgets what he was saying halfway through saying it. Though slightly annoying, those who understand him earn a loyal friend.
[/ul]the violence of the gesture : LOVE LIFE
current relationship status:Single
turn ons:Beauty, kindness
turn offs: Ugliness, narrow-mindedness
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you bought yourself a second chance : ETCETERA
financial status of family:Deities, not really applicable.
financial status of character:Deity, not really applicable.
current occupation:God of shepherds and flocks, of mountain wilds, hunting and rustic music.
childhood home:Olympus
residence: Olympus
education:None
overall history:They sing of the blessed gods and high Olympus and choose to tell of such an one as luck-bringing Hermes above the rest, how he is the swift messenger of all the gods, and how he came to Arcadia, the land of many springs and mother of flocks, there where his sacred place is as god of Cyllene. For there, though a god, he used to tend curly-fleeced sheep in the service of a mortal man, because there fell on him and waxed strong melting desire to wed the rich-tressed daughter of Dryops, and there he brought about the merry marriage. And in the house she bare Hermes a dear son who from his birth was marvellous to look upon, with goat's feet and two horns --a noisy, merry-laughing child. But when the nurse saw his uncouth face and full beard, she was afraid and sprang up and fled and left the child. Then luck-bringing Hermes received him and took him in his arms: very glad in his heart was the god. And he went quickly to the abodes of the deathless gods, carrying his son wrapped in warm skins of mountain hares, and set him down beside Zeus and showed him to the rest of the gods. Then all the immortals were glad in heart and Bacchic Dionysus in especial; and they called the boy Pan because he delighted all their hearts. –The Homeric Hymn to Pan
Since coming to Olympus Pan has joined Dionysus, his friend and ally, on his many debauched travels across the world. Taking a leading role in the wild orgiastic retinue of the god of wine, he is revered by the peasants and poets of the world as a liberator from earthly bonds and an open minded, kind, deity.
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CREATOR : stripped to the core
[/b][/font]your name/alias: George
your age: 15
years roleplaying: 6 Months (?)
contact information:PM
other characters:None
how did you find us? Aeterna Roma > Olympian Tales> YOU!
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WRITING SAMPLE
The dull grey room had gone, replaced by a dark, musty place. Curiosity overcame me and I stepped inside, suddenly confident and courageous. The door, on this side wooden and on the other metal, slammed shut with a solid thud behind me. I pulled upon it but it would not open again. The hospital was gone and my Nana with it. I was almost certain that I was about to meet her again on the other side, however.
The place I was in was dark and cold. By its shape and layout I could easily recognise that this was a church, but considering it was a house of God its sombre atmosphere seemed cruel and oppressive. The thick, blood red, sandstone walls were built like the defences of a castle and their darkening, damp presence depressed me. The light streamed in, casting a puddle of radiance upon the stony ground. Motes of glistening dust flittered and fluttered in the air. Once upon a time a huge stained glass window had inhabited the dark space which lay behind the bare altar, but now the panes of the Virgin Mary’s snow white face had been shattered. Holes and cracks splattered the once vibrant image like shot gun wounds upon a corpse.
I wondered though the dreary temple, my hands stroking the wooden pews with a sense of great curiosity. A jagged splinter snagged into my flesh, swiftly and smoothly penetrating the weathered course of my finger. As I pulled it out I winced and a single drop of ruby red blood oozed from the tiny wound and fell with a delicate splash to the cold stone floor beneath my feet. Wiping my hand on my trousers I bent down to examine the ground. With sharp, chiselled letter somebody had carved a name, and beside it a few dates. I had always detested the thought of standing on gravestones.
I hurried from the belittling heights of the church, barging through the huge doors with a hefty push. The light from the sun was refreshing and I sat down on one of the steps with a relaxed sigh. A quiet and quaint scene rolled out before me; it was an archetypical Spanish village, pale whitewashed houses and tall lemon trees spread out around a paved market place. Traders had set out their stalls, proudly displaying their eclectic wares whilst sheltering in the subtle shades cast by their brightly coloured tarpaulins.
The place I was in was dark and cold. By its shape and layout I could easily recognise that this was a church, but considering it was a house of God its sombre atmosphere seemed cruel and oppressive. The thick, blood red, sandstone walls were built like the defences of a castle and their darkening, damp presence depressed me. The light streamed in, casting a puddle of radiance upon the stony ground. Motes of glistening dust flittered and fluttered in the air. Once upon a time a huge stained glass window had inhabited the dark space which lay behind the bare altar, but now the panes of the Virgin Mary’s snow white face had been shattered. Holes and cracks splattered the once vibrant image like shot gun wounds upon a corpse.
I wondered though the dreary temple, my hands stroking the wooden pews with a sense of great curiosity. A jagged splinter snagged into my flesh, swiftly and smoothly penetrating the weathered course of my finger. As I pulled it out I winced and a single drop of ruby red blood oozed from the tiny wound and fell with a delicate splash to the cold stone floor beneath my feet. Wiping my hand on my trousers I bent down to examine the ground. With sharp, chiselled letter somebody had carved a name, and beside it a few dates. I had always detested the thought of standing on gravestones.
I hurried from the belittling heights of the church, barging through the huge doors with a hefty push. The light from the sun was refreshing and I sat down on one of the steps with a relaxed sigh. A quiet and quaint scene rolled out before me; it was an archetypical Spanish village, pale whitewashed houses and tall lemon trees spread out around a paved market place. Traders had set out their stalls, proudly displaying their eclectic wares whilst sheltering in the subtle shades cast by their brightly coloured tarpaulins.
character application made by zander of archaic fever
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