Post by Kol Mikaelson on Jan 28, 2018 1:07:38 GMT
Verse: The Originals
Character Name: Kol Mikaelson
Face-Claim: Nathaniel Buzolic
RP Sample:
Life. It pulsated through New Orleans as if the city’s districts were the chambers of the heart, each chord and tune spreading the life essence of the city. Every single lyric improved it in unexpected, crucial ways; spreading music, spreading joy, spreading sorrow. The continuous and conflicted flow of sentiments embedded within the people and the buildings of the cultural city, turning it into the intoxicating and lively abode that it had become for the Mikaelsons. That it had become for him- now.
Life itself was intoxicating for Kol. He loved to revel in it.
The youngest of the Mikaelsons was enjoying the finer, more eccentric pleasures that the city provided, when the town first trembled underneath his feet. The murmur was not of the metaphorical kind, where the ground beneath the Original would shake with excitement at his atrocious deeds and wily concoctions; nor was it the result of flimsy witchcraft. No. The scope and realm of this very quake was beyond what he had ever seen in centuries of being alive.
The trembling asphalt erupted in a linear motion as it progressed towards him, crushed peaks of stone and concrete high above the ground, followed by their submersion six feet under. The buildings quivered intensely, small cracks on the side of the walls, followed by the collapse of wood and brick. The creation of semi-artificial caves and hills, in a matter of seconds, as materials caved unto one another with primordial power. The panic of the people as they screamed and ran- and died.
Kol peered at the equally lifeless body that he was holding with his left hand, his fingers wrapped around the blonde’s neck as if she was nothing more than a paper doll. She dropped dead to the ground as soon as his fingers loosened. Dead. Just like the rest of them.
To him, the world was silent. In fact, silence had partially settled in as he looked through(what remained of) the alley onto the main street, his eyebrows furrowed. He could no longer discern it for what it once was. The music, the chords, the joy and the sorrow, they had all left.
Many thoughts raced through his mind in that very moment. Many uncontrollable feelings fought for dominance as they tried to escape their immortal shell. Some of them, which had not seen the light of day in eons, had won. Hope. Hope that they could rebuild. Hope that they could make the city into what it was and reclaim it again- as they once had. Others were alive. Human,
, or otherwise, they were alive. There was still hope.
Perhaps ironically, the sentiment which Kol had denied for the longest while, the one that he had suppressed when he had shut himself off from what meant to be human, was the sentiment which proved to be his immediate downfall. His hope was crushed in an instant when he heard the second shockwave. Realising the magnitude of the threat, he aimed to run away- but not even an Original could outrun a catastrophe of nuclear proportions. The heat, radiation, and sheer force hit him like he had never been hit before. He had died, yet he had not experienced such pain as he did in the following days.
Kol Mikaelson spent days in agony, healing and getting injured in a continuous, Machiavellian cycle which allowed him no reprieve. He was forced to look and internalise what the world had turned into. Nothingness. What once resembled a city had been completely wiped out- the remains themselves were unrecognisable. For days, he had been left to wonder as to the fate of those he cared for.
Not knowing gave him the strength to push through and meet the remainder of his family. All those that were not immortal had died horribly.
There was a gap in his psyche. Moments that he could not bring himself to recall, even as he lay there, in the Darkness. Kol Mikaelson could only recall one thing: he could not live in that world, where there was no life. Where there was no hope of life. And so, he pleaded with his brother- begged him- to be daggered. For once, it had been his request, and Klaus had fulfilled it.
The gap was narrowing as information flooded into his mind.
He could move.
As soon as Kol had realised he had regained his locomotion, he gathered his might and grasped at the wrist of his sibling tightly. Tears pooled into his eyes and rolled unto his temples.
The Original could not have the dagger pulled out, he could not live in that world.
“Please,” he begged, his voice as quaky as the ground before it had collapsed “Don’t make me live this way. I beg of you.”
With all of his might, his hands squeezed against the hands of the other and wedged the torturous device back into his broken heart. Only this time, as only once before, it had been a blessing- not a curse.
Questions:
Questions HIDDEN by ROBIN
Preferred OOC Name/Nickname: Spike
Character Name: Kol Mikaelson
Face-Claim: Nathaniel Buzolic
RP Sample:
Life. It pulsated through New Orleans as if the city’s districts were the chambers of the heart, each chord and tune spreading the life essence of the city. Every single lyric improved it in unexpected, crucial ways; spreading music, spreading joy, spreading sorrow. The continuous and conflicted flow of sentiments embedded within the people and the buildings of the cultural city, turning it into the intoxicating and lively abode that it had become for the Mikaelsons. That it had become for him- now.
Life itself was intoxicating for Kol. He loved to revel in it.
The youngest of the Mikaelsons was enjoying the finer, more eccentric pleasures that the city provided, when the town first trembled underneath his feet. The murmur was not of the metaphorical kind, where the ground beneath the Original would shake with excitement at his atrocious deeds and wily concoctions; nor was it the result of flimsy witchcraft. No. The scope and realm of this very quake was beyond what he had ever seen in centuries of being alive.
The trembling asphalt erupted in a linear motion as it progressed towards him, crushed peaks of stone and concrete high above the ground, followed by their submersion six feet under. The buildings quivered intensely, small cracks on the side of the walls, followed by the collapse of wood and brick. The creation of semi-artificial caves and hills, in a matter of seconds, as materials caved unto one another with primordial power. The panic of the people as they screamed and ran- and died.
Life itself was draining out of New Orleans.
Kol peered at the equally lifeless body that he was holding with his left hand, his fingers wrapped around the blonde’s neck as if she was nothing more than a paper doll. She dropped dead to the ground as soon as his fingers loosened. Dead. Just like the rest of them.
To him, the world was silent. In fact, silence had partially settled in as he looked through
Life had left New Orleans.
Many thoughts raced through his mind in that very moment. Many uncontrollable feelings fought for dominance as they tried to escape their immortal shell. Some of them, which had not seen the light of day in eons, had won. Hope. Hope that they could rebuild. Hope that they could make the city into what it was and reclaim it again- as they once had. Others were alive. Human,
, or otherwise, they were alive. There was still hope.Perhaps ironically, the sentiment which Kol had denied for the longest while, the one that he had suppressed when he had shut himself off from what meant to be human, was the sentiment which proved to be his immediate downfall. His hope was crushed in an instant when he heard the second shockwave. Realising the magnitude of the threat, he aimed to run away- but not even an Original could outrun a catastrophe of nuclear proportions. The heat, radiation, and sheer force hit him like he had never been hit before. He had died, yet he had not experienced such pain as he did in the following days.
Kol Mikaelson spent days in agony, healing and getting injured in a continuous, Machiavellian cycle which allowed him no reprieve. He was forced to look and internalise what the world had turned into. Nothingness. What once resembled a city had been completely wiped out- the remains themselves were unrecognisable. For days, he had been left to wonder as to the fate of those he cared for.
Not knowing gave him the strength to push through and meet the remainder of his family. All those that were not immortal had died horribly.
There was a gap in his psyche. Moments that he could not bring himself to recall, even as he lay there, in the Darkness. Kol Mikaelson could only recall one thing: he could not live in that world, where there was no life. Where there was no hope of life. And so, he pleaded with his brother- begged him- to be daggered. For once, it had been his request, and Klaus had fulfilled it.
Then, there was the Darkness.
In the absence of it all, everything and nothing existed at the same time.
In the absence of it all, everything and nothing existed at the same time.
Life and Death, immaterial eternal.
The gap was narrowing as information flooded into his mind.
Why was the gap narrowing? Why could he remember? Why could he see the remains and see his siblings in pain?
Why could he remember the fire and the screams?
Why did he have to bear a world where there was no hope of life?
Why did it not matter whether he cared or not? Why did his vision slowly return?
The colour of his skin turned to normal; gradually, from head to toe, as the veins retracted within himself and he regained his vision. He could see stone. A construction, even if a primordial and tasteless one. He could see his brother.Why could he remember the fire and the screams?
Why did he have to bear a world where there was no hope of life?
Why did it not matter whether he cared or not? Why did his vision slowly return?
He could move.
As soon as Kol had realised he had regained his locomotion, he gathered his might and grasped at the wrist of his sibling tightly. Tears pooled into his eyes and rolled unto his temples.
The Original could not have the dagger pulled out, he could not live in that world.
“Please,” he begged, his voice as quaky as the ground before it had collapsed “Don’t make me live this way. I beg of you.”
With all of his might, his hands squeezed against the hands of the other and wedged the torturous device back into his broken heart. Only this time, as only once before, it had been a blessing- not a curse.
Questions:
Questions HIDDEN by ROBIN
Preferred OOC Name/Nickname: Spike
