Cinaed Brennan

APPEARANCE ONE - Cinaed cuts an imposing figure. Standing at a respectable 6'6", he towers over plenty of the mundane population. His build is lithe, long limbs and long torso, well-toned but in a compact manner, he is not overly bulky. He has a strong, angular jawline that plays well into his sharp features, high cheekbones and pointed nose. All in all his face is rather masculine with just enough femininity to give him a touch of that 'pretty boy' look. His keen eyes are a dark brown in color, contrasting well with the full head of red hair he has. He wears it down more often than not, letting the long, wavy strands reach past his rear. With his hair color and fair complexion, he makes use of the assumption that he has Irish heritage.

APPEARANCE TWO - Cinaed's true form does not vary too much from his human disguise. He gains height - his stature pushing upwards past 8'0" and weight - his frame is sturdy and more muscular to match the added tallness. While his hair color remains the same, his eyes become a brilliant red-orange. Two large horns adorn his head, extending from his skull just behind his ears, curling forwards slightly then up, and a pair of large, leathery bat wings protrude from his back. His pale features gain a pair of curious markings: a streak of red cuts across his face, running from one cheekbone to the other, while his forehead gains a round u shape with a dot in the center. The last noticeable change in appearance would be his hands, which end up tipped in long talons, and the sharp fang-like quality of his canines.

STANDARD ATTIRE - He prefers soft fabrics like velvet or satin, and tends to keep a rather clean-cut appearance. Suits, formal wear, that sort of thing.

Cinaed takes what he does seriously, and accepts responsibility for his actions. He doesn't blame others or circumstances for his own doings. Once he sets his mind to something, he will not let up on the task until he sees it through. He is not one to leave something half-finished. Going along with his work ethic, for the most part, he has a fairly firm grip on himself and his emotions and motivations. This doesn't mean he's all business, though. To those who have earned his affections and respect, he is a fiercely loyal companion. He will protect them to the bitter end, through thick and thin with little concern for his own well-being.

Thanks to his age, time is not something he worries about much anymore. Things will happen when they need to happen, he's not about to rush anyone, nor does he get frustrated at how things pan out. Having made people watching a habit to help pass the years, Cinaed has a keen eye for detail and picks up on little things that might pass by other people. Being so old has it's downsides, however. Life has lost a lot of its zest during his long lifetime, and he often finds himself dissatisfied with things in general. He has watched the monkeys kill each other repeatedly over skirmishes spurred on by frivolous ideas for far too long. He doesn't have much faith in things getting better for the world. Having had such a solid raison d'etre torn from him early in his life, he finds himself questioning his purpose.

Surviving for as long as he has, well, it's given him a healthy ego. He doesn't flaunt it 24/7, but it definitely gets him in trouble at times when he doesn't back down from challenges. This tends to feed off of his problems with rage when he gets angry. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, he gets furious. Especially regarding touchy subjects (e.g. his past), he gets very...twitchy. He will yell, flash fires usually accompanying his vocal outbursts. Wrong him once and you'll be hard pressed to get him to trust you again. Second chances are not something he gives often, if at all.

Pyromancy: He can create and manipulate fire. Small flames are simple and come naturally thanks to his heritage, but the larger the affected area becomes, the more energy and concentration it requires on his part.

Thermal Energy Absorption: Consider this Cinaed's source of "food". To stay happy/healthy he has to go hang out in a place of concentrated energy and heat for a while, e.g. a volcano.

Functionally Immortal: Cinaed stopped aging long ago. He is also built rather sturdily, but obviously can still be injured and killed with enough wounding/etc.

Shapeshifting: Cinaed can shift between two forms, as notated in his appearance section. The process comes smooth and naturally and is generally completed within a handful of minutes.

Flight: Cinaed's wings allow him to fly — he can carry one average human-sized individual with him — anything larger or heavier than that sacrifices speed and agility.

Heightened Senses / Physicality: Like many supernatural creatures, Cinaed has a stellar sense of hearing, sight and smell. He is also rather strong, proportional to his height and musculature.

Your birth is an eruption, lava flowing through your veins. Countless siblings surround you, a massive family unit that spreads from mountain to mountain. You are an Infernal and fire is your heartsblood. From your earliest moments, you know the rage of the volcano, its ire and passion. Shortly after this becomes familiar to you, you learn of different furor. Other Infernals kissed by different elements seeking to tear down your home. You fight back with your brothers and sisters because it is the only thing that makes sense, because it is the only thing you can do.

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Everything sways in a chaotic balance, elements reclaiming and losing territory with the seasons. Your family grows, you grow. Bonds are shared and broken. Your existence is unpredictable but easy. You grow bored. That is when you notice something strange, deep in the mountain. A flickering tear twinkling in the darkness, the fabric of reality shorn. Curiosity gets the better of you. You step through.

You emerge in silvery darkness, the moon high above casting its rays down on the surrounding sand dunes. Before you is a woman, her arms outstretched to the heavens, beseeching her Goddess for help and protection. Unwittingly you have answered her prayers. She sees you and smiles. You are struck by her beauty. Finger crooked, she beckons you closer. For reasons unknown to you, you oblige, stepping closer, leaning near. Grabbing you by the horn — she has to lean up on her tiptoes to reach — she tugs you down to stare into your face, whisper into your ear.

Saemaesqumk'l, she utters. It is a title: The sun which rises, consumes.

You have been named. Oddly, this does not bother you. It feels right. She feels right. You grunt at her in your guttural native tongue and it only causes her to smile wider. She pats your cheek, turns and gestures for you to follow. You do, and you follow well.

The years pass and you follow her like an oversized shadow. Her devotion to her Goddess knows no bounds. You help her spread the word by keeping her safe as she preaches. Some balk at the idea of following one deity. Others are swayed by her arguments and charms and convert to her teachings. Soon your journeys take you to the great city of Babylon. It towers over you, and you lift her up to ride on your shoulders to get a better view. Idly you muse that such a wondrous city is perfect for your charge, and you have no complaints when she decides to make it home.

So you settle with her and with her flock. Bonds grow deeper, love and affection blossoms. Once again life is easy, but you are content with it. Too content, perhaps, because you do not sense the threat lurking and growing behind the scenes. There is too much else to focus on, and it happens too quickly for you to be able to react. The fact that it comes from someone you trusted only blindsides you further.

The traitor's dagger pierces her heart too quickly for you to save her. Everything turns red. Your large body curls around her still-warm corpse protectively, your lungs expanding to let out a keen that seems to last forever. Once your emotions steady enough for you to be able to act, you are on the warpath. Everything that moves is a target. Everything that doesn't move is a target. Truly nothing is safe. Your fury manifests in righteous fire. Buildings burn, individuals burn, everything burns. You do not stop until everything has been razed. Then you turn your sights to Babylon's garden.

You scoop her body up, marveling in sorrow at how tiny and fragile she seems now, no longer the proud, strong woman that had staked her claim on you and enraptured crowds. You carry her up the steps into the heart of the gardens and lay her down. Rage and woe fuel you as you pour your everything into making the area her funeral pyre. It does not feel worthy enough of her body or her soul, but it is all you can do. Afterwards, you linger by the sidelines, watching her burn, watching everything burn, screaming your lungs out.

When the embers finally cool, you withdraw from the world, torching everything in your way on your retreat. You find the nearest volcano and settle into its reservoir, giving yourself over to the embrace of magma. It reminds you of your old home but does nothing to ward away the sensation of emptiness and loss that grasps at you now. You stay there for ages. Emerging now and then only to stretch and remind yourself that you are alive. Every time you surface, you take time to watch the world around you. Wars occur, nations rise and fall. You loathe humanity but more than anything you loathe yourself for failing to protect the one thing you cared for most.

You remain in your self-exile for what feels like an eternity. You muse over yourself, your past, your love and your losses. Part of you is tempted to remain within that volcano until the world goes cold and still. After some time you decide that is not what she would want for you. Your bones almost creak as you stretch, wings unfurling as you climb free of your shelter. You stare down upon the land of man and finally choose to re-enter it.

No one speaks her tongue anymore, so you need a new name, a new identity, a new calling. You decide on Cinaed, meaning born of fire and Brennan for sorrow. It is horrifically apt, and that is why you like it. The world is much more strange than when you left it, and it takes you a while to adjust. Technology taunts you at every turn, but eventually you assimilate well enough to simply be considered 'eccentric'. You fall into line with humans and pursue a career taking care of Ancient Near East artifacts as they are the only way for you to get close to her in these modern times. Soon you settle in Manta Carlos — something about the place calls to you, even if the commute to the closest volcano leaves much to be desired.

Languages & Writing skills: Infernal (native tongue), Sumerian (old second language), English (primary second language), cuneiform.