Isiah is as old as the woods. He's been around a good while, straying across the globe like a dog without a master. But he doesn't look it. Isiah has the haughty looks of a twenty year old, with hooded brows, and a sharp, pointed nose. His lips are thin and drawn, like a knife-slash in his pale face, the tips twitching upwards in an almost permanent smirk of derision.
Even on a normal person, Isiah's deep liquid eyes would be striking. Combined with his sharp face, and pale complexion, anyone to even catch a glance of him will be drawn to the mysterious purple pools, the dark spot of the pupil appearing larger than normal.
Careful inspection of Isiah's physique would reveal him to be deceptively muscled, his lean build belaying any hint at the massive strength and speed he wields.
Isiah is a man of good taste, and his clothing reflects this. His charcoal-gray suits are well tailored, coupled with a pair of smart leather shoes, make him look like a normal business man.
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Isiah Garronde
0 · 838 views · located in 
Eastern Wing City
a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by XavierDantius32
Description
Equipment
Isiah is not strictly human. His physiology is vastly different from that of a human. He has two stomachs, one designed expressly to digest blood. His bones are stronger, and he possesses more muscle tissue than the average human. The effect of this is obvious. Isiah is faster and stronger than most humans. His deep purple eyes give him excellent night vision, and his nails are as sharp as any razor. These abnormalities make him especially good at hunting, and fighting in general.
Isiah has the ability to heal wounds in a matter of minutes, which also contributes to his considerable longevity. A downside to all these abilities is that Isiah cannot step in sunlight during the day, or his flesh will burn and blister, leading eventually to death. No matter what, six hours in sunlight will render him dead.
Other than this, the only way to kill Isiah for good, is to destroy his brain or heart.
Along with his other abnormalities, Isiah is possessed by the Red Thirst. This is a key aspect of his species and comes upon him for four days every month, where he is filled with the desire to kill and drink the blood of a human. With his “gifts” He is amazingly good at this. It does not matter what sex or race the human is, so long as the life blood pumps through his veins.
Isiah's love in life is music. When the thirst has not consumed him, he can often be found (by night) curled up in the corner of a bar, a glass of scotch by his side, with his violin nestled in the crook of his neck. This instrument is a Stradivarius, acquired sometime in the 16th century by Isiah during his journeys across Europe.
So begins...
Isiah Garronde's Story
- Seen 85 Times • Page 3 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Isiah Garronde quietly lurked in his booth, the fiddle now on his knees, the bow on the table before him. With a flick of his wrist, he produced the ornate revolver, and idly twirled it between his fingers, his purple eyes bouncing around the bar, ears pricked for conversation.
Setting the pistol down on the table, he picked up the fiddle again, and raised his voice to address the room. "Any requests?"
Setting the pistol down on the table, he picked up the fiddle again, and raised his voice to address the room. "Any requests?"
Isiah Garronde chuckled raucously, a glint of purple fire springing into his eyes. "You read me well, kind sir." Isiah let his southern accent creep into his voice, flexing his shoulder and placing his bow upon the fiddle.
The tune rippled across the bar, Isiah's bow a blur on the strings, his voice cutting across the tune, telling the story of the Devil, and an ill-advised fiddle contest.
The tune rippled across the bar, Isiah's bow a blur on the strings, his voice cutting across the tune, telling the story of the Devil, and an ill-advised fiddle contest.
The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Wing City Gardens (Southeast)
Sometimes, Isiah hated the curse that plagued his kind. He would love to walk in the daylight, among the humans, watching their beauty, tasting their passion. Instead, he was confined to the darkness, branded a ghoul and a bogeyman, cursed to be alone.
He was dressed in a dark suit, with a thick wool greatcoat over the top, disguising the bulge of the shotgun hanging down by his hip. As he heard the lullaby, he twitched back the tails of the coat, reaching for the concealed weapon. When he saw Sanina, he stayed his hand, a grin spreading across his face.
"Fine night for a walk."
He was dressed in a dark suit, with a thick wool greatcoat over the top, disguising the bulge of the shotgun hanging down by his hip. As he heard the lullaby, he twitched back the tails of the coat, reaching for the concealed weapon. When he saw Sanina, he stayed his hand, a grin spreading across his face.
"Fine night for a walk."
Isiah Garronde stood in a lax, but still recognizable "at ease" pose, his arms folded behind his back, his coat pulled away to display his weapon. It was obvious to him that he was in the presence of a powerful Vampire matriarch, worthy of respect and fear.
As Parson burst from the shrubbery, Isiah tipped him a lazy salute and a smile, before settling down on the ground, slipping the fiddle from the soft case on his back. The bow followed, as he nestled the instrument in the crook of his neck.
"Any requests, little one?"
As Parson burst from the shrubbery, Isiah tipped him a lazy salute and a smile, before settling down on the ground, slipping the fiddle from the soft case on his back. The bow followed, as he nestled the instrument in the crook of his neck.
"Any requests, little one?"
Despite being propped against a tree, his coat-tails spread out, the fiddle in his neck, Isiah was incredibly aware of the situation. The bizarre multi-barreled shotgun was within reach, and with his reflexes, he could have the weapon up and firing before a human could blink.
He did not watch Sanina as she circled him, rather he focused on the instrument, putting bow to string, and raising a slow, haunting tune which filled the glade with its mournful melody. As he played, Isiah could sense the loathing the matriarch directed at him, and he partly understood why she felt that way. Isiah had met rogue vampires, covens of butchers and killers that hunted humans like cattle, driving wanderers from their area.
He did not watch Sanina as she circled him, rather he focused on the instrument, putting bow to string, and raising a slow, haunting tune which filled the glade with its mournful melody. As he played, Isiah could sense the loathing the matriarch directed at him, and he partly understood why she felt that way. Isiah had met rogue vampires, covens of butchers and killers that hunted humans like cattle, driving wanderers from their area.
set aside the fiddle and the bow, getting to his feet, ignoring the unwieldy bounce of the shotgun against his leg. The night air was cool on his face, the rustle of the leaves the only sound. He started to pace around Sanina, almost a mirror image of her movements, not moments earlier.
"What do you wish of me, M'lady?"
"What do you wish of me, M'lady?"
Isiah stepped in, his movements as swift and precise as a dancer. He was now no more than two feet from Sanina, and he offered his hand, in the age old gesture of friendship. Despite this open gesture, Isiah was ready to spring, ready to disappear into the night like a deer, running for the motorcycle which idled by the park gates.
"My name is Isiah." The vampire's tone was clipped and ill-defined, his usual southern drawl slipping away like a veil, as if he were banishing all traces of the human with it. "Why thank you. I've had a long time to practice."
"My name is Isiah." The vampire's tone was clipped and ill-defined, his usual southern drawl slipping away like a veil, as if he were banishing all traces of the human with it. "Why thank you. I've had a long time to practice."
Isiah Garronde met Sanina's gaze with his own, liquid purple eyes, a small smile crossing his face. He took a pace back, tousling his short, dark hair. He was not flustered by the distance, only wary of an attack. He started to pace again, the greatcoat trailing along the wet ground behind him.
"I have heard the name Lessard, but I have never seen one of the clan in the flesh apart from your--" Isiah paused, swallowing. "--Son, Parson."
"I have heard the name Lessard, but I have never seen one of the clan in the flesh apart from your--" Isiah paused, swallowing. "--Son, Parson."
The setting changes from Wing City Gardens (Southeast) to The Lessard Family Manor
Isiah Garronde pulled up in front of the wrought-iron gates, the motorcycle throbbing under him, gouts of noxious fumes eminating from the chromed exhaust. He stepped from the bike, popping the seat, depositing his thick leather jacket inside. Reaching up, as if to scratch his back, he drew his revolver, dropping that next to the riding jacket before closing the case.
The night air was chilly, a full moon rising above the baroque mansion. The gates squeaked as Isiah slipped betweem them, careful not to damage the well-cut charcoal suit that hung from his skinny frame. His feet made no sound as he skulked along the gravel path, smirking slightly at the classical fountains and peacocks that strutted around the expansive grounds.
Mounting a flight of broad stone steps, Isiah flattened his dirty blonde hair, adjusting the skinny black tie cinched tightly around his neck. He approached the massive oak doors with more than a little trepidation in his heart, stiil a little on edge after the previous night's attack. It could easily be a trap, and he was walking right in to it, completely unarmed.
Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Isiah took up the heavy brass knocker, and rapped it against the studded doors.
The night air was chilly, a full moon rising above the baroque mansion. The gates squeaked as Isiah slipped betweem them, careful not to damage the well-cut charcoal suit that hung from his skinny frame. His feet made no sound as he skulked along the gravel path, smirking slightly at the classical fountains and peacocks that strutted around the expansive grounds.
Mounting a flight of broad stone steps, Isiah flattened his dirty blonde hair, adjusting the skinny black tie cinched tightly around his neck. He approached the massive oak doors with more than a little trepidation in his heart, stiil a little on edge after the previous night's attack. It could easily be a trap, and he was walking right in to it, completely unarmed.
Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, Isiah took up the heavy brass knocker, and rapped it against the studded doors.
Isiah Garronde spun on his heel, dropping into a low crouch, a menacing hiss escaping from between his lips. A few seconds later, he straightened up, offering his hand to the rather strange individual.
"Name's Isiah. Try warning me next time, I could've had your throat out." Although fairly well masked, there was a definite sneer in Isiah's tone, born from the annoyance at the rashness of the youth.
"Name's Isiah. Try warning me next time, I could've had your throat out." Although fairly well masked, there was a definite sneer in Isiah's tone, born from the annoyance at the rashness of the youth.
Isiah Garronde grinned warmly at Parson, holding up the fiddle-case sling over his shoulder. "Yes, I'm here to see your mother. Maybe we could play a little after the meeting?"
With a dismissive shrug at Kyle, Isiah wandered through the door, reaching down to tousel Parson's hair as he passed the child. Despite Parson's gift, the boy's presence put him at ease. He didn't know many mothers that would let a child sit in on the brutal murder of a friend.
With a dismissive shrug at Kyle, Isiah wandered through the door, reaching down to tousel Parson's hair as he passed the child. Despite Parson's gift, the boy's presence put him at ease. He didn't know many mothers that would let a child sit in on the brutal murder of a friend.
Isiah Garronde smirked at Kyle, and pushed past, marveling at the sheer size of the mansion. He ran a hand through his hair, following behind Parson. "Nice place you've got here. Must've cost a lot of money, eh?"
Isiah was still rather wary, his eyes sweeping every vantage point and alcove for trouble.
Isiah was still rather wary, his eyes sweeping every vantage point and alcove for trouble.
Isiah Garronde did not sit, rather slipping out of his suit jacket, and rolling up his shirt-sleaves. It was a calcualted move. In a suit, he looked smart, and intelligent. In his shirt sleaves, displaying his brawny and scarred forearms he looked like a warrior. Hopefully this would deter any of the more voracious Lessards from springing on him while his back was turned.
Setting his jacket down on an armchair, he paced around the room, gazing into the eyes of a few of the potraits, picking up and replacing an antique vase. He stopped at the far wall, testing the edge on an ornamental halberd which was crossed with an identical weapon. At least he'd be able to defend himself if they turned on him.
Setting his jacket down on an armchair, he paced around the room, gazing into the eyes of a few of the potraits, picking up and replacing an antique vase. He stopped at the far wall, testing the edge on an ornamental halberd which was crossed with an identical weapon. At least he'd be able to defend himself if they turned on him.
Isiah Garronde turned, flexing his shoulders, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "Yes ma'am." He crossed the floor quickly, settling lanquidly into a chair opposite Sanina, much like a cat getting comfortable.
"What was it you wanted to see me about?" Isiah was toying idly with the fastenings on his fiddle-case, a lock of blonde hair obscuring his left eye.
"What was it you wanted to see me about?" Isiah was toying idly with the fastenings on his fiddle-case, a lock of blonde hair obscuring his left eye.
Isiah Garronde tried to remain relaxed, sprawled in the luxurious comfort of the armchair, a small frown of annoyance crossing his face.
"Indeed. I've bumped into him a couple of times." As he spoke, he studied Sanina with his deep purple eyes, taking everything from her pale complexion to her manerisms. There was clearly something not right about her. On top of the vampirism. "If I had to ask anything of your family, it would be shelter. I'm tired of having to wander from town to town after every month."
"Indeed. I've bumped into him a couple of times." As he spoke, he studied Sanina with his deep purple eyes, taking everything from her pale complexion to her manerisms. There was clearly something not right about her. On top of the vampirism. "If I had to ask anything of your family, it would be shelter. I'm tired of having to wander from town to town after every month."
"Thankyou for being so hospitable, Ma'am." Isiah grinned at Parson, before turning back to his mother.
"I honestly do not know. I generally stay as long as I am welcome. I think however, this city could become my home."
"I honestly do not know. I generally stay as long as I am welcome. I think however, this city could become my home."
Isiah Garronde got to his feet, dropping down on one knee before Sanina. "I, Isiah Garronde, formerly of the Garronde coven of Bretagne, acknowledge the dominion of the Lessard family over these lands." While seeming overly formal, Isiah wanted to make sure he got this right, and emerged from the grandiose mansion with all his limbs.
He recoiled slightly at the presence of the kitten, resisting the urge to hiss back.
He recoiled slightly at the presence of the kitten, resisting the urge to hiss back.
Isiah Garronde got to his feet, bowing low. "I will take my leave then, Ma'am." With that, Isiah turned on his heel, and moved in the direction of the door, giving Parson a jaunty wave.
The setting changes from The Lessard Family Manor to Gambit's Bar
The dull rasp of a half-tuned fiddle would ring out across the bar as a slim, pale figure in a dark suit eased himself through the door, a fiddle case slung over one shoulder, the instrument and its bow clutched to his chest. The bulge of a handgun could be seen against the slim cut of his suit, and a dark trickle of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
"Not wishing to interrupt..." Isiah drawled, setting the fiddle down on a table, wiping the blood away from his mouth. "But could I trouble you for a first aid kit, and a stiff drink." On closer inspection, patches of dark blood oozed through the fabric of his suit, like flowers blooming on a spring morning.
"Not wishing to interrupt..." Isiah drawled, setting the fiddle down on a table, wiping the blood away from his mouth. "But could I trouble you for a first aid kit, and a stiff drink." On closer inspection, patches of dark blood oozed through the fabric of his suit, like flowers blooming on a spring morning.
"No, don't trouble yourself." Isiah replied, stripping off his suit jacket, to reveal the shreds of a once-white shirt, stained with copious amounts of blood. It also revealed a brown leather shoulder holster, complete with a nickle-plated Colt .45, it's barrel darkened by powder residue.
Setting the jacket down, Isiah pulled off the shirt and holster, stretching over his shoulder to observe a foot-long gash that ran from the base of his shoulder to his back, with an expression that suggested mild discomfort. "I am more than capable of healing myself, I just need something to stem the bleeding."
Setting the jacket down, Isiah pulled off the shirt and holster, stretching over his shoulder to observe a foot-long gash that ran from the base of his shoulder to his back, with an expression that suggested mild discomfort. "I am more than capable of healing myself, I just need something to stem the bleeding."
- Seen 85 Times • Page 3 of 5 • 1, 2, 3, 4, 5