Post by bokun on Aug 30, 2012 0:55:16 GMT -5
MARKO VESELINOV ILIEV
Name:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Marko Veselinov Iliev[/font]
Nickname:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Certain people can get away with calling him 'Mark'.[/font]
Nationality:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Pariter [[Bulgaria]][/font]
Gender:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Male[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 25[/font]
Social Rank:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Noble[/font]
Occupation:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Bishop[/font]
Hair Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Black[/font]
Eye Color:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Greyish-hazel[/font]
Weight:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 80kg (176lbs)[/font]
Height:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 189cm (6'2'')[/font]
Special Features:[/font][/size][/b][/u] He's slender and shady-looking; with lightly tanned skin. His features are rather angular, his eyes deep-set and his jawline broad. In bright lighting, his eyes look to be more of a grey hue than hazel.[/font]
Likes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
-Getting his ego stroked.
-Money.
-Superiority (ie. being the boss).
-Cigarettes.
-Fixing stuff.
-Queuing for no reason.
-Roses.
-Folk music.[/ul][/color][/font]
Dislikes:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
-Having to pay more for something than someone else would.
-Food being too salty or too sweet.[/ul][/color][/font]
Strengths:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Weaknesses:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Dreams:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Fears:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Personality:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
Some might describe Marko as a prime example of bipolarity. Whereas he has his notable mood swings, they would be highly exaggerating. If someone were to meet him for the first time under normal circumstances, they'd likely find him to be generally polite, albeit in an off-hand manner. He doesn't seem to say much at first, which can make him seem stoic at times. Of course, there are certain deciding factors that can change first impressions from the norm considerably. If he doesn't like the look of someone at first, it will be quite a task for him to like them at all - thankfully, this is a rarer occurrence than one would think.
The typical outer shell of impassiveness, however, is not one that is hard to crack. Once Marko has warmed to someone, he'll be happy to let them see the cheerful and friendly - albeit often peculiar - layer beneath. However, warming to someone and thoroughly trusting them are poles apart in his eyes; it takes a surprising amount to gain his trust, but he's dedicated to any that do.
As a child, he was poorly behaved and a bully to others around him. Incredibly, despite all of the maturity he did get, these are traits that have stuck with him. He definitely has a tendency to pick on people, although his means are quite varied. To friend and foe alike, he's the type to get a kick out of messing with others' heads. Unless it's clear he hates someone, though, it usually isn't done with spite, though he likes to give bad reasons for doing so, too. He mostly just does it for attention. Any slyness about him is also rather obvious.
Outwardly, he's also a very proud and boastful guy, arrogant and headstrong. This likely stems, funnily enough, from an inferiority complex of sorts. He thinks everything he does is fantastic, and that the world revolves around the oh-so-wonderful him. He thinks, hoping that eventually he'll have reached the point where he believes it, or it manifests, or both. The best way to get on his bad side, therefore, would be to spurn him, or point out particularly weak points. This would be at one's own risk, however. He's irritable, and pushing the wrong buttons can invoke a nasty temper in him. In spite of this, he's strong, both physically and mentally. Even if it doesn't seem possible, he can endure a lot just by gritting his teeth and bearing it. He's the type who can't see failure as an option. And if he fails at anything, he'll make up an excuse as to why it wasn't really a failure for him, whether he has to explain it aloud, or just tell it to himself.
That isn't to say he's completely hard-hearted, though, even if it may be quite easy for one to assume he was. He adores children and animals and flowers and is actually pretty sweet and loving if you do happen to get on that side of him. The fact is, if you tease him about having a soft centre, he will probably get annoyed. Keeping up a strong exterior and reputation is important to him.[/font]
History:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Born as the eldest of many children to a family in Pariter, Marko spent the first years of his life vying for attention from his parents he didn't often receive. This being the cause of an underlying inferiority complex, it turned him into a volatile child. At a loss for what to do with him, and burdened with their jobs and other younger children to try to raise at the same time, his parents sent him away to a local monastery at the age of six.
Being among the monks helped somewhat. Though he became quieter and less boisterous, matters weren't resolved otherwise. Marko had felt, understandably, angry towards his parents for leaving him, when he was old enough to understand what they had done; in the end, his desire for more attention than they could give had left him without anything.
The habit was difficult to kick entirely, though. The monks had little influence on him in the ways of the Holy Book, but the times when they would fail to practise what they'd preach, he'd take in their doings like a sponge - whether it be stealing money from a communion, eating better than the homeless would, or doing rather explicit things in the bed chambers that went entirely against the rule of abstinence. From what he could gather, the monks could get away with just about anything, even if it was against their teachings, so long as they had a Holy Book on hand to wave around when claiming their actions were justified.
More children turned up at the monastery, the older he became, and this was where his old habits returned. He'd bully and fight with the others to no end, in particular the younger ones. One of the senior monks took notice of the fact he'd try to forcefully gain a superiority over the other boys. This lead to contact with the castle, which had been in need of an apprentice to the Black King's Bishop. Accepted for the position, Marko denounced his vows as a monk and left the monastery for the castle.
Under the strict guidance of the King's Bishop at the time, he grew to suppress his brash exterior. The Bishop taught him how to read and write to a far better standard than the monks had; how to negotiate and manipulate, tactics, mind games, and above all, a heavy disfavour of Penuria - everything that would be useful as both an advisor to the King and an ambassador of the country. By the end of it, he was almost a different person to the obnoxious boy who had been whisked out of the monastery to fill the apprenticeship. The King's Bishop passed away a few years later, leaving Marko to take on the role himself, with little doubt left that he could handle it.[/font]
Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] Marko's eyesight has never been the best, ever since he was born. He's not entirely blind, just rather short-sighted; he is, however, quite worried that in later life he will lose his sight entirely. This is pretty much the reason anyone touching (their) eyes is a squick to him. [/font]
Roleplay Sample:[/font][/size][/b][/u]
(historical)
[April 21st 1917; Lake Dojran, the Macedonian front]
When he had closed his eyes, it was late afternoon, and there had still been a pale light shining behind the grey clouds. When he had opened them again, it was pitch black. It seemed the blizzard had never stopped once. Neither had the shelling.
He wondered why he'd fallen asleep, seated on the trench floor, his legs crossed and his shoulders hunched over, hugging himself for warmth... Then, momentarily, he wondered how he'd managed to sleep at all through the noise. The barrage was near deafening.
Shaking the settled snow off his coat, he rose with a stagger, his legs numb from the cold. With no source of light, he was forced to pat around the wall to get his bearings. There were no soldiers in the trench around him; those who were not on lookout were behind in the galleries, he expected... He hoped. Squinting, he looked up at the black sky above. It was difficult to make out what was bullets and what was snow. It was perhaps midnight, were he to take a guess - it was too dark to go looking for a watch or a clock of some kind - and the British had been firing relentlessly since the previous morning. It had come as a shock, at first. But that was natural - how often did open fire not come as a shock? Yet since he had last checked, only three of his men were wounded. It was both relieving and gratifying, to think that, whilst knowing that the shells were flying far overhead.
Perhaps England's aim was just abysmal. Or perhaps he was wasting perfectly good ammunition on purpose. Maybe he'd bored him to sleep - maybe his tactic was to bore him to death. Unlikely. He was there to defend what was his - his land, his people, his honour and dignity. The Entete's task was to break through the Balkans. His task was to liberate Macedonia. There was no room for error. Losing here would open the way for the enemy to enter Sofia. They would do it over his dead body.
When the hail of bullets ceased, it came suddenly, and as the silence filled the air for a moment, it was almost as if the battle was over. Cocking an eyebrow in both surprise and suspicion, he felt around for the trench ladder, and - beginning to get the feeling back in his legs - climbed, peering over the top, cautiously - though the likelihood of him being shot at was incredibly slim. He licked at his chapped lips for a moment, mulling over whether this was some kind of trick to lure his men out... Was England aware he wasn't hitting his targets? Perhaps he'd given up entirely. His mind toyed with the notion of victory for a moment... But he remembered he'd been told not to get cocky. Vazov's tactics were working almost perfectly, but if he got ahead of himself, he could mess up. That was normally his downfall.
Still, he narrowed his eyes, spending a while watching the other side of No Man's Land. So much so that, when they came, he was startled - if only because he was surprised he hadn't seen them first.
The first voice to break across the hissing northern wind cried backwards, towards the galleries. "Te idvat!" 'They are coming!'
And come they did - armed, in a line, fading in from the dark abyss of the other side; seeming to carry themselves without concern, without doubt, advancing over No Man's Land like Angels of Death. Interesting... So England thought he'd won, after all. How he wished he still had the capacity to smirk. He jumped off the ladder and went for the nearest machine gun, as the men departing the galleries upon being called forth would soon do, too. He was confident, he wasn't afraid of England or the Entete or the fact that they outnumbered him greatly. But his soldiers were naught but humans; naught but men incapable of suppressing this level of fear. He'd witnessed many officers abandon their uniforms for parade clothes and white shirts. All this time, they expected they would die. Yet their moral was superior. They were defending their homes, their families, their freedom.
He locked on to the other nation, aimed, and put his finger to the trigger. Silently, he thanked his men for their bravery.[/font]
Alias:[/font][/size][/b][/u] clarcster, Jess, she-who-has-many-names[/font]
Age:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 20[/font]
Experience:[/font][/size][/b][/u] 8 years RPing, 3 of those in Hetalia.[/font]
Additional Information:[/font][/size][/b][/u] (soon.jpg)[/font]
Credits:
[/font]Application Code made by B and C. Lyrics by Temposhark, song “Don’t Mess With Me”[/font][/center]
