The challenge -- physical description as a key to character

[Saith]

Parker didn't know why, but despite the fact that it would have been an impossible circumstance, he had been under the impression that Simon was a man, or at least a much older boy. Instead he found that the boy could not have been older than himself, a bare fourteen or possibly even thirteen, and that he was as delicate as a butterfly and as pale as a looking-glass. His features were solemn and pointed, his hair was jet-black, kept neat but not short, and he carried with him an air not of confidence, but of confiding, an air that captured with the tantalizing belief that one was trusted and understood, and the only one to be so. Yet the black eyes told a different story. They matched the shadow of arrogance on the violinist's face, and the meticulous neatness of his utterly black uniform. They matched the studied carelessness with which he took his seat by the door, and they matched the ruthless and cunning personality that Parker had somehow expected.

 

[celestia]

Arwen regarded the woman standing in front of her, steely blue eyes that pierced the soul, hair silver and shimmering and skin perfect and porcelain. She had the bearing of an empress, regal and commanding. Her voice when she spoke sounded like it carried the ages with it. Although she wore plain peasant garb Arwen knew that there was something that didn't fit about this woman, and that she was someone not to be trifled with.

 

[Culhwch]

There was a gravity to her - every eye in the room was drawn to her, mine included. She moved like quicksilver, all liquid curves and effortless grace. Her scent preceeded her, sharp and spicy, exotic and overwhelming. Chin raised slighly, her gaze swept lazily around the room. Her lips parted a fraction, and though I couldn't hear it I was sure she let out a slightly dissappointed sigh. Then she headed my way.

 

[Talysia]

I had never seen eyes like his before- a peculiar shade of blue and green combined - and there was a touch of sadness about his whole demeanour. Even when he smiled, it was evident on his narrow face in some small traces. I could see that the women around him loved his unkempt blonde hair, especially the way it fell over his forehead, and I rather imagine that a lot of women (myself included) wanted to brush it out of his eyes with their hands. He simply smiled at them in that slightly melancholic way, before retreating back into his protective shell of solitude.

 

[TheManager]

She was one of those people you would always see and never notice. Clothes, tidy and immaculately clean. Hair, short and mousy, always in the same style and never without a strand out of place. Skin, pale but now strikingly so. You wouldn't know you were looking at her until you gazed straight into her eyes and that's the part that shocked you. Pale and watery with such an intense look of sadness that they made you gasp. It was those same eyes that I found staring at me when I lay in the alley that night, the blood slowly trickling out of me. The eyes were the same, but the hair was clumped together in places with something sticky and the sleeve that covered the arm holding the gun was sprinkled with red.

 

[Talysia]

On my travels I had seen many things, but nothing quite like her. She was tall, not to mention long-limbed, and she had long, almost clawlike fingernails, despite being immaculately manicured. Glossy black hair fell past her shoulders, all but hiding the low back of her red silken gown, and peridot green eyes glanced languidly around the room from a porcelain face. If I hadn't seen the slightly curving horns protruding from just above her ruby earringed ears, I'd have thought she was human.

 

[Simian]

Cullen had a face like a motorway pile-up, lurking beneath an unruly shock of sandy brown hair. Below craggy brows his small, dark eyes darted constantly around the room, as if fearful of imminent attack by some unseen enemy. Cullen’s nose had been broken so many times it seemed to point in every possible direction at once; its misshapen form shot through with broken blood vessels, a silent testament to countless bar room brawls and the taste for strong drink which inspired them. On the rare occasions the man smiled his mean, thin lips would slide back to reveal teeth as mossy and stained as neglected gravestones, long since locked away behind a near permanent scowl. Everything about him spoke of a wildness; an easy familiarity with violence, and a barely suppressed desire to use it. If things went badly, Cullen was definitely going to be a problem.

 

[Talysia]

He had the kind of face that everyone trusted: Old and careworn, kindly and sage, with friendly blue eyes that spoke of reams of experience with the world, and a mop of grey hair beneath a cloth cap. He could always be found in his snug little corner of the pub, nursing a pint and recounting old stories to his similarly silver haired friends. He was a hero, decorated for his efforts in the war, and he wore his medals with pride.

 

[Illithrim]

His armor was of the finest quality. He stood at his full height. At seven feet tall this warrior was not someone to fool around with. He carried a sword unlike that which had ever been seen in those parts. It was a great broadsword that rested at his side. The blade six feet in length with another two feet for the hilt. Aside from his immense stature and powerful weapon, his eyes pools of the deepest emerald green shown with a wisdom that no human could possibly gathered in a thousand lifetimes. His shoulder length hair gave the appearance of one who had been wandering in the wilderness for some time.

 

[Talysia]

I couldn't tell what gender it was from this distance, but it was beautiful. The being had long limbs, moving with a subtle grace that I secretly envied, and as it walked out actually onto the centre of the lake, I realized that I was in the presence of something otherworldly. It stood there, gazing up at the stars for a long moment, as if it were communing with old friends, their light falling onto its' pale, almost sculpted face.

It had grey eyes, both young and wise at the same time, and its' hair was long and white, falling down its' back like the starlight it was gazing into. The robes it wore were of a similar hue, only they left its' back open, and then I saw why. The being languidly brought its' hands together, and then let out a deep breath as two white wings emerged from its' back. As it started to fly off, I watched it until it was no more than a speck of light, indistinguishable from the other stars. The only proof that it had been there at all were the white feathers settling onto the surface of the still-calm lake.

 

[Rosemary]

James was fourteen, tall for his age, with wide shoulders, strong arms but gentle hands. White teeth gleamed against his deeply tanned skin which was slightly dusty and a few beads of moisture clung to his upper lip. Dark brown, laughing eyes were just showing from beneath a mop of chestnut hair, upon which perched a large brimmed bush hat. His clothes were comfortable; a short sleeved, blue cotton shirt that had most of the buttons undone, revealing a broad chest as tanned as his face. A pair of well worn and faded denim jeans covered his lanky legs, while his riding boots were covered in dark red dust.

 

[Talysia]

He was a big man, with a broad face set on not very much of a neck and possessing sharp eyes with only the barest hint of sanity behind them. He advanced slowly; indeed, it looked doubtful that he could move anything but slowly, and the way he held the knife showed little evidence of skill but great evidence of cruelty and enthusiasm. He shook his head roughly, trying to move the lank, greasy strands of hair out of his eyes before he lurched forward, brawny arms held high as he swung the knife down.

 

[crystal haven]

In trepidation, I pushed the door open and entered the room. I had been summoned; the fear of being chastised as great as the fear of meeting him once again. His black hair was the same as I remembered, if not perhaps slightly longer, as it now rested fully on his shoulders. It was straight, yet at the same time unruly, several strands daring to cover his eyes. His brown eyes. I could remember them clearly; I had watched him cut a man down with a single stare. Yet those same eyes had taken my heart; he had given me it back in pieces. Now, after all this time, I was once again kneeling at his feet on the very same stone floor.

 

[Talysia]

Hard, almost crystalline eyes stared out of a face unmarred by emotion, and there was no trace of humanity left in those sapphire depths. It crouched there in an almost feline pose, watching; waiting, and the muscles on its lithe form seemed tense, as though ready to pounce at any moment. It flexed its hands rhythmically, showing claws that wouldn't have looked out of place on a lion or a tiger. I couldn't believe that this had once been a person. What had happened to result in such a dramatic change in both behaviour and appearance?

 

[BloodAndSouls]

Standing before me was a woman slightly younger than myself, and almost my height. For a second she baffled me, for she spoke like an overexcited young girl, and yet looked the picture of unassuming sophistication, albeit with a slight hint of madness. She wore a simple carmine dress and a suede coat over her thin frame, and her dark hair was pinned in a messy bun behind her head. She held a pair of glasses in her hand, which she waved as she spoke. Before I could confirm in any way that I was indeed who she thought I was, a series of garbled sentences began to pour out from between her lips, which, like her fingernails, were painted congealed-blood-red.

 

[Yeoman]

They crouched amidst the darkness, it was impossible to guess their height. Spikes petruded like battlements from sholder plates whilst buckles crawled up knee-high boots. A ghost-white chin perched on knee's guarded by gloved fists, the head titled slightly to the right. Feet were angled inward and leather wrapped securely around a slight feeble looking body; contrasted by the fierce garb they wore. Not a scrap of flesh remained visible.
A face of porcelain stood stark amongst black, brown and purple. Hairline cracks flared from the empty sockets. Lips were pursed and painted red, as were cheeks. Pastel green lingered below the eyes, and sharp black indents created the illusion of eyebrows.
Holes in the unchanging mask revealed black pits, whatever or whoever lurked within was watching just behind them; confined to its improvised armour plate.

 

[The Judge]

I'd never seen this thread before as the last post was before I joined, and I came to it from Teresa linking to it on the 75 word contest. I definitely think it's worth resurrecting, though I have to confess that I'm not one for writing exercises on the whole -- I can't seem to motivate myself to write description for the sake of writing it. I have to have an end in view, as it were; a purpose for it.

I don't go in for much description in my writing anyway, but I thought I'd plunder a WIP to get the thread going again:

There she stood, stiff-backed and aloof, the epitome of puritanical righteousness in one of the purple overgowns he’d seen on the transport. The high buttoned collar. The long sleeves which showed only the rigid black under-robe buttoned tightly at the wrist. More prim buttons firmly closed over a mean bosom, and stiff floor-length skirts which scoured the ground as she moved.



I had thought this was quite a long description -- it certainly is for me -- but I see it's barely half the length of other people's!

 

[Erin99]

Another good thread to resurrect!

I seem to write too much when describing people/places/things, but I'll post a snippet anyway, a fairly short one.

"A pale boy with a crooked nose leaned on the wall in the alleyway beside the butcher’s store. Making no effort to hide himself, he lounged in one of the half-lit lanes. His patched, grimy breeches and shirt did little to hide his emaciated frame, even beneath the fabric cloak wrapped around him. In the two days of living here, Yerik had noticed the youth—Stick, as his fellow thieves called him, because he was slim enough to squeeze through tiny crevices that adults couldn’t—he’d noticed that Stick rarely walked about without his three cohorts: Scabby, Croaky, and Itchy."​

 

[J Riff]

The little guy was dressed like he was joking around, like it was still 1974 and plaid was in. Pedestrians threw change in his hat or moved around him like he was a parking meter or some other natural obstacle. The contrast between his grimy plaid pants and the worn lumberjack shirt made looking at him for long difficult, and his shifty eyes gave the impression that if a penny dropped near him it would never reach the ground.

 

[Karn Maeshalanadae]

Her hair was cut short, cropped to cater the fit of a custom helmet. She dressed in nothing but body-hugging leather which accentuated every curve of her body, both that which interested men and that which convinced them to stay away. On her back was an ancient, master-craft sword of a design not native to her world.

And she loved nothing more than that sword.