.❝( Dias (Subject D4) ) ▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋ xxxxx 25 xx MALE xx DRAGON-HUMAN HYBRID xx 6'0" xx 170LBS xx ↘↘. DIAS HAS THE ABILITY TO 'READ' OTHERS, OBJECTS, OR MORE COMMONLY, CELESTIAL
BODIES. THEY HOLD ENDLESS INFORMATION, MAPPING OUT ANSWERS TO HIS QUESTIONS AND
DIRECTION TO HIS INDECISION. AS A DRAGON-HUMAN HYBRID, HE POSSESSES SOME ABILITIES
OF THE DRAGON RACE, INCLUDING HEIGHTENED SENSES, PHYSICAL ABILITIES, REGENERATION,
AND MENTAL ACUITY. THOUGH, AS AN EXPERIMENTAL SUBJECT, HE'S FAR FROM PERFECT AND
THAT IS MOST NOTABLY REFLECTED IN HIS INCOMPLETE HUMANOID TRANSFORMATION.
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To say Dias was born would be an erroneous lie. He had no mother nor a father to speak of,
no kin he could call a family. Created by humans to serve humanity, that was the origin of his
existence. D4 was his code, the fourth in the dragon experiment series. Emotions weren't
inputted, only the single sole purpose to aid humans in their survival. At best he was a tool,
useful while he functioned and easily disposable if he failed.
The traitor, cast from the grace of God into the depths of Hell, or so the stories went. Ironically enough, Judas' story varied little from that of the Bible. Born into the Heavenly City, it was neither greed nor grudge that earned him his title, no, it was boredom. One so deeply rooted in his psyche that not even all the virtue in the world could dislodge it. He wished for blood and excitement, for all that was deemed immoral and inexcusable by his fellow peers. In the end, his first doll had been crafted from the corpses of his next door neighbours and a dozen or so citizens from around the city. The City of Hell. His supposed exile brought Judas to the very place he yearned to travel, though he was ill prepared for what came next. Demons were polar opposites of those in the Heavenly City in every way imaginable. Even one who had been cast out was scorned and stigmatized. But in a world filled with Demons, it was pitifully easy to blend in once you knew how. A slain beast, a mask fashioned from its corpse, and Judas effectively warded off his strange scent and features marked him as an outsider.
• Japanese descent from his mother's (Amane) side, European from his father (Ethan)
• Is an only child. His biological father died when he was four, and a year later, his mother remarried a Japanese merchant (Hayato) who avidly advocates against foreigners.
• Growing up, Kieran was often criticized by his step-father for being of mixed blood and as a result, dyes his hair black and often keeps his eyes lowered.
• The legend and bloodline is from his mother's side but the story got lost through the decades as a pair sharing their fates hasn't surfaced for a good 50 years.
• Knows basic self defense (with swords mostly and a bit of martial arts). He's more versed in how to pickpocket
• Kieran has a deep and endless love for takoyaki
• His flower tattoo rests at the base of his inner wrist and depicts a spider lily. The red lily is associated with loss, longing, abandonment and lost memories. It's believed that if you meet a person you'll never see again, these flowers will grow along your path
tab × SOREN AARUD tab × COMBAT MEDIC tab × 24 / 6'0" tab × PARAIBA TOURMALINE tab × ATOMKINESIS (fornow) tab × EMPATHIC MANIPULATION tab × LAID-BACK tab × CONFLICT-AVOIDANT tab × T H R E E / S T R E N G T H S tab × TH R E E / F L A W S
tab × one positive tie to different character here, may be vague. tab × one negative tie to a different character here, may be vague.
a short blurb about how your character would use their powers.
tab × C H A R A C T E R tab S A M P L E tab × P O S T tab S A M P L E
tabtabtab × LUNAERYA
x
power s**t:
I guess as a combat medic he'd be using it primarily to mend injuries on an atomic level. it's...well, science wise, atoms become molecules through the addition of protons and electrons through covalent and ionic bonds so frankly, as long as he can draw those from other elements, he can mend anything/manipulate anything - theoretically speaking. As long as the laws of matter and energy are obeyed. SO. he'd use it on others as a way of healing (in some sense of the word. mending is probably better), but only if they themselves want to live. otherwise he's not going to ******** with fate. Also for defending allies but for attacking, it really doesn't matter to him who the opponent is, he feels he doesn't have the right to use his ability that way. the morality is strong with this one
random s**t:
Soren is more easy going, he's not a huge fan of confrontations, kind of a coward that way. He'll go out of his way to try to act as middle man if it means it'll deter fighting. IF however, the aggression is directed towards him and there's no way to avoid it, he's kind of a beat-you-down-till-you-don't-get-up kind of guy and heavily believes in teaching people a lesson _once . for the whole disconnect from reality, I think when he was little, he had really high standards for everyone since those are the standards he set for himself and just saw everyone through those lens. because of that he was discontent with... pretty much everything. His parents, his peers, his environment, and often times he'd just daydream about what it'd be like to be able to change it all_ . he'd dream and daydream and the only separation between the two was that he couldn't change reality, that kept him grounded. so when the abilities come into play, that's no longer true and little by little he can no longer keep himself anchored, hence why he's very opposed to using his powers certain ways. In terms of childhood (jumping around here) other than the high standards thing (which I think would be a product of sibling rivalry or just parental expectations - they were in the v low working class and wanted their son to live a better life - so the intent was good, but the result was that he was super judgmental LOL as a child to teen) he was defs smart (I will one day play a not smart character, I promise) - more book smart than street smart though
idk what happens in late teenage years but after something he grows more of a brain and finds it a lotttt easier to pretend to be kinda dumb when it comes to things - friends, getting people to agree with him, etc.and it kinda spirals into him becoming more laid back which then connects to what I started with
xxxUSER INFORMATION ━━━━━━━━ (✕) USERNAME:Lunaerya NICKNAMES:Luna, Shadow TIMEZONE:Mountain Time SAMPLES://slides towards you// QQ
xxxCHARACTER INFORMATION ━━━━━━━━ (✕) NAME:Zain ROLE:Demon of Pride POWERS:Toxicity (and conversely antidote creation for his own poisons/venoms) || Petrification BLURB: If you look under the dictionary definition of 'a*****e', you’ll find a beautiful and terribly accurate description of Zain. A realist to the core, everything he does is calculated, measured, and deliberate. Gotta look out for number one right? There so such thing as a ‘gift’ in his world, and everything, everything, comes with strings attached. A condition, an obligation, a price. As a demon, the less humans had to identify him by, the better. And to blend in, he did just that - Zain dropped his real name and took on a moniker. His current livelihood on earth? A lucrative... businessman shall we say, dealing in various pharmaceuticals that may or may not be wholly legal. Not just drugs, Zain deals in secrets too -- especially whispers of Angels no less. Anything else is just extra. Got the info he wants? He'll gladly scratch your back for you. Wanna get on his good side? A pack or six of some high quality cancer sticks will do the trick. He loves that s**t to high hell and back.
Despite it all, he’s got a penchant for skinmanship. Personal space? ******** that. Uncomfortable with it? Suck it up bae, you’ll get used to it soon enough. Who knows, maybe you'll like it.
His lifestyle and habits are all products of his environment and work and materialistic personality. Got a smudge on his suit? Time to chuck that sucker. Bored of seeing the same shitty furniture day after day? Guess it’s time to toss it all and renovate. The concept of being conservative is lost on him. If he’s gonna do something, don't expect
anything small, 'cause you can bet your a** he’s going to blow it outta the ********’ water.
xxxx NAME:Lucifer Zain NICKNAMES:I wouldn't try that if I were you ROLE:Demon of Pride AGE:You honestly think I'd count? BIRTHDAY:January 1 - Zain forgot somewhere along the way and decided to make it an easy date to remember. GENDER:Cis Male
xxxx WEAPONS: • Guillotine Blade BABY I'M T-TOXIC: From his skin to his blood to his bite, Zain is pure poison. He can exude it at a moment's notice if he's not careful and the components of each poison mutate in accordance to his emotions and whims. Just like the rest of him, his words are just as caustic, albeit less so in the literal sense. His only saving grace is the fact that he's able to synthesize antidotes to counter his own creations--though his saliva. One can imagine how eager he is to share that particular tidbit with others...
I GOT MY EYES ON YOU: Silver to gold and back again. If you're lucky, you'll never see the transition. If you're not... well, sucks to be you. Partial petrification occurs when someone gazes indirectly into his altered eyes, and while it doesn't render a person dead, you're not really better off either. Complete petrification results in a person's cells hardening into a stone like substance--after that, there's not much left to do with them.
POWER: short blurb about power
POWER: short blurb about power
xxxx
A picture perfect family, with all the wonders of masks and years of practice to hide the cracks and defects. The deformities were tucked securely away within the nooks and crannies of their home, only emerging once the sun had set. Once upon a time, Zain loved his mother, loved her just like any other son would. He looked up to his father, the male role model in his life, his childhood hero. And his baby sister? She brought an endless array of smiles to his features and the two were practically attached at the hip. He spoiled her, caved to her every whim and satisfied her every desire, all just to see her happy. He sought to be her knight in shining armor, her trusted confidante, her best and closest friend. Where he went, she'd totter not far behind, like a mother and her chick.
But that's all it was, just a picture. A dream. A fraud.
A witch.
Far before they were common enough to spark the witch hunts, before humans knew to fear and stigmatize them. Call it what you will, Elena was different in every way and within her mind was a disease so deeply rooted it was impossible to mend. But as a child - as her brother - he found it so easy to turn a blind eye and live in blissful ignorance. It started small with the abundant animals they saw scampering around each day - rats, cats, and even some birds. Elena was fascinated with how they struggled so desperately for life while she poked and prodded their innards. For knowledge. I just want to learn more. Instead of passing, like some morbid phase of curiosity, it only grew and worsened. Soon it became a secret they had to keep, and no matter how hard the family tried to conceal it, there were only a handful of ways this would inevitably end.
His mother was the first to break. It sickened her what she had given birth to, haunted her in her dreams, the way she'd recall each and every experiment that Elena brought home and how mirthful her daughter had been with each passing one. Late at night, he'd hear his parents whisper conspiratorially about turning Elena in to the village head. She was of the Devil's ilk, one that God would never bring to his side, not even in death. Even though he'd seen the damage, watched as his mother thinned and paled, as dark smudges settled beneath her eyes, he didn't think his sister beyond redemption. She needs us right now. That was his reasoning. His naive, childish, idealist reasoning.
In and of itself, love is always blinding, so frighteningly adept in how well it obscures the darkness.
Elena didn’t exist anymore. And Zain found that out too late. Much too late.
Fifteen years old, he came home to crimson carnage, to dissected parts that couldn’t be identified. Their parents. Was that supposed to be an eyeball strewn on the table? A chunk of someone’s jaw dangled in the doorway, disembodied fingers pointing all in different directions. And Elena. Sweet, sweet Elena, was playfully toying with their innards. Poking and prodding, just like she had with the animals.
Soft, mellifluous giggles, those large, innocent eyes turning his way, "I put them to sleep first so it didn't hurt. It'll be okay, just trust me. He'll take us away. Far, far away from here. He just needed a way to reach here, so I gave Him mum and dad." Fear. Such a terrible thing. It started in his legs, creeping, ensnaring him in icy immobility just long enough for her to bring the knife down over his left eye. Whether it was the slick blood that lessened her grip and force or his last minute stumble backwards, either way, it was pure luck that saved him his sight. "Stay with me forever big brother. With us." And it was that same fear that had him wrestling the knife away from her, instinct dictating every desperate action in hopes of staying alive.
Who are you talking about? But he knew, didn't he? He'd seen Him in Elena's shadow, heard the lilt of His voice in his dreams.
He had intended to wrest the knife from her. He had intended to make her see reason and sense.
So how had the knife ended up lodged in her abdomen?
Shock mirrored in twin pools of silver and like a marionette with snipped strings, she crumpled in a heap. Just like that. Quick, much quicker than he could even comprehend and oh so easy-too easy, as if human life had been nothing but delicate glass, shattering at a ghosting touch. It was disbelief that had him gathering her up in his arms and anguish that cradling her in his arms. Even as the warmth slowly drained away, as the rose in her cheeks faded to death's pallor and nothing more than empty glass stared up at him, he refused to let go and to acknowledge it, any and all of it.
You did this. All of this.
Found hours later by the village guards when their neighbours reported the disturbance, it took them more than a while to stomach the scene before they pried Zain away from Elena and had him taken away to the hospital.
They ruled her death was in self defense.
A freak event that had the village swarming like flies to a carcass, questions and accusations blindly thrown by incompetent vermin that called themselves humans. Worst of all? Having to talk about. To relive it. And how does that make you feel Zain? The ******** b***h with her plastic smile and her fake sympathy. Sad, angry, confused. But what right did she have to know that? To peek inside his heart and play with its contents? None. She had no ******** business and Zain refused to give her s**t. So he lied. Lied though a smile for a year till she deemed him stable.
The home his father had built for them was no longer there, and all that remained were ashen ruins, the skeleton of wood amidst charred memories too fractured for him to recall.
The people he had once felt warmth and welcome from wove their path around him and looked through him as they passed. Stained in sin. Their whispers grated against his mind, clung to his breath and clawed at his soul. There was no longer a place for him. Not here, not anywhere.
So he left.
Zain brought nothing with him, for where the whispers coaxed him, nothing was needed. Perhaps they were a product of his shock or perhaps he had always been the same as Elena and all that he heard was a product of his madness. But within in all, he sought salvation - a means to end it - all the while holding on to the selfishly naive belief that God would redeem him.
Five days of travel without food nor drink, and a single step was all it took to reach his final destination. Broken upon jagged rocks, his eyes turned to the Heavens while the Devil caught his soul.
And with it, he became the first of seven.
Lucifer of Pride.
xxxx ADDTIONAL:
• Zain's an avid smoker and goes through at least a pack a day.
• Insomnia keeps him awake for days on end before sheer fatigue forcing him to sleep - if only for a few hours.
• Quite the territorial demon, Zain doesn't tolerate trespassing in his home or in areas he's marked as his. THEMES: One Last Time - Jaymes Young Moondust - Jaymes Young Bitches - Kick the Habit
xxxx NAME:Lucifer Zain NICKNAMES:I wouldn't try that if I were you ROLE:Demon of Pride AGE:You honestly think I'd count? BIRTHDAY:January 1 - Zain forgot somewhere along the way and decided to make it an easy date to remember. GENDER:Cis Male
BABY I'M T-TOXIC: From his skin to his blood to his bite, Zain is pure poison. He can exude it at a moment's notice if he's not careful and the components of each poison mutate in accordance to his emotions and whims. Just like the rest of him, his words are just as caustic, albeit less so in the literal sense. His only saving grace is the fact that he's able to synthesize antidotes to counter his own creations--though his saliva. One can imagine how eager he is to share that particular tidbit with others...
I GOT MY EYES ON YOU: Silver to gold and back again. If you're lucky, you'll never see the transition. If you're not... well, sucks to be you. Partial petrification occurs when someone gazes indirectly into his altered eyes, and while it doesn't render a person dead, you're not really better off either. Complete petrification results in a person's cells hardening into a stone like substance--after that, there's not much left to do with them.
xxxx A picture perfect family, with all the wonders of masks and years of practice to hide the cracks and defects. The deformities were tucked securely away within the nooks and crannies of their home, only emerging once the sun had set. Once upon a time, Zain loved his mother, loved her just like any other son would. He looked up to his father, the male role model in his life, his childhood hero. And his baby sister? She brought an endless array of smiles to his features and the two were practically attached at the hip. He spoiled her, caved to her every whim and satisfied her every desire, all just to see her happy. He sought to be her knight in shining armor, her trusted confidante, her best and closest friend. Where he went, she'd totter not far behind, like a mother and her chick.
But that's all it was, just a picture. A dream. A fraud.
A witch.
Far before they were common enough to spark the witch hunts, before humans knew to fear and stigmatize them. Call it what you will, Anna was different in every way and her differences brought fear from the village. But as a child similar in nature - as her brother - he found no wrong in her questions, nothing alarming in the inquisitive nature that was otherwise deemed strange when found in a girl. So why couldn't the others understand? Questions he asked, when spoken from her lips elicited raised brows and disapproving glancing. They were all the same, weren't they? All children worthy of God's love. If they couldn't understand that, Zain had no need for them.
Their parents kept them away from the others, hushed and scolded Anna for her perceived strangeness and Zain for not reprimanding her himself. Slated as the odd family in the village, the pair often chattered about moving away once they were older in search of places more accepting and free. Plans that, predictably enough, crumbled to ash the day Anna fell ill. Some sort of disease that crept through the night, breathed in by unsuspecting children slumbering in their beds. Marked with death and forsaken by the incompetence of doctors, Zain turned to God. He prayed and when praying failed, he begged. But each day brought a more sickly pallor to his sister's flesh, waned her smile and brought her a step closer to death.
Desperation gave birth to madness, and madness wrought sin. Finally, the worst night of all came knocking at their door, and Zain pleaded in a quiet voice for the Devil to save Anna. Again and again, he promised anything and everything in return, his life, his soul, his very being.
Please just save her.
That He did. But He made no small feat of it. Miraculously cured in the morning, without a trace of sickness in her skin, Anna survived the night that had claimed so many others before her. Instead of joy and relief however, the family was met with suspicion and outrage. What sorcery is this? They refused to believe their God would let countless children die, only to save a single soul - Anna's soul no less. Accusations flowed like uncontrollable rapids, tearing past any and all defenses the family tried in vain to build. Saved by the Devil, marked as His own, Anna had no place here.
But they were wrong. It wasn't Anna who had been marked, Anna had done nothing wrong. It had been Zain. Since that day, he'd heard the whispers in his wake, seen the darkness edged at his vision. In the beginning he disagreed venomously, believing that the accusations would pass and they'd return to how they always had been. Like the child he was, Zain clung to the dream that he and Anna would grow up and leave this place, venturing past the towering trees to a world they wished for. But the whispers never ceased, feeding only the worst in him, stifling the light he sought out, until slivered fragments of the Devil slowly slipped past his walls to dwell in his heart and mind. In was a poison invisible to all yet one so potent none were immune. Zain came to encourage Anna, agree with her views and methods, feeding to the madness that had been born from then and against them. From there, it grew until they knew nothing else, until they warped into something so foreign even their parents no longer recognized them.
We must alert the Mayor, we must turn them over to the Church. Anna's a witch... a witch!
Fear consumed their home, staining the air and seeping from every crevice - a sticky, irrational fear. It was far from coincidence what transpired next, a rare night when Zain and Anna were separated. What the reason was, he'd long since forgotten, a mere detail in the grand scheme of their story.
One sided slaughter. Parenticide if you prefer technicalities. By the time he returned, Anna was perched in her chair, a porcelain doll that knew only innocence. The scene strewn around however, spun red threads of a tale much more grotesque. What he assumed to be their parents decorated the ground at her feet, crimson pools and visceral alike mixed and stained the surrounding wood. At the sight of him, her eyes lit up, as though reanimated, and at the time, the reassurances she spoke to him fell on deaf ears, the drum of his panic all too thunderous in his ears. What could he do when the guards streamed in? What could he say to convince them Anna was innocent?
Because she was. She was only doing what he'd have done sooner or later. When all they saw was the reflection created by their own fear and disgust, what point was there in acting any differently? They were separated, Zain kept under close watch while Anna was detained and brought to trial. Her trial if you could even call it that, was nothing more than the reading of her sentence.
You will burn until not even ashes remain.
At that moment, every fiber of his being that had been bent towards living thrummed to a near instant halt, reversing, warping, until all he could think of was death. A last meeting meant for final farewells started and ended with a single promise.
Together.
If this world was so vehement in its denial of what was unconventional, when its people molded it as such, Zain felt nothing but abhorrence towards it. They had no need of those who sought to deny or obstruct them, whether it was humans or God.
Just before midnight was when they'd pass judgement on Anna, and so it was just before then that Zain slipped away to the woods with nothing but a coil of rope.
Forsaken, alone, you poor lambs, come, let the Devil take your hand.
A necklace of rope wrapped around his neck, a breath, a flutter, he took a step.
His last thought turned scorn to the Heavens while the Devil caught his soul.
And with it, he became the first of seven.
Lucifer of Pride.
xxxx ADDTIONAL:
• Zain's an avid smoker and goes through at least a pack a day.
• Insomnia keeps him awake for days on end before sheer fatigue forcing him to sleep - if only for a few hours.
• Quite the territorial demon, Zain doesn't tolerate trespassing in his home or in areas he's marked as his. THEMES: One Last Time - Jaymes Young Moondust - Jaymes Young Bitches - Kick the Habit
xxxUSER INFORMATION ━━━━━━━━ (✕) USERNAME:Lunaerya NICKNAMES:Luna, Shadow TIMEZONE:Mountain time SAMPLES:samples
xxxCHARACTER INFORMATION ━━━━━━━━ (✕) NAME:Kieran Savelli ROLE:Guardian Chastity POWERS:Luck Manipulation || Kotodama BLURB: - half italian, raised in USA? maybe?
- ⊰ Observant ⊱ ⊰ Aloof ⊱ ⊰ Empathetic ⊱ ⊰ Reckless ⊱ ⊰ Mischievous ⊱
- step-father was negligent, pretty hateful - xenophobia.
- mother was american, father was italian...
- Kieran's a dreamer, with his head in the clouds and a book in his hands.
- the kind that liked climbing to high places for the sake of serene solitude
- never listened to others, did what he wanted, even when it was dangerous, and enjoyed causing a bit of trouble when he was down to earth. picked pockets, moved things around... aka a s**t disturber. A benevolent one... if that even exists aha > non malicious fun... usually.
-
If one wished to understand Damianos, the easiest way, in his own words, would be to perch yourself at the precipice of a very large and very shrouded abyss and to let yourself fall inside. Not so willing, are you? He is precisely that - the abyss. Even if you took that step, what would you find? A bottom? Some illusion of clarity? Why not try your hand and let him know. To understand others is a game of sorts to him, the ability to swallow up others, to break them down to the fundamentals of their morality and being - in a sense, that's what makes he himself tick. He welcomes others with honeyed tones and assuring smiles, whispers moonlit promises against their lips, all to lead them to that precipice, to his domain. Those he finds interesting, things he wishes to explore, Damianos will pick them apart until only the bare fundamentals remain - until he is satisfied. There's nothing malicious about what he desires, how could there be when he has no sense of morals to begin with? Right, wrong - such subjectively defined concepts hold no sway over his actions. Knowledge is power, and power defines the boundaries of every concept in the world. The more you know, the more clearly you begin to realize that good, bad, right, wrong, morality, and sin are all so very outdated. Unneeded.
xxxx 「POWER：Kotodama All words have power over humans. Inspirational speeches, curses, hopes, wishes. Those who utilize them effectively can coax one to believe almost anything. Persuasion, corruption, control. Words are Damianos' power, the ability to bend others to his orders or opinions, willingly or not. But one must hear them for it to work. When he speaks directly to a person is when it's most effective, and if the recipient has a weak will, all the more so. Those who are ruthlessly stubborn are a challenge, and the more effort he exerts, the more quickly he tires out. Colds - or anything that may alter the nature of his voice diminishes the power he weaves into his words as well. Having perfected it for years, it's impossible to tell when he's using his ability and when he's not - there's no change in the soft musical lilt of his voice.
Likes: Control, company, small animals, people (in some sense of the word), tranquility. Dislikes: Chaos, oranges, shrill sounds, clocks. Fears: Trypophobia , drowing/suffocating, being burned alive.
Hobbies: Reading, people watching, swimming, sitting in the rain, listening to the rain, anything involving the rain. Skills: Getting out of doing work, being ninja, making food so good you'll never stop eating until you've died of a heart attack and gone to heaven, tactical analysis. Other: He sleeps a lot. Anywhere, on anything, on anyone, any time. Theme Song: King - Lauren Aquilina
01. Eloquent: Some use curses, swears, sounds of incoherent thought - crude vulgarities that grate and grind in one's ears. Others use fists, swords, guns - human nature in its most primal state. Why lift a finger, why exert yourself beyond what is wholly necessary? Damianos believes in efficient artistry, to orchestrate words into a song, to weave others in a web so seamless they willingly trap themselves. From one's soulful redemption to imprisoning them in the damnation of their own body, words are Damianos' choice of poison. He eviscerates people with that mouth as easily as he saves them. 02. Muted: Damianos feels the world through jaded lenses - quieter, softer, further, as if he weren't fully present. As though a filter were there, he watches, he picks, he selectively lets things through. A touch of sadness, a spark of anger, the fleeting kiss of happiness on a summer's day. Emotions are a rational matter to him, wary of something too intense, wary of being burned, Damianos has long since detached himself from what makes one truly compassionate. Perhaps the only expecption(s) to this are matters concerning his twin, and potentially one whom he truly bonds with. 03. Reticent: Thoughts depict a person's very soul. By that logic, it would be rather unwise if said person allowed others such easy access into their inner workings. Damianos chooses with great care what he reveals to others about himself or his opinions and what he witholds. Once spoken, words, much like an unabating blaze, can no longer be controlled. To what ends they achieve no longer resides in his hands, and that lack of control is something he detests. 04. Malicious: He finds great delight in ensnaring others, in the art and amusement derived from manipulation. Whether it be opponents or someone he holds a grudge against, Damianos spares little in regards to inflicting psychological pain upon others. To say he is indiscriminately malevolent would be incorrect as he knows full well when and at whom to direct his poison towards. 05. Deceptive: Humans are selfish creatures by nature. Materialistic, egotistic, fideistic, the list is quite a long one. They lie to protect themselves and will unhesitatingly trample or sacrifice others to achieve their goals. In that sense, why try any differently? While Damianos wouldn't go as far as to say the 'good guys' always lose, it's fair to say the vast majority of the seemingly virtuous are taken advantage of and serve more as a tool for others to use than anything else. As a result, his intentions in the eyes of others are dismally vague and undecipherable - infuriatingly so - at best. 06. Perceptive: Details sing to him, each unique nuance and facet exhibited by a person likened to a single word of an unwritten biography. He seeks, collects, and slowly builds upon the story of each person he encounters. Because of this, people watching is something Damianos finds is truly fascinating, always hoping to learn more about the peculiarities of others from their habits and ticks to their dress and demeanor.
A whirlwind of hands, snatching at papers, phones, coats, and bags. Chattered words never meant for him nor his twin. Parents. Were they all like that? Bustling about, eyes seeing people who weren't really there, looking far, far ahead to a place they weren't at. And what of the children? There was love, he and Elle would be there if there wasn't any, but love came in different forms, in different magnitudes, and whatever they felt for their children was far outweighed by what they felt for their work. In, out, like clockwork they ran, the ticking of watches, of clock after clock after clock in their home. Tick, tock, tick, tock. That incessant sound wound him up, suffocated him, trapping him within the hell of his own mind. How long would it feel this time? An hour? A year? The monotonous nature of each hand jerking across the embellished stage grew to be a sinister omen, filling the cavities of silence with thunderous beats. If it hadn't been for Elene, if she hadn't filled the days with games and adventures and chatter, Damianos would've long since rendered himself deaf.
Two peas in a pod. Sure, he tottered behind her as children, sure he would mimic certain actions Elene made, but they couldn't be anymore wrong. They were alike, how could they not be? They shared everything, even unknowingly. It was a blessing and a curse wrapped neatly in one. Times when he knew, simply knew she needed him, others when he wished to shut her out but found he couldn't - not completely anyways. But they were also so uniquely different, why couldn't others see it? Their first time at school had Damianos realizing just how easily people categorized them into the same little box. Twins. Naturally that meant they had to like and dislike the same things. Perhaps he was fed up, perhaps he did it for fun, but Damianos found joy in twisting the little boxes others had forcibly set them in, twisting and twisting until they burst.
We're not the same.
He loved Elene, more than his parents loved their work even, but that didn't stop him from loathing the homogeneity others viewed them with. They were distinct - Elene was Elene, and Damianos was Damianos. Was that so difficult? Being in the same class as his twin should've made it obvious. Where Elene shone and flourished, Damianos preferred to support, to bring out more of his sister's light. Where he himself excelled, Elene did the same - usually. Friends came to her readily, a trickle, a stream, a steady flow. She could bond easily with others, and if only by extension, he was drawn into the circle as well. The time spent with them was... interesting. Damianos thrived when there were one or two other children to chat with and ebbed away when their group size exceeded that. He scraped his knee for the first time that year, fought over who won the race, lied and grinned with the other boys when asked who stole Natalie's cookie.
Then a year passed, and just like that, they were moving again.
Melancholy.
It was a cruel emotion, finding delight in eliciting memories at a moment's notice. Triggers laid in wait around each corner, tucked away in every crevice. Damianos missed them, missed the time spent with them, missed all it signified. Each greyed out memory echoed within his core - softly, persistently, always always there.
So he cast it aside.
It wasn't difficult, he merely used his power on himself. Kotodama. The power residing within words and names. Everything had a soul, and his voice coaxed them to his will. It must've been around when Elene discovered her ability that Damianos grew aware of his own. With it so heavily tied to language, it wasn't until he was able to grasp what he wished to convey that it properly manifested. As a five year old child, there was little wonder as to what he initially applied it to - the nanny. The unlikable, incorrigible, malevolent nanny. He knew her name - her true name - and that was enough. There was little point in making her leave, after all, another would simply take her place. Instead, he made her nice. Sweets, toys, turning a blind eye to certain rules their parents had set - the twins were given gilded reins of control. But perhaps unlike his twin, Damianos never let on as to what his power was, mildly aware - even as a child - the implications of such. Trust built up would crack and crumble, others would begin to question their very own actions. How much is influenced, how much is my free will? When others grew too inquisitive, pried too insistently, Damianos would lean in and whisper a single command. Drop it. There would be no pretenses then, no need for the carefully maintained facade of powerlessness.
The next year bore the twins different paths in the form of separate classes. Without Elene, Damianos realized just how quiet things could truly be. The clock hanging at the front was once again his wicked tormentor until he found others to fill the silence. Friends were easy to come by, but the smiles he gave them never quite reached his eyes, the laughs softer than they used to be, and the concern for their worries near non-existent. Slowly, one emotion at a time, Damianos drifted and drew away, unconsciously building up wall after wall until it grew to be impenetrable armour. By the end of the year, there was nothing but a twinge of discomfort at their expected move. He knew it was coming, they both did, yet Elene was so much more affected than the last time. Her tears served as validation of his choice - that emotions needed to be carefully held in check and managed.
With their move came the unexpected - time. Time with their parents, with the figures that were nothing more than backs and shadows in his memory. Elene took to bonding with their mother, and logically, Damianos went off with their father. Tell me how you've been son. It was pitiful how little they really knew about their own children. Birthdays forgotten, likes and dislikes utterly unknown - what was the point of starting now? But a sliver of hope that had remained wedged in his heart since early childhood dictated a different set of actions. It was slow, awkward and halting as Damianos tried to fill in his father on the years he had missed. The rain... School... Friends... Elene... Clocks... his pow- As he reached the last of that list, the words wouldn't form on his lips, held back in his throat by fear. Fear of being feared perhaps, of ruining whatever chances he may have had at bonding with his father. So he lied.
After that, time slowly started again, picking up in tempo until their parents resumed their routine, in and out, running on clockwork, living by those ticking hands that smoothly ran round and round. That year marked the last of the major emotions Damianos relinquished. Anger. Up until now there had been irritation, annoyance, and a few rare cases of frustration, all at those who continued to box them up and pass them back and forth as nothing more than twins. Nothing had changed in that regard, but now Elene had also grown aware of it. Damianos wasn't sure how it happened, having been elsewhere when his twin finally snapped, but he had felt it. Carried by instinct alone to her side, Damianos remembers that to be one of his proudest days. Arriving at a picturesque scene, Elene's arm was strained forward, the traces of impact evident in the blood streaming from the nose of the boy she had struck.
Pandemonium.
Children screaming, others staring in slack-jawed shock, the few who had instigated it all lurched into retaliation. Strength in numbers, surely it couldn't be that hard to take down one girl? Correction, one girl and her brother. Physical excellence was not Damianos' strong point, but you didn't need that to win. A handful of dirt, a well timed toss - what had started as an unfair fight quickly devolved into immobilized targets, and what were targets for but to hit? Unfortunately the teacher thought differently. Very differently. Punishment in the form of suspension by the board, reward in the sticky sweet ice cream their father bought them on the way home. In the eyes of educators, they were wrong. In the eyes of their father, they were right. You see? The concepts of right and wrong were so very superficial.
Fifth grade... sixth grade... the days blurred together, weeks skipped by without a trace, blending into months and then years. Tangled, they were nothing more than smudged shadows in his memory, insignificant to the point where he chose to disregard it all. There were pinpricks of light on occasion, a pleasant surprise or delighted discovery of something or someone warranting his interest and attention. Cooking, for one, grew to be a reprieve he'd sink into whenever he grew troubled or restless. Another - like his twin - were books. Mere ink and paper to some, it was what was nestled between the bindings that drew colour into his world once more. Emotions experienced vicariously through the life of another, all depicted and lain bare on the pages before him. There was a certain beauty to the rawness of it all, the open and pure interpretative nature literature was built upon. For a while, Damianos idled away his life buried in worlds far more distant and fantastical than his own, and it wasn't until the twins neared the end of their thirteenth year did that change.
Choose. Fanned out pamphlets, expectant smiles, their parents thought it best for them to live in dorms at whichever school they decided upon. While the prospect of such was appealing - no longer shuffling from place to place, wiping away what they had build only to repeat it infinitely - the idea of sharing his space with a stranger was less so. Yet Elene had that look in her eyes, the one he'd grown so accustomed to as children whenever an idea sat well with her and there was something to be gained from it that pleased her. So he agreed. They conversed, they disagreed, agreed, argued - until finally narrowing it down and settling on Occasus.
With nonexistent expectations, Damianos allowed himself to be towed around by his assigned 'buddy' on the first day, noting the names of his classmates as they were brought up in conversation and mentally building a map of the building and the grounds as he was shown around. A brief pass by the library left him enamoured, and after that, Damianos devoted the majority of his day to the tranquil nooks and soothing ambiance provided by the space. The rooftop became the second of his hideouts, though the light use of his ability to obtain the keys would perhaps be viewed as unscrupulous. Once the settlement period was over, the next challenge the twins faced involved joining a club. When had school grown to be so tedious? Book club... cooking club... music club... The first had been with high hopes strung along, only to realize they had no freedom as to what they could read. The second and third would've been win-lose situations, and the desire to remain together outweighed the potential (but individual) benefits. So when they learned of the Initium Club, both agreed it was the best fit given the alternatives.
Three years passed after that, three years of strategy after strategy after strategy. The team fights were perhaps one of Damianos' most enjoyed aspects of the club, to orchestrate the gentle tugging and tying of metaphorical strings while blind actors paraded on the stage - the sheer shock of their opponents when they finally realized their own situation. In those moments, it was plain to any and everyone just how virulent he could be.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx❝ THE MERCURIAL MIST USER 」unallied xxxxxx━━━━━━━━ ✽ Emilio Valente • Twenty-one ✽ Year Three ✽ Long-Tailed Widowbird ✽ Anki
He is close friends with the heir of Acquarone famiglia. They met each other in a stuffy office when the boss wanted
to inform him of his parents death due to mafia-related matters. At that time, the heir had just been chosen and
as his first task as heir, he was to look after him. Somehow he got attached to the young heir and back in Italy, it
would be rare to see one without the other.
( ♕ ) → DEIMOS ▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Lethargic Curious Mellow Naive Trusting x ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 2400 Male Basilisk 6'3" 188lbs x Short history blurb here.
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( ♕ ) → FULL NAME ▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋▋ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Trait Trait Trait Trait Trait x ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Age Gender Race Height Weight x Short history blurb here.
tab▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▼⋮xxxx❛CHARACTER 》 tabname◣ Areum Song ) tabgender◣ Female ) tabsexuality◣ Bi-curious ) tabnotable skills◣ Hapkido || Painting || Sleight of hand || Poker face )
◤ ▪ tell zyu about you ─◂
Hi, call me luna or any other variation that you prefer. I'm from Canada! Currently I'm in university dying of finals, fml, so if I come across as soulless, it's because I am. I'm dead inside right now. I make graphics for peeps sometimes x'D yourcodingislovelybytheway. Ican'tcodewell. And aside for university, I don't really have any other commitments. So yeah. I'd be mostly yours ;D My skype handle is xxxlunaerya and I see on the front page there's a discord thing? I've never used it before so please be gentle with me if it comes to it //crei
oh also! I'm the derp whom Jackal asked if you could reserve a spot for. thank you for that by the way! >////<
◤ ▪ tell zyu about your character ─◂ Sugar and spice and everything nice, that's the bullshit girls grow up on. The soft laughter, the innocence, the comfort of a warm home and family. It's a luxury they can afford. Areum knows there's a right and wrong to this world, one that seems upside down and backwards at times, but one she tries – tried – to obey. But when your father throws you out for getting inked, there're only so many options to turn to. It's art – the expression, the subtlety, the statement – that Areum loves. Where her body is its canvas, and she, the brush. For art, family pales in comparison. Illegality stains her profession as a tattooist, but laws rarely deter the determined. Still, a shady profession is bound to attract shady clientele, and with a gang setting up shop in her parlor, what’s a girl gonna do? They give her clients and in return, they ask only for her complicity.
Just some clarification since I'm not sure if it's common knowledge or not? Like I definitely didn't know this ahah. But tattooing is illegal in South Korea unless you have a medical license which the majority do not. Still people do operate but they've got the added fear of being shut down and fined by the police at any time so it's risky.
Areum is a realist to the core, she knows there's no such thing as black or white but tried to fit into society's convention because of the social pressures collectivist cultures constantly apply. Most people aren't born hateful, cruel, or malicious, and that applies to her as well. She's reasonable, empathetic because she knows what it's like to hit rock bottom, and strong in her own way. But along the road, she's had to learn how to lie, how to maintain a mask when you want to break down out of anger, sadness, or fear, and how to pick up the pieces when someone else shatters you.
Skill wise, sleight of hand comes from being poor aka being kicked out, and when you have nothing, it's hard to see the wrong in taking from those who have things in abundance. It's taken her awhile to get where she is, and a lot of petty theft helped her along until she was able to get her own parlor - even if it's in a run down place - and start up doing what she loves. But being where she is, doing what she loves comes at a price. People die everyday. Of illness or famine or age, anything. Sometimes though, death comes with a shattering bang - a gunshot. The prevalent gang presence taught her a whole new meaning to poker faced. Poker's got nothing on this.
Going the slightly cliched route of gang members getting tattoos, my vague direction for that was eventually they hit this point where everything has nowhere to go but down. They have a fight in the parlor or something, shots fired, bodies hit the floor, the police come, she's complicit and gets thrown into jail or something, and it all just falls apart.
Birthplace: Seoul, South Korea
Current location: slums of Seoul, South Korea
I, LUNAERYA, have read and understood all rules to this roleplay. By submitting this application I realize that I am unconditionally accepting all rules outlined on the front page. I promise to contribute to a positive roleplaying experience and that I will not be involved in any way in the creation of unnecessary drama or fighting between players. I realize that breaching any of the above points can and will result in my application's rejection, my removal from the roleplay, and/or a report to the administrators of GaiaOnline when applicable.
Magic. Some could wield it, some couldn't. It was a blessing upon humans, gifted to them by the Quin, harnessed and mastered. For her, it came in the form of a sickness. Her father and mother we the epitome of normalcy. A farmer, a seamstress. Both non-magical in their endowments, yet Lune was gifted, far too gifted to hide or control. Control. How did one control magic anyways? A village that was fairly secluded from urbanized cities had no means of understanding how magic even worked. For awhile it brought no foreseeable harm. Lune could help call the rain when the crops required it, could help repair leaking roofs and heal lame horses. But unchecked and unregulated, her magic siphoned into her surroundings and grew corrupted.
It started with a fever in the children.
Bedridden with what seemed to be the seasonal flu, villagers paid it no heed, taking care of the ill as they always did. Lune was no different, remaining in her home until it passed. The children living in the closest proximity to her died first, and those further away seeming got 'better'.
A year passed in mourning.
Then it spread to the adolescents, then the adults, the symptoms worsening. In retrospect, she was akin to a nuclear factory, acutely poisoning those around her along with herself. It progressed until the village that had once flourished with greenery and laughter was nothing more than decay and dust. One by one until she was the only one left, one by one, until by the last she final understood.
And so she waited for the reaper. Her stomach rejected any attempt at drinking or eating and her magic grew volatile and fickle, a pestilence she would never escape.
"Please kill me."
The words of a girl barely ten, a quiet plea to the stranger passing by. Instead of death, he granted her life, in the place of the family she lost, he became her father, her brother, her mentor, her friend. Connected to his magic, her own grew and flourished as they traveled, and in time, she donned a mask to cloak her magical presence and the golden hues she possessed, a physical manifestation of what she had gained from him. ❝Humans crave what they cannot attain... the greedy little shits.❞ tabtabtabtab▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬Lunaerya
