Welcome to Gaia! ::

Like all dreamers I confuse disenchantment with truth.
- JEAN-PAUL SARTRE

((Please note the girl alternative has been just- added in, the quest is written as male it just... seemed that I should be less ridged when questing for the etherial))... XD


Name:Breuddwyd Ffynnon Caffal (Male) or Caethes Breyddwyd Caffal (Female)
Nickname:Ben, Breu or if girl Cae included.
Age: 21
Student: Sovereign Heights
Birthday: December 5th
Sign: Sagittarius
Blood Type: 0-
Favorite Food: Toast and butter.
Hated Food: Sweet Potatoes.


YMCA voulenteer - teaches some random things like Fencing and runs some younger paintball teams for new comers.


Hobbies:

Equestrian: Breu has been riding since the first time he could balance on a saddle. He simply took to it, not to say that he hasn't had his share of times when he has flown free of the saddle, but he has a comfort and a presence with horses. His favorite, he will admit, is an older black mare called 'Night'. Despite being known for her dark temperament there is an uneasy sort of peace between them. He says they're 'kindred souls' - if she could speak she might just say it's the occasional promise of sugar cubes.
He uses her both in solo rides, group rides and when he practices with the other members of his drill team if she's available, but he is willing to work with another if need be.

Painting: Breu enjoys sitting down with brush and canvas and simply painting. It might seem odd that he prefers to do this outside, often choosing places with spectacular real views of their own. But he seldom paints reality, and when he does he embellishes it. Turning a park into a surrealist fairyland, two young lovers on a park bench into Gawain and the Green Lady and the like. He says of this habit, "People see enough 'reality', why not something a little 'more'.
While he can comfortably use all mediums, he prefers to use watercolors or oils. He feels these two best fit what he is trying to capture on paper, better capturing a dream or nightmarish feel.
He enjoys visiting art galleries to see what other people have made, though much 'modern' art is hit and miss with him. He has little respect for portfolios that are comprised of crayon on news paper, but he tries to keep an open mind.


Guilty Pleasures: Kindly don't laugh (too hard) - Breu carries the occasional bodice ripper in his bag. While he's most fond of Arthurian tales of knights and ladies, “there’s nothing wrong" with the occasional Nora Roberts book... really.
For the strangely curious, he started reading these in early high school. He found one left behind in the lunchroom, it sat unclaimed for days before out of boredom, he picked it up and started reading.


Paintball: Once and a while, for a good outdoor activity he’ll take up with some friends and head to the paint ball range. After all, in his opinion nothing quite as exhilarating as working with a small group of friends in junk clothing, some padding and a helmet, armed with air and paint balls to ambush, paint grenades and otherwise assault another group of friends, or even strangers. Only to wander home at the end of the day, covered in paint, the occasional welt and a general sense of camaraderie.

Gemstone: Chrysocolla

Virtues:

Keep a lid on it - No matter how obnoxious, rude or annoying you're being, it could be considered a sign of the Apocalypse for him to... really fly off the handle at someone. You'll at best get a short sharp 'snap' out of him if you poke him too often too early in the day, but other than that he tends to swallow his anger rather than allowing himself to lash out. The lid on his temper is in the name of placation, someone has to keep a level head or nothing is going to be solved. It seems rude to him, that he would ever have to ask someone else to fill the roll of the mediator when he's capable of fulfilling it himself.
When he does reach a temperamental breaking point with a friend, it's always 'things' that suffer. He's broken a few mirrors in his time, turning his rage towards the very things that still leave him uneasy and leave him feeling like a stranger in his own skin. But that is always preceded by him trying to walk away first till 'both parties' have time to cool their heads.

Versatile - While content to work on teams such as the local Equestrian Drill team, he's also the kind of person whom you could trust to work on his own. He can work with you and your friends to help repair that garage that the snow ripped part of the roof off of, but you can also trust him to get your groceries without forgetting something.
Or, more likely he's the person whom you send out on the paint ball mission to sneak up on that son-of-a buck with the belt of paint grenades and take him out. As a Cavalier he's just as productive working with a full team as he is being sent out to perform his own 'solo' missions for the good of the team. That said he's not one to 'rebel' and run off on his own should he feel that the wrong course of action is being taken. He'll speak his peace but unless your about to start shooting children in the head he won't turn on you, or turn his back on you.


Tactical Observation: perhaps not so useful for getting things like school work done, but if you ever needed a plan for the most expedient way to Christmas shop or just want to divvy up your resources during a paint ball tournament, he's your man. He tends to collect information - even things that one might not think were useful - and even does this without conscious thought much of the time. Want to know what hours people tend to hit a particular store? He may well know the answer! He also has some innate talent for predicting how people will behave in a given situation based on things he has observed or taken in unconsciously; even so, he hasn't rested on his laurels and used this skill to get by. Breu still takes time when he can to try and study the behaviors, habits and mannerisms of people in 'real time' - and especially enjoys doing this to give his team an edge when paint-balling!
It should be noted however, that at his most idealistic, he is less effective than when he has become at least slightly disillusioned by the world. Fresh from his room, saturated with fantasy and romance novels he's likely to believe the best of even the worst people, or at least that 'good shall always triumph', likewise if he is too disillusioned he is utterly ineffective because his focus has almost totally turned towards removing himself from 'the world'.

Chivalrous - when he's in a good mood he's an idealist, he believes firmly in a better world. Knights and chivalry, Men and women of the round table, What better to hope for than a one and future King and Lady. Unfortunately this sets him with high hopes that sometimes come crashing down around his ears leaving him with a very 'in the emotional basement' attitude sometimes when things don't work out 'like they should. '
However, his faith and love of the ethereal also means he's not attached to 'material things', what's in your heart and head is more important than what is in your hand. ((Unless it’s a knife...then there might be trouble)) He would argue that his dreams of a perfect world are at least as important if not more important than the fact it’s not 'real', even if he will argue its just not real "yet"
As Oneiros - His chivalry will not save you based on gender. Women may be the 'fairer' sex but that by no means means they should be discounted. In regards to 'sneak' attacks he holds the same mindset that he does when playing paint ball. If you are willing to engage in underhanded means, then in order to 'protect' the high road, he will take the low road and carry through the sneak attack. Once you are down to one on one though he is reluctant to hit you while you are down. Ultimately, he will fight you under the same 'rules' that you set forth. Playing underhanded will be met with as much of of the same as he can bring himself to do.

----


Flaws:

Simmering Temper: like that one nightmare you just can't seem to wake up from, the one that hangs in the air even after you wake up, once you manage to piss off Breu, he stays irritated for a long time. He's not -yelled- at anyone yet. But be sure you'll know it by his scowling. Even apologies do little to assuage his temper till the embers have time to cool. This makes him pricklier if you ask him for help, and be sure if he can fine some opportunity to either embarrass you or humiliate you he will till he's had time to cool his head.
Laughing at his errors is a good way to earn a bout of temper, though something that trivial lasts at best a day or two.
In spite of his smothered frustrations, he actually maintains this in the name of civility and peace. If he looses his cool, nothing gets solved, so instead he'll 'suffer in peace'

Disenchanted: Reality really never is as good as dreams can be, but there is always some part of him that hopes it will be. Generally disenchanted with the workings of the waking world he can sometimes become 'over saturated' with the feeling, becoming more and more depressed and despondent to the point where he will simply lock himself into his apartment to read his fantasy and romance novels away from prying eyes, often sleeping to escape into dreams.
This behavior can last for 2-3 days at a time at its worst, and down to hours as a best case. He tries his best to maintain the isolation until such time as his 'faith' is restored.
It can be hard when he slides into this despondency, to help him believe that any actions he takes will have a meaningful effect on -anything- as he begins to believe that perhaps failure is 'just the way things are'. Small successes, even if they seem trivial can -sometimes- help shake him out of this, but better is for him to be needed. The best method of motivation is a call to duty, but its not something to be used lightly lest it become seen as his friends 'crying wolf' to pull him from his occasional isolation.
Time spent along with his dreams and novels, also helps remind him what he's 'fighting' for even on a day to day basis. Because no matter how down he is, some part of him will always cling to the idea that the world -can- change, and no matter how 'tarnished' it is now, with effort spit and polish it will bring around a new, and more wonderful world.

Cruel sense of Humor - Some people just laugh at the wrong times, he's one of them. You just dropped that -thing- on your foot and MAN did it hurt, while he's laughing about it even as he helps save you from your misfortune.
He'll admit he'd lose it if you did the same to him, but swears he can't help but let go of the chuckles that slip free. In fairness, he will sometimes laugh at himself for the same things, like that paintball that just hit him in the back -right- after he took off the padding. It's fine so long as -he- laughs first... just wait till he's done swearing and you can avoid that simmering temper.
Like most people whom behave in this way he brushes off the idea that it’s hypocritical, for him its ‘just something he does’. After all, people are full of contradictory behaviors and double standards, this just happens to be his.

Night owl: Whomever invented getting up before at -least- 9 ought to be dragged out into the street and shot repeatedly with coffee beans.
Or, better yet, why get up before noon, because heck, nights are more fun anyhow. Don't expect anything -remotely- resembling perky or anything better than sullen before he's had at least one coffee or caffeinated beverage. And you can -stop- looking so cheery about morning’s thanks.

What is Annwn?

ripped from wiki - In both Welsh and Irish mythologies, Annwn was believed to be located either on an island or underneath the earth. In the First Branch of the Mabinogi, it is implied that Annwn is a land within Dyfed. Two other feasts that occur in the Second Branch of the Mabinogi are located in Harlech in northwest Wales and on the Island of Grassholm (Davies 2007).


Read more Here!

Knight Title: (Wonder Name) Page Annwn of Earth

Challenge: The Hunt is On.

Uniform: ELEMENTS TO THINK ABOUT FOR UNIFORM

PLEASE THINK OF YOUR PLANET THEME(S) BEFORE GOING INSANE~!

Top -- Tunic style Top - (Earthy tones Brown or Charcoal?) See a sort of Druidic theme which fits the 'old earth' of well...Earth.
Bottoms -- Pants, not too tight please.
Gloves -- Hunting Gauntlets, heavy leather cuffs.
Belt -- Heavy leather sword belt, one to two wraps but no sword. Belt buckle the Planet symbol?
Shoes -- Knee high boots with a flipped over top.
Shoulders --Cloak? Theme - barn owl - else... a sort of hood attachment but rather than fur could it be a flurry of different colored feathers (mostly owls)
Accessories -- Torc Knecklace - maybe wolves or boar heads
A bird skull pendant around his neck.. perhaps keys at his belt for show and nothing more?
A mask - sort of beastial with nub horns at the tops of his brows and feathers around the eyes in brighter colors - something to make him look sort of alien/fey despite human.
Weapon -- 3 prong stag antler (young buck) - older and dry so not of great use for stabbing (think more like Ares Torch, you'd have to be very very lucky to make such use of it)

Brown, Green or Grey. for Secondary.

Black, Brown or White for primary


Page Magic - NA - Uses two prong antlers (ala a young buck deer) to defend or deflect minor attacks, ultimately useless against stronger attacks the prongs will break if used in any twisting defense against a pole arm.

Squire Magic - Now wielding a 5 prong angler (older Buck), he raises the antler above his head as though to signify the start of a hunt. As he sweeps the horn down again in the direction of his foes those before him that are of equal or lesser strength feel the growing urge to run... the feeling that something terrible will happen if they remain or simply the need to move and keep moving till he is safely out of sight.
Stronger enemies though feel the growing urge to fight, like a wild animal whom has been challenged for it's territory it promotes in them the want to attack and defeat the Squire. - This attack lasts for a duration of 40 seconds.

--disruption- stopping the downward sweep before it crosses the midpoint of his torso disrupts the attack. This includes but is not limited to disrupting his balance and causing him to alter the direction of his sweep from the original path.

Knight attack - The Same 'attack' as before only rather than lifting the antler over his head he points his staff towards the enemy in question before slamming the base of it into the ground. The results now include an increased feeling of fellowship and cohesion in those around him, petty fights may be briefly set aside for a common enemy/goal. The effect lasts for 40 seconds.

-- Disruption - Preventing him from striking the ground with the staff disrupts the attack, this may include putting something or some one between him and the ground on which he stands or 'would stand' should he be lifted off the ground at the time. ((Feet not recommended as an interruption tool but viable))


Current sketch in progress from Natsu receiving something like -X
Only not perhaps the same direction.


Weapon Notes -

2nd stage - 5 = pronged pair of antler (One antler 5 'points issuing from the root), sheathed on his 'back' in a harness, it would peer branchlike over his shoulder but it's final appearance is entrusted to Natsube.

3rd stage - a long staff with a twisted root-top which has a deer skull bound to it. the horns of the skull would still be attached and forward facing, adorned in probability with feathers and beads and as previous stages is largely in Natsube's hands like his costume.
X - Deeply Horrific fast photoshop cobble of googled images not for profit or true reference SIMPLY the basic idea... only horrid.



Rest of outfit progresses in the same vein except that at Knight stage I'd love antlers at his shoulders even if they are ornamental too.

He’d never intended to ‘find’ a cat, that’s what you did after all. You never really owned a cat, you found them, or they found you and through whatever other circumstances happened in between you lived with them or you didn’t. Well, that was true of ‘proper’ cats at any rate, he’d seen a few that he thought had long since let dignity fly to the wind for a can full of ‘frisky-kitty’ and what dignity they might otherwise have had was subverted by such things as ‘cat in a poodle cut’ which one woman seemed to find ‘tremendously amusing’.

Intending to or not, he ‘met’ the cat under the most unusual circumstances he’d ever considered. It was after all just a nice normal day. No work, time off with his brushes in the park and a parcel lunch with a thermos of juice. The paint was drying and his brushes were clean as he sat down on the bench and started unwrapping the lunch he’d brought with him to enjoy in the sun. Just a nice bit of chicken salad, nothing too fancy, and he’d omitted the damned ‘leafy bits’, but no one was here to judge him on that part just at the moment. No, if anything the pair of gold-green eyes that watched him was judging distance and angle to make a good clean get away with the bit of lightly toasted bread and its savory white meat medley.

He heard the caterwaul seconds before claws sank into his shoulder, quite through the light jacket he was wearing. His own howl didn’t quite match up for vocal range but never the less; it was spectacular for volume at the least. He took a hind foot to the nose, a tail in the eye and claws raking down his wrist as she launched off him, leaving tears in his shirt and the skin beneath as she high tailed it with his former lunch.

//Damn you! You little hellfire! // He shouted after her. His juice was staining the bench and the dirt, his shirt was a ruin and he was bleeding as well. By god he wasn’t going to let that be either. He stripped off his coat and went hunting. Not the wisest thing to leave his painting and his tools there, for while they were his cheaper brushes they still cost a pretty penny. They were for once not the foremost things in his mind though. The hunt was on and he would not walk away empty handed.

He scowled under benches and up trees, hunting high and low for the golden bandit who’d hijacked his sandwich and thought he would have to finally return empty handed, he even tuned back to the bench where he’d left his things to pack up, just one more glance he thought, just one more glance at the bush just there with the briars and there she was. A now contented expression and a much fuller belly to be sure since all that remained were bits of crust and a speck of mayonnaise on her whiskers that she’d missed in her otherwise perfect if dusty fur. “Got you then dun I…” He almost crooned and tossed the coat over the dozing cat. She woke like lightning in the denim prison, all angles, teeth and pointy ends but to no avail, trussed up like a turkey it was into his car with the rest of his things and back to his apartment where he’d find out just who was missing the lovely, if cursing in cat, lady who howled like a banshee in the back seat.

---

He’d gotten her into the house just fine, but it hadn’t taken long after that for her to, he was quite sure, disjoint every bone in her little body, squirm free and levitate her way to the dark recesses known as ‘under the bed. The sound effects she was making were still spectacular, the warbling growl that rose and fell every time he moved anywhere close to the place he rather preferred to sleep made it sound more as though he’d brought a small cougar into his home. He gave up and knelt on the ground to stare under at her. A hiss like a teakettle greeted him along with the wild reflection of her eyes. She seemed to have a collar of sorts, beads, blue mottled beads and second row of feathers he was amazed she hadn’t torn to bits in a fit of playfulness, but nothing that seemed like it would give a name or an owner. Someone must have had her though, she looked far to sleek and kept to have been a stray her whole life. But at the same time she hardly seemed a pampered house cat, more a tiny she-devil in a fur coat.

“Alright love, alright, I’ll close the doors to yer palace. At least I know you like my chicken, it’s probably cheaper than that tinned food at any rate. I don’t know where you came from, but at least under there you will be warm and dry, no dogs to chase you either. I’m going to see if I can’t find where you came from alright?”

He wasn’t quite sure why he bothered to talk to it like she could understand, and he’d probably be damned embarrassed if he found out that the hissing fury under his bed was a tom and not a queen, but there was just something about the little Moggie that made it feel just ‘right’. People talked to their pets all the time at any rate, and he wasn’t about to stoop to ‘baby talk’. He scooped more of the chicken salad he’d made earlier into a soup bowl and set it on the floor with a second bowl that was simply water. He grabbed himself a beer and used the last of the salad to make a second go at a sandwich before retiring to the living room to start a search to find her owner. Whomever she had left behind had to miss her dearly he was sure of it.

A rough hours search later and he’d turned up nothing, not even something that sounded close to her, which seemed odd. He decided perhaps they hadn’t missed her yet, or perhaps she’d been something too furious for them to want to keep. Sometimes people did that…tossing aside animals they had underestimated. He had no way to be sure but he didn’t want to toss her out either. Perhaps he’d leave the window open and let her make her own choice between escaping down the fire escape and making a way in the world or…

Or perhaps he’d make a nice nest for her out of some blankets so she wouldn’t sleep on the hard floor all night too. The thoughts were slowly lost as he relaxed into the couch and propped his feet onto his coffee table with a contented sigh and let himself drift off to sleep. From somewhere in the bedroom a small head peeked out, whiskers twitching as her eyes narrowed into a decided scowl. Creeping forth her belly low to the ground the suspicious little warrior queen found her way to the kitchen to inspect the offerings left to her, and from there she could inspect the rest of the small flat to her heart’s content while the impertinent kidnapper dozed obliviously on the sofa.

Something feels WRONG.

--


He’d been a long time overseas, just a visit to family. He hadn’t dared to power up, there were too many people who’d have too many questions if they saw him. He didn’t want anyone to know that he had a shadow life that was more tangible than the dreams. A shadow world that wasn’t a nightmare of broken mirrors and gold eyes, clutching hold of that dry old antler had started to feel like the only corner of his life that was ‘right’ even if the face in the mirror clung hard the concept that it was NOT his own, that it belonged to a stranger.

The antler had felt right…until tonight. First night back off the plane and he’d gone out, jet lagged and anxious from all the reflections he’d faced down on his way through the terminal, damned glass covered posters, huge proper mirrors in the johns. It made his skin itch, and crawl; now he just wanted to run till he couldn’t anymore. He wanted to fight just to take down something that he could pretend was a monster from his dreams.

He’d powered up, the familiar feel of feathers against this cheeks when he turned his head, the little antlers pressing down where they were pinned on his head and the dry rattle of bones around his neck. Annwn of earth, Page, defender, nighttime prowler and maybe, you could argue in a strange way… changing.

He dusted the youma just fine, it screamed and thrashed, raining down a shower of dust that was part ‘it’ and part concrete from where it had repeatedly struck the brickwork. It stained his uniform a powdery gray and left him panting and coughing on the residue, staring at the antler in his hand like it had somehow betrayed him. It just didn’t –feel- right anymore.

“What… is wrong with you?” He hissed through his teeth, anxiously.

“Don’t you dare, don’t you betray me too.”

He swung it a handful more times, shifting it in his hand, flipping it around so the prongs made it impossible to truly close his hand around it, it moved the same, absolutely the same but it still felt like it was wrong. It felt as wrong as his own face in the mirror, The shame was right, the colors right, even the weight, but there was something so dreadfully wrong with it.

He found himself shivering despite the insulating layers of clothes, clutching the antler to his chest and shaking his head. “Not right… it’s just not right.” He hissed. He lifted to brush over the deep scar that ran at an angle over his face, curled those same fingers tight enough to levered crescents pressed into his hand.

He took a breath and let it out slowly trying to calm himself. There was a man he could call, there was someone he could at least hope had an answer. He returned to his apartment, the safety of ONE mirror, and that covered with a towel. He picked up the phone and dialed someone he hadn’t spoken to in ages. “Hello…. Tony?”