Welcome to Gaia! ::

Name: Damien
Age: 19

Personality: Stubborn and willful, his mother swears he's like his father. Damien likes to push buttons and see people's reactions just for the fun of it. He tends to come off as a jerk because of this.

Behind his stubborn nature is a mother's boy who was raised to be loyal and caring for those close to his heart. He doesn't make friends easy, coming off as a jerk tends to make it tough, but those few he can call friends he's very protective of. What's his is his, by the goddesses, and nothing will happen to them.

He's also a quick learner, picking up things with relative ease, and won't stop until he's mastered whatever he sets his mind to. This was handy in learning how to be a blacksmith like his father, despite their constant arguments. His determination is something he uses in all aspects of his life and constantly feeds his stubbornness.

He does, however, have a weakness for tears and children. Not that he'd let you know that personally.

History: Living in the castle town of Hyrule, grew up in the hustle and bustle of market days and constant people interactions. Usually a very serious child, he didn't have many friends growing up and tended to constantly follow his mother around with chores and shopping. He learned a lot of skills that way but there was nothing more he wanted to do then to learn to make weapons as his father did.

At age ten he managed to talk his father into helping around the workshop, getting him tools and keeping the fires going. Two years later he goaded his father into teaching him weapon making and half way through the year he'd made his first sword. It wasn't anything fancy but he was proud of it and his mother hung it above their fireplace to show it off. By age sixteen he was making better swords and maces, and with more hands in the workshop there were more weapons to make and repair and life was pretty stable for the small family.

When Damien turned eighteen his father had to go on a trip, having to go and deliver his newest order to a buyer in the Gerudo Desert. However, having recently becoming sick, Damien decided he'd do it instead. The trip would be long, and likely dangerous, and so he was given supplies and his father's own hammer for protection. Determined to do his family proud he set off to deliver the weapon.

Name: Ailill [Irish/Celtic for "elf"].
Age: 18 years old.

Personality: Ailill is loud. Very loud. He doesn't exactly know what an "indoor voice" is, and will speak as if no one can hear him - namely at a deafening decibel, practically. This isn't because he thinks no one can hear him; it's just how he talks. Most of the time he doesn't even realize he's doing it. He's cheerfully lazy, and would prefer sitting around doing nothing to actually being productive, but he usually gets dragged out to work anyway. He'll whine and complain, but he'll always do the work, even if he doesn't want to. He's a kindhearted soul underneath his somewhat...outrageously...noisy...exterior.

He's also fiercely over competitive. Ask him to do something, and he'll do it, but if there's someone else doing the same thing, he'll make dang sure he's the one doing it the best or the fastest. He's not mean about this, and he doesn't get angry when he loses, but it's just a fact of nature that he gets stupidly competitive over things.

Also don't ever call him "Lil." He may just hit you, and that wouldn't be very pleasant.

Oh, and he's greedy. Not in a "I'm going to steal everything from you and I am a creeper money grubber" sort of way, but in a way that if you offer him money to do something, he tends to leap on that. Not always, especially if what you want him to do is wrong, but Ailill is easily swayed by moolah.

This also means he gambles way too much.

History: Ailill grew up with his mother on the outskirts of Hyrule. Bridget is...pretty much exactly like her son. Both easily excitable, both loudly cheerful and competitive, her and her son are best friends through and through. He is a total mama's boy and proud to admit it. She's always encouraging him to do more (when he's not being lazy, that is). When he was fifteen, his mother and he took in some travelers that were passing through and let them stay the night. Ailill and Bridget being...Ailill and Bridget, they stayed up most of the night playing cards and laughing noisily. In one particularly ridiculously long round, they started betting stupid things - Ailill's father's boots, Bridget's golden necklace, one of the traveler's knives. Along with this was also a pretty dang impressive looking hammer that Ailill kindasorta liked a lot. In a truly miraculous turn of events (no, really - miraculous - Ailill's mother sucks at card games) Bridget somehow managed to win that particular round and wound up with quite a hefty bunch of items and money - including the hammer, which she gave to Ailill. After all, what did she want with a hammer when there were things like rubies in the pot?

Needless to say, the travelers were not exactly pleased, but they left in good spirits all the same and thanked Bridget and Ailill for a good game.

After a few years, Bridget realized just how talented her son had grown to be with the hammer she'd won for him. She also realized the fact that he was just too damn lazy, and even though she would miss him she basically kicked him out of the house and told him to go exploring. Also to bring her back lots of pretty things.

So, Ailill travels, mostly on his own, but sometimes with a random companion or two, swinging his hammer here and there as he searches for things to one day bring back for his mother.

Also I might just point out here that he gets lost a little too easily. But he would deny that fact.

Name: Metis
Age: 17

Personality: At first glance, Metis appears very creepy and intimidating; not the sort people approach willingly. However beneath that rough exterior is just a boy who is unable to fully express himself. Talking isn't his strongest suit as growing up in a very busy house, ones voice is easily lost. So after years of not being heard, he just gave up on talking all together. Often mistaken as a mute, Metis only speaks when he feels its absolutely necessary thus when he speaks up, people listen. He finds it easier to get his point across showing someone rather then trying to do the tedious task of explaining it all. This doesn't always work to his favor as there are times he grows frustrated with himself and his inability to get what he needs across.

Also patience is something he's well practiced in, making it hard to ruffle his feathers. He always does his best not to give people the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. Metis will usually give said person a eye roll, raised brow or a exasperated sigh if he does choose to react, else normally he just gives the individual a hard stare. Although he can't always keep his cool, there are small occasions where he loses it. When this happens its best to just step aside and let him blow off some steam. Normally he does this alone, as publicly cracking isn't a way to make his parents proud.

Although he is a very strong boy, fighting isn't something he enjoys. He learned how to wield a Hammer as per request of his father and only continued the practice to make him happy. Metis rather put his strengths to help fix or build things; use his hands to create and help rather then destroy and damage. Very capable of taking care of himself, he'll fight if there is no other means of getting around it. He will avoid killing something at all costs, may it be monster or other wise. He rather let nature or Karma take its course.

History: If being the youngest child wasn't enough, Metis is the only boy of a five children family. With both parents present, they lived in a quaint little home in Kakariko Village. Both his parents were healers, his mother an expert with herbs and potions where his father was more of the doctor. Metis' father traveled far and wide to those who needed medicine or treatment. Little Metis would always ask if he could accompany him though mostly he was left to collect herbs with his mother and younger of the girls. His oldest sister, who was always the nicest to him, was their fathers apprentice, thus she came with their father.

So remaining home helped the smaller learn and identify different healing plants and how to apply them properly. He found he rather try and learn these things then play with his three other sisters , whom were triplets. His mother found it odd that Metis showed no interest in making friends of other children of the village. She tried her hardest to get the boy to talk, socialize with others but found her son would have nothing of it. Soon he gained the nickname “Little Poe” or just “Poe” since he always seemed to disappear when other children came around and he didn't speak a word to anyone.

Once Metis grew older, his father took him up to Goron City and allowed him his first, but well contained adventure. His father figured this would most likely be the only way to give the normally compliant, understanding child his first taste of the world around him. As well as he hoped this would help the boy shake away his nickname and grow more into himself, not to be so afraid of people. On this first visit to the gorons, Metis father was dumbfounded by how easily the boy took to the rock people. Perhaps it was the fact that the Goron children, much like Metis, weren't very chatty. Soon not even the Goron Elders were able to keep up with the children, their adventures around the mountains and the Hot Springs were hard to contain. This was the beginning of many trips up to the City and Hot Springs, if not for medicines it was mostly just play dates with other children.

As time progressed, Metis, never one for fighting, stumbled upon the Gorons practice of wrestling. As his friends were reaching that age where they were to learn said practice, Metis found he could only watch. Although Metis was no weakling, his adventures climbing the mountains with the rock children helped him become stronger then most Hylians, this was beyond him. However his friends, not wanting to fully exclude him explained the mechanics of the tradition but never let him fully participate. Thus this lead the Goron Elder and his father to come to the conclusion of having Metis learn how to wield a hammer. This Hammer, crafted by Gorons, was a gift of sorts. For bringing Kakriko and the Hot springs closer together and also giving laughter and life back to the normally quiet village.

Back in his home village he was having no luck in fitting in there, children still making fun of him for being so quiet. Though the adults of the village found him most helpful as he was always willing to do small errands for them or go up on the roof to mend it. The older he became the more it became like a job, he'd be paid little amounts to come to different homes in the village to do repairs. And with this money, he saved up for the chance to one day travel Hyrule, to see other villages and discover more about the world around him. And for awhile things were simple for Metis, he'd do his odd jobs and keep mostly to himself; heading up to visit his friends in the mountains whenever there was a lull in business.

This peaceful existence was soon interrupted; an altercation with some of the village bullies changed things. Metis did his best to ignore them but however when they started to harass his sisters, he completely lost it. Never having fought someone of his own race, as he normally play fought with his rock friends, there was easily a disadvantage. Not knowing his own strength then compared to a normal Hylian, he was unknowingly brutal, doing more damage then he had ever intended. Seeing the looks of horror, fear and the blood and tears of the boy beneath him he was hailing on, something in Metis broke. Upon seeing what he had done, and the other villagers who had come to watch, he found he was more of a freak then before.

This was what gave him the push to leave his home town and use what money he had collected over time. Leaving with some belongings and his hammer, he left Kakariko and set off to hopefully do odd jobs in other villages.

Random Facts
He's afraid of horses; its near impossible to get him near one, let alone on one.
- He can't swim, he can float and paddle around a little but that's about it.
- Has a book of pressed flowers his oldest sister started for him, now where ever he goes he collects unusual flowers or plants for it.
- Tends to have no fear when it comes to heights, this comes from his mountain adventures with his Goron friends.

Name: Thomas.
Age: Nineteen.

Personality:

Caustic and clever, the hammer wielder has always had a potent way with words, and an even more potent ability to keep everyone in his life at arms length. Despite the shoved aside knowledge of manners, Thomas never falls short of being sharp tongued, his hunger for dangerous, quick and clever conversations sometimes leading him down the path of imminent trouble. Thomas is self-reliant, to the point that he’ll rarely ever ask for help, even when he’s on the verge of needing it. The Hylian disapproves greatly of requesting anyone’s aid, and in short, that does breed quite a stubborn disposition. Thomas can’t stand the idea of getting attached, or worse yet, actually caring for someone. The young adult has always been well off on his own, and the thought of traveling with someone else, or even worse yet, becoming intimate with someone else drives him straight up a wall. Despite that, Thomas does not mind the idea of temporary company, nor the art of conversation. He actually quite enjoys it. But he refuses to acknowledge that the word attachment and commitment even exist in his own personal dictionary. Anymore.

Thomas is rather moody in the grand scheme of things. Not to say that he yells and shouts when something doesn’t go his way, oh no. But Thomas has a habit of switching from one end of the spectrum to the other at the smallest things. Thomas can go from his witty, clever remarks to a cruel, caustic tone in a few short seconds, and he’s not afraid to cut into others with his words. The Hylian finds it to be a very effective way of keeping everyone at arms length, because sometimes words puncture deeper than actions ever could. Physical wounds heal, but words leave scars that will never go away. Strong willed and reckless, Thomas will be the first to throw a punch in a five to one fight, and he’ll be the last to get on his knees for someone who is too far up on his high, high horse. But don’t get him wrong; Thomas is not like all of those loud-mouthed reckless bastards who get themselves stabbed before they have a chance to go down in history. The young adult is smooth with his words, clever and cruel. He knows how to keep his temper and he’s hardly the explosive type. He’s refined, subtle. When he wants to be, at least. As well as that, Thomas is intelligent. The young adult knows almost too much for his young age, having been raised with both street smarts and the ability to navigate society and its laws.

Though Thomas puts on a smile and talks with ease, he’s an opponent you don’t ever want to face. While skilled in both the art of swords and hammers, Thomas has something that most others don’t. Where some might hesitate in driving the killing blow, the Hylian never will. Not to say he is a villain, and not to say he is purely evil. But Thomas is merciless, and he knows it. He also knows that people don’t like his kind, and typically classify them as the evil that they must drive out. Because of that, Thomas has become even more callous, never hesitating with his blows, never thinking of the consequences and how others might come to view him before rushing into the heat of battle. Fierce and calculating in battle, Thomas has no set of pure morals, no problem with striking the enemy down when their back is turned. Thomas takes any opening he can get, and if that goes against some code of conduct in someone else’s book, they’d better complain to somebody else.

However few and far in between, Thomas does have some redeeming qualities. The young adult has no aversion to hard work, especially if it involves physical labor. Thomas would rather be out in the fields all day than stuffed indoors reading books. The Hylian does not care for money, but he won’t turn it down if it’s offered. Though he’ll help out just as well even when its not. Thomas was taught from a young age to always follow through to the end, and as such, refuses to ever give up on projects or jobs, no matter how impossible they seem. Thomas is not lazy, and has always worked hard for the things he’s wanted, despite his claims that he only worked for them because he had nothing better to do. The young adult doesn’t care to make anyone see him as a good person, and more often than not makes up grand, villainous tales of his actions, of which many are hardly true. He might lay claim to the idea that he’d been out drinking, when really, he’d spent the night walking the town in sleepless restlessness, or that he’d flirted shamelessly with a well endowed lady, when in truth, he’d only glanced her from afar. The reason behind these farfetched lies is unknown, though Thomas might declare to himself that they’re to keep people at arms length at usual. But in truth, he knows that’s just a lie to himself.


History:

"This isn't a game anymore," He'd said.

The boy nodded, and then he lunged.

xxx❤x❤x❤

What a smart child, They'd said. And he'd smiled even though he knew the truth was that the boy wasn't even his.

Thomas's father had always been a strong man. Strong, brave, true. He'd wanted to die a warrior, but instead, he'd been tamed into a life with a woman he'd come to love. Thomas's mother was a fickle creature, her interests held every week by something new and inviting. Her taste in men was just as fickle, and though she tried her best to be loyal, an instance of weakness led to a lifetime of motherhood with a man who loved her and a child who's father had long since gone. Thomas had known from a young age that his biological father wasn't the one who raised him now. When the townsfolk would talk, both of them would fall silent, knowing that rumors were rumors, and they would never go away. Fighting them would just breed something worse. For most of his childhood, Thomas was the black sheep in the white herd. The strongest, bravest boy, and yet the one who seemed to have an immunity to that strange thing called friendship. His best days were spent either in the smithery, or out in the fields.

Thomas had never cared for his bloodlines, even though he was often the center of conversation with his contrasting snow locks and gray eyes, as opposed to his fathers rugged chocolate hair and narrowed, dirty gold-green irises. The boy grew up in the shadows of a retired warrior, a man who now worked with fire and metal, creating weapons and armor for a living, his craftsmanship almost as good as his skills with a sword. Hours and hours of work in the heat of the workshop bred a strong willed child, who never stopped until he'd finished. While his father found him to be a fine young man in the making, he could never shake the feeling of cruelty in the idea that this should have been his son, not another mans. Hours passed into days, and days into months. Thomas picked up a sword sooner or later, though his interests soon fell on other things. Bows, hammers, knives, daggers. They all intrigued him, drew him in. And so he worked hard, never once letting up on the vigorous training that he brought upon himself outside of the smithery and the fields. As he grew, Thomas began to find friends in some of the other children. Their village was big enough that no one knew everyone, but there was still an underlying sense of family that Thomas had never understood before then. Soon, he grew attached, and soon, he had companions, brothers and sisters of sorts. Even a best friend.

With the boys, he began to train and spar, and with girls, he learned the fickle sort of thing known as attraction. As a growing teenager, he learned more and more about the world, without even stepping foot into the great unknown. He learned to read more and more, respect books and their knowledge, while still working in the smithery and training with his friends, and his closest one in particular. Days wore on, and soon they were all young adults, working hard on mercilessly hot days, staying in during the chills of the colder ones. Thomas shared his youth with them, felt as if everything was coming together, though his own personality sometimes held him back from that even tighter feel of absolute kinship. From a young age, the villagers knew that the blacksmith's son was merciless. That he was reckless and clever, but at the same time, dangerous. And it was true.

When he turned seventeen, Thomas was left with information that began to tear him apart.

"I'm dying."

Thomas had laughed it off, a familiar trait of his. "Of course you are. Everyone is." he'd said in return, his voice smooth, his words sharp, "After all, every creature must pass eventually." Thomas had lifted a rupee, examining it close with slit gray eyes. His friend regarded him silently for a moment, so close that it would have made Thomas wince, had he the courage to look over. "Alas, in the end we become nothing but dust and shadows. Now, if this a figurative use of the statement, its much different." Thomas continued, his voice flaring with a dramatic tinge, the silence making his head cramp. Finally, the Hylian glanced up, staring pointedly at his unusually silent companion.

"I'm dying." He said again, his voice blunt, his eyes resigned. And in that moment, Thomas knew that he wasn't lying. The next few months were hell. A tight knot of worry seeded in the Hylian every time he encountered his companion, every time he heard a cough or a struggle to breathe. It drove Thomas mad, even though he knew his friend had a few years yet. But it became a familiar thought in his head, something he dwelled on when he had nothing else to think. A life without his closest friend, a person who'd come closer than arms length without being burned. It wasn't to say that Thomas didn't have others in his life. People to talk to, people to confide in. But none were as important. Not even his father, not even his mother. As time wore on, Thomas retracted into himself, more often than not going off on long walks alone, keeping company only with his companion. He was sick of people glancing him in concern, telling him to talk to them and not keep it all in.

He learned that there was no cure, resigned himself to the idea that one day, his nightmare would come. And while he dwelled on that fact, the world continued to spin, fairly and cruelly. His companion became weaker and weaker, his body withering away. It was when he was nineteen that it happened, but not in the way that he would have expected it to. Evening had come; a stain of gold and red on the horizon. The fields were tangled with fall breeze, the distant village noise mute in his ears. His companion had offered him a sword, and they had sparred, sweat stinging their eyes in the chilled, crisp air. Everything around them disappeared, the illness, the village, the men and women in it. It was nostalgic, reminiscent, almost content. Until Thomas had gained the upper hand.

A sword to his throat - a once playful gesture - his companion had smiled. But it was distant, soft, unreadable. Lifting his chin, his fingers had grazed the sharp metal, intoxicating Thomas with a potent emotion. "Would you do it," He murmured, "if I asked you to?"

Thomas stared, his mind racing to keep up, his heart knotted in his chest.

"I dont want to die," The boy continued, his eyes unnerving; a deep iridescent blue. "I've never wanted to die. But if I have to go, I want it to be like this. I dont want to die bed-ridden and sick. I dont want to be alone when it comes." They'd shared the last shard of evening staring at one another, the sun dipping below the horizon, the night sky opening up.

"You're just playing," Thomas said sharply, moving to pull the blade away. Enough of this. Enough, enough, enough.

"This isn't a game anymore," His companion had responded cooly. His tone was unreadable, his voice stable and calm.

Thomas regarded him for a few moments, heard voices in his head that he couldn't place. Merciless, dangerous, cruel... They chanted, over and over again. You'd put him out of his misery like an animal? And his stomach turned, bile rising to the back of his throat.

Their silence spread on, even as a new, silver slice of light fell across them.

Finally, he said, "Please."

Thomas grimaced, his head tilted back, his throat constricting. "Is this an act of compassion?" He asked after a moment, opening his slate gray eyes.

His companion laughed and tilted his head. "Yes." He murmured, "It is."

Those words poisoned Thomas, even as he lunged.

xxx❤x❤x❤

After that, he ran. He grabbed what supplies he needed, tacked his horse up in the night, and left. The only possession he stole was his fathers; a hammer made of the finest materials. They would think him a sinner, a devil in disguise. How could he ever have stayed? Haunted, Thomas ran as far as he could, until exhaustion dug its nails in, sharp and strong. And even then, he continued to move, continued to wander. He never stopped in one place long, never talked too much about himself. The Hylian feared being found by anyone from his village, anyone from back there. His mind told him he'd been right to do what he'd did, but his actions stained his hands and refused to wash away. His old habits surfaced, his ability to keep everyone at arms length. And he did just that. It was months before he began to settle in places for more than a few days, months before he began to interact so much with others again. Finally, Thomas was letting fresh wounds become scars. He began to regain himself, and his own caustic, witty demeanor. The phantoms of his past didn't change him, didn't crush him into an emotional mess. They only chased him, always nipping at his heels and begging him to run as fast as he could.

He became a wanderer. Nothing more than a ghost.

Congrats to la mort noire - - xx on winning the male! :3