Welcome to Gaia! ::

This is somewhat like a literary meme. It was sent to me by a friend back in Jersey who is majoring in literature and wants to be a novelist.
Her teacher gave her this list of fifty words and said:
"Fill this out in third or first person as your character. It will give them more depth and round them out in such a way that they are much more 'real'."

I thought it'd be fun to try it out and so can you guys! ;3
The idea is to make at least one paragraph about one of your characters for each word and it must somehow relate to that word.
The first word is comfort. What does it mean to your character? What comforts them when they're scared or sad? What causes them to need comfort?

Now, I say at least one paragraph, but dont limit yourself to one if you dont want to!
I plan on doing this as well and I'll post mine when I get around to it. o3o In the meantime, feel free to post yours when you finish in this thread!

#01 – Comfort

#02 – Kiss

#03 – Soft

#04 – Pain

#05 – Humor

#06 – Rain

#07 – Loneliness

#08 – Happiness

#09 – Meaning

#10 – Scent

#11 – Name

#12 – Loss

#13 – Death

#14 – Love

#15 – Touch

#16 – Weakness

#17 – Tears

#18 – Speed

#19 – Wind

#20 – Freedom

#21 – Life

#22 – Jealousy

#23 – Sound

#24 – Taste

#25 – Devotion

#26 – Forever

#27 – Blood

#28 – Sickness

#29 – Melody

#30 – Star

#31 – Home

#32 – Confusion

#33 – Fear

#34 – Lightning/Thunder

#35 – Bonds

#36 – Market

#37 – Technology

#38 – Gift

#39 – Smile

#40 – Innocence

#41 – Completion

#42 – Clouds

#43 – Sky

#44 – Heaven

#45 – Hell

#46 – Sun

#47 – Moon

#48 – Waves

#49 – Face

#50 – End

~Mikhail
Loving this idea and may as well put Mikhail on the chopping block. Have a ton of backstory to get out in the open >_<. Will be updating this periodically as his character progresses.

#01 – Comfort
Ah, the fire. Such a truly hated being of fickle movements and owner of the ability to both sustain life and take it away just as quickly. In the case of an Ice type trapped away in solitude it was a reminder of the world he once had as he basked at the side of the light embers and let their warmth envelop his body despite the touchy past the two had together. It's quite funny to think that only times like this, side by side with his worst enemy by heritage, that memories of past were almost able to meld with the present and bring him the slightest bit of comfort...

#02 – Kiss

#03 – Soft

#04 – Pain

#05 – Humor

#06 – Rain

#07 – Loneliness

#08 – Happiness

#09 – Meaning

#10 – Scent

#11 – Name

#12 – Loss

#13 – Death
"Morning."
The Weavile found himself greeting some sort of a corpse. The moment in itself was quite abstract; in fact none of it really made much sense at all. One minute earlier he was lying in his cave and in the next he was traversing the filthy streets of a recognizable marketplace which was surely run down along with the rest of the kingdom long ago. The entire meeting could only be described as an "out of body experience"; like that uneasy feeling of drifting consciousness from sleeping to awake and then back again. By this point Mikhail was sure of the fact he was dreaming but nevertheless allowed the adventure to take its course. It wasn't like there was much else better he could have been doing at the moment.

Back on track, he found himself speaking to the child (and, yes, in fact, it was. A child, no bigger than a week old, wrapped in tattered fabrics and disposed in the alleyway without sign of regret) for the sole reason that it wreaked of its former life that was no longer present and surely it would have been inappropriate not to show it common courtesy as he would anyone else he could have possibly met on the streets. There was no sense on concentrating on the corpse to determine gender, or even species for that matter; the dreaming world not allowing this kind of focus. The best try at this proving so when the most solid shape the child took was a severed equine head of some sort which of course was unsure in itself; the vision being far too blurry. Through all this confusion though, there was an underlying sureness of two things; it was in fact a child, and it was alive at some point but unfortunately not now.

Mikhail ,not really having much control on where the dream took him, set out to properly bury the child, placing a claw underneath the fabric and one behind its head as one would normally hold any newborn. At this point the Weavile felt the filthy slime of the gutter collected on the skin of the child; this being one of the first strong details to actually burn its way into his head thus far. Without missing a beat he walked along, back onto the main dirt roads which were once filled with people. "Once" being the key word here as it seemed everyone else had disappeared aside from a lone Ampharos whom was banging away at a cash register at a nearby stand. The other Pokemon paying no heed at all to the princely Weavile and his cargo.

Departing from the city; it wasn't a far walk before Mikhail was content with his current destination for this burial. Time not being a stagnant being in this world; he found himself in a local park; this place's creation having happened long after the fall of his father's kingdom. He'd come here often when he had the time and rarely lacked the fear of being out in the open for public eyes that may as well burn holes through him after being gone for so long. Fortunately, just as the once bustling city, it looked as if this place was deserted for now. Not wasting much time, the Weavile gently placed the child in the grass and began digging a shallow grave with his own claws, the earth giving away easily and covering up the stench of death which now covered him and the immediate area. He felt as if the smell of soil didn't come any sooner, he would have became ill from this entire, nonsensical journey. Without a prayer said in its name, the child was placed into the ground; immediately giving Mikhail a feeling of comfort and a rush of energy.
"Here's to you who died while you were living and I who lived after I died."
The words flowed out of him without reason or understanding before he began to cover up the corpse...

Just as the last bit of bare skin was out of sight, the Weavile found himself shooting up from a lying position, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. The dream had ended. Next to him on the dirt floor of his cave were the lightly carved words:
"He doesn't talk"
"He won't talk"
"He never talks"
"He can't talk"
"He doesn't see the point in talking"
"He..."
The Weavile concluded two things from this. One, he must have woken up before he was able to finish writing; and two, there was something terribly wrong with himself...
(10 points for anyone who could hunt down my means of inspiration for writing this~)

#14 – Love

#15 – Touch

#16 – Weakness

#17 – Tears

#18 – Speed

#19 – Wind

#20 – Freedom

#21 – Life

#22 – Jealousy
"I hate her.
I hate everything about her.
What makes her deserving of such a title?"
One would think these thoughts are about the envy he had for his sister who took his throne only by the seconds which separated their hatching. However this wasn't the case. These hurtful words that never escaped his lips but nevertheless rang loud in his mind described the split second between the moment he was introduced to Eira and the moment he fell in love with her. Jealousy was rational but easily overcome with compassion and understanding for someone who understood his own troubles.

#23 – Sound

#24 – Taste

#25 – Devotion

#26 – Forever

#27 – Blood

#28 – Sickness

#29 – Melody

#30 – Star

#31 – Home

#32 – Confusion

#33 – Fear

#34 – Lightning/Thunder

#35 – Bonds

#36 – Market

#37 – Technology

#38 – Gift

#39 – Smile

#40 – Innocence

#41 – Completion

#42 – Clouds

#43 – Sky

#44 – Heaven

#45 – Hell

#46 – Sun

#47 – Moon

#48 – Waves

#49 – Face

#50 – End

If you don't mind I'm gonna do this for a really old OC of mine. Felix Swift. Always have been and always will be my favourite OC ever. I don't think I have enough material for any of my Pokemon characters to do one properly XP *Short form of Felix's character profile is about 5k words long*

And due to the nature of his life, I can probably make the best of prompts into regret and longing and angst. Felix had a very sucky life.



#01 – Comfort
I don't remember much of my mother. The accident happened so long ago that it never really affected me. But sometimes, I find myself wishing that I had grown up with her. Sometimes, when I was younger, I'd imagine hugging her, and she'd put strong, caring hands around me, keeping me safe from the world.

I don't have such fantasies now, not anymore. Father never provided such comfort. He taught me the harsh realities of the world, and how to survive.

But still, sometimes, I wonder.

#02 – Kiss
My first kiss? Uh...I'd rather not talk about it. It was one big mistake and I do believe we'd all be better off if that story never saw the light of day.

I do remember the first time I kissed Valerie though. It was impulsive, I barely thought about it until it was done. She had been quite shocked- I don't think she realized the depths of my affections. I loved her. So much. Sometimes I don't know if she understands what she saved me from.

She didn't just give me back the ability to walk. She gave me a new life, a path forward. She, my beloved wife, is one of the few things that had gone right in my life. I do not regret a single moment I have spent with her.

#03 – Soft
I remember the joy of having my first child. The realization that I was suddenly a father- that the small baby would be mine to raise, to love. I remember how small and fragile his hands were, how soft his skin. The twinkle in Valerie's eyes. The hope it gave us all. It was right after the war, right after I escaped with my life and realized that I nearly lost my chance to leave my legacy in the world.

If only I knew at the time. If only I knew my son would grow up blind and hate me in a way I could never understand.

#04 – Pain
I am not unknown to pain. As a member of the Malkuth Imperial Forces, as one who fights daily for a living, physical injury is no stranger. I have endured much, including the destruction of my leg.

But it is not physical pain that breaks one the most.

Stress. Stress and anxiety and grief. My brother, who betrayed me. My son, who hates me. My hometown, swallowed by the abyss. My place in the world that is not what I had wished for myself as a child. My responsibilities to my men.

And the knowledge that above all, I could not have made a difference. From birth my life, riddled with misfortune as it is, had long been predetermined. Such torments of the mind is much harder to defend against.

#05 – Humor
I don't have much to genuinely laugh at these days. But my men- my men always seemed to pull something off.

I loved them dearly. The 8th platoon of the 3rd division. They looked up to me as a leader, placed their faith and their lives in my hands. I did my best to protect them, and sometimes I was torn between my duty to them and my duty to my country.

Campfires. Those were my happiest moments, simply setting up camp for the night in the forest we patrol. Just us warriors crowded around the fire, sharing stories, jokes. My men knew how to be funny.

#06 – Rain
I remember the day clearly. I was in my office, filling out some form or another requesting better equipment for my troops. It was raining hard outside, hitting the windows hard, rhythmically. I could not hear the scratching of my quill above the noise.

I was in a good mood. The 8th division was being relieved of their duties of patrolling Theor forest and sent back into the reserves for a month to rest. For me that meant I would be spending the next month at home in the evenings, with my family.

That was when General Frings came in and told me the bad news. Colonel Curtiss was going on some top-secret mission to Daath and then Kimlasca, and wanted me in the crew. I couldn't refuse- it wasn't a request.

I remember walking home in the rain, not caring as my civilian clothes slowly soaked through, so that I was dripping wet when I went home and had to tell my wife and my daughter and my son that I would once again have to leave them.

I never wanted to be in the military, it takes so much away from me. But I had no choice in the matter, no choice at all. Sometimes I question the existence of free will in this world.

#07 – Loneliness
That first night was the worse. I don't know how I survived, but my fall from the Tartarus spared me the blade of the God Generals.

But my men...my entire platoon was on that ship. They were all murdered, each and every last one of them. I never knew soldiers of Daath could be so cruel.

I spent that first night huddled around the fire with Anise, who had fallen as well. Just the two of us. No food, unclean water from a nearby stream, and no supplies.

I miss them. I miss them all. While I know that there was nothing I could do, for all is foretold by the Score, I feel their death on my hands. That night felt so empty.

#08 – Happiness
I remember being at church one day. When I was a little child. It's a very sharp memory of mine. Mother was performing, singing a hymn. I had my little sister in my arms. I had been so happy. The Scorist had just told us that we would have a great year. I was barely six, my little sister 4.

Afterwards mom took me and little sister out. She gave us a Gald each. I bought a piece of chocolate. My sister got some hard candy. It was a rare treat. Mom brought in only the small amount of Gald that was her allowance from the church. Dad's salary was fickle; he was a Ranger, a monster-killer, and it all depended on who hired him.

That day was amazing. We had a great year, just as the Score foretold. If only that had lasted.

#09 – Meaning
There is no meaning in life.

At least, that's what I tell myself. To acknowledge otherwise may drive me mad. I have killed so many. I hate to turn my blade on another human, but I must for my country.

If we were made by some Grand Creator, he had forsaken us long ago, his designs for us lost with time. We simply exist for the sake of existing, following the foretold path of destiny as written by the Score.

It helps. Every time my sword pierces flesh, I can tell myself that I am taking nothing of great value, and that there was nothing else I could have done. What I did was driven by the Score, not by me or anyone else.

#10 – Scent
I have fought in large battles before, commanding men below me, taking orders from above me. Hacking and slashing and desperately trying to stay alive.

There is a certain nauseating smell to such battles. I know it clearly, though I have participated in very few. The sweet, sickly metallic scent of blood. The putrid smell of rotting flesh. The ozone, the ash, the peculiar smell of Magical Artes. The sweat of hundreds of men.

#11 – Name
My name is a joke. Felix. "Luck and happiness." That's what it means. And that's what my life is not.

So many wrong turns in my life, and little to make up for it. I enjoy the company of my wife, the love of my daughter, but there is so much...so much.

I can not walk without the help of a device I must keep secret. I sting from my brother's betrayal during the war. I ache at my son's hate. I long for a life free of the blade.

#12 – Loss
Sicel.

My son. All he ever wanted was my love. I thought I gave it to him, but I never did. I didn't accepted him for who he was. His childhood was much like mine. Ridiculed, pushed around. He was blind, caused by so much magic within both me and his mother. But I never identified with him, helped him through.

My job didn't help. I was often away for months at a time. He thought I didn't care about him or his sister. He thought I did not take my job as father seriously.

And then there was his...gifts. The same circumstances that blinded him also bestowed upon him an amazing aptitude for magic. While the Third Fonon is traditional down my side of the family -one scorer told me that my Fonon frequency was almost exactly that of Sylph's- and the seventh down the line of my wife's, Sicel was great with the Sixth Fonon. The Fonon of Light. Such ironies, for he can not see. And I think that served to push us away farther. I never really did trust magic, and here was my son, a genius in the field.

He was not a seventh Fonist. He had great control over the first Six, but he did not inherit the special Fon Slots needed to handle the seventh Fonon safely from his mother.

When my daughter, Tina, came down with Miasma Toxicosis, I didn't know what to do. Miasma naturally bonded to the Seventh Fonon, and being a Seventh Fonist she easily succumbed to it. Sicel saved her. Sicel drew in her Seventh Fonons, taking the miasma with it.

He died from both Miasma Poisoning and Neural contamination. The Seventh Fonon is dangerous to those who can not take it in.

Only then did I see the depth of his love for his sister. And all the things I did wrong as a father.

Rest in Peace Sicel.

#13 – Death
-tbc-

I guess I'll try this.

Reginald - meaning of words

#01 – Comfort

#02 – Kiss

#03 – Soft

#04 – Pain

#05 – Humor

#06 – Rain

#07 – Loneliness

#08 – Happiness

#09 – Meaning

#10 – Scent

#11 – Name
Reignald’s face twisted into a disgusted frown as he thought of names. Strangely enough, though having a name himself, he believed names were an insignificant jumble of words for… humans. Wolves didn’t bother with names; it was all in the smell. Reginald told this to Desdemona one day and she asked,
“Well, then why the hell do you have a name?”
He grunted something along the lines of, “I ate someone named Reginald once.”
Ah, that was quite a few years ago.
It was autumn, the air was dry and dusty, the leaves and twigs snapped and crumbled, and the sky was filled with bright orange and red leaves. His pack had moved on to a new area and had sent out the older members out with the younger ones to scout, so they could learn what they were meant to do later in their life in the pack. He was still quite a young Poochyena, worn, but still full of energy after their trip to the dark forests. It only happened a few years before his fifteenth birthday, but now it seems like a distant memory to him. He had gotten bored from all of this eventless scouting of their new territory and had broken off from the group, unnoticed. The sun was setting, casting an auburn-pink glow on the hazy clouds on the horizon. The golden light had trouble shining through the thicket of trees, giving him lots of shadow to slink through. He eventually came across something intriguing: a young man trekking through the forest. He had built a small fire and was warming his hands, shivering in the cold breeze. The Poochyena felt his mouth go dry. A human here? How could it be? The young man had smooth brown hair that flopped over his ears and nearly reached his shoulders, he wore fingerless gloves, a thin T-shirt, tennies and khaki pants; not proper attire for near winter. At his side were his backpack and a sleeping bag as well as a tin bowl and utensils. Reginald growled in the shadows, humans were trouble; they were dangerous and they didn’t belong here. The human stood up, alarmed, and turned toward the hiding Pokemon.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, but all he got as a reply was a sharp yapping of a Poochyena as he sprang out of the cover of the trees and into the small clearing. The boy leaped back in surprise and reached to his belt with small red and white balls attached, tossing one toward the wild Pokemon. Reginald flinched and took a step back as it was hurled at high speeds at his face, wincing again as a bright light flashed out of it and left a Glameow in its place. He had never seen anything like this before; it was amazing. The trainer gave it a command and they were in battle. The Poochyena eventually defeated the Glameow after a harsh fight; the cat lifted its head off of the ground weakly toward the trainer,
“R-reginald… run.” It gasped before falling unconscious. The trainer hurriedly withdrew the Pokemon back into its ball, turned tail, and fled. The Poochyena gave chase and wore him down until he could run no more, forcing him to stop and fight. It was a short battle, needless to say, and the trainer died at the hands of the Poochyena. He feasted on his flesh and threw all the evidence that a human had found its way into the world of Eclipse where no one would likely find it.
“Now my name is Reginald,” hissed Reginald as the remains of the boy and his things that he gathered from the campsite tumbled down the cliff, shattering into a thousand pieces on the jagged rocks before disappearing forever into the depths of the ocean.
#12 – Loss
#13 – Death
Something that happened often. For some strange reason, most of the guild members found death of someone important to them, perhaps a leader or friend, heartbreaking; it would tear their souls to shreds, even though they have killed mercilessly many others. Reginald himself had never killed a single Pokemon in his life--not on purpose anyway, only fighting in self defence. He could still remember, nearly feel the crisp snow under the soft padding of his feet, the rush of the wind on his first hunt many years ago…
It was supposed to be his first kill; a big honor, indeed. It was early morning, the sky as clear as a glass of spring water on that day, seven years ago. He shook his light grey pelt in the cold winter breeze, blinking his almost abnormally large blue-ice eyes. He toppled face first into a large pile of snow when his mother gently, but firmly ushered him outside the warmth of their cave and into the cold, bitter snow.
“Go,” she grunted.
“Yes, Mum,” he yapped back, scrambling away toward the group of young Poochyena swarmed around a single Mightyena.
“Gather around,” he growled. Reginald’s stomach did a flip-flop and he squirmed uncontrollably, not listening to a word the Mightyena was saying. He knew that it was the day of his first hunt and the day of his first kill, among many other young Poochyena. Before he knew it, the Mightyena let out a howl and sped away, Poochyenas trailing behind him.
After forty-five minutes of aimless running in the snow, the group came across a small herd of Stantlers. The Mightyena yapped out orders to the Poochyena running along beside him, sending them away to chase a few away from the main pack and surround them. The mighty beasts galloped with all their strength, steam pouring off of their pumping muscles. The young canine wrinkled his muzzle as the stink of the creature entered his nostrils. They eventually wore the group down and circled them slowly. The lead stag in the group huffed, head bent and shaking at the knees, blood gushing from a large wound in his side that was inflicted by the powerful Mightyena. The Mightyena howled, a signal to finish them off, and the Poochyena went wild, chasing individual Stantlers in all directions. He himself had cornered a small fawn that had been separated with its mother, it now cowered breathlessly against the cliff he chased it to, away from view. It, like all the others in the group, was wounded and bleeding. It now lay in front of him, its life draining away slowly. The young Poochyena barred his teeth and growled menacingly, saliva appearing at the corners of his mouth. The young fawn just looked at him from his side position with his large eye nearly stuck shut with eye gunk and closed it shut, waiting for it all to be over. Some father’s son, some sister’s brother. He hesitated and instead kicked the fawn sharply on the shoulder.
“Get out of here,” he growled, turning his head to the side as to not come within eye contact with the Stantler. The young Pokemon scrambled shakily to its feet, glanced at him, and ran for its life. He watched the fawn run off and walked over to the bright red patch where it bled. He covered his claws and mouth with the still warm blood and headed back to the rest of the pack, slightly shameful and confused to why he had done it--or rather why he had not done it. From then on, he had passed on the hunting expeditions whenever he could and just came back empty handed with blood on himself from other’s kills when he couldn’t avoid it.
#14 – Love

#15 – Touch

#16 – Weakness

#17 – Tears

#18 – Speed

#19 – Wind

#20 – Freedom

#21 – Life

#22 – Jealousy

#23 – Sound

#24 – Taste

#25 – Devotion

#26 – Forever

#27 – Blood

#28 – Sickness

#29 – Melody

#30 – Star

#31 – Home

#32 – Confusion

#33 – Fear

#34 – Lightning/Thunder

#35 – Bonds

#36 – Market

#37 – Technology

#38 – Gift

#39 – Smile

#40 – Innocence

#41 – Completion

#42 – Clouds

#43 – Sky

#44 – Heaven

#45 – Hell

#46 – Sun

#47 – Moon

#48 – Waves

#49 – Face

#50 – End

[I'll work on this later]

Doing one o' these for Stark. Eventually. Maybe.

==~==



#01 – Comfort

#02 – Kiss

#03 – Soft

#04 – Pain

#05 – Humor

#06 – Rain

#07 – Loneliness

#08 – Happiness

#09 – Meaning

#10 – Scent

#11 – Name

#12 – Loss

#13 – Death

#14 – Love

#15 – Touch

#16 – Weakness

#17 – Tears

#18 – Speed

#19 – Wind

#20 – Freedom

#21 – Life

#22 – Jealousy

#23 – Sound

#24 – Taste

#25 – Devotion

#26 – Forever

#27 – Blood

#28 – Sickness

#29 – Melody

#30 – Star

#31 – Home

#32 – Confusion

#33 – Fear

#34 – Lightning/Thunder

#35 – Bonds

#36 – Market

#37 – Technology

#38 – Gift

#39 – Smile

#40 – Innocence

#41 – Completion

#42 – Clouds

#43 – Sky

#44 – Heaven

#45 – Hell

#46 – Sun

#47 – Moon

#48 – Waves

#49 – Face

#50 – End