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Name: Veraziel Ruundrakar
(VEHR-uh-zee-el ROON-drah-kar)

Titles: Sovereign of the Stormbound Throne, Last Guardian of Rudra, Breaker of Silence, Exile of the Final Tempest

Nickname: (Earth Name) Vera Vale

Gender/Pronoun: He/Him/His

Age: Appears mid 20s

Birthday: Unknown

Fav. Food:

• Rudran: Spiced Rudran Skyfruit Compote (a rare delicacy made from high-altitude skyfruit, similar to pears, with a sharp, tingling sweetness and subtle heat)
  
• Earthen: Lightly Fried Fish with Lemon (surprisingly)
  Candied Ginger (he enjoys the intense peppery sweetness)

Hated Food:

• Anything overly sweet like custards or heavily frosted cakes
  
• Mushrooms (he dislikes the texture -- it reminds him of decay and dampness)
  
• Overly processed foods, like sugary cereals
  
• Rare meat (it reminds him of death)

Occupation: N/A currently.


Rudran Hobbies:

• Collecting Storm Artifacts -- Over the centuries, Veraziel quietly collected items that were charged with residual turbulence. Broken windstones, shards of glass struck by lightning, feathers from high-atmosphere birds. He studied them almost obsessively, part scholarly obsession, part grief. He believed Rudra left clues in its scars, and one day he could revive his planet.
  
  
• Wind-chimes -- He would collect stormglass and scraps of metal, forming them together into delicate wind-chimes. He kept them in his private quarters, each with its own resonance. He would occasionally tune them by carefully filing metal or knotting cords to shift the pitch. It wasn’t about music, but control over the wind.

Earthen Hobbies:

• Reading poetry (but only in secret) -- Veraziel has an ear for rhythm and metaphor, and is particularly drawn to works that speak of longing, ruin, or devotion. He feigns disdain for Earth’s literature as overly sentimental.
  
  
• Stargazing and atmospheric observation -- Although the stars are unfamiliar from Earth, Veraziel watches them anyway. He keeps a journal and notes the changes in cloud shapes, wind direction, even the moonlight, although he doesn’t say why. It just comforts him to be able to track something, to see patterns, and to believe in the sky again.

Virtues:

• Unyielding Will -- Veraziel’s will is legendary. When Rudra fell, when the Sable Mire devoured all he knew, he endured. He kept moving. Kept reigning over ashes because he refused to die. He doesn’t bend -- not to Chaos, not to fear. Not even to despair. This made him a king even when his kingdom crumbled.
  
  
• Foresight -- Always calculating, always watching, planning three steps ahead. On Rudra, this made him a near-infallible tactician. He did not trust in luck, only careful orchestration. He prepared for betrayal, for invasion, for apocalypse. What he could not prepare for was loneliness that no strategy could solve.
  
  
• Stoic Resilience -- Pain did not break him, it made him stronger. Grief became his armor. His silence became strength. Where others wept, he simply continued. When the last loyal subject died, he still sat on the broken throne for a year. Not out of denial, but out of duty.
  
  
• Commanding Presence -- He was born to rule, and it shows. Veraziel can silence a room with a glance, issue orders with precision, and turn chaos into strategy through sheer presence. He was not just respected -- he was obeyed. Even alone, he carries himself as if the storm still bowed to him. Every gesture he makes is measured, deliberate, and steeped in authority.

Flaws:

• Arrogant -- Masquerading as control, Veraziel believed only he could carry Rudra. Only his decisions were correct. Even when his people suffered, he assumed the pain was necessary. This arrogance made him cruel, even when he meant to protect. He saw love and dissent as distractions. He dismissed empathy as naivety. He trusted no one else to hold power, and in doing so, he isolated himself completely.
  
  
• Emotional Detachment -- He didn’t cry when Rudra fell. He didn’t mourn out loud. Emotion was a vulnerability he’d buried so deep that he forgot where he’d put it. He could execute a man with a calm voice and sleep that same night. Not because he lacked feeling, but because he trained himself not to feel.
  
  
• Paranoid -- A survivor of betrayal and ruin, Veraziel trusts no one. Every kindness is suspicious. Every offer is a trap. He reads motives into silence and sees threats in intimacy. This made him a strategic genius… and an impossible companion. He always assumed affection was simply leverage in disguise.
  
  
• Morally Ridgid -- Sure, Veraziel believed in right and wrong -- as he defined them. Compromise was seen as weakness. Mercy was a risk. His moral compass was locked to the idea of strength as virtue and obedience as order. It blinded him to alternatives. It made him punish those who didn’t deserve it. He believed the ends justified the means -- until there were no ends left to fight for.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

Eyes: Bicolored -- a common Rudran trait -- with the lower portion of each iris a rich orange-gold, while the upper halves shimmer with vivid turquoise.

Hair: Dilute brown, soft and ashy in tone. It falls to his upper back when worn down. On the right side of his face there is a streak of white through his bangs and longer strands -- a permanent mark from the lightning strike he survived as a child. He still gets headaches as storms approach, when the air pressure drops.

Face: Two parallel scars run across the bridge of his nose, slanted slightly downward to the left. Faint but visible. They look like claw marks or blade slashes, but their origin remains a matter of speculation.

Skin Tone: Tanned caramel, sun-kissed from living beneath open skies.

Body Type: Athletically built with a body honed for war and command. Broad-shouldered, long-limbed, but not bulky. 6’2” in height.

Clothes:

• Rudra -- Pale oranges, diluted turquoise, teals, blues, and stormy grays with gold accents. Rudra’s court viewed these colors as noble, not flamboyant. Veraziel wore high collared tunics paired with layered sashes and long outer robes.
  
  
• Earth -- Monochrome colors of black, charcoal, and slate blue are preferred for colors. He choses function over fashion, but is unable to turn away from elegance. High collars, long coats, layers. If he was forced to dress casual, he would choose breathable fabrics, wide belts, etc. that reminds him of home. He hates synthetic textures. They feel like cheap lies woven into skin.

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Deep Space Senshi:

Physical Features:

Rudrans have long, elegantly furred, and highly expressive tails. The fur is dense and silky. The fur traps minute vibrations in the air, allowing Rudrans to read shifts in the atmosphere. In traditional Rudran society, binding one’s tail around the waist was a formal and sacred act. It was part armor and part vow, and symbolized discipline and restraint, particularly among warriors.

For Veraziel, wrapping his tail was more than tradition. After Rudra fell, it was an act of mourning and restraint. When he binds his tail around his waist, he is putting on the face of a king -- unshakable, unreachable, and unwilling to be known. To leave it unbound would be vulnerable. Wounding or severing a Rudran tail would bring pain similar to damaging the spine, but deeper because of its emotional link to self-identity. For a Rudran to lose their tail would have been considered worse than death.

Veraziel’s tail is dilute brown, the same as his hair, except for a streak of white woven through the fur, widening at the tip where the lightning that struck him as a child is said to have exited his body. When using his magic, the white glows faintly.

Backstory/History:

Rudra, a proud and isolated world with fierce skies and wild landscapes, prided itself on self-reliance and order. It feared the influence of other worlds and trusted only its own power to sustain the balance.

Veraziel Runndrakar was born into legacy and storm. He was born to rule -- and he did, from the moment he could walk, because the world demanded he carry two crowns. Veraziel was not only heir to Rudra’s throne but as the vessel of a rare and violent magic, Turbulence, he became more than a prince. He was Rudra’s Senshi, its first in royal blood, and its last true defense. As crown prince, his life was already under heavy scrutiny, but the sudden emergence of such volatile magic in someone so young made Veraziel both a miracle and a weapon.

To protect him, or perhaps control him, his advisors trained him to lie. To wield diplomacy like a blade. To become comfortable with manipulation. The honest boy who once asked too many questions learned silence, secrecy, and precision.

He had a commanding presence, undeniable even as a child. Veraziel silenced rooms before he learned to speak. Tutors said he had the poise of a sovereign, but the eyes of a weapon. And in a court filled with treachery, he honed both roles well. From early childhood, he was raised to rule and to fight. Nobles did their scheming. Enemies sharpened their blades. The courts expected greatness, obedience, and sacrifice in equal measure. Through it all, Veraziel learned to endure. He learned how to hide how lonely he was. Learned to bite down on fear. Learned to command storms and cry alone behind closed doors.

Veraziel was defined by his unyielding will. He endured every assassination attempt, every moment of grief, every failure, and never once faltered. To Veraziel, survival was not strength -- it was the bare minimum. He was expected to lead, to destroy Rudra’s enemies, to protect even those who sought to control or discard him. He did not bend. Not to the court. Not to emotion. Not even to love.

Behind that stoicism was pain, neatly folded into silence. Veraziel wore grief as armor, burying vulnerability so deeply that when friends died or allies turned, he responded with silence. Or fury. But never tears. Emotion, he believed, was indulgence. And indulgence was a weakness.

There were only two people who ever saw him as more than a title. His younger brother, Auren, and his oldest friend, Kael. Auren was Veraziel’s heart, the one person he loved without hesitation. Kael was his sword and shadow -- ever close, ever watching, and ever daring Veraziel to be more than what duty demanded. It was with their help that he ruled wisely when his father passed. For a brief time, Rudra flourished under Veraziel’s reign.

But then came the Sable Mire. It was a corruptive force, dark and creeping, born of something beyond comprehension. It began small. Strange whispers. Illnesses that couldn’t be explained. People who changed, and then vanished. Veraziel tried everything -- diplomacy, isolation, war -- but the Sable Mire seeped through all defenses. He’d prepared for plague, for war, for drought. But not this. Not something that could not be negotiated with, only resisted. It twisted the land, the air, the people, even magic itself. Still, he planned, fought, countered, endured. He told himself that if Rudra suffered, it was because it must. If sacrifices were made, they were necessary. He became cold. Righteous. Arrogant.

He fought for years. Then decades. He lost Kael in battle. He lost Auren to the shadows. And still he fought. He sent soldiers into battles he knew they wouldn’t survive. He refused alliances, disbelieved dissenters, and dismissed empathy as sentimentality. His magic grew more destructive, more desperate. But Veraziel did not crumble, he simply hardened further. The throne may have cracked, but he remained seated, unmoved, for a year after the last loyal subject died. Because he believed he had to.

He failed to save his world.

The skies blackened. Oceans quieted. Forests fell. Centuries passed in isolation. The world decayed, but Veraziel remained, bound to a planet that refused to let him die. Sustained unnaturally by his own magic and Rudra’s will to survive. He wandered alone through the ruins of his once proud world, grieving without aging, raging without healing. Just enduring. He might have gone mad. But he didn’t. That was his triumph -- and his tragedy.

Until something beyond his knowing -- an ancient force, or fate, or grace -- opened the path to another world. To Earth.

It wasn’t hope that drew him to Earth when the path finally opened. It wasn’t salvation. It was simply movement -- the first in ages that wasn’t just circles. With no throne left to hold, and no subjects left to serve, Veraziel answered the call. Not out of hope, but out of momentum. After all, a storm does not stop -- it simply finds new skies to break.

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12/15

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