Name: Adamas Regas
Country Affiliation: Reim
Race: Human
Tier: D
Class: Warrior
Age + Birthdate: 20
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Personality:
Adamas is a good-hearted man, but one who can’t seem to notice his own worth. Yes, he’s neither fast, nor strong, nor skilled in any facet of combat or life. Truly, he was someone untapped to play a role in a grander world, yet his psyche seems to coil around such insecurities like a venomous adder. His hunger for power is immense; and, while a great tool for improvement, its potential to beckon ruin upon him comes in equal measure.
In spite of how quickly he’s prone to belittle himself, there’s much good to be had in this ordinary man. Through his frailty, he has been greatly humbled: he treats strangers like old time friends; he cries in unconditional sympathy for someone’s grievous loss; and he’s quick to defy those who exploit the weak for gains, regardless of their authority or affiliation. Though, on the flip side, this humility tends to expose an obscene lack of self-confidence in himself. For example, compliments rally red hues to his cheeks swifter than a heatwave, and winning a scrap can cause him to spiral into hysteria.
With all accounted for though, he’s still just an ordinary man, and he fears like the rest of them. Pain, aging, death— it all weighs on his mind, but its his ability to set such trivial things aside and to act in the moment which grants him his worth. Now, if only he could toss aside these physical desires so he could grasp onto those lofty concepts.
Likes:
Fights: From purely a spectator perspective, fights are amazing. Overwhelming power, astounding speed, and marvelous technique are all on display for the wannabe fighter to watch in awe. His blue eyes seem to shine whenever the mention of a fight is heard. Of course, the same reaction is not held once he knows that he’ll be participating.**
Running: It’s both a great way to train for stamina and speed, but also a fantastic means to let the mind wonder. If Adamas is facing an internal strife or the weight of the world is cracking down on him, a nice jog should shake off the bad vibes.
Martial Arts: As a practitioner himself, Adamas loves learning new ways to become stronger, and Martial Arts presents many diverse ways to accomplish such feats. Be it the striking style of brawling, the calculating control of throws, or the endurance contest of grappling— all techniques are valid before him. And, if luck may have it, perhaps their training may prove both fruitful and entertaining of the lad.
Nature: Ever since he began his quest for strength, the lovely backdrop of spotless azure skies and lush greenery has served as a brevity of respite from the bone-wracking hell of his old master’s regimen.
Dislikes:
Height: He’s not a 5’9” pocket prince— don’t even call him that. It’s a completely normal height for his homeland, and it would be for the best if everyone could respect that, especially the beefcakes of the world or else... or else he’ll get mouthy because no matter how many times he throws hands, they ain’t reaching.
Cold Weather & Snow: You thought he wore all those layers because they were fashionable? Heavens no, this little string bean just can’t handle the frigid temperatures of 23 degree Celsius (74 degrees Fahrenheit for the Americans).
Exploitation: For someone who’s merely an average bloke (in his own words), there is undeniable familiarity when he gazes upon such cruel acts of slavery, mugging, murder, etc. It all riles his soul and body into motion.
Aspirations:
To Become Strong: Adamas is no top tier threat, by any stretch, but he certainly strives to become one. No, not to produce any new atrocities upon the world, and not for some grand reformation to better his fellow man. The answer is quite simple really: he’s weak. Constantly buffeted by reminders of his inability, the horizon keeps stretching farther and farther. Nonetheless, he’ll keep chasing after an impossible dream. After all, what’s wrong with the weak wanting to be strong?
Succession: While succeeding and carrying the legacy of his Uncle would be his greatest honor, he understands that his junior is far more capable than he’ll ever be. Still, as his first student and his flesh and blood, Adamas will continue to push himself until his Uncle, his mentor, finally accepts him as a warrior.
Phobias/fears:
The Inability for Growth: More fearsome than pain and more dreadful than death is the demise of a dream, and the crushing reality which follows. Hard work and devotion are powerful contributors to one’s own success, but they’re not the only factors at play. Whether Adamas had wished it or not, they’ll come a time where he’ll face a wall unlike any before. It will be immutable, insurmountable, and he will have to wallow in the knowledge that he was unlucky to be born normal.
Face-Claim: Link — Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Hair Color: Dirty Blonde
Eye Color: Blue
Height: 175.40 cm. (5’9” ft.)
Weight:
Appearance: A tanned man of average build who certainly has muscles, but seems incapable of reaching the size of the gladiators in his homeland. He maintains a consistent shave, and his crystal blue eyes shine with enthusiasm whenever a fight breaks out. Long brown locks lay lazily strewn across his shoulder, and often hampers his vision. So, he keeps the unruly hair on the short leash of a hair tie.
As for his attire, a blue garb adorns his torso, comfy and light, while a white undershirt further obscures his somewhat masculine features. The latter stretches down to the mid of his forearm. In a strange taste, he wears pants, a nice basalt beige in the threads. To better preserve his hands, white hand wraps cover the last bit of skin from his forearm to just a teeny bit after the knuckle. Finally, a pair of brown leather shoes of passable quality provides comfort to his feet.
Rukh Alignment: White
Special Features: Although he’s ambidextrous, he continues to favor his right side in a fight, a bad habit his former Master had hope to correct.
History:
He was known as Alcides Regas, a former gladiator of Reim’s Colosseum and martial artist whose capability allowed him to quickly rise through the ranks. Never once did he hold a blade or shield in the arena; a feat praised for a mere human. However, his service to the blood sport would come to an end as he embarked on several-decade long journey across the world. His tracks lead across the entire world: Heliohapt, Imuchakk, and most noteworthy Kou. Along the way, his proficiency and knowledge grew step by step, all to reach his ultimate goal. The Diamond Caliber Style: an exclusive Martial Arts created through the synthesis of Lethwei, Katate, and Pankration (his base). While a powerful combination of brutality, discipline, and flexibility— the true strength of the Diamond Caliber Style lies in its acute offensive-defensive characteristics which is said to make the practitioner's muscles harder than diamond. It took the aging warrior 15 years to garner the experience and knowledge to begin its creation, and it took another 10 years to master his own style.
Now, at the tiresome age of 67, Alcides has returned to Reim to find a successor worthy to carry his legacy, and he found it— the perfect student. Cunning, diligent, and superbly talented— it was as if he was the epitome of martial arts itself. Yes, this was the boy he would teach... Oh, and, he supposes he could teach his nephew Adamas as well, on behalf of his late brother.
While Alcides went about perfecting his masterpiece, his younger brother Iphicles was off growing his humble family. Enter Adamas, an average lout if there ever was one. He had a loving home, a few friends to spend time with, and a drive to fight. Quite the uninteresting character when compared to his Uncle, but there is something of note for Adams that being his contrasting weakness. Unlike his brother, Iphicles was not built for fighting and these genetics would be passed down to his offspring to his dismay. Adamas was terribly pathetic, it wasn’t long before the other kids would take note and use him sparring practices. Indeed, it was a round robin beating that plagued his week at least once if not more that made him curse his inabilities. This feeling of despair would come to a head the night his Father was targeted for a robbing gone wrong. Iphicles, entering his early 50s, before his only son Adamas and loving wife finally decided to fight. He was killed, unceremoniously, but his death was not in vain. The robber, whose hands trembled within the red dye, made off with nothing more than the life of an aging man. Hardly the respectable mark he sought to find.
Adamas, barely 15 at the time, and his Mother left to live with Alcides in Reim’s countryside. Alcides was only 62, his prodigal student had yet to be found, but he was not prepared to be a mentor. Meanwhile, Adamas is far more than certain of being his uncle’s first student. One year. One year’s worth of disregard to the boy— one year’s worth of verbal condemnation— one year’s worth of wallowing in the agony and mud of his Uncle’s hand— Adamas began his tutelage of martial arts with his begrudging Uncle.
He was never meant to be more than mere clay: a mere cast of which his Uncle could mold his lessons. It was a fact that became well apparent after he joined. Outshined like coal to diamond, Adamas began to lose to his junior— he was losing to begin with. In sparring, in training, and even in technical progress he had fallen behind the prodigy. However, he pressed on every time he stumbled. He rose everytime he dropped. Even if he was never meant to be more than clay left on the wheel, he would become strong, stronger than anyone else.
RP Sample:
Water, the necessity of life. Without it the living would shrivel up like raisins in the sun and die; especially here within the island cities of Balbadd where the water surrounding is unfit for consumption.
Khalik was making his way through the street, his cloak rising from his quicken steps to the market which was only beginning to fill. The sun’s golden rays peered over the horizon gracing a humble little stand with a little aura of color. Jugs of all shapes and sizes laid neatly ordered behind the stand, and a roundish man thumbed his curling moustache. A crudely-made plank sign posted above him read “Gaza’s Waterhole.” The color was in black and the font was sloppy.
A variety of women, children, and men formed into a single-file line as they waited to purchase their fresh water for the day. Khalik cursed under his breath as he took his place in the back of the congregation.
Time moved slowly with the passing of minutes followed by the shuffling of feet to indicate the minuet progress everyone was making. The sun stretched itself out of its groggy start in sync. For every step forward, the sun would rise ever so slightly until it lit every corner of the market.
Still, the line seemed to have no end in sight. How long had they waited here? An hour? Maybe two? Khalik was still placed behind twenty-two other thirsty folks. Here could be here all day at this rate.
“If only Gaza hadn’t ran a monopoly on u-“ Khalik interrupted his own thoughts. A mischievous twinkle grew in his eyes as his epiphany broke through the stagnant boredom of Gaza’s Waterhole. “I got it.”
It was seamless really, all he had to do is feign a light but extensive coughing fit. Using his arm to cover his mouth, he could then put on a ventriloquist act for the customers here.
“Water! Water! Get your water down at the Harbor!” Khalik pretended. “Nile’s Wet Wiles is opened and ready for business down at the Harbor! And as a sign of good faith, we are selling water at the gallon for 5 huang! Half the price of our competitor! So come to the Harbor today and get your water!”
At first people weren’t too sure about leaving their post, but as the falsified salesmen continued to speak the more people wanted to believe in the lie. A great migration took place like a flock of birds leaving for winter. The market was quickly whittled down to eight people, and Khalik was next in line.
He stepped up to the stand with a huge grin to the chagrin of the merchant. “Di-did you have some-“ the merchant was cut off with the crashing of huangs on the counter. “Four jugs of water Gaza,” he ordered innocently.” Gaza scowled him with an enmity so intense that the aura was palpable. Nonetheless, Khalik continued to smile innocently, his composure unbreakable.
This staring contest went off for a minute before Gaza sighed in defeat, “Oh fine.” He rounded up the cash and stored it inside a bloated purse. After drawing the string taut, he tossed the purse in a drawer behind the stand with an assortment of different colored purses; each one was stuffed to the brim.
Gaza pushed five jugs over the counter to Khalik. A hemp string was tied between two in pairs. As Khalik hung each one from his shoulder his back to the merchant, and with a wave bid him farewell.
