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Rain Eveque

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1Rain Eveque Empty Rain Eveque on 19/02/17, 03:37 am

Rain

Rain
C-Tier
C-Tier
Rain Eveque 4BTGfDH
R a i n E v e q u e
Country Affiliation: Wanderer
Race: [ dominant: fanalis ] [ recessive: human ]
Tier: C-Tier [ veteran ]
Class: Warrior
Age + Birthdate: Nineteen years old [ september first ]
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Asexual

P e r s o n a
Personality:

  • [ arrogant ] Arrogance comes before the fall. Isn't that how it goes? Arrogance itself a mask. An illusion. It's not real. Not really, anyways. The senses are easy to trick. Illusions sometimes create comfort. False comfort. Fake comfort. Arrogance being the same. It isn't confidence. It's stupidity. Doubt. Fear.
    "Arrogance is the camouflage of insecurity." - Tim Fargo

  • [ mischievous ] Is Mischief inherently evil? Does trouble equate to evil? That's not a yes or no answer. It's an answer with a variable. Aren't children trouble? And does that necessarily make them evil? Mischief and trouble go hand and hand. Does evil tag along too? No Yes.
    “I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.” - Mary Oliver

  • [ brazen ] A thousand and more eyes watch Brazen. Calculating its every move. Criticizing its actions. Brazen doesn't change. It has no sense of logic. Nor does it care for the social norm. It ignores reason. It understands loneliness, rejection, and pressure more than anyone else. But by now it doesn't care. It stopped caring. It still cares.
    "There is a guilty conscience behind every brazen word and act." - Ernie Hoffer

  • [ tactless ] Tact. Empathy. A connection. Tactless shares no connection nor understand. Its experiences are all its own. It doesn't care to understand others anyways. Too tiresome, it explains. Really? Tiresome? Or perhaps it's fear that keeps Tactless at a distance. People aren't scary. It's the drama they bring that's scary. Simple is better.
    "Tact is the art of making a point without making an enemy." - Isaac Newton.

  • [ restless ] Heart a fluttering butterfly. Soul of a wandering tiger. Restless does not allow a pause. It must move and explore. Constantly. It seeks excitement. A domestic life does not suit it. It wants to search and search and never stop searching. It doesn't have an end goal. Its goal is one that can go on for a lifetime. For eternity! Its journey may never cease, not even after death. Or so it hopes.
    A nightingale trapped in a golden cage. That's me inside reality's maze." - Nightwish.


Likes:

  • [ blood ] Swirling, dark, red. Satisfying. It reminds him of his humanity. Bleeding. It's the closest he can get to normal.

  • [ fighting ] A yearning to feel the adrenaline. A lust for blood. A wish to live. To play with Death. He's afraid of Death, so it never catches him. But only barely. He loves Death or the excitement that it brings escaping from it.

  • [ pain ] Lifeless. Empty. Unaffected. Desensitized. Pain. He can't recognize anything else. He wants it. The alive feeling of a blade through his limbs. Blood rolling down his skin. Better pain than nothing.

  • [ insanity ] A jolt of energy. Adrenaline. Excitement. Fight or flight. Insanity gives it all to him. Insane, perhaps, but amazing. He craves it.

Dislikes:

  • [ peace ] Quiet. Silence. Nothing. That buzz dissipates with peace. Adrenaline. Fight of flight. He is drunk on that excitement. The power. He needs it. Without it, devoid. Gray. Dull. Death.

  • [ cowardliness ] Ironic, isn't it? The coward hates cowardliness. But perhaps that's why he hates cowardliness. Because he is a coward. A coward who even runs away from cowardliness. From the fact he also is a coward.

Aspirations:

  • [ adventure ] Adventure. Adventures fraught with treacherous horrors. Danger. He thrives on the excitement it stirs. He searches constantly. The thrill. The rush. How much could he push? Luck is his savior. How long before it leaves him? Death may come today. Tomorrow. Never yesterday. If Death may consume him, consume him as a worthy opponent.

  • [ humanity ] Tired. Him? Of fighting? Perhaps, deep down, yes. An alternative. He's searched. He still searches. Hopes. Wants. Normality. He can't have it. He won't admit it. He'll still hope. Until that day, he'll fight. Hope propels him, fight keeps him alive.

Phobias/fears:

  • [ death ] The book closes. The jaw clamps. The net traps. Time stops. Feeling stops. True nothingness. Almost nothingness is bad enough. Never to feel is horrifying. Empty. So he'll be eternal. He'll escape death. Always. Death can't find him. He won't let it. He doesn't have a say. He knows. He's forgotten something. He won't remember. That's okay. He doesn't want to remember.

  • [ truth ] Sharper than a sword. Death inflicting weapon. Truth be told, he is a coward. Truth be told, he is less human than he started as. Truth be told, he can't escape death. Truth be told, he is a pawn part of a bigger picture. Truth be told- shut up! The truth doesn't matter. Not if he doesn't acknowledge it. It matters.


A p p e a r a n c e
Face-Claim: brave 10, Yuri Kamanosuke
Hair Color: Pink
Eye Color: Teal
Height: one hundred seventy centimeters [ sixty-seven inches ]
Weight: fifty-nine kilograms [ one hundred twenty-nine pounds ]
Appearance:

  • [ red ] It is something of a red, anyway. Perhaps not so red, now that he thinks about it. Quite pink, if he is being completely honest. Pink isn't a very fanalis-y color. His hair disappoints him in that manner. But at least pink is but a saturated version of red. Whereas his teal eyes don't even match with the typical blood red fanalis eyes.

  • [ cute ] One adjective can describe his wardrobe (and him overall) - cute. He purposefully dresses cute to attract the attention and eyes of others. He has been known to wear clothing normally fit for younger girls - his small size forces him to wear clothing fit for younger children - because of how cute he looks in them. This does often create confusion. Not only is his gender mistaken, so is his age. He doesn't particularly mind though.

  • [ soft ] Most people find it almost chilling. His manner of speech - soft yet somehow it conveys subtle threats nicely. It isn't his original voice though. He purposefully softens and raises it, adding a feminine touch. To be fair, his real voice sounds feminine as well, but it does not possess the childish flair which he usually sprinkles on it. It is the tone of a more mature young woman, although strangely enough, softening and raising the pitch makes it sounds more androgynous and less feminine? His voice is weird, he decided early on.


B i o g r a p h y
Rukh Alignment: Black
Special Features: -
History:

  • [ homeland ] If one were to ask him about it, they would receive a blank look. He has wandered the world far too long to recall ever having a home. But perhaps, if he were willing to remember enough, he would recall his wonderful home. It had been so beautiful. The most beautiful place in the world. Never was there a boring day or a boring scene. Every day was a new day with new scents, new smells, new everything! He remembers the very first thing he thought with such vivid detail. He had been filled with what he now pinned as awe. Awe of the world. Of the scents that filled his nose and of the feelings his tiny hands had made out. The world had been so new and shiny. And in his homeland, new and shiny was every single day.

  • [ counter-clockwise ] For some reason all he can remember of his childhood is golden wheat, slender trees, and a fascinating - the most fascinating - color of fire in the background. His homeland. But the rest of the writing has become desolate. Obsolete. Impossible to read. Blotched out. Faded. But sometimes faint, memory like sounds of a shouting match comes to mind. The sound of a wailing child in the background. He doesn't actually remember these events happening. He just... hears them. He's not even sure if he could call them memories. He's definitely not certain if they're memories or his imagination. They're sounds he can't place. He can only grasp the empty air and hope he might catch something.

  • [ searching ] He's not exactly sure how long he's been wandering. Nor can he understand why he wanders. He wonders if he is searching for something. In fact, he is sure something beckons him to search. He isn't sure what, but he knows something out there is worth finding. He just doesn't think he'll ever find whatever he is looking for. If he were to deliberate over his situation, he would realize he's become lost to time. Time matters little to him. It is almost as if he has been separated from the flow of clocks of time. And yet, the threat of death seems to loom like a shadow, following him wherever he goes.

Role-Play Sample:

    How long had he been here? On this ship? How long had it been since he had been dragged away from his family and knocked out? How long had it been since he had touched the silky green grass with his feet? How long had it been since his legs were free to jump and twirl and spin and run? Too long, he decided. Too long since he had seen his mother and father and his brothers. It had been far too long and Ariel wanted to go home. To go back to his family. To be in their warm care. He was only a child. He was confused and lonely and scared. The people around him were foreign to him. He could tell they were very scared. It made him scared in turn. He curled up into a ball and sobbed quietly. What was going to happen to him?

    ***

    He no longer wondered what was going to happen to him. It was far too obvious. He would be made into a slave. Again. All of his instincts told him to try to escape. However, Ariel knew it was pointless. He had already tried to do so. He had failed. He was chained and shackled. He could not move much anywhere. If he did try to escape… Well, it probably wasn’t worth the pain.

    He glanced at the other people. They were all huddled up. Some were trying to stay strong and not cry, but Ariel could see the tears forming. Others were wiping tears away and sobbing. Ariel wasn’t. For him, it was all too nostalgic. He had already been captured once. He knew what his fate would be. For him, there was no point in crying. But he understood the others’ feelings. So very softly, Ariel comforted the others. He guessed many of them were surprised that a child of only twelve years old was trying to comfort them. But he guessed they were taking heart that a twelve-year-old was not crying. Many of them wiped their tears and smiled at him in gratitude. Despite the situation he had landed himself in, Ariel felt warm from the wordless thank you's conveyed by smiles.



Last edited by Rain Eveque on 14/03/17, 06:07 am; edited 2 times in total

2Rain Eveque Empty Re: Rain Eveque on 14/03/17, 06:06 am

Rain

Rain
C-Tier
C-Tier
I can't believe it. I'm done... I'm done!
I'm done!


──────────────────────────────────────────────

3Rain Eveque Empty Re: Rain Eveque on 14/03/17, 03:42 pm

Rima Fahim

Rima Fahim
A-Tier
A-Tier
Rain Eveque HVhvTYv

To create your vault, go here --> ▛ Vault
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If you have any questions AT ALL, feel free to PM me at any time! Or if you can catch me in the C-Box or Discord, I'll be willing to help you there as well.

Code:
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/mey44tD.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][b][size=24]R a i n E v e q u e[/size][/b][/center]
[b]Country Affiliation:[/b] Wanderer
[b]Race:[/b] [ dominant: fanalis ] [ recessive: human ]
[b]Tier:[/b] D-Tier [ novice ]
[b]Class:[/b] Warrior
[b]Age + Birthdate:[/b] seventeen years old [ september first ]
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Sexuality:[/b] Pansexual

[center][b][size=18]P e r s o n a[/size][/b][/center]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[list]
[*][ arrogant ] Arrogance comes before the fall. Isn't that how it goes? Arrogance itself a mask. An illusion. It's not real. Not really, anyways. The senses are easy to trick. Illusions sometimes create comfort. False comfort. Fake comfort. Arrogance being the same. It isn't confidence. It's stupidity. Doubt. Fear.
[center][i]"Arrogance is the camouflage of insecurity." - Tim Fargo[/i][/center]

[*][ mischievous ] Is Mischief inherently evil? Does trouble equate to evil? That's not a yes or no answer. It's an answer with a variable. Aren't children trouble? And does that necessarily make them evil? Mischief and trouble go hand and hand. Does evil tag along too? No [size=10]Yes.[/size]
[center][i]“I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.” - Mary Oliver[/i][/center]

[*][ brazen ] A thousand and more eyes watch Brazen. Calculating its every move. Criticizing its actions. Brazen doesn't change. It has no sense of logic. Nor does it care for the social norm. It ignores reason. It understands loneliness, rejection, and pressure more than anyone else. But by now [i]it doesn't care.[/i] It stopped caring. [size=10]It still cares.[/size]
[center][i]"There is a guilty conscience behind every brazen word and act." - Ernie Hoffer[/i][/center]

[*][ tactless ] Tact. Empathy. A connection. Tactless shares no connection nor understand. Its experiences are all its own. It doesn't care to understand others anyways. Too tiresome, it explains. Really? Tiresome? Or perhaps it's fear that keeps Tactless at a distance. People aren't scary. It's the drama they bring that's scary. Simple is better.
[center][i]"Tact is the art of making a point without making an enemy." - Isaac Newton.[/i][/center]

[*][ restless ] Heart a fluttering butterfly. Soul of a wandering tiger. Restless does not allow a pause. It must move and explore. Constantly. It seeks excitement. A domestic life does not suit it. It wants to search and search and never stop searching. It doesn't have an end goal. Its goal is one that can go on for a lifetime. For eternity! Its journey may never cease, not even after death. Or so it hopes.
[center][i]A nightingale trapped in a golden cage. That's me inside reality's maze." - Nightwish.[/i][/center]

[/list]
[b]Likes:[/b]
[list]
[*][ blood ] Swirling, dark, red. Satisfying. It reminds him of his humanity. Bleeding. It's the closest he can get to normal.

[*][ fighting ] A yearning to feel the adrenaline. A lust for blood. A wish to live. To play with Death. He's afraid of Death, so it never catches him. But only barely. He loves Death or the excitement that it brings escaping from it.

[*][ pain ] Lifeless. Empty. Unaffected. Desensitized. Pain. He can't recognize anything else. He wants it. The alive feeling of a blade through his limbs. Blood rolling down his skin. Better pain than nothing.

[*][ insanity ] A jolt of energy. Adrenaline. Excitement. Fight or flight. Insanity gives it all to him. Insane, perhaps, but amazing. He craves it.
[/list]
[b]Dislikes:[/b]
[list]
[*][ peace ] Quiet. Silence. Nothing. That buzz dissipates with peace. Adrenaline. Fight of flight. He is drunk on that excitement. The power. He needs it. Without it, devoid. Gray. Dull. Death.

[*][ cowardliness ] Ironic, isn't it? The coward hates cowardliness. But perhaps that's why he hates cowardliness. Because he is a coward. A coward who even runs away from cowardliness. From the fact he also is a coward.
[/list]
[b]Aspirations:[/b]
[list]
[*][ adventure ] Adventure. Adventures fraught with treacherous horrors. Danger. He thrives on the excitement it stirs. He searches constantly. The thrill. The rush. How much could he push? Luck is his savior. How long before it leaves him? Death may come today. Tomorrow. Never yesterday. If Death may consume him, consume him as a worthy opponent.

[*][ humanity ] Tired. Him? Of fighting? Perhaps, deep down, yes. An alternative. He's searched. He still searches. Hopes. Wants. Normality. He can't have it. He won't admit it. He'll still hope. Until that day, he'll fight. Hope propels him, fight keeps him alive.
[/list]
[b]Phobias/fears:[/b]
[list]
[*][ death ] The book closes. The jaw clamps. The net traps. Time stops. Feeling stops. True nothingness. Almost nothingness is bad enough. Never to feel is horrifying. Empty. So he'll be eternal. He'll escape death. Always. Death can't find him. He won't let it. He doesn't have a say. [size=10]He knows.[/size] He's forgotten something. [size=10]He won't remember.[/size] That's okay. [size=10]He doesn't want to remember.[/size]

[*][ truth ] Sharper than a sword. Death inflicting weapon. Truth be told, he is a coward. Truth be told, he is less human than he started as. Truth be told, he can't escape death. Truth be told, he is a pawn part of a bigger picture. Truth be told- [i]shut up![/i] The truth doesn't matter. Not if he doesn't acknowledge it. [size=10]It matters.[/size]
[/list]

[center][b][size=18]A p p e a r a n c e[/size][/b][/center]
[b]Face-Claim:[/b] [i]brave 10,[/i] Yuri Kamanosuke
[b]Hair Color:[/b] Burgundy
[b]Eye Color:[/b] Evergreen
[b]Height:[/b] one hundred seventy centimeters [ sixty-seven inches ]
[b]Weight:[/b] fifty-nine kilograms [ one hundred twenty-nine pounds ]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[list]
[*][ red ] The color of the fanalis. Blood stains the hair. Crimson hints to the beast inside of every fanalis. Except him. His hair is too dull to be connected to a fanalis's red. His eyes aren't even a dullish shade of red. They're winding evergreen.

[*][ white ] A lovely contrast to red. Red paint on a white canvas. A beautiful and artistic mixture. That is why, to compliment his red hair, he wears a long, white coat. But what is yang without yin?

[*][ yin ] Whereas yang is up, yin is down. Yang is light, yin is dark. His coat is white. His pants are black. Black doesn't go well with red. That's why white separates the two colors. His shoes are also black. Similar to boots, but also sandals, as the black stops at his toes.
[/list]

[center][b][size=18]B i o g r a p h y[/size][/b][/center]
[b]Rukh Alignment:[/b] White
[b]Special Features:[/b] A strange, green birthmark on his left cheek.
[b]History:[/b]
[list]
[*][ homeland ] If one were to ask him about it, they would receive a blank look. He has wandered the world far too long to recall ever having a home. But perhaps, if he were willing to remember enough, he would recall his wonderful home. It had been so beautiful. The most beautiful place in the world. Never was there a boring day or a boring scene. Every day was a new day with new scents, new smells, new everything! He remembers the very first thing he thought with such vivid detail. He had been filled with what he now pinned as awe. Awe of the world. Of the scents that filled his nose and of the feelings his tiny hands had made out. The world had been so new and shiny. And in his homeland, new and shiny was every single day.

[*][ counter-clockwise ] For some reason all he can remember of his childhood is golden wheat, slender trees, and a fascinating - the most fascinating - color of fire in the background. His homeland. But the rest of the writing has become desolate. Obsolete. Impossible to read. Blotched out. Faded. But sometimes faint, memory like sounds of a shouting match comes to mind. The sound of a wailing child in the background. He doesn't actually remember these events happening. He just... hears them. He's not even sure if he could call them memories. He's definitely not certain if they're memories or his imagination. They're sounds he can't place. He can only grasp the empty air and hope he might catch something.

[*][ searching ] He's not exactly sure how long he's been wandering. Nor can he understand why he wanders. He wonders if he is searching for something. In fact, he is sure something beckons him to search. He isn't sure what, but he knows something out there is worth finding. He just doesn't think he'll ever find whatever he is looking for. If he were to deliberate over his situation, he would realize he's become lost to time. Time matters little to him. It is almost as if he has been separated from the flow of clocks. Of time. And yet, the threat of death seems to loom like a shadow, following him wherever he goes.
[/list]
[b]Role-Play Sample:[/b]
[list]
How long had he been here? On this ship? How long had it been since he had been dragged away from his family and knocked out? How long had it been since he had touched the silky green grass with his feet? How long had it been since his legs were free to jump and twirl and spin and run? Too long, he decided. Too long since he had seen his mother and father and his brothers. It had been far too long and Ariel wanted to go home. To go back to his family. To be in their warm care. He was only a child. He was confused and lonely and scared. The people around him were foreign to him. He could tell they were very scared. It made him scared in turn. He curled up in a ball and sobbed quietly. What was going to happen to him?<br><br>***<br><br>He no longer wondered what was going to happen to him. It was far too obvious. He would be made into a slave. Again. All of his instincts told him to try to escape. However, Ariel knew it was pointless. He had already tried to do so. He had failed. He was chained and shackled. He could not move much anywhere. If he did try to escape… Well, it probably wasn’t worth the pain.<br><br>He glanced at the other people. They were all huddled up. Some were trying stay strong and not cry, but Ariel could see the tears forming. Others were wiping tears away and sobbing. Ariel wasn’t. For him, it was all too nostalgic. He had already been captured once. He knew what his fate would be. For him, there was no point in crying. But he understood the others’ feelings. So very softly, Ariel comforted the others. He guessed many of them were surprised that a child of only twelve years old was trying to comfort them. But he guessed they were taking heart that a twelve year old was not crying. Many of them wiped their tears and smiled at him in gratitude. Despite the situation he had landed himself in, Ariel felt warm from the wordless thank you's conveyed by smiles.[/list]


──────────────────────────────────────────────




Rain Eveque BgH0fcQ
---
Traits Points: 0/8
Shards of Solomon: x2

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