Taikatalvi Tockspringe
Taikatalvi Caradhras Tockspringe
12
First Class
Elf-Shifter
12
First Class
Elf-Shifter
Silence. To his own ears, the world was silence. Faded. To his own eyes, the world was faded. Dreary. The world doesn’t look the same to his eyes. He takes a step. The sound echoes in his ears, and before his eyes, a burst of color. Red. Red like blood. A bird chirps, and a streak of blue strikes through the air. A car’s horn blares and his vision is filled with yellow. A man shouts to another, and there are small lights of soft, red orange filling the sky. At first it charmed him, entertained him. But it never ended. It overwhelmed him. Hurt him. Taikatalvi suffers in silence, both the literal and the metaphorical sort. He is battered and betrayed by his own body and bears it quietly, by himself. He was born with sound-to-image synesthesia, a mental condition that turns what he hears into images, colors, pictures that he sees. He hears with his eyes, and the nosier it gets, the more he sees. Once he loved music. It fed him. It moved him. He lived and breathed it. When he was alone and trapped in his own silence, he would play music with unbridled joy. He had a talent for it. Every song he ever heard need only be heard once before he could play and sing it perfectly. Every instrument he ever touched came alive under his talented hands. He had such a strong bond with the music he played. In the solitude and silence that was his life, his dreary world soon became shifting, dancing, living colors and images that filled his mind and took him to unbelievable heights of ecstasy. But that was then and this is now. He had been carefully nurtured and protected, kept from the outside world and all its broken promises. In his home where he was kept sheltered from loud noise, where people spoke in whispers, and the loudest thing that ever occurred was perhaps a pin dropping; there the colors came softly, gently, and not very often. He didn’t like being confined. He had seen the world through the windows of his home and h wanted to go there. Become a part of it. He didn’t like being confined. He was so curious. He was warned, oh he was warned, but he did not listen. He stole away in the dead of night when no one was paying him any mind. Now he was out there, alone and unprotected in the world. It was too much, far too much. The sights, the sounds, the colors! He was completely assaulted by them. All at once. It tormented him. Violent. Intense. Insane. After that day, things changed. Events occurred and situations arose that sent Taikatalvi’s carefully structured world spiraling out of control. He was taken from his home and sent elsewhere, to live with people who didn’t understand him. He was forced to live a normal life, but he wasn’t normal. Not normal at all. He couldn’t explain to others what he saw or how he perceived the world. He was thrown into society and had to learn of things like currency and transportation and social skills. He had been taught simple, gentle things by loving, beautiful people, and he was ill prepared for the cruelty, the violence, and the noise of the outside world. The stress and shock of it nearly killed him. He could not function and could not adapt. He was too weak for the world; weak in body, spirit, and mind. Every movement, every breath, every heartbeat was a struggle, a war against his will. The pressure nearly broke him. Nearly. He was weak but his will was strong. He clawed and crawled his way back to sanity and stability. It took him years, but he finally made it. He finally managed to change. The delicate glass butterfly had become an uncut diamond. Pretty, but hard and unrelenting. The state of solitude in his psyche altered into anti-social personality disorder. He cannot understand others and seeks to keep others from understanding him. They don’t understand him as it is and he will only make it harder for them to. He will lash out when angered, and become all levels of nasty and ill tempered, yet barely feels any remorse if none at all. He can be a tormentor, but gains no pleasure from it. He gains pleasure from nothing these days. He shuts himself up inside. He won’t explain himself or let himself feel anything. He controls his feelings and silences his consciousness. He tries and for the most part, he succeeds. But there are days when all his hypocrisy overwhelms him. He longs for the days when everything was simple and silent. He longs for the times when he was innocent. These times are few and far between, and he is such a vulnerable spirit when they do occur. Instantly his walls are leveled and he seeks anything or anyone to give him comfort and peace of mind. What a pathetic creature he is. No, he is more than pathetic. He’s a mite of a despicable child as well. Everything loving and beautiful about him on the inside has been twisted into some nasty, wretched being, and it surely is what is on the inside that counts. He hates and accuses, looking down on every living creature with undisguised disgust. It matters not who or what they might be. Just their mere existence is enough cause in his eyes for his hatred. He cares not for others, and it goes beyond his mere personality disorder. He is exclusively selfish, a greedy, needy child and a miser at heart. He wouldn’t give anyone the time of day if it inconveniences him and always puts his own, personal needs above the needs of others. He doesn’t believe in the collective, only survival of the one. If others begin to get in his way or cause him to be distracted from his focus, he will brutally tear them down until nothing remains. If someone is his enemy, with or without cause for them to be matters not, he will not rest until he has irreversibly destroyed them to some degree, whether in an emotional, physical, mental, or social sense. This form of selfishness overcomes any form of care or kindness he may show during those odd moments when he seems to be genuinely helpful or caring. He is never genuine about anything, definitely not anything good, though he can have all the appearances of it. Despite his aloof air and the way he remains estranged from all contact, he also has violently shifting patterns in this behavior of his. It’s not nearly as clear cut or as easy to label him as that. Not to make him appear overtly complicated, but he does have some flaws in the carefully structured personality he has transformed to, and these flaws are more apparent in his general behaviors. It was mentioned earlier that he enters into a pathetic state of weakness on occasion in which he longs for those simpler days when all was love and innocence bonded together. In these moments, he also demonstrates this odd form of imprinting on people he meets. The moment is fleeting but eternal. When he clings to one person, he is impossible to pry off. He randomly picks someone to bond to, to love and follow and look up to, and these people he will follow to the end of his days. These people he tends to be rather strange to. He acts much younger than his age and becomes utterly obsessed wit the object of his affection, to the point of terrifying these people. His imprinting behavior turns more people off to him than his normally hateful demeanor. Hatred is something many people can deal with. They can take that hateful person and set them in a box and say, “This person is hateful. I can choose to try and love them, hate them back, or simply ignore them.” Hateful people can be packaged perfectly, but not obsessed people. The obsessed defy the norm and are full of unexpected surprises. They follow, they live, they breathe the air of their obsession and they can never be gotten rid of. Like the hydra, they just keep reappearing every time they are struck down. Then, like an opposite reflection in a mirror, he can have violently murderous intentions to some. These also can come from his rather fragile states when his mind isn’t totally right. He turns people into the pure embodiment of all his hatred, his suffering, and everything that may have wronged him in the past. He sets these people aside as targets that he must destroy. He has never actually killed anyone yet, but he has come very close to it multiple times. On that darker note, Taikatalvi also seems to be attracted to blood. Not just the color or smell, but the taste. He never shies from the sight of blood, rather it lures him in. He will touch it, taste it, drink it if the opportunity presents itself. His love of blood seems to stem from a bizarre fear that he doesn’t have enough in his body. It is not a totally irrational or unexplained fear. One would think the boy’s list of problems would have ended by now, but no. Taikatalvi came down with lung cancer when he was ten years old. The illness has progressed to later stages, and he is often racked with terrible bouts of coughing up blood, occasionally followed by vomiting blood as well. Taikatalvi is absolutely terrified of the disease, and so stemmed from it the sudden urge to drink blood, believing he is replacing the blood he loses. Of course, drinking blood does not agree with him at all, and he finds this strange urge of his disgusting. Yet another factor in his self-loathing. Yet he does not try to stop himself, already having accepted it as an irreversible part of him. And if the abnormalities of this child couldn’t possibly end there, Taikatalvi suffers also of narcolepsy. It is possibly the lesser of all evils. Though it is a chronic disorder, he doesn’t experience all the downsides it has to offer. He will drop to the ground and fall asleep instantaneously, or perhaps awake fully alert at the most impromptu times. He often undergoes automatic behavior: a period where he continues to function (talking, putting things away, etc.) during sleep episodes, but awakens with no memory of performing such activities. He occasionally experiences hallucinations, especially if he hasn’t slept for a long time, but these are expected to fade as he gets older. From everything described of him, from his strange past, his sufferings even as a child, to his unexpected behaviors, one could almost have pity for him. But they are warned not to be fooled. He is a child beyond help, beyond hope. It would take years, maybe decades, to right all the wrong that has poisoned his mind. But he doesn’t have years or decades. He’s running out of time. He can feel it. Death calls to him, and though he fears it and fights to live, a part of him has come to await it. Taikatalvi looks rather fine despite his conditions and his abnormal side. He once had soft, silky blonde hair, the pale yellow color of the sky before dawn, but the stresses turned his hair stark white, with none of its former color remaining. It lies flowing yet downy on his head, always in a pleasantly ruffled, tousled style that seems to suit his youthful age without making him appear to wild. His eyes are electric, powerful. Neon oculars of an opalescent blue-green color, more green than blue really. His eyes speak more than he ever will, always swirling with torrential floods of unexpressed thoughts, feelings, hopes, and fears. Eyes are windows to the soul after all, and his remains caged and despairingly violent against his barred windows. He is everything cold and winter, from those eyes and hair to his soft, pale skin. It is not a sickly pale that whitens his entire body, rather a frosty, delicate pale that compliments rather than disgusts. His once flawless skin is now laced with violent, twisted scars, though most have faded over time or blend in with his skin, the rest continue to mar his body. Some are self inflicted, an experiment. The rest are larger, more pronounced, the results of terrible accidents. Yet Taikatalvi does not seem to care about any accidents or the scars, in fact he seems mostly unaware of them for the most part. One may ask where he attained a scar and he will simply not remember. Not for the sheer quantity he possesses but merely because he honestly does not know. He happens to have been born with CIPA: a defect that prevents the user from feeling or registering any pain. Therefore he can be injured by the smallest or largest of things and won’t even notice until someone points it out, or perhaps later if he notices blood or if something seems out of place. Truly then, he won’t know where he received most of his scars. He is ice in his face and form, a rigid, cold demeanor that epitomizes ferocity in every angle and contour, yet his every move is hypocrisy. He has all the balance and grace of a prima donna, a dancer, a ballerina. Something soft, strong, and gentle. He hovers and glides across rooms as though his feet never touch the ground. He is light on his feet and silent as the grave. He can creep and crawl and none shall know he was ever there. A mere shadow that flits o’er the walls. It’s almost mesmerizing. He torments himself almost as often as he torments others, by drowning out the world and its noise in his music. He hates music now. He hates it because music is emotion and the language of the soul. He swears he has no soul. He swears he isn’t human anymore, but the music does not care for what Taikatalvi believes and it will pour from that soul and show him that he indeed bears humanity inside, and suffers for it terribly.
Kai Lupos
Kai Mnemosyne Lupos
13
Second Class
Earth Elemental
13
Second Class
Earth Elemental
Make your judgments. Form your opinions. Kai will break them. Tear them apart. If there's one thing he doesn't do, it is conform. He won't let you perceive a solid idea of him or get a clear picture of what he's all about. He likes the darkness, and he loves to leave you in it. Kai has a very odd mind. He learns only what he is interested in and he learns it well. If someone asked him to solve a math problem, he would probably fail as he has no interest in solving such things. But if someone asked him to take apart a television and put it back together, he would do it easily. He is very observant, very calculative, and he can make connections to seemingly unrelated things. He can accomplish incredible feats that many would deem impossible for any ordinary person. Whatever he puts his mind to or takes to with interest, he will excel at. Many conclude that such a promising mind was wasted on someone like him. It is assumed he wastes his talents since he isn’t using them for anything predominantly important. Someone like him ought to be a scientist, paving the roads of the future with the ingenious capabilities he has yet to discover. He could become the next Einstein they say. But Kai does not say so. He finds all those words to be empty and meaningless. Such praises and promises are useless to him. Kai became obsessed with the meaning of free will at a very young age. One morning, he simply woke up wondering what the real meaning of those two words meant. What was free will? What was freedom? Those questions only led to more and more. With his odd way of focusing on things, he easily became engrossed in the task of exploring every possibility of free will and freedom. He read as many books as he could get his hands on that theorized or tried to explain it. He explored all the different possibilities of what he could do in his lifetime. Phrases such as "You only live once" and "Nothing is true, everything is permitted" became life changing for him. Literature such as [sic] and even the Hunger Games; anything to do with fighting for freedom, he studied and memorized. He now lives by no rules except his own, and even those are not written in stone. He has no ties. No bonds. No cares. Someone tells him he's happy, he will do everything within his power to become miserable. Someone tells him his haircut looks good, he will shave it all off. He takes things to the extreme. He won't stop until he feels freedom. Or until he's dead. Death is only the next great adventure after all. At least ten times a month, Kai will do something that will irrevocably change his life. Having been doing these things since he was ten, he has learned much of the meaning of love, life, and even death. He has done many things in the past that others would regret thinking about, but he lives with no regrets. Every time he changes himself, he essentially kills the old him, and therefore believes he has done nothing in the past that he could possibly regret. With this kind of thinking and lifestyle, many would deem him insane. His family definitely thought so. They had to hunt him down first, and when they did, they took him to a ward for some serious therapy. The doctors didn't find anything wrong mentally, just that he had some very messed up opinions of the world. They put him on medication to suppress his impulsive behavior, but it only screwed up his brain. Since the ward no longer wanted him and his parents were sick of dealing with their bizarre child, they shipped him off to New Secrete Academy. They literally handcuffed him to the door and left him there with a letter. When the groundskeeper was doing some shoveling, he found the boy biting through his wrist. The school was much more accommodating than anyone else ever had been to him. They kept him off the medication for a few months and his mentality managed to right itself for the most part. No more eating his hands and screaming at walls, at least not that often anymore. He has reverted back to his old habits and obsessions with a heavier dose of enthusiasm than before, but the abandonment from his parents seems to have taken a sort of toll on him. He hates himself for missing his parents. He had thought he was free of all attachments, but when they left him at the school, he realized that he hadn't been nearly as free as he had believed. The illusion gone, he has radically changed his approach to people, developing inane theories about them in general, whether they be Folk or simple Humani, he treats them all the same. He doesn't trust very easily anymore, and treats all relationships very lightly. Many call him fickle and finicky, but that's only because they really don't know him that well. Kai is young and lean, very light for his age, perhaps a bit too underweight, though it’s hard to tell if that low weight count stems from simple genetics or distribution of his body or perhaps malnourishment of some degree. He doesn’t appear sickly, with a rather healthy, fresh complexion over his light skin. Being half-Caucasian and half-Korean, he has adopted more of the fairer, white skin of the Caucasian side, but still attains resemblance of the other side of the coin. His eyes have the slight almond shape, but the lashes are a bit fuller, framing oceanic orbs of stormy dark blue and gray. When his hair is let alone to be wild, it’s always falling in his face. Spiky and predominantly messy, it tends to go every which way, about as unmanageable as his lifestyle. It compliments his stormy eyes with a rather robust, fiery quality to it, dark red, near maroon streaks highlighting and accentuating his dark brown locks. He has relatively boyish, delicate features, but their balance and definition, coupled with the overall look of skin, hair, and eyes, makes his face stronger, bolder. Like the face of one who belongs in the military or as an explorer. He is both: fighting his inner demons and struggling to discover the questions that plague his mind. He looks the part in body and action and soul, whether he realizes it or not.
Remi Lemarque
Remi Abelard Lemarque
15
Second Class
Elf
15
Second Class
Elf
A Study on the Notorious Enigma, Remi Lemarque: Necromancer Extraordinaire
Remi Lemarque should be dead. Not that he ever died and baffled the attending doctors with his defiance of death, nor did he start a cult by resurrecting in front of believers, nor did he ever defy reality by jumping headfirst into a volcano and live to tell the tale. No, nothing grand of that sort. He simply should be dead because everyone hates him and wishes he was. The only question is why hasn't anyone bothered to try and kill him yet. It must be because they are afraid. There are quite a few things peculiar about Remi Lemarque that could almost be described as redeeming qualities. For one, he is ineffably rich yet has a suspicious amount of sympathy towards the poor. There is absolutley no reason for it, and all who have approached him on the dealings with folk below his status have only received vague answers that gave them nothing to ever go on. Assumptions have been made and gossip grows like a snowball tumbling down a hill, but the truth of the matter has never come out. He is most certainly not a charitable person by nature. In fact, he is rather cruel and inconsiderate. So why on earth he deals with the poor and the troubled is anyone's guess. Another oddity about him is his theological and baffling mind that continues to grind on gears of knowledge, insight, and wisdom before spewing out the most incredible of theories, observations, plans, and conclusions. Everything he reads, he memorizes. Everything he hears and sees, he stores in the databanks of his mind for future reference. He embraces his experiences, both good and bad, and often throws himself into the most bizarre of situations all in the hopes of experimenting with his own emotions and reasoning. He cares not for himself or his well being, rather everything is a game, a puzzle, and a mystery. Combined, they become a challenge that he must succeed at or die trying to brave through. He has no restrictions and no barriers. He is wild. He is unchecked and unbalanced. And even if someone tried to stop him from this roller coaster of a path he has begun to pursue, it is doubtful anyone can stop him. He is as headstrong as he is intelligent. Combined, he is a dangerous opponent and an irreplaceable ally. But then, he is cunning. This is good as well as bad. His cunning lends him the upper hand in a battle of wills and wits. But he is like the fox. He can play any role, dance any dance, play any game, and all the while, he holds a knife behind his back. He is slippery and sly. A snake. A fox. A mongrel wolf. Whichever play on words one might prefer, he is all those and more. A deceiver of men and women, he does what he can for personal gain, which leads on to his selfishness. He is selfish to a point. If the goal has nothing to do with personal gain, he will not pursue that goal any further. He will not risk himself for others or for a cause he believes to be lost. He will abandon the needy and the hopeless when situations are dire and head elsewhere. He will not betray, oh no. He would never turn from one side to join the next unless some strong conviction made him do so. If he ever abandons a cause, he abandons both sides. If he abandons a friend, he also abandons an enemy. He's not one to choose sides as a rule. He is for no one save himself, and prefers to have an open mind and clear image of both views in every argument. He likes to think he has no biases or prejudices and knows the right and wrong of every situation. Perhaps he does, more likely than not he doesn't. His convictions alone can convince others he does see everything from a perfect, third party view, but the truth of his opinions and what lies underneath his motives remains to be seen. There are faults in Remi, as there are in everyone and everything. Even plants have faults, wether they are too weak or too strong, take too much sunlight or rooted themselves where there is too much shade. Remi's faults lie underneath his more prominent personality traits. He is flawed in the midst of his strengths, therefore being a teetering little thing on the edge of a knife. He could slip up and make a mistake, falling into that black abyss at any moment, or he could continue on without a care or a fear. His vile nature shows. How could it not? He acts cool and proud, but it's always taken as blatant arrogance and bloated ego syndrome. He's avoided like the plague if avoiding him is an option, but he seems to prefer it that way. He is shallow in every relationship, treating everything as if it was just business, never seeking any deep connections with anyone. If ever he does seem interested in others' personal lives or true feelings, it's always with a sense of him seeking a weakness that he can manipulate to his benefit later. He destroys and never builds up again. He insinuates dark and despicable things, but never counters this hate and venom with words of encouragement and healing. Like a swamp, he grabs hold of someone's spirit and drags it down. It does not go unnoticed. Far from it. Hence why he's avoided. If it's not his proud and haughty ways, it's his horrendous cruelty. He does not empathize. Never has, probably never will – probably, only because people have been known to change. He cannot really fathom another’s feelings or another’s pain. Sometimes, he genuinely wants to, but the barriers he constructed around his heart long ago block out such an ability. He cannot feel for them, and therefore does not feel any regret or remorse for what he does to them. People are pawns in this game, this challenge he has found himself in. It’s a game called life, and he is the ultimate player. He has no concept of time, no true path or fervent goal. Every move he makes, every path he takes, will eventually lead him back to the question ‘why?’. Why? Why does he play with people this way? Why does he pull their strings and push the buttons and watch as chaos and misery unfolds around them? Why? Why does he sit there and watch while castles crumble, hearts break, lives are torn apart and why does he do nothing about it? Why doesn’t he clean up his messes and repair the damage? He’s a hurricane that blows through a city street. It tears up the world but never repairs the damage. He leaves that to other people. People broken like the ones he broke who put their fractured pieces together and struggle to become something more. Will he ever let them rise up again or will he return and rend them once more while hope is yet in sight just so that he can take it away from them. He’s a cancer that fades only to return more powerful than ever, burning through fragile, small bodies until they’re all spent and used up before he seeks out a new victim. He is the bubonic plague of the world and he is spreading. Does he want to be this way? Can he ever break out of this repetitive pattern he’s trapped himself in? Was he always this way? What is he? Who is he? This strange and black hearted child without a soul that has no care for this world or the beings who breathe and move within it. You want to know? You all want to know who he is and what he is. You all want to know where he come from and why he has become this way. Well sorry. There is no way of knowing. His past is a mystery. It started with a smiling little boy playing under a blue sky and a golden sun. Then that chapter closed with darkness and pain and fear. Then a new chapter began some time later with a glimpse: a short and unintentional glimpse. A person who loved him saw him, from afar. Standing in a subway, that person only saw the cold face, the hard gaze, the hollowed soul of a broken and lost little shell of a creature long dead and forgotten. Just one glimpse of that heart wrenching face before a train passed between them and once it passed, he was there no more. Then he appeared again. Years later. No one knew him, no one bothered to try for he was in a place where every face was a stranger’s and every door to him was closed. He hated it there. Loved it there. He passed by unseen and moved through the shadows without purpose. Then he found he could kill. He could kill with words as easily as someone could kill with a knife. He only need say a phrase, a cutting insult, or a despising whisper, and that person would waste away in torment until they finally broke and did the grisly deed themselves, eradicating their own petty lives from the planet. He used this newfound gift of hate and fury to channel his own suppressed fears and faults. He craved kindness and love but hated the world and rejected the warmth from the cold, unleashing his own agonies and torments unto others with his gentle words that inspired suicide. He didn’t want to be evil. It just came so naturally to him.
Remi Lemarque should be dead. Not that he ever died and baffled the attending doctors with his defiance of death, nor did he start a cult by resurrecting in front of believers, nor did he ever defy reality by jumping headfirst into a volcano and live to tell the tale. No, nothing grand of that sort. He simply should be dead because everyone hates him and wishes he was. The only question is why hasn't anyone bothered to try and kill him yet. It must be because they are afraid. There are quite a few things peculiar about Remi Lemarque that could almost be described as redeeming qualities. For one, he is ineffably rich yet has a suspicious amount of sympathy towards the poor. There is absolutley no reason for it, and all who have approached him on the dealings with folk below his status have only received vague answers that gave them nothing to ever go on. Assumptions have been made and gossip grows like a snowball tumbling down a hill, but the truth of the matter has never come out. He is most certainly not a charitable person by nature. In fact, he is rather cruel and inconsiderate. So why on earth he deals with the poor and the troubled is anyone's guess. Another oddity about him is his theological and baffling mind that continues to grind on gears of knowledge, insight, and wisdom before spewing out the most incredible of theories, observations, plans, and conclusions. Everything he reads, he memorizes. Everything he hears and sees, he stores in the databanks of his mind for future reference. He embraces his experiences, both good and bad, and often throws himself into the most bizarre of situations all in the hopes of experimenting with his own emotions and reasoning. He cares not for himself or his well being, rather everything is a game, a puzzle, and a mystery. Combined, they become a challenge that he must succeed at or die trying to brave through. He has no restrictions and no barriers. He is wild. He is unchecked and unbalanced. And even if someone tried to stop him from this roller coaster of a path he has begun to pursue, it is doubtful anyone can stop him. He is as headstrong as he is intelligent. Combined, he is a dangerous opponent and an irreplaceable ally. But then, he is cunning. This is good as well as bad. His cunning lends him the upper hand in a battle of wills and wits. But he is like the fox. He can play any role, dance any dance, play any game, and all the while, he holds a knife behind his back. He is slippery and sly. A snake. A fox. A mongrel wolf. Whichever play on words one might prefer, he is all those and more. A deceiver of men and women, he does what he can for personal gain, which leads on to his selfishness. He is selfish to a point. If the goal has nothing to do with personal gain, he will not pursue that goal any further. He will not risk himself for others or for a cause he believes to be lost. He will abandon the needy and the hopeless when situations are dire and head elsewhere. He will not betray, oh no. He would never turn from one side to join the next unless some strong conviction made him do so. If he ever abandons a cause, he abandons both sides. If he abandons a friend, he also abandons an enemy. He's not one to choose sides as a rule. He is for no one save himself, and prefers to have an open mind and clear image of both views in every argument. He likes to think he has no biases or prejudices and knows the right and wrong of every situation. Perhaps he does, more likely than not he doesn't. His convictions alone can convince others he does see everything from a perfect, third party view, but the truth of his opinions and what lies underneath his motives remains to be seen. There are faults in Remi, as there are in everyone and everything. Even plants have faults, wether they are too weak or too strong, take too much sunlight or rooted themselves where there is too much shade. Remi's faults lie underneath his more prominent personality traits. He is flawed in the midst of his strengths, therefore being a teetering little thing on the edge of a knife. He could slip up and make a mistake, falling into that black abyss at any moment, or he could continue on without a care or a fear. His vile nature shows. How could it not? He acts cool and proud, but it's always taken as blatant arrogance and bloated ego syndrome. He's avoided like the plague if avoiding him is an option, but he seems to prefer it that way. He is shallow in every relationship, treating everything as if it was just business, never seeking any deep connections with anyone. If ever he does seem interested in others' personal lives or true feelings, it's always with a sense of him seeking a weakness that he can manipulate to his benefit later. He destroys and never builds up again. He insinuates dark and despicable things, but never counters this hate and venom with words of encouragement and healing. Like a swamp, he grabs hold of someone's spirit and drags it down. It does not go unnoticed. Far from it. Hence why he's avoided. If it's not his proud and haughty ways, it's his horrendous cruelty. He does not empathize. Never has, probably never will – probably, only because people have been known to change. He cannot really fathom another’s feelings or another’s pain. Sometimes, he genuinely wants to, but the barriers he constructed around his heart long ago block out such an ability. He cannot feel for them, and therefore does not feel any regret or remorse for what he does to them. People are pawns in this game, this challenge he has found himself in. It’s a game called life, and he is the ultimate player. He has no concept of time, no true path or fervent goal. Every move he makes, every path he takes, will eventually lead him back to the question ‘why?’. Why? Why does he play with people this way? Why does he pull their strings and push the buttons and watch as chaos and misery unfolds around them? Why? Why does he sit there and watch while castles crumble, hearts break, lives are torn apart and why does he do nothing about it? Why doesn’t he clean up his messes and repair the damage? He’s a hurricane that blows through a city street. It tears up the world but never repairs the damage. He leaves that to other people. People broken like the ones he broke who put their fractured pieces together and struggle to become something more. Will he ever let them rise up again or will he return and rend them once more while hope is yet in sight just so that he can take it away from them. He’s a cancer that fades only to return more powerful than ever, burning through fragile, small bodies until they’re all spent and used up before he seeks out a new victim. He is the bubonic plague of the world and he is spreading. Does he want to be this way? Can he ever break out of this repetitive pattern he’s trapped himself in? Was he always this way? What is he? Who is he? This strange and black hearted child without a soul that has no care for this world or the beings who breathe and move within it. You want to know? You all want to know who he is and what he is. You all want to know where he come from and why he has become this way. Well sorry. There is no way of knowing. His past is a mystery. It started with a smiling little boy playing under a blue sky and a golden sun. Then that chapter closed with darkness and pain and fear. Then a new chapter began some time later with a glimpse: a short and unintentional glimpse. A person who loved him saw him, from afar. Standing in a subway, that person only saw the cold face, the hard gaze, the hollowed soul of a broken and lost little shell of a creature long dead and forgotten. Just one glimpse of that heart wrenching face before a train passed between them and once it passed, he was there no more. Then he appeared again. Years later. No one knew him, no one bothered to try for he was in a place where every face was a stranger’s and every door to him was closed. He hated it there. Loved it there. He passed by unseen and moved through the shadows without purpose. Then he found he could kill. He could kill with words as easily as someone could kill with a knife. He only need say a phrase, a cutting insult, or a despising whisper, and that person would waste away in torment until they finally broke and did the grisly deed themselves, eradicating their own petty lives from the planet. He used this newfound gift of hate and fury to channel his own suppressed fears and faults. He craved kindness and love but hated the world and rejected the warmth from the cold, unleashing his own agonies and torments unto others with his gentle words that inspired suicide. He didn’t want to be evil. It just came so naturally to him.
Valentine Arrowcraft
Valentine Eomer Arrowcraft
17 years old
Ace Bodyguard
Shifter
17 years old
Ace Bodyguard
Shifter
No name could suit someone better than the name Arrowcraft for a skilled archer and fletcher. His family has been creating the greatest projectile weapons for centuries, going all the back to before the middle ages when men were barbarians and used whatever they found to mass slaughter each other and steal their enemies' women and riches. A long lasting family of servants, barbarians, outlaws, renegades, and commoners. His family may have been the greatest when it came to bows and arrows and trebuchets and catapults, but other than that, they always existed in the background. The majority of them were illiterate and unskilled in anything else. They became common soldiers; fodder for a greater man's cannons. They are the sort of people you see making up a big army in some epic fantasy movie: easily forgotten, wearing armor that hides any distinguishing traits and features. Background men. You get the drift. Of no reputable family and with no distinguished claims of his own, Valentine Arrowcraft hardly bears any distinguishable impact to the future. Other than guarding the life of the Student Council’s noble Ace, his purpose is short and dispensable. This is perhaps the closest anyone in his family for centuries became a foreground figure. But shall he go farther? No. When the Ace moves on in the world and becomes someone of more importance, Vertigo will surely fade into the background. He does not trust their friendship enough to believe that that will secure his position when politics and better men get involved in assisting Casimir with running his life. Valentine is sure his friend will become great, he can just feel it, but as for himself, he is of little consequence, and he is satisfied with that. Because of such hopes and understandings, he doesn't seem to really care for himself, his entire focus set on Casimir's well being and the assurance that all his own duties to the Ace are set. He goes above and beyond the call of duty, not for necessity or to seek his own gain, but because he is very proud to have the honor. He knows his family is very proud of him too, and they support him as much as they can, what's left of them that is. He is very close to them, not as much of late, but his family has been sticking it out through thick and thin, seeing the worst and best of it out together. Still living in Norway, he feels so far from them all the way in New Secrete Academy. He has been given the option of going to visit them, but he doesn't take the opportunities, always making up some excuse or other. This gives the impression of a strained relationship, or perhaps unresolved issues within the family that have not been brought to light. This is not the case. Valentine knows it is himself. Valentine is the only living child in his family. His younger siblings died over the years before he went to Ireland, and then his older brothers dropped dead. It shook him to the core and changed him deeper than anything else ever could. Something inside Valentine broke. Through his own experiences, not mentioned here, he understood what could cause pain and what could multiply it. He understood the psyche and the physical and mental limits of someone. He keeps this dark knowledge a secret buried inside. It only comes to life at night when none but the moon are stars are present to witness his foul deeds. He goes out at night, to local towns and cities, or even off far away, kidnapping and torturing people of his own volition. No pattern. No specific style. There is no reason to it and no absolution. It's the only thing that can quell the screaming demons clawing at his brain and the horrible nightmares in his soul. By night he plays the beast, the true side of himself showing through. By day he plays the beauty: loyal, good, kind, full of dreams for the one he guards with his life. He uses his archery and his silent warfare to guard when threats pose themselves, and they have. He shifts to protect and to advance his ability to protect. He learns and adapts and grows to become the greatest bodyguard he could ever strive to be. Maybe then his little family name could be known if even for a short while. Surely time would forget him, for he is most unforgettable. Unassuming and of average quality in known life and in looks. Messy white hair, gold eyes, pale skin, smoothly pointed features, and a waif-like build with more bone and muscle to make a wire-frame, and ninety percent scar tissue at that, making him ugly and deformed. If anything, people would want to forget him. He's always hiding himself: his true nature, his dark dealings in the night, his hideous body. He wears armor over his heart and mind and body to shield himself from the prying eyes of the outside world. Their carless, judging eyes and poisoned words. He acts the happy, friendly soul with bright-eyes and slight, charming smiles. He focuses on the best things and amplifies them. It's a sincere mask, a mask of a half-truth to hide the more significant half of himself: the darkness and the despair inside.
Eren Tulius
Eren Alora Tulius
17 Years Old
Third Class
Air Elemental-Shifter Cross
17 Years Old
Third Class
Air Elemental-Shifter Cross
Eren is and acts more mature for age which has both its upside and its downside. She has difficulty getting close to those who are her peers, and for this, plays the cold, hard-edged character that is so stereotypical of her family and convalescent of her ridged upbringing -an upbringing she despised but nonetheless accepted. It changed her into the person she is today, and she's rather satisfied. Not a self-satisfaction that comes from arrogance or pride, but a sort of acceptance and lack of immediate regret. She has come to terms with her hardships, her flaws, her wrongdoings, and the things she has done that have eaten away at her. Though she appears natural, she borders on the not. Being a crossbreed of shifter and elemental, she doesn't really see much hope for her as far as upstanding rank or support. If anything, she was ostracized as a child. It is well known that elemental cross pregnancies are dangerous and never advised. As is common, Eren's mother died. Eren managed to survive, but barely. Not wanting the child anymore, her grandfather hunted down and handed her off to her father to decide her fate. Eren was raised by a wild and dangerous group. Tulius was a very hard and cold lineage, tracing its roots back to Spartans, Vikings, and Gauls. It had no place in its midst for weakness. Thankfully, she was not a weak child. She was born with their strong blood and her mother's strong powers. She fought her own battles and rose up among her peers of her own accord. She never bonded or made friends with any of them, preferring to go at it alone. She was meant to be alone. Her father, though proud of her, never took the time to be with her, and so she saw him more of a leader and less of a father. She only ever called him sir, and has never called anyone father or dad in her entire life. A strange one among the elementals, she went about her life as the oddball. She was excluded from most things and her powers only used to their purposes, really. As if to make an example of her, they never taught her how to utilize her elemental ability and only her shifting. As her air elemental side, she can only utilize a small portion in emergency situations, though when her emotions get out of hand as they sometimes do, her powers may flare up and wreck havoc. As to her shifting side, she is a lean, mean well-oiled machine. She can slip into multiple forms with the same effort and ease of breathing. It is second nature to soar as an eagle or run as a wolf. The group she lived with thought her to be no better than an animal for her tainted blood, but she took this strength and used it to a great many advantages. She has seen a few fights in her time, who hasn't? But in each one, she's maintained a victory. She gained some respect in the family, which was odd, considering no one ever related her to her father. After all, he was the one who broke traditions and went off with a pure shifter and created this atrocity. No, rather, she was to bear the shame for all three of them, leaving her father without. But through her own efforts, she cleared her shame, showed them her worth, and managed to crawl into a slightly fairer existence. Now she attends New Secrete Academy, determined to make something of herself there and discover about herself, the parts she cannot reach or fathom. She has always known herself as a loyal, strong girl without any flair or quirks or really outstanding points to her personality. But she's sure there's something there that can qualify as special. That's what people tell her and it is what she wants to believe. She does not want to ever exist as the failed bastard production of two great peoples' mistakes. She wants to stand out on her own two feet with her head held high and not cowering with tail between her legs. So she enters a new world as a new person, defiant enough to ignore the looks she gets or hear the whispers behind her back or the insults to her face. She feels in control enough to bury her resentment and not let her emotions run away with her, but all her buried, unfiltered thoughts are prone to explode in bouts and nervous breakdowns. She sometimes feels she cannot take the pressure. It hurts her. Sometimes. She tries not to feel, but she does have emotion, heart, and soul. Broken but mending, she is trying to reach out in her own way. This is her cry, her act of desperation wether she knows it herself or not. She wants to be heard and to be seen. To be loved maybe.
Leslie Umberdust
Leslie Alicia Umberdust
13
Second Class
Elf
13
Second Class
Elf
It's not like she's crazy. She would never atest to it anyway. No trial or attempt to discover the extent of her sanity's breakdown would ever give an accurate reading. She's too smart for that. Too smart her own good.
Maybe if they wouldn't have done it to us because they were so ~~~//~~//~FUCKING SCARED YOU SHITS! FUCKING SCARED! RUN AND HIDE AND COWER LIKE THE DGOS YOU ARE!!~~~//~~//~ all this would have been perfectly avoided.
Where does madness truly begin? We are all mad when it boils down to it, but when does that madness truly become so that all of man will take heed to it? A faulty race of sapiens without the ability to comprehend the mind they use so well. Without true comprehension, true use cannot be performed. Maybe that is why Leslie appears to be so beyond everything and so apart. Maybe it is because she has broken down too many walls within her psyche, and had so many others stripped away, that her comprehension of all her darker workings has overruled any barriers society demands be erected, and therefore, passes off as the true madness that really is enlightenment we sane beings can never hope to understand.
It's not like I hated being what I was. The entirety of their little game was clever, well crafted, with that elusive spark of admirable genius that humans are drawn to despite the morality of it ~~//~~//~ OH GOD... please... I wanted to die. He said he wouldn't hurt me. Wouldn't............. so.............. alone............ let me die...........
What is pain? When does it become unbearable? When does it become desirable? Through the breaking down of our carefully structured plans and formulas, attitudes, and understandings. It is a reaction and a carnal desire. Pain demands action towards it. It demands notice. But when we hurt ourselves to elicit pain, we are crying for help in our loudest voice, screaming at ourselves to take heed of our own selves and take action against whatever it is that truly wounds us under the surface. Such is the pain of the soul: so great the pain of the body must be made and then ignored. But are we strong enough to understand? Strong enough to find and feel? Are we yet so blind we cannot find the true despair in our hearts that plagues us? This is where death becomes an answer to the question. This is where suicide becomes our savior.
Conquering the shadows and drowning in them again. A repetitive cycle, but it felt necesary. It kept them at bay. Not them, the monsters, them the demons in my own self. If I gave in, they would stop clawing at my brain. Giving in was such a pleasure while fighting back was such a curse.
There is a desire in every creature to live. Even those who have forgotten the beauty of living, they feel that innate, burning need to continue their existence. Wether it comes before the final blow, or after it in those few seconds when the last breath is drawn, they feel it nonetheless. Sometimes they continue. Sometimes they are snuffed out. Saviors become devils. Devils become whorshipped. It is a truly maddening chaos that all the races are warped inside, and none are exempt from its misery.
I decided to live ~~///~~//~//~ because I had no choice.
As for Leslie Umberdust, the ill-fated elf child, her own past and the decisions made within it are of a mystery that does not comply with the turn outs of most strange and elusive pasts. She keeps a distance between herself and others for the simple reason that she has no need for them. She wants none of their pity, friendship, or guidance. She wants her decisions to be her own, her learning and desires to be sprung from her own experiences and revelations gained through a third party's eye view. She has no need for relations and therefore takes none. She flits here and there with the watchful eye of a cobra and the coldness of a snake. She has no inherence towards good or evil, but all can agree, something disturbingly not right is wrong with her.
Maybe if they wouldn't have done it to us because they were so ~~~//~~//~FUCKING SCARED YOU SHITS! FUCKING SCARED! RUN AND HIDE AND COWER LIKE THE DGOS YOU ARE!!~~~//~~//~ all this would have been perfectly avoided.
Where does madness truly begin? We are all mad when it boils down to it, but when does that madness truly become so that all of man will take heed to it? A faulty race of sapiens without the ability to comprehend the mind they use so well. Without true comprehension, true use cannot be performed. Maybe that is why Leslie appears to be so beyond everything and so apart. Maybe it is because she has broken down too many walls within her psyche, and had so many others stripped away, that her comprehension of all her darker workings has overruled any barriers society demands be erected, and therefore, passes off as the true madness that really is enlightenment we sane beings can never hope to understand.
It's not like I hated being what I was. The entirety of their little game was clever, well crafted, with that elusive spark of admirable genius that humans are drawn to despite the morality of it ~~//~~//~ OH GOD... please... I wanted to die. He said he wouldn't hurt me. Wouldn't............. so.............. alone............ let me die...........
What is pain? When does it become unbearable? When does it become desirable? Through the breaking down of our carefully structured plans and formulas, attitudes, and understandings. It is a reaction and a carnal desire. Pain demands action towards it. It demands notice. But when we hurt ourselves to elicit pain, we are crying for help in our loudest voice, screaming at ourselves to take heed of our own selves and take action against whatever it is that truly wounds us under the surface. Such is the pain of the soul: so great the pain of the body must be made and then ignored. But are we strong enough to understand? Strong enough to find and feel? Are we yet so blind we cannot find the true despair in our hearts that plagues us? This is where death becomes an answer to the question. This is where suicide becomes our savior.
Conquering the shadows and drowning in them again. A repetitive cycle, but it felt necesary. It kept them at bay. Not them, the monsters, them the demons in my own self. If I gave in, they would stop clawing at my brain. Giving in was such a pleasure while fighting back was such a curse.
There is a desire in every creature to live. Even those who have forgotten the beauty of living, they feel that innate, burning need to continue their existence. Wether it comes before the final blow, or after it in those few seconds when the last breath is drawn, they feel it nonetheless. Sometimes they continue. Sometimes they are snuffed out. Saviors become devils. Devils become whorshipped. It is a truly maddening chaos that all the races are warped inside, and none are exempt from its misery.
I decided to live ~~///~~//~//~ because I had no choice.
As for Leslie Umberdust, the ill-fated elf child, her own past and the decisions made within it are of a mystery that does not comply with the turn outs of most strange and elusive pasts. She keeps a distance between herself and others for the simple reason that she has no need for them. She wants none of their pity, friendship, or guidance. She wants her decisions to be her own, her learning and desires to be sprung from her own experiences and revelations gained through a third party's eye view. She has no need for relations and therefore takes none. She flits here and there with the watchful eye of a cobra and the coldness of a snake. She has no inherence towards good or evil, but all can agree, something disturbingly not right is wrong with her.
Azalea Zaidren
Azalea Morgrim Zaidren
16
Third Class
Fire Elemental
16
Third Class
Fire Elemental
Azalea is a pretty scary sort of person. One moment he's your best friend. The next, he's putting a bullet through your brain. Always hating and being hated, he was never the sort of person that would grow up a happy. His father was a hard, rough man that could care less about anyone else but himself. Finally tired of their horrid life, Azalea's mother killed herself when he was only three. From then on, his life turned from bleak and miserable to a life without any form of love or kindness within it. His father never remarried, he never had siblings or other relatives, and as the two of them lived smack dab in the middle of nowhere, he never had any friends. He was taught how to survive and that the world was unforgiving. His father also taught him how to kill, and they killed anyone who trespassed on their property. His father also ate people, but Azalea had some form of soul within him that prevented him from performing such cannibalistic acts. A few years later, Azalea was eight. His father had retreated to some disgusting, bottomless darkness within himself, and as the year was hard on them, his father started eating Azalea. He kept him alive of course, and would only cut off chunks large enough to satisfy his hunger without causing detrimental harm to the kid so he could conserve the meat source over long periods of time. Azalea was finally rescued at age twelve, when cops investigating the area on reported strange murders came across the cabin. They returned several times before getting an actual warrant to search the place. Inside, they found all the proof they needed, mostly body parts from all the victims, and then they found Azalea stuffed in an unused freezer box holding onto his severed arm. His father was arrested and eventually got the chair. Azalea was put into varied orphanages before one was finally able to take him in full time. He was considered a very special needs child due to his traumas, suspected cannibalism despite his denial, and then of course, his missing left arm, right eye, and damaged left leg. He walks with a limp and has trouble getting up in the morning sometimes because the pain is excruciating. He is also plagued with bad dreams and has insomnia, which requires some rather severe medications. Azalea is cracked. In the head. He's a bit much for the school to handle, but they've dealt with worse before, so they say. He's a loose cannon that has gone off before and keeps resetting to blow up again. Though he's never hurt people during his episodes, it's very likely that he could. Therapy only works so much. He has someone always watching out for him, kind of like a guard in a way. Someone who steps in before he can get out of hand. Azalea hates being on a short leash, but when he's off his rocker, he doesn't notice it that much. There's a reason why this one armed, one-eyed freak is always smiling. It's because he sees the world as a wonderful, beautiful place inside his head. That seems nice, but what he does in his head isn't what he does with his hands. As a fire elemental, he is an arsonist. A pyro. A person obsessed with burning and harming and destroying. He burns things and terrifies people while in his head, well, who knows. Rainbows and unicorns and bubbles and candy or something equally cute. It's kind of sad. Seeing this young man with a supposed life ahead of him, talking to himself of beautiful things that aren't there and a family that he doesn't have and singing sweet songs about childish places. All the while he stares at nonexistent images or chases after someone else with a knife. Suffice to say, his guard has their work cut out for them with this handful. Thankfully, Azalea's breakdowns aren't that often. When they do happen though, they are random, rapid, and severe.
Emma Poole
Emma Lacey Poole
15
Second Class
Elf-Shifter
15
Second Class
Elf-Shifter
Emma, oh Emma, a boring dilemma. Perhaps if she wasn't so boring, her sisters would have liked her better. Unfortunately for her, her sisters were all rather interesting and liked each other much, much more. They went to parties and had fun. They baked cookies and rang bells for charity at Christmas. They went on trips. They played sports and instruments and board games. They rode bikes and swam in the lake and had tea time in their tree fort. So naturally, they all knew each other very well and liked each other best because they were all so interesting. Well, when Daddy croaked and Mommy kicked the bucket, the eldest sister at twenty-five let all the other eight sisters live with her, but Emma had to go live with her creepy Uncle Reginald and Aunt Matilda. They had hundreds of cats and lots of porcelain dolls with missing eyes. They smoked strange herbs and chanted to mysterious wooden figures. They were part of the Gnome Liberation Party and practiced Pastafarinism. So Emma was left to her own boring devices. For the beginning of her life on the crooked street in the funny smelling house where her strange relatives resided, she was the center of attention. Everyone wanted to know who the little girl was that had gone to stay in the cooky corner house. But as soon as Emma opened her mouth, it was obvious she was legitimately the most boring person to ever grace the face of the earth. So her five minutes of fame only lasted an astounding two, and that was the end of that. Honestly, it was like she never existed, that's how boring she was. She woke up. She went to school. She came home. Did her homework. Put on headphones. Then stared at the wall until midnight which was her designated bedtime. On weekends or summers or holiday breaks, she would skip the school and homecoming and homework and go right to headphones and wall staring. All day long. Then, like something out of an action film or a wacky children's book, her other strange but more ludicrous uncle swept her away from the boring house, and introduced her to a side of the family she never knew she had. A family full of misfits and magic. Literally. Her mother's side is full of Crossbreeds: a result of when elves and shifters like each other so much they have to populate the earth. Emma never knew she was one of them until her zany uncle, whose name was Max by the way, taught her all about the Folk and their wondrous abilities. It was rather sad to see poor, boring Emma stuck in such a wonderful world. She had no idea what to do with it. She did as she was told and practiced her abilities, managing to shape shift a little and cast a spell here and there, but beyond that, she didn't do much of anything except stare at walls and listen to her music. Over time, she gained some personality and managed to break away from her structured, boring routine. She dabbled a little in painting and hiking and motorcycling. When she turned fifteen, her uncle sent her off to New Secrete Academy in hopes that the drastic change would force her to make friends and hopefully help her discover herself. So far, she's still a robot.
Porphyria Galendria
Porphyria Magdalene Galendria
18
Third Class
Light Elemental
18
Third Class
Light Elemental
The words "military" and "chick" don't sound right together when put in the same sentence with a name like Porphyria Galendria. Someone whose first name is a disease and the last sounds like something green and growing in a garden should be a hippie or a librarian or a UFOlogist. But no. She's going south in a year as one of the many in the US Marine Corps. It's a bit of an odd combination when you think about it: one of the Folk, a Light Elemental to be exact, serving in a Humani force. Well, alright, not that odd. But still. To explain, Porphyria grew up with military parents. Her father was a Colonel in the Marines and her mother was a Lieutenant in the Air Force. Porphyria and her other unfortunately named brother Aphasia were shipped around from state to state as her parents were called to bases here and there before being sent off on varied excursions. Porphyria wasn't a military brat. She didn't have time to be. Her father was hated severely by the Folk, and Porphyria and her brother bore the brunt of the hate since they were the ones around to receive it. They weren't harmed physically, except the occasional bully, but the Folk ostracized them and often pursued to strain the Galendria family's finances, sociality, or other means. Porphyria and Aphasia had to be each others' best friends, and they grew very close because of it. Their grandmother though, didn't care what her son said, she was going to take the kids in and raise them in a proper and loving environment. The two had been separated from their heritage and from stability for too long. They went to Humani schools and learned Humani things. There was no one to teach them magic or Folk history. What little they could do or knew, it was nowhere near enough. So their grandmother took the two in full time. It was the last the kids heard from their parents, but they didn't mind the trade off. Their grandmother loved them very much and taught them well, being very strong at the elemental magic herself. That was one of the things that so cursed them. Elementals are hated by Folk for their strangeness and newness to society. But that wasn't enough. Her father had gone out and killed a man in cold blood. That's really what did it. He got away with it too. There wasn't enough proof and nothing anyone could do about it. So they excluded him and his family as punishment and visited 'special' treatments upon them all. And since Porphyria and her brother were the only ones around to be treated badly, that's what they got. The brunt of it. The grandmother's interventions ended it all. Sure, they were still disliked as elementals, but the sin of their father and reputation seemed to have abandoned them completely. They made friends. They stepped out more. They learned more magic and studied history and cultures and religions steeped in power and mystery. But even with all that, Porphyria wanted to go farther and do more. She was a prodigy in her art, but she didn't care much for it. So she enlisted in the marines at seventeen and went through their boot camp. Now eighteen, she is attending New Secrete Academy with her brother to get him settled before she gets shipped out. Porphyria is one tough cookie. She won't take your crap, and she won't give you any either. She's not the kind of person who would lie to you. She's chronically honest and would rather you were hurt by knowing the truth than hurt even more by knowing lies. She comes across as kind of robust and rigid, but she has the ability to adapt and soften when needed. She has a heart, just a tough time showing it. She admires strength and is rather strong herself, but surprisingly leans more towards those who aren't that way at all. She loves little kids and scared-y cats and softies. She has the heart of a protector and that's what she wants to be ultimatley. The best she can be is a soldier: to fight where the fight is and protect those she loves, to make the world safe for them all.
Aphasia Galendria
Aphasia Maestro Galendria
15
Second Class
Light Elemental
15
Second Class
Light Elemental
Where there will be those who know of the name Porphyria Galendria for her eagerness to know people and form friendships, fewer will know of her younger brother Aphasia. They will hear his name and wonder what sort of parents would bother to name their kid something so inane, but other than that, few will know him and even less will call him friend. It's not because he's mean or unfriendly or unfeeling, quite the contrary. He loves people and has a generally big heart. It's just a matter of life's many circumstances and random chance gave him a sort of upbringing to inspire a less forward nature. Aphasia takes life as it comes to him. There's really nothing else he can do. He has been ordered around by those in authority since he was a baby. From this, he has a more suppressed sense of self and a lot more shyness than is typical of a sixteen year old male. He is no no way weak or inferior, just less knowledgable about the world and himself. He is bright of spirit and mind, large of heart, and strong in body. He has a very endearing way of loving those weaker than himself, much like his sister, but he also possesses a great desire to challenge and rise above those stronger than himself. As a gentler spirit, he is easily crushed and often hurt, but he sees these pitfalls as moments to strengthen himself rather than times to let himself falter and grow faint hearted. He is tougher than he seems, though not so tough he is invulnerable. Despite his large heart, he calls very few friend for the simple reason that he puts more stock in the meaning of friend than the average person. Especially as his first year at the academy, he only ever calls Porphyria friend despite their sibling status. He idolizes his sister, but knows he can't be like her. She is a prodigy with a head for strategy and passion for the fervor of battle. He is always trying to make her proud as if he has something to prove to her. Though she denies that he needs to work to prove anything to her, he won't stop till he feels satisfied. He can overdo it, but he's not going to hurt himself. He grew up in a military family where the dumb phrase "pain is just weakness leaving the body" was followed to the nth degree. Aphasia fears pain. He fears it, so he avoids it at all cost and will work to end anyone else's pain. He is a deeply empathic soul, which is probably the only self hurt he can truly cause himself. All this makes him seem a bit standoffish, but he's a fairly normal teen. Except for the obvious difference of race. As an elemental of light, he has faced rejection and hatred from other Folk, but he won't ever stop using his power. He loves his powers very much and sees them as the greatest thing to ever happen to him. He holds them in some kind of rapture, and always plays with them in a misty-eyed way that a child might. In some ways, he is very much like a child. He has a curious wonder of the world that is only satisfied through exploration. He has a mind boundless in its creativity, and though he never actually too the time to develop creative talents, he has a knack for storytelling and putting to words the images in his head. He likes to be free to wander the wide outdoors instead of being cooped up inside. He often plays with younger kids, and seems to be able to get down to their lower levels with more ease than to get up to an adult's. In a way, he's almost afraid of them too. Not just because of his experiences with them, but because he's afraid becoming one will steal from him all he's ever loved in the world.
Tien Daxahn
Tien Daxahn
14
Second Class
Shadow Elemental
14
Second Class
Shadow Elemental
They call me a spiteful child, and perhaps it is true. Especially in the recent years of my young life, my thoughts were filled with spite. Most of my aggressions were aimed most harshly at my parents. Not too harsh, mind you. They deserved it. Oh trust me, they did. You are surprised that I care so little for my family, considering that in all likelihood they are dead, but it never really crossed my mind to care. I did when I was little, but it soon became apparent my older sister Isis was the favored one. They took special attention to her, trained her, divulged their secrets to her; and I was left in the background. Little old Tien: a soft, shallow little boy with a stupid girl's name. Now, I suppose I can find it somewhere in my heart to forgive my parents, and I have. You see, they are dead. To me at least. If they truly did survive the destruction of our small village, then so be it. But even if they breathe and their hearts beat, I will no longer think of them as my parents. Parents are people who love you and care for you. They ignored me. Forgot about me. I never pestered them much. Even in my youth I was aware of the responsibility they possessed and the burdens they bore, but every now and again I would go to them for just some small favor or just a fraction of a moment of their time. But they would shoo me away and tell me to go do this or that as they were far to busy or tired or needed to de-stress. They pushed me away, and I eventually learned to stay away. My sister though, she often gave me the time of day. She was busy as well, but she had the heart at least to find some moments for me. I didn't mind it entirely. The loneliness. Though I was away for so long from the warmth of my family, I was never entirely by myself. I had friends and tutors and relatives about. I played and learned and chatted. It wasn't loneliness I despised, it was a sort of solitude that I craved. My village was always bustling with some sort of activity, and so the forests became my refuge. I speak little of my family, but I will speak greatly of my home. That was where my heart truly lay. The mountains, the forests, the little rivers, the brooks, the endless blue sky: that was where I belonged. My parents always thought I was out playing with friends or going off to help some of our village members, but the road took me off and on to secret places only the wild really knew. I knew all the trails and secret paths and the best hiding spots. I watched the seasons come and go, watched green things sprout and brown ones die. I saw animals and plants that none of my friends had seen before. I even dragged a few home, only to have to release them to the wild because they were no where near tamable enough for our abode. I learned more from nature than I did from sitting and listening to a tutor. I loved to be unbound and free, and now, well, now I must resort to other things. I explore the gardens and read books and practice what few talents I possess, but every day, the longing to go out and get lost tugs more urgently at my heart. It hurts to be trapped within walls of stone and unable to reach those untouchable parts of the world that whisper to be discovered. I want to be Tien Daxahn again, and not Linx Kisubo. Linx is a boy on the run. A child who clings to his older sister and requires hand holding and guiding and gentle things. I hate being him though I have no choice. He is me now. My identity that Isis gave to me for our days on the run. For all we know, the people that burned our village to the ground and slaughtered our people are still out there. Looking for us. So we changed our names and ran. We ran here, to this place, this Secrete Academy that seems really old despite its claim at being New. Isis says we will be safe here. Isis still thinks she needs to protect me, but I don't need her protection. I can look after myself. I can't prove it to my dead parents, but I'll prove to anyone else that I'm not weak anymore, that I can be useful and important too.
Victoria Simposium
Victoria Imogene Simposium
18
Jack
Elf-Shifter
18
Jack
Elf-Shifter
Victoria isn't the kind of person you want to be on the wrong side of, not that anyone has confirmed of a 'right' side existing. She has this uncanny ability to know when people dislike her or want to see her ruined, and she retaliates in the most unexpected of ways. It is her nature to be a surprise, to catch the unsuspecting or the unawares off guard. This does not make her necessarily cruel. Rather, she just has this paranoia that everyone is out to get her, and therefore works to get rid of them first. Though she has long worked on this ridiculous nonsense, she is not completely free of it. Victoria comes across as generally nice with a side of cold politeness and forced dignity. But her niceties come from a desire to change rather than a genuine change already incurred. It would be accurate to say that change and transformation into a true and pure heart isn’t completely impossible, but it is nigh improbable. The belief that everyone is out to get her came from a history riddled with familial issues and political schemes against her rather courtly influential father. He never seemed to have a sense of patience or tactic, always boldly challenging his opposition openly and without tact and candor that the best possess. He never cared for the consequences of it either, believing the attacks against his family were only proof that his views and his side of whatever it was he was he was currently fighting. It wasn’t always physical attacks though. Sometimes there were strikes against the finances or blackmailing of things her rather secretive mother was involved in or had been involved in. Victoria was sent away from her family, her other siblings scattered about as well while the whole thing was slowly figured out and her mother tried to persuade their resolute father to stop. Victoria’s attendance at New Secrete Academy was not to come for some time. She first went to stay with relatives before finally coming home. She was the only one of her siblings to go back after a few months. She tried to help her mother through the scandals and the fears and the shame. It was a self-appointed duty of hers, and she was determined to help her mother through it out. In her own mind, her father could take care of himself. He had chosen to forget his family, so she decided to forget about him. When Victoria was about sixteen, she started venturing out from the house more and more often to try and get away from the stress. It was hard for a teen girl to have to be a parent to herself and try to just focus on her mother’s wellbeing while ignoring her own. She got involved in bad things, mostly drinking. She got involved with a particularly low class young man, and from one blabbermouth to another, the little story spread to bigger ears. She too bore the brunt of shame, labeled as a paltry slut. Her peers would have nothing to do with her, and her mother also believed the lies mingled with the truth. The daughter joined her parents as a spectacle of blackmail, rumor, threats, and attacks. From all sides. She had no real friends to turn to, no family or neighbors or people to listen and help her out of the mess. It all went downhill when an unfortunate number of circumstances coincided to send her spiraling down into her self-created prison of fear. A threat was sent to her that if she didn’t get her father to vote a certain way in an election, then boy she was involved with would be ‘taken care of’. She knew it was impossible to dissuade her father in any matter, even something simple as which way to go when driving the car. Her father voted the way he wanted too. Subsequently, the boy she liked was killed in a car crash. The threat had not been carried out. It was a drunk driver who t-boned his car on a rainy night. But Victoria was convinced beyond a doubt that the person who made the threat had arranged it all. She had never really taken the threats so seriously before since so many had never been carried out, but after that one incident, when the threats continued as they did and the black mailings were made, she began to believe and obsess over every single one. Her only rescue came a year later when her aunt finally stepped in and took her away. Now at eighteen, Victoria has gotten over most of her issues, but there are fragments that still remain.
Malak Sabbah
Malak Sabbah
16
Third Class
Air - Shadow Elemental
16
Third Class
Air - Shadow Elemental
There was a word once upon a time that actually bore any meaning to the people who heard it. That word was assassin. Assassins were those who murdered high and mighty figures of prominence and stature. Assassins were those who had the means, the skill, and the determination to overcome any and all who they were deemed to destroy. They killed lawyers, they killed princes, they killed Kings. It mattered not who it was or whether the person was good or evil, for all are equal in the eyes of an assassin when the days of the target are numbered. And people feared them. Assassins were mortals who could bring down gods. Malak Sabbah is one such man. A young man still learning the art and the thrill of making the kill, but he is by no means to be taken lightly just for the sake of the order not deeming him a full-fledged assassin. He is neither novice nor master: an individual in between the ranks who has taken life but no title. It is rather surprising that he ended up here, at the Academy. But fate is a strange mistress who knows what needs to be done within its own time. Unlike his best friend Hasu, Malak is a little stern, antisocial, and quiet. He is the sort of person to never even bother attending a party because he knows he will be plastered to the wall like a dead bug rather than a wallflower. He is the one you find standing in a corner, leaning against the wall with arms folded across the chest. He takes the seat that gives him the best view of all entrances as well as the rest of the room. He is always observing people and trying to figure them out. He doesn't like to get into their personal business up front, rather hang in the back and judge from afar. Malak feels distracted and restless since being separated from his work, but he makes do.
Hasu Gadwaldr
Hasu Gadwaldr
16
Third Class
Shifter
16
Third Class
Shifter
As a noteworthy fictional character once said: "Crazy people don't know they are crazy." And though there are many who could take that to mean the sort of schizophrenia-like craziness so commonly associated with the term "crazy person", Hasu is more of a strange and not all there sort of person, in no way psychotic or harmful or outwardly disturbed. He has his own quirks, and though he has lived through a series of unfortunate events in his time, he has managed to maintain a bright outlook on things and a sincere sort of happiness and kindness. That is why he is crazy. He isn't even aware that he is. Anyone who can just stuff things down and live in raptured bliss must surely be crazy to some degree, otherwise they would have already exploded and fallen apart. Hasu lives perpetually for the future and never, ever looks back, existing in every time as if the past never happened. His subconscious has methodically wiped from his waking memory the mere moments of time that were bad, and therefore has a mind filled with happy memories. His good friend Malak Sabbah is the only one who seems to be aware that Hasu has a problem, but he is reluctant to approach it because he himself has no knowledge on how to handle it. Hasu feels the need to be the life of every party, though retains what scraps of dignity he possesses to not come out completely awkward and obnoxious. He says he wants to make people happy and make them smile, and he himself has a mouth perpetually lifted in a rather charming one. Nothing seems to make it go away. Nothing ordinary at least. By himself or with others or in class or out of class, he is bright and cheerful, and makes one wonder why he never gets down. He has his dark clouds, his lows as many as his highs. He's just better at accepting it and moving on. If he can't find the silver lining to a cloud, by golly he will make one. Hasu was born and raised in Wales, which makes his origins in Malak's circle a little questionable. Hasu was raised in a shifter community of mercenaries, and though they didn't care about the job or what it might entail, they weren't as cold and heartless as many would assume. Hasu was always the storm cloud, believe it or not. He hated Wales. Hated his family. Hated everything. And he voiced this opinion very loudly to anyone who would hear him, even if they didn't want to. But he did his job even if begrudgingly and went through his angst filled mood swings. A strange man came to their midsts one day, when Hasu was thirteen. A man with dark magic the like of which none had witnessed before. And with this man came a trio of assassins who sought his end. But they were too late. The man had worked his arcane art and wiped out the settlement. The assassins killed him, and they even managed to save a few of the shifters, one being Hasu. Hasu claims to have no memory of the events, and Malak hasn't the heart to tell him the details. They've been together through thick and thin these past three years, more like brothers than friends.
Rainer Diehardly
Rainer Diehardly
16
Third Class
Elf-Shifter
16
Third Class
Elf-Shifter
Despite his youthful age of sixteen, Rainer could easily pass for one of even eighteen years of age. He is tall and muscular, with fantastic physique, and enough poise and grace to perhaps be even older. He is very pale. It's not too sickly of a color, thank goodness, but it does come across as rather odd. His hair is a gentle sky blue color, always hanging in his face and cut very badly, but it the style suits him alright. His eyes are luminous, the color of lavender and periwinkle with crimson and magenta mixed centers around a dark pupil. He wears black all the time. His dress is very military looking and sharp. He also wears a breathing mask permanently affixed to his face, though he won't explain the reason for its need to be there. It gives his voice a metallic quality as it has to pass through a processor to be heard. Rainer only has one desire, and that is to protect the girl he loves [name withheld]. He never speaks of her or owns anything that resembles her or means something to him pertaining to her, like a picture or a token or something. Rather, she only exists in his head, a special person that only he may know and admire from afar. He is determined to see her again. To survive all this and reach out to her, hold her in his arms again, see the sparkle in her eyes, hear her voice. That is what keeps him going each and every day with such fire and determination. He only ever moves and breathes because he knows somewhere, she's out there. Alive. And well. For now. The world is a dangerous place. He needs her like a drug that he is so firmly addicted to. It is an obsession, but also love of a sort. So strange that he never breathes a word of it. It all started and will probably end tragically. Rainer was named for the storm that brewed the day he was born. Born isn't the right word to be used, but hacked out of a corpse isn't a very appealing phrase, so born is a better substitute. His mother was a member of a very disgusting and satanic cult. Because their order was threatened by an investigating force, the members all committed ritual suicide by self-hanging from a very old tree that they all apparently worshipped. When the police arrived, they had all been dead for at least two days. While the coroners did full autopsy reports, they discovered that one of the women was pregnant and the unborn child was still alive, if barely. They took her to a hospital where she was cut open and little Rainer was freed into the world that he would grow to hate so much. More often than not he wished he had died with his mother on that tree. The doctor who cut him out gave him his name for a storm was brewing outside when he had been called to perform the operation, and his mother's surname was slapped on the end and it was all made official. To say the least, it confused many a government agent who had to deal with his records: a birthdate two days after his mother's death date and all. Rainer grew up in an orphanage, only to discover his strange powers. The orphanage director, a viscous, heartless fiend decided that it had something to do with the rumors of the cult Rainer was supposedly born into. Not that he was, but everyone who knew his story whispered that he was an evil spirit of some sort. The orphanage director treated him most cruelly when his powers surfaced, deciding that physical punishments were the only thing to drive the evil from him. The man was naturally insane, of course. After ten years, Rainer was placed in the system and then was shipped from foster home to foster home. He kept his powers and his life a secret from everyone he met, but the hate and despair and the fear crept into his daily life. He often beat up kids or terrorized his foster parents. Till one day, he wound up with a particularly stern and viscous foster father. No different really than the orphanage director, except that he was less insane and more malevolent. He was also uncannily unpredictable, which made Rainer's tortures varied and surprising. Rainer finally decided that abuse was just a part of life, and so lived under this psychosis for a long time. When he hit fourteen, he dabbled in all sorts of crimes. Mostly arson, thievery, illegal drinking, drug running, and when he hit fifteen, he graduated into prostitutes and car bombing. He stopped all that shortly before arriving at New Secrete, no one knows why. A girl. Actually. He'll never say who or what or why or how. No one even knows a girl could possibly be involved. It's another thing that is his little secret. Just one of the hundreds he carries deep within his heart and soul. But if anyone had known him before, they would say for absolute sure that he is not the same person he used to be. His entire attitude towards the world and own outward personality has changed immensely. He has hopes for the future and an almost love for living. There is still the obsession, still the violent will to return to his life of immorality, but it is this girl and the one thought that someday they will see each other again that keeps him striving to become a different person, a person that won't ultimately drag her down into the abyss of his own filth and darkness.
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