RP Profiles

Shiroi

Shiroi was born in Bastok 4 years after the great war to parents who thought very little of him. His good for nothing father always called him a screw up, while his mother sat back and agreed, punishing him just to see the smile on her husbands face. Shiroi would spend every day behind the Lighthouse in S.Gustaberg, staring at the sky, trying to forget everything he had to put up with at home. He tried to be nice, but noone gave him the chance. He was prone to the bigger kids, who would pick on him for the way his parents treated him. Every time he felt hurt, he ran off to the lighthouse.
When he was 12, Shiroi's father took off with all of the family's money. Shiroi ran off to the lighthouse as usual, with a new found hate for humanity. When he arrived at the lighthouse he came across Bubbling Bernie. Shiroi decided to take out his anger on it and acquired a Steam Clock, which he sold at the AH. With the money he earned from the Clock, he bought his first dagger.
On his way back home he ran into one of the people that picked on him. The boy began to make fun of Shiroi about his good-for-nothing father running off on him. Shiroi grinned at the boy, and the grin widened as he slit the boy's throat. Drenched in the child's blood he walked into the door of his house, where his mother saw him with the dagger and the blood.
That day Shiroi's mother died of a heart attack.
Shiroi tracked his father down in Jeuno, where he laid waste to his father's body and dumped it off into the ocean.

Shiroi enjoyed this mindless bloodshed, and sought more power. By training as a ninja, he gained dual wield, but it wasn't enough. He had to become stronger. It was then that he trained in the ways of the Dark Knights, and thus became the Dark Ninja Shiroi.

Living only to prove the pain of living and plotting the final destruction of mankind itself, Shiroi wanders throughout the world of Vanadiel. His only purpose is to cause mayhem, no matter what the cost.
 
*** Oh my these are hard to Top ... ***

Ellah was a somewhat promising Student of Magic, at the School of Magic, obviously, in Windurst. This was during the Wars where the Students were taught to learn quick and hard, but not Guided as well as they should have been ... But in a Fortunate Turn of Events, the War ended as she was about to Graduate, now there were other troubles brewing: What to do with this Generation of Mages that seem unable to adapt to the Peaceful and Loving Atmosphere of Windurst ...

Well, Ellah was chosen among some others to take part in an Experiment ...
Basically they were to be trained in a Way not unlike Cardians. Through Magic, they would be made into loyal and competent Mages, this was the Hope the Manustery had. Unfortunately a Mind is a Strange Thing and all this created were scattermided, slightly strange, but unbelievably Loyal Casters. The one responsible for this Program was "dispatcharued" and the "Wicked Ones" were put to an Adventuring Life which suited them well. Still Fiercely Loyal to Windurst, and the Parties they join, these Tarus now mingle with the Common Adventurers, Driven to "Do the Rightaru Thing" as they put it and "Doing the Sparkaly~Warkaly Magic Thingie".
Believeing that no Good can be accomplished without everyone putting themselves above their own Desires, their Own petty Wants, these Taru's are of a Different Breed, though, much like Soldiers, they strive for Windursts wellbeing, follow the Star Sybils Orders unquestioningly, and sometimes strangely.

The Manustery might not know this, but these Examples of Windurstian Peace and Freedom, and the "Good of All above the Good of the Few" might be needed as more than a Chapter in History, soon ...

*** Phew, that one took me while, but i think it nicely accentuates the TaruTaru Goodiness and the Windurstian Mentality which, to my Elation, very much emphasizes the Star Sybils Role, if further analysed, is one of Sacrifice and Duty to one's own Country. Many Star Sybil's are trained pretty much from Birth, "Ladies in Waiting" but only one gets this Duty and this Honor, the One that Receives this Blessing during the Inauguration. Quoted and Gathered from Mission 3-1, Windurst ***
 
Name: Saryu
Age ???
Race: Elvaan
Allegiance: San D'oria

Most of Saryu's early life has been forgotten. His Vague memories of his early years was filled with fighting. Several battles have cost him his memories of family, friends, and acquaintences anywhere from the age of 35-birth.

He has made various attempts to learn of his past but it remains a mystery. Most of the time he travels from san d'oria to windurst looking for lost memories. His battle skills deteriorated from years of poverty and depression, but are beginning to increase.

Saryu often finds himself fighting for to pass the time as he is lonely most of the time, but not all. He meets people here and there as he travels between San d'Oria, Bastok, and Windurst.

Saryu has become racist against most tarutarus and galka, and seems to be highly favor elvaans over all other races. Saryu in his old age is regaining a once sustained wealth through thievory and auctions. Saryu is hoping that as his life declines, his friends will increase and he can die as well as he started.

P.s. i had no idea how to end it!* ^_^
 
Name: Lokkin Achitame
Race: Hume Male
Age: 23
Job: Ninja (throughout the story)
Allegiance: Bastokan(may change)



Lokkin was one of few adventurers who had had an easy childhood.
He grew in bastok with his parents, Gregant and Ryanna, in one of the backstreet houses in the Bastok mines. Lokkin didnt care about the differences of the other children in his neighbourhood and neither did his friends care about his differences.

Lokkin was a strange lad, one of the most serious at his age, always keeping the other kids out of trouble. He and his family were not rich by any count, but the were not poor either. Actually they were better off than most Bastokan families. Probably the reason for what happened to him.

One day, Lokkin was about 14, and 3 Galkan men burst into the house.
It had been a long day, his friends had caused more trouble than usual, and he was sitting by the fire staring at the ceiling.

His parents went to the now knocked down door to talk to the galkan men.
He had heard of these people before from his parents in whispered conversations. Rough, poor galkan that bullied humes out of there homes.

What happened next was totally unexpected. The 3 Galkan stuck down Lokkins father and mother and proceeded toward where he lay. Lokkin got up and, totally without conscieous thought jumped aside from the first galka rolled under the next and ran to the door and out the Bastokan gate.

Lokkin continued to grow up in Gustaberg, often coming to the gate to ask the guards for food whenever hunt was scarce.

And so he set out to become strong and of course in the hopes of finding out if the Galkan were really just bullies or if there motives were deeper.

I think that bring it up to date with my story almost?
:oops:
 
Very nice everyone ^^; But in the words of Musfasa... "Let an old pro show you how it's done."

Blood and Darkness.

Darkness and Blood.

It all began in flames... And ended in ashes.

"Hold on to me tight, hun, tight I said!" The Mithran woman held Mistaya's small pudgy arms as she ran, the child piggyback. They had to keep going, only a little farther.
The orange glow of the fires lit the streets of Kazham like sunset.
"Mama I'm scared!" Mistaya cried.
"No no, not my big girl, come on, just a bit more..."
An explosion rocked the streets of Kazham.
There, the docks. The boats.

The boats were gone.

"NO!"

There was one still leaving the already charred dock, and Shana Fallenleaf ran. The flames hot on her heels, embers singing her skirt, she took a flying leap off the edge of the dock, barely catching the edge of the ship in her claws.

Mistaya screamed. She was only four. And she was frightened.
The Tarutaru sailors heard their frantic cries and dragged mother and child aboard. They had lived.

Years in windurst passed. The fire was but a dim nightmare in Mistaya's past. It had been a freak accident, or so twas said. As a young child among the tarutaru, her inclination towards the magical arts was discovered early, but was never followed up on. She farmed vegetables with her mother, and the two were quite content. They had enough to get by.

When she was in her early teens, their farm (on the outside of the great wall around windurst) was raided by the yagudo. She had been harvesting the fall crops, scythe in hand, when the tall birdmen came upon her. One of them had calmly paralyzed her while they stole all she and her mother had worked so hard to grow. When she heard a cry of pain from her home, she had snapped out of the paralysis with rage, and using the only thing she had, her dull farming scythe, cleanly gutted the birdman who had been guarding her. She rushed into the house, and seeing her mothers broken form on the floor, charged the two ramining birds. Neither left the house alive.

A White Mage had stopped in to pick up his winter supplies and found Mistaya cradling her mothers limp form. She was not dead, but so badly injured that if moved she would die. The mage worked his spells and healed her, but she remained in a coma.

No one knew why except Mistaya. No one else had seen the bloodstains on her face and body. No one else had seen the mutilated bodies of the invaders. She had buried the tainted scythe.

While not working with her magical talents while she was very young had stunted her growth, the young mithra's rage had awoken the black talents within her. Merging dark magic with her soul and scythe, she had drained the life from those yagudo.

The shock had put her mother into a deep coma. And Mistaya had no way to bring her out.

The white arts had fled Mistaya's body, leaving only darkness. Now alone in the world, she fled windurst. She had unburied the scythe, taking it with her as her only weapon. With her black magic and her dark soul, she slew thousands of beastmen, and fiends fled from her. With no destination, and no reason to believe in the goodness in the world, she took dark revenge on anything that crossed her path, from the lowliest goblin to the arch demons in the far north. But inside, she was feeling nothign but guilt. Endless searching for a way to awaken her mother proved futile.

Then something inside her changed. She had slaughtered yet another wave of Yagudo, when she heard a song. It seemed... sad. Confused, she crept nearer. A small yagudo was playing a pipe over a fallen comrade's body. He looked up, squealing in terror at the black armor'd form watchign him with feral eyes. After he fled, Mistaya picked up his dropped flute and held it to her lips. It only had 3 holes and one for the mouth. In a moment she had got the yagudo's tune.

On a hunch she traveled back to windurst, and her mother's still form.
Dressing simply, in her old farm clothes, the younger mithra piped the song for her mother. And a miricle happened. Shana Fallenleaf's eyes opened.

Re-united with her mother once more, the young Mistaya hung up her scythe, and stayed home with her for months, learning the ways of the Bard. The need to destroy no longer resided within her, her heart was pure again.

Fin-
 
Name: Krark (no last name, never given one)
Age: 32
Race: Galka
Hometown: Bastok

Life asn't wasy for Krark, although he had the freedom that only some of his people truly got. He had spent the first 20 years of his life in the hellish Zeruhn Mines, chipping away at the rocks for hours on end. At this point in his life, he hated stones, pickaxes and mines more than he ever imagined he could have. Although he had been blessed with 12 years of freedom, his soul still felt locked away in a dungeon somewhere.

Many friends died back in those mines, and they seemed to haunt him every single day after he became free. The fateful day he saved a Hume foreman from a wandering, crazed Quadav sent the gears of freedom in motion, and he was finally released from his mining bondage. His resentment for Humes wasn't freed along with him, though. He didn't hate them or even distrust them, but he liked to avoid being around them when he could. He felt them looking at him always, and knew what they were thinking even when they said nothing. Filthy Galka should be back in the mines. This is why Krark went out on his own.

Krark had trained his combat skills almost since the very day he got out. He had a small dagger that he bought from an old merchant in town, and a tattered longsword that he had found embedded in a rock when he was 12. He had hid the glorious weapon from everyone else in the mines, and now used it as his primary weapon. He wasn't sure what had been done to the sword, but when he used it in training, the blade seemed to engulf itself in flames as he swung. He knew some sort of magic had been endowed upon this sword, but he really didn't care, because it killed all the lizards, beastmen and ugly beast that stood in his way.

After 8 years of exploring and adventuring, he had received a letter from the Bastokan government, alloweing him to join their ranks as a soldioer of the Republic. He did so joyfully, finally finding a purpose in his life. Now he travels with the sign of Bastok on his chest, defending the good or weak, and thwarting anything that attempted to commit evil or heinous acts.

Now, at the age of 32, Krark was battle-hardened and nearly emotionless. He did feel happiness and sadness, but he mostly kept to himself, riding chocobos all throughout Vana'Diel and scanning the horizon for his next enemy...
 
The dull sound of a blade being pulled along the ground filled the air, the smell of blood and death evoloped all in the surrounding area, crumpled bodies and broken forms scattered around a lone figure. Behiend her stood the final oppent, his body weak, dragging his sword in one final attempt to slay this, thing, this monster that had destoryed his small army. As he shut his eyes and lifted his blade to deal that final blow, he felt a dagger being driven into his side, and another into his back. His eyes shot open then he fell over and joined his troops.

Now one would think that such a small creature would be impossible of causing this kind of damage but in the middle of pools of blood and mounds of gore stood the lone Tarutaru, her red hair messy and unkempt, parts matted to her face with blood while other parts went out in every direction. Her face showed a look of horror and at the same time great joy. Her clothes were tattered and torn, and like everything else with in a fifty foot radius soaked in blood. Clutched in each hand was a dagger, glittering ruby red despite being composed of Darksteel. She fell over and did not get up. Her tiny body joined those twisted and broken shells of life she had created.

She awoke with a start in a bed, she did not know where she was or even who she was. She atemped to move and pain shot throughout her entire body, feeling defeated she siged deeply and shut her eyes. Where ever she was, it was safe to assume it was not safe, nowhere was safe for her. She fell alseep and lost track of time. In a dazed state between her dreams and her life in this bed she heard voices only the words faded in and out.

"She's ....progess....ready soon."
"I see....preperations."

These words alarmed her and she sat up despite the pain and tryed to reach for her trusty dagger only to find it missing from her side.
The two men in the room stared at her as though something mircaoulous had happened. The Galka rushed to her side and began asking her if she felt ok, if there was any pain, if she needed anything. But her gaze remained focused on the Hume, his sandy blonde hair and deep green eyes drew her in and she could not help but look at him. He grined at her, showing his emaculate white teeth, she was more transfixed than ever.

"So you've finnaly decided to join us have you? We got pretty worried there for a while."
His voice wasn't deep nor was it high pitched, it was the perfect tone.
The Galka turned to him and asked him to leave the room. He then removed some of her bandages and redressed the wounds underneath.
He looked her in the eye and spoke in his deep yet monotone voice.

"It's time to get up, someone here needs to speak with you."

He then lifted her out of the bed and began walking. Finnaly seeing her surroundings she found she was in a tent made of animal hide, as they left the tent they entered the harsh winds and searing heat of the desert.

"Do you know where we are?" The Galka asked as they kept moving.

She responded with a shake of her head and gave the Galka a curious look.

"We're in Rabao, we found you three and a half years ago inside the Quicksand caves, we found about sixty dead bodies, you were the only survivor, I'd never seen so much blood in all my life. Franky I'm suprised your still alive. Do you remember anything about that?"

She thought hard but couldn't seem to recall anything like that. "No, I'm sorry but I can't remember a thing, not even my name."

"Very well, I'm taking you to see Ilm, he is our leader, he requested you be brought to him at the first signs of life."
Her head spun, this was all happening too fast. She was confused and scared, who was this Ilm? What did he want with her? What had happened in those caves?

They soon arrived at a fenced off area, the Galka knocked on the wooden planks and they opened. Once inside she could see several more tents and other people going about various activities. The Galka walked past all of the tents and people running about to a large tent, the opening of which was covered in jewels and metal. They stepped inside, there was a circle on the ground and that Hume she had seen in the first tent sitting on a sort of throne.

"Very good! You've arrived, I am Ilm, I lead this band of rouges, we're currently in Rabao, is there anything I can get for you?" His voice calmed her down something about it was very familar, a feeling like home. He began to ask her questions about her and her past, most of which she could not answer. He offered her a live with them, until she could remember.
She accepted this invatation, and became one of Ilm's Rouges, many months passed and they travelld to many place, Devi slowly began to regain streangth and her ability to fight. Portions of her memory returned to her, she remember the slaughter in the Caves, and she remember looking for something, the only thing that was missing a name. Ilm had started calling her Devil because of her fierce battle tatics and lack of remorse after killing. She adapted this to Devi, once more with a name, she began to test her combat skills. Starting with a single dagger until her comabat skills were up to par, then adding a second, of couse this all came naturally after, all four years prior she was one of Vana'diel's top assassins.

She would have one day like to marry Ilm and be with him for the rest of her life, but this day would never come. She had been out scouting a new area only to return to a bandit camp that resembled the Quicksand Caves some four years ago. Dropped on Ilm's chest was a silver pendant, a flash of light went off in her mind, one of the attackers in the Caves had one of these around his neck, no, they all did. Whoever sent them to attack her long ago, had found her once more, and they used the murder of her new family to let her know it was not safe.

::Wow sorry for this being so long =P I started writting and got really carried away::
 
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great vardia ^^ and welcome to the forums, hope to see you RPing in the near future
 
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It's an ongoing Project in the "What If ... RP" thread. Right now it's a bit Broke though. You could come in like an Angel and Fix it though. :cry: Please ?
 
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Alias: Neche
Race: Male, Tarutaru
Age:16
Job: Red Mage
Allegiance: Fights for Noone


Neche was raised alone by his Older brother. Never knowing his parents he grew up boundless. His brother was a warrior, never sought fame or fourtune...

One day when Neche was 8 years old, his brother went on a rutine search of the small town: Rabao. He was an officer of sorts, the town saw him as thier protector. That night Neche went to bed as a happy innocent child.

He was awoken by screaming. Someone ran into Neche's hut, and jerked him awake. "Come quick" the villager said. Neche ran behind the villager as fast as he could. They arrived at a Burning circle. Incased was his brother, sword drawn, beaten and bloodied. Opposite him, was a man of sorts.. something different than he's ever seen. He was in Pitch black, heavy armor, with a Sycthe drawn. Neche called out his brother's name, as he looked, the large man struck with a final blow. Neche, right before his eyes saw his brother cut down by a hethen bastard. Neche in blind rage slowly walked through the burning circle. A magical force shielding him from the flame. The hethen gave him no more than a quick glance before he began to sheath his weapon. They were now on opposite sides of the circle.

Neche casted out his hands "Stop! More blood will shead this night.. And I garuntee it will not be mine!" he shouted at the man. Summoning a great force within him, he encoated himself in shear energy, as he prepared his first and final attack. The winds rose, twirrling around the two, cintriffical wind's rose creating a tornado of flame around them. The man just smiled at Neche, drew his scythe, and sprinted to Neche. Still blinded by the rage, blinded by the darkness, he casted. The Hethen stopped in mid-stride. Neche, threw the engery off of himself, with a blinding flash.
Time was his.
The hethen was his.
The fight was over before it began.
Light, Fire, Wind, Ice, earth, Water, Darkness, Thunder, all the elements combined, and erupted within the man. Neche stared fiercely into the man's angonizing eyes.. Neche snapped his fingers. The man disinigrated into the nothingness which was death.

The burning circle was now out, and it was daytime. Villagers from miles around, seemed, surrounded Neche, who was now kneeling beside his brothers corpse crying. He stood up. "Leave this place. For it is holy ground. Leave and never come back." Neche started digging a grave for his brother. What seemed like forever, Neche was done. He picked up his brother layed him in the hole and began saying his final words "From the darkness to the light. From the evil to the good. You fought for those you loved, and you gave your life for them." Neche said while putting the final clump of dirt onto his grave. Neche turned around walking away from his brothers grave, towards his mentor's bloodied, worn blade. He drew it from the dirt, wiped it off on his tunica, and slide it into his shealth.

He walked to a near-by cliff. Just then a strong breeze kicked up blowing his hair back. He stared into the distance, knowing he was about to begin his journey...




Now a master Red Mage, Neche fights for the innocent. And still searches for the band of thugs, that man in black belonged to. For Neche needed his revenge.
 
(I figure it's about time I tried my hand at this...so, here's my profile, more or less)

It seems, that if one wanted to write ones memoirs, then the writer would do some living first, and it is with that theory that I place before you my life story.

I was, like the majority of Elvaan, born in the kingdom of San d’Oria, and for as far back as my memory reaches, I despised the place. Behind the fortress walls, it appeared that I was the only one who could see the folly in the ways of the rest of my brethren… We are far from the only creatures in this world, yet the in the minds, and hearts of San d’Oria, they are all that is. Disgust brew inside me whilst I was still a child, hunting and killing forest hares for supper, with an old hatchet.

As my mother tells it, my father, Lesaur Coralwing was a Royal Knight in the San d’Orian militia. One day, after a routine scout of Ronfare, my father came into my mother’s tavern. She claims it was love at first sight for both of them, but I find the very notion of “love at first sight” to be foolhardy and fictional. They married soon after, and bore their only child… It’s a pity, I think, that my father was forced to stay in the militia, I believe that my mother would have been a much more rational woman if he had not be lost in the great war. I was just a boy then, quickly noticing that I had an inherent skill for wielding weaponry and learning how to cook from my widowed mother.

By the time I was nearly mature, I knew that I had to leave San d’Oria, before it swallowed me whole like it had the rest of these mindless drones. While my mother slept, I removed my father’s sword from its place above the mantle, attached the sheath to my belt, and snuck away, without looking back. I am sure that my disappearance must have killed my mother inside, but, my fortune was not to be found within the stone walls of San d’Oria, I knew that somewhere inside of me, and that is why I set out that night.

A string of good luck and fortune left me at the earthy country of Windurst. The whimsical and friendly TaruTaru that greeted me happily when I came to the city, and set up my house delighted me, as did the large amount of catlike Mithra. The sky seemed to always be clear, crystalline water blue during the day, while black as the darkest onyx at night, bursting with twinkling stars. The roads were rough worn dirt, and the city itself was as green as Ronfare forest. It was evident that I belonged here, even if I was the size of 4 TaruTaru standing on one another’s shoulders. (I’ve watched them; it’s quite funny).

But you see, though I have traveled, and though I have fought, I do not consider any of the other events of my life to be worthwhile of writing down, nor do I have any sort of conviction that what I have written is of interest. So, I continue to travel, hoping for fortune, wealth, and happiness.


From the journals of Yomiku Coralwind
Dated 0957-12-03
 
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