Ninjas Wanted! | Naruto | Detailed

[Lexielai]

WELCOME

To the tale of a gutsy, knucklehead Shinobi

✐

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About Me

To start off, I love the Naruto franchise. I had a childhood fascination with it when I was eight and spent several years of my life immersing myself in its fanfiction realm. It was probably my first favorite fandom, and still one of my strongest.


Alas, I should probably still introduce myself.


Most people around here know me as Lexielai. For almost two years I was the lead moderator and primary storywriter for the hosted project Fairy Tail: A New Beginning, which you can examine here.


I started roleplaying when I was eight years old. My sister introduced to me to it through tabletop RPGs and Munchkin, and I later took part in the Starcraft II Cortex RP community and a chat-based RP group with online friends. About three years ago I started becoming involved in forum-based roleplaying, and since then have evolved into a much more accomplished author.


Here's the important part for you: I'm a pretty detailed writer. I'm a bit of a logophile, and grandiloquent at times, though I try to keep it suppressed. However, this does lead me to demand a lot out of a partner, mostly in sentence variety, proper grammatical structure, and a sense of personal style.


I know a lot of people here use length as a measuring stick of some sort, so I'll clarify that I'm really lenient on it. Depending on the situation I write between a single paragraph and 14 pages in a post. All I ask for is you be willing able to write enough at a quality level to make real progress in our story rather than just "reacting" and leaving it stuck in place. I'm looking for someone confident enough in his or her writing to express ideas and exercise creativity here.


If you'd like a better understanding of my writing style or need more proof of my credibility, I've attached sample character sheets and writing samples at the bottom of this post.




✐ Preferences ✐

As you might expect, I'd prefer to roleplay using characters from the Naruto universe.


The type of plot and setting, on the other hand, I'm much more flexible with. I tend to enjoy stories that either alter canon or add on to it. Things like alternate universes, time travel, "What if?" concepts, crossovers, and epilogues after the original storyline. I'm open to listening to new ideas though.


When it comes to canon characters, I prefer to play Naruto himself. He's my favorite character. I'm not as attached to the rest, and I'm pretty willing to let you be whoever you want other than him.


Otherwise I'm plenty capable of creating and playing original characters (OC's). I aspire to have balanced, genuine characters with engaging conflicts, so I hope you do as well!


My final preferences are for you, as a partner. Communication, patience, and maturity are important in my relationships, though don't mistake that for dreary seriousness all the time. I love having fun! I'd just like to make sure we have a healthy dialogue between us.




Past Work

Writing Samples

Kurou; Naruto Evolved

A pilot for my work-in-progress Naruto expanded universe, Naruto Evolved. About a smart-mouthed young boy and a reluctant ninja girl.

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Once, a long time ago, there was a time of great bloodshed. Of brutal, relentless violence that never seemed to end.


Legends tell it ended with one man. No, not a man. A god.


Nanadaime...the Seventh.

Historians concede that he must’ve existed; there’s far too much evidence originating from unrelated sources to indicate otherwise. It’s the nature of his existence instead that they ruthlessly debate back and forth, rarely able to agree on the color of his hair let alone his character. The exception to this failed consensus, of course, being the historical community’s tendency to scoff at speculations on his supernatural powers.


The ability to walk on water, the capacity to obliterate mountains with the flick of a wrist, and the potential to be in two places at once—all, it claims, fictitious nonsense to exaggerate a much tamer tale.


The Church of Nanadaism disagrees. He was the Child of Prophecy, our Lord and Savior from the heavens above, they preach. Sent by his father, the Sage of Six Paths, to destroy the devil Madara’s armies and cleanse humanity of its grievous sins. Millions of men, women, and children worship him as God made into man, the herald of peace in a dark era.


Meanwhile public education teaches that Nanadaime, while a mythical figure, was the powerful first leader of the Nation. In prior times the continent had been split into the warring Elemental Countries until Nanadaime ended the war and united them under one flag. The flag of a Nation that still stands today.


Important details like the why and the how are, of course, quite lacking. History rarely likes to make things easy for anyone. To historians’ credit, it isn’t unexpected. All this supposedly occurred a thousand years ago after all, and a few hundred years of battle would make any people wary of freely passing on too many secrets. It is truly a shame that such treasured knowledge from a bygone time is so rare, and heavily distorted by vagueness and contradiction when found.


But in the bright sunlight of Konoha City, fleeing and laughing down the concrete streets, a young boy named Kurou could hardly give a damn with the law still on his tail.


“Catch me if you can, assholes!” He taunted at his pursuers, who were dressed in the distinctive navy blues and greens of the Konoha Police.


Kurou sped off once more, quickly skidding around a corner upon seeing more officers turning around the bend. He dashed between streets and back alleys, expertly navigating the urban sprawl like the back of his hand.

“Excuse me!” He called out, spinning to avoid crashing into an old woman and her grocery cart at the corner of “Watch out, coming through! Oops, sorry, I’ll fix that later!”


He crinkled his eyes at the annoyed flower stand worker, rubbing his neck sheepishly. So caught up was he that he nearly face-planted right into the brute chest of another, quite intimidating officer.


“Hold it right there!” The officer snarled. “You’re under arrest.”


Kurou’s eyes widened in surprise. He was going too fast to stop in time.


Thinking quickly, he fell to the floor and used his momentum to slide straight between the officer’s legs, flashing a mischievous grin at the slack-jawed man as he continued running along. “Nice try,” Kurou teased. “Better luck next time.”


Still, for all his ducking and diving, they were gaining on him. He pivoted immediately upon seeing another pair of officers round the corner, but there were more behind him. His eyes darted to his left towards a small alley. This part of town was unfamiliar to him—he didn’t travel this far out often—but that was his only way out. It was a risk he’d have to take.


To Kurou’s dismay all it led to was a dead end. He stopped before a tall brick wall and looked around, searching for any other escape route. There were none.


A voice laughed maliciously at the entrance to the alley. “Well, well, looks like your luck’s run out, kid, “ the officer mocked.


Kurou chuckled. “Jiro,” he acknowledged, putting on his most irritating smile. “Pleasant to see you again. Hope you enjoyed the present from last time.”


Okay, Kurou. Think. He thought, swallowing the lump in his throat as subtly as he could. A sudden nervousness wracked at him on the inside. Kurou knew he was totally, utterly screwed. He was trapped with no way out, and there were way too many Konoha Police for him to evade or fight.


Jiro’s face contorted into an ugly scowl. “You brat!” He said furiously. “It took me weeks to scrub off that paint off my house. You know how much it cost to repair the damages? When I take you in there’s going to hell to pay.”


“Tch. Orange is a good color, Jiro. You should appreciate true art insteading of carelessly screwing it up sometime.” The banter was relaxing. Comforting. Settling back into the familiar patterns of trading quips with aggravated officers helped Kurou calm down and start thinking of a way out. That garbage bin...and that window...it might be just enough.


The other policemen started moving further into the alley to apprehend him but moved carefully, wary of any sudden surprises.


Jiro’s frown deepened. “Better shut that little mouth while you still can, kid. We’ll see who’s laughing when when you’re crying for mommy in Konoha Central.”


Kurou instinctively stepped back. His eyes drifted between each officer as he retreated until he had no space left to move, pressed up against the hard wall. His pursuers were close enough for him to see the faint outlines of their eyes behind their protective visors. Above, patterned on a silver plate over their foreheads, rested the ever distinctive spiral insignia of the Nation.


He breathed. It was now or never.


Kurou burst into motion, leaping atop the garbage bin he spotted earlier and pushing himself off it into the air. One of the unsuspecting policemen yelped in surprise as he was used as a springboard to jump across the alley. Kurou’s foot briefly made contact with the edge of a high windowsill he wouldn’t have been able to reach otherwise, and using it, he expertly rebounded off it to the opposing alley wall and then again to vault onto the top of the brick hurdle.


“Don’t really feel like visiting prison today,” Kurou said mockingly atop his new perch. Jiro’s teeth gnashed in barely contained anger below, and a tinge of glee made Kurou’s grin grow wider. “Maybe some other time. Catch you later!”


Fully intending to make his escape with style, Kurou stepped back and dropped. He had aimed to collapse into a roll and run off with his prize.


Instead he caught the briefest glimpse of a pair of surprised scarlet eyes just before he collided face-first into a mouthful of raven hair.


Kurou tumbled hard onto the unforgiving concrete. He vaguely perceived another body plunge along with him, but didn’t really process it.


He groaned. His muscles ached and he felt sore all over. Sharp pain shot through him every time he tried to move so he gave up, taking a moment to lie there and process what just happened.


Something roughly tugged him by the collar of his shirt, and before he knew it, Kurou was inches away from two red eyes attached to the slender face of a young girl.

A particularly livid young girl.


“Watch where you’re going, idiot!” She screamed into his face. Kurou reflexively tilted it away to avoid the spit first. Murderous woman second.


“Watch where I’m going?” Kurou repeated incredulously. “I’m not the one who runs into people who are going down. Maybe you should think twice before you start running up walls!”


Kurou blinked. Something seemed off with what he just said. Was it normal for people to be running vertically?


She rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Whatever. I don’t have time for nitwits like you.”


“Takes one to know one...pretentious little witch,” Kurou mumbled under his breath. Scarlet eyes twitched.


Kurou groaned for the second time as she slammed him harshly into a nearby pole. His back felt like it was on fire.


No pain was going to stop him from meeting her challenge though. He met her furious red orbs with his most defiant stare.


“Who the hell do you think you are? You-you-you jackass! Did nobody teach you any manners? You should treat ladies wi-”

​

Expertly, Kurou tuned her out to focus on more interesting things. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly spotted something small and black approaching fast from behind her. It shined into the afternoon light, and Kurou had a sudden feeling of bad bad bad.


“-going to drag you to your knees and make you apologi-” her voice off mid-sentence as he immediately tackled her to the floor. “Ack!”


Something whisked through the air above him and hit the pole they just vacated with a metallic clink. Kurou took a moment to collect himself, just as startled as she was. He wasn’t really sure why he felt the urge to do that.


Curious, Kurou looked up behind him to inspect whatever it was he seemed so keen to avoid. It was a knife of some sort, but not like any he’d ever seen. It’s sleek, diamond-like blade narrowed into a handle wrapped by white bandages with a circular tip at the end.


On it was some sort of weird flapping paper strip. It looked like those good luck charms the ladies at the shrines liked to give out. Kanji was inked on it in a character that looked suspiciously like explode...and it was burning?


He turned back to look at the mysterious red-eyed girl, about to ask her what that was. He started feeling a little concerned when he saw her face morphed into wide-eyed panic.


“Move!”


Before Kurou could even register he felt a sharp push throw him into the air. Time seemed to slow as he felt his stomach drop and something forcefully tug his collar. He saw her grab him with one hand in mid-air, the other contorted into some sort of weird shape with the index and middle fingers pointed straight upwards like a gesture in sign language.


“Body Flicker!” She called, lips moving almost faster than he could see.


The words rang through his ears, but he didn’t have much time to ponder them. Kurou’s world abruptly lurched into a messy blur of colors. Trees, concrete, brick, streetlights, cars, and people whisked by in an instant. By the time his eyes adjusted the world returned to its normal state of being and he was not-so-gently tossed onto the floor.


“Stop throwing me into things!” He yelled as soon as he rolled to a stop. If his body hurt before, now it was just begging for holy mercy.


His ears caught the distinctive boom of an explosion, and against his better judgement, he looked up.


“And hey! What the hell was that just then?” He demanded, snapping his head back and forth to find the weird girl with scarlet orbs.


Kurou found her perched atop a street light. She was crouched, fingering something in a pouch attached to the back of her waist and looking deadly serious at something off in the distance.


“Hey, are you even listening to me?” He shouted, clammering to his feet. Being tossed around like a ragdoll was quickly rising to the top of his “Never Again” list, but damn if he wasn’t going to get some answers.


He suddenly froze as a figure just...appeared in front of him. It was a man, or it looked like one anyways, clothed in a black uniform. On the man’s back, the side facing Kurou, rested a sword in its scabbard.


With a calm, fluid motion, the man unsheathed the weapon. It’s gleaming surface reflected light into his eyes, but Kurou kept still, wary of the guy with a frickin’ katana.


“Seina Hanamai,” the man dispassionately addressed. Kurou’s eyes flickered to the mysterious girl’s—Seina’s—narrowed scarlet irises. She didn’t seem surprised by his presence. “There’s nowhere left to run.”


Seina’s fingers drew another one of those diamond-like knives from her pouch. “Who said I was running?” She countered, holding her blade in a reverse-grip.


A streak of bright yellow electricity seemed to arc off the dark steel Seina clutched for an instant, but that must’ve been a figment of his imagination. There was no way that was real.


Somehow Kurou had a sinking feeling he was going to be wrong.


Seina and the man spent a tense moment sizing each other up. She smirked.


“You’re even more of an idiot than that nitwit if you’re going to face me alone,” she ridiculed. He could’ve swore her gaze swept over to him upon mentioning “nitwit.”


Kurou could be patient when he wanted to. Right now, however, he was annoyed, confused, and feeling really, really irritated. He didn’t put much resistance to letting his impulsive side take over.


“Yo, shut up, little witch,” Kurou interjected in deadpan. Seina glared, but the man didn’t react in the slightest. Kurou had a feeling he was being completely dismissed.


He didn’t like being ignored.


“Now listen up, katana dude. I don’t know what kind of weirdo costume party you came from, but you better leave the girl alone,” he snapped. Seina seemed taken back, almost flattered.


“I’ve got beef with her first, so I get dibs.” Abruptly all his accumulated goodwill with Seina drained away with a scowl.


He reached out to grab the man, but his fingers only trailed through thin air. What?


Kurou felt a gust of wind sweep past his face, throwing his auburn bangs aside. The cling of metal striking metal rang behind him. He pivoted in place and found Seina now suddenly at his rear, knife locked in place against the man’s sword.


She was clearly struggling. Not only was he bigger and stronger, but he had greater leverage with his longer weapon.


Now, Kurou liked to believe he was pretty fast. Growing up he was always more speedy than the other kids; he almost always outran his peers in races, and then started to consistently outpace adults once he got to his teens. Any bully that picked a fight with him quickly found that he wasn’t just quick on his feet either. Lightning Punch Kurou, they called him.


But witnessing Seina spring into action, he had to make a hasty amendment to his understanding of fast, because most people moved.


Seina danced.


She and the man launched into a dizzying series of swipes, blocks, dodges, and counterattacks, flowing like water between weapon and body like there was no difference in between.


Seina’s movements were deadly graceful, efficient yet as elegant as the steps of a ballerina. She twisted around a straight stab and retaliated with a horizontal slice that forced the man to retreat, but she didn’t let up on the offensive.


Seina immediately dived in, lashing out with a ruthless barrage of rapid attacks her opponent struggled to deflect with his wieldy weapon, taking full advantage of her comparatively lighter blade. It seemed as if he managed to stabilize until she abruptly threw her knife.


He managed to deflect it easily, but not before she clasped her hands together to run through a blurry set of different shapes and contortions Kurou couldn’t make out, ending with her palms embraced and her index and middle fingers pointing upright.


“Fire Release: Great Fireball Jutsu!” She announced dramatically. Kurou would’ve snickered at the ridiculous name if she didn’t just spit out a huge—holy crap is that real?—fireball point blank.


The man leaped out of the way, but definitely did not escape unscathed. His black uniform was lit aflame in places, burnt holes in others revealing bright pink flesh underneath. For being hit in such close quarters, Kurou figured the guy was probably lucky to escape as less than a charred corpse.


Seina had a small smirk on her face, probably pleased with being on the upper hand. It quickly disappeared when another three figures jumped down beside her opponent, similarly uniformed and equipped with their own katanas raised.


Kurou gulped, sliding closer to Seina. The new arrivals gazed at Seina and him with narrowed eyes above concealing face masks, fanning out to surround the two of them in a square formation.


“Friends of yours?” He quipped nervously. Kurou didn’t fancy himself as being particularly effective at blocking steel swords with his bare hands.


“Hardly,” Seina snorted. “Here, take this. Don’t hurt yourself with it.”


Kurou heard her rustle in her pouch and felt something cold and hard pressed into his palm. He wrapped his fingers around it, bringing it to bear in front of him. It was one of those unique knives she had used earlier.


Kurou wasn’t much of a weapons guy. He preferred to brawl up and personal with his bare hands. Still, right now it was a blessing that he grew up on the streets. Any kid in the ghetto knew how to handle a knife.


“Don’t make me laugh,” Kurou said snappily. “If a pretentious witch like you can do it, so can I.”


“Tch. Keep your dick in your pants and focus on one thing at a time, nitwit.” He felt her gently elbow his side, not harshly enough to debilitate him but definitely sharply enough to feel it. The push subtly turned him to face the injured swordsman, who had managed to put out the fire by now but was definitely still recovering from second-degree burns.


You want me to take him, huh? Kurou realized the hidden message behind her tease. He was a bit worried about how she’d handle three fresh enemies, but considering how well she fought earlier...


“Hey! It’s not my fault you enjoy it so much. I keep having to bend to your will.” Acknowledged.


Kurou felt the kick of adrenaline surge through his system. “Now I’m all fired up.” His lips curled into a grin.


“Let’s dance.”


-END-

Athena; Assassin Betrayed

In an fantasy world, there lies a kingdom. And in it is Athena, the Reaper Goddess. She is a loyal and ruthless assassin, but soon finds her world turned upside down when she's betrayed by her own country.




The glint of swinging metal. A pained shout, and then silence. Droplets of blood, staining the velvet red carpet underneath. A final thump, before only morbid silence remained.


Athena flicked her wrist attached to the blade, splashing the remaining bodily liquids upon the elegant furniture nearby. Four guards dead total, room cleared. The clashing and distinct noise of battle echoed throughout the hallways of the massive castle, drawing closer and closer to its center. She'd have to hurry if she was going to reach the throne room in time. She brought her blade up once more, and flicked it again for good measure.


It was an exceptionally well-crafted piece of art, assembled with premium materials and designed by the land's finest blacksmiths. She had received it as a reward of some sort, for her unparalleled skill and dedication to her duty. It was essentially purposed to make her better at killing. She didn't mind much; it certainly made her missions proceed more smoothly. She was an assassin, one of the most prominent within the kingdom in fact. Her ability and status was unquestioned among the king's personal circle. Perhaps it was her lineage that allowed her to achieve so much. After all, despite being the illegitimate, bastard daughter, she was still an heir to the king. He was the only parent she knew, considering that her mother, the former chief assassin, had succumbed to illness shortly after her birth.


Athena herself was forced to grow up within the hostile environment of the killer's den, to learn their ways while she was still a child. Her distraught king pushed her to become the epitome of an assassin, the great legacy to her mother's late memory. It was a long and difficult journey for her, to be expected to become exceptional at all these different skills in an unreasonable period of time. But this was her purpose, her one goal in life. For that sake, she could achieve anything, even this. Look where it brought her now, to the seat of power held by the empire's prize murderer! She was the unrivaled tool, the deadly knife poised against the throats of enemies to the kingdom. She was king's newest prominent assassin.


The cloaked, shadowy figure of Athena raced through the winding hallways of castle Tallimor. It was here that she was born, and it was here that she was raised for eighteen years of life. It was in this majestic household that she learned the art of death, and it is here that she poises the guards' own techniques against their throats.


Out of instinct, she dodged the swipe of a nearby guardsman, slinking around it to plant her blade into his heart. She gripped the flailing body and tossed it towards another man to her right, unsheathing the weapon from its impromptu holster as she did so. A doorway leading to the hallway suddenly splintered open in a cacophony of sound, allowing an entire squad of soldiers to come springing into battle. But Athena was already gone, having slipped into the shadows simultaneously.


She moved like a wraith within the battered rooms of the castle, reaping the lives of guards left and right. She moved fast, but ignored those who weren't directly in her path. Athena couldn't waste a


single moment here; the mission had a time limit to it.


Her assignment was simple, direct, and specially assigned to her alone. Years ago, to prepare if a particular catastrophe occurred, the king emplaced an emergency order to only be issued by a unanimous vote from the elder council. In the event that the king's best interests do not lie alongside that of the kingdom's and he himself betrays its values, he must be removed from power at all costs. In this particular case, the circumstances were simple. Find the king, reach him, kill him. That was her mission.


The throne room itself was guarded zealously by a veritable army of warriors, all ready to die in battle for their traitorous King's glory. Fortunately, they were distracted in a skirmish with the kingdom's loyal soldiers, allowing for her to bypass them entirely. In their fury and tunnel vision, none of the fight's participants noticed a certain woman sneak through the very door they sought to protect.


Upon her entrance, several of the royal guardsmen tensed, maneuvering into protective formation around their king. But the man ceased their actions, “Wait! She's not the enemy, you fools!” He stood up from his magnificent throne, the scratched and dented plates of his armor clanking into its new positioning. “You are all dismissed. Return to the battle! Athena can protect me better than all of you combined.”


The perplexed royal warriors grumbled their dissatisfaction, but complied with the order nonetheless. One by one, they filed themselves out of the doorway and into the fray. When the door finally shut, Athena made her move. With slow, methodical steps, she progressed across the gleaming tile floors and luxurious, velvet carpet of the castle throne, passing the sculpted, marble pillars proudly broadcasting the kingdom's symbol: a white sun, overcasting the crossed, twin swords, Darkblade and Brightsteel.


“Come here, my child,” King Rorrin, the empire's sovereign cooed towards Athena, his hands extending outwards, reaching for her. She followed the man's example, ascending to the top of the staircase, where he awaited her. She reached out and took his hands in her own, pulling close to him in a hug, a hand snaking around his back while the other pressed against his chest. Surprised, Rorrin did not fail in reaching out to return her gesture.


Parent and daughter shared a moment of seeming intimacy, drawing close together upon the golden throne of a powerful empire. But just as soon as it had begun, it ended in the somber melancholy of enmity.


The King gasped out, his breath caught in pained lungs. For a moment, the man was confused. It did not last long, for soon after he realized what had occurred, and the bitter, weary smile of betrayal expressed itself upon his face. Rorrin hacked in agony, soiling red lifeblood upon the matte, obsidian fabric upon his daughter's shoulder. He laughed, softly at first, but developed into a full guffaw of pained, boisterous emotion. He tightened his grip, too stubborn to just let go.


Tired and exhausted, he still managed the strength to murmur into Athena's ear, “I always knew I'd die one day. But I would never have expected it to be from someone so close, so dear to my heart.” He leaned back, bringing his face to gaze into the conflicted, hazel orbs of his daughter's eyes, and continued, “I never expected to be killed by you.”


Athena clenched the dagger in her hand, the one currently skewering through her king's chest. She tried to achieve to same level of coldness, of indifference she always had with this sort of thing. But it seemed different somehow, to know the person she murdered on a personal level. She frantically searched for an explanation to give, a reason for why she shouldn't feel what she did now.


“It was just an order. It wasn't personal.”


Oh, but it was personal, wasn't it? This man was the closest thing she had to a friend, a parent, an anything in her life. She tried to rationalize the emotion, the sensation growing within her heart. “It's just an injury I missed,” she thought to herself, “A hallucination from blood-loss.”


“An order?” the king guffawed, both amused and frightened. “By who? No, don't answer. I know who. It was Jaric, wasn't it? That bastard knew his plan in and out.”


“What?” Confused, Athena asked a question of her own in response. She pulled a piece of parchment from within her cloak, the order delivered to her by personal messenger.


Instead of replying, the man slackened his grip on her, stepping backwards to grab the paper with a painful grunt. Athena, still shocked and conflicted, reluctantly allowed the king to complete his action. Rorrin glanced at the mission for a moment, and that was all it took for him to confirm his suspicions. “Athena, this order is a counterfeit. A fake.”


Eyes widening, Athena retrieved her parchment from the man, staring intensely and cautiously at the contents within. And it was in her observation that she realized he was right. This letter had been forged with skilled replicas of the signatures and seal, designed to look exactly like the original. Almost no one would have caught the slight differences. But that wasn't good enough. To her horror, she would realize that, in her arrogance, she didn't verify the contents of the order beyond a cursory glance before she moved on. This was...unacceptable on her part. She was trained to discern between authentic and forged, real and fake! How could she make such an amateur mistake?


Rorrin interrupted her before she could continue her trail of thought. “Now you see, don't you? I am not the traitor here. No,” he lowered his voice's volume, but spoke with the undercurrent of hate, “the one that has betrayed us all is Jaric, that two-faced governor. I knew he was slime from the moment I met him, but to do this? To kill his king and begin a coup? He's a clever one, I'll give him that. He managed to deceive many of my loyal soldiers to believe in his cause. Even you.”


Athena was startled, to say the least. She had been under the impression of a lie, deceived like how she had done to so many of her own targets. It was in her distress that she reached a revelation. She had killed her king, her innocent, magnificent king. She had betrayed her kingdom. She had broken one of the few tenants she lived by, the honor code she sworn herself to under service. She had broken the most important decree of them all: protect the empire and its citizens. A maelstrom of...something burst forth within her, a trickling feeling she never experienced before.


“Do not be sad, dear Athena. My time has come to pass. Learn from this, and remember it. Yet before I depart, I must confess something I should've said long ago,” King Rorrin comforted her, speaking with a warmth he never had before.


“Athena...I...I'm sorry, for what I've done to you. To force you into this, what you are now,” the man's eyes reflected in the glinting light, the faint tint of moisture building within his orbs, “But I am proud. Proud that you have become such a strong and skilled woman. And I will tell you something, something I should've said long ago.”


Rorrin, in a pained movement, clasped and cupped Athena's face into his hands, intensely gazing into her eyes, “I love you Athena. You are my daughter, and that will never change.” He now gasped, coughing once more and collapsing onto a single knee.


Athena, despite being locked in her distress, reacted in a moment. She bent down onto her knees, allowing the man to lean backwards and rest on her thighs, against her arms. She tried what she could to pressure the wound, stem the bleeding. But it was of no use. She had struck true, stabbing directly in a fatal point, sure to cause death. There was no way the man would survive.


Her reverie was disturbed once more by the king, resting his hand upon Athena's shoulder to speak his last words, “I have one last- no, two last orders for you, my dearest assassin.” Athena perked to meet his eyes, curious and distraught. “The first, is to survive. I want you to live. Can you do that?”


After a moment, she nodded, hesitant. It sounded easy enough. The king grinned, continuing to give his second, and final order. “And for the second. Bring...peace. Yes, that's it. Your final mission, Athena, is to bring peace to this world. End the conflicts plaguing our land, so that something like this will never happen again. Do you accept?”


This time, she was reluctant. The task sounded impossible, but even if it was, she had no idea on how to proceed. She couldn't do it. But one look into the man's calm, serene expression as he requested his final wish gave her an answer.


“Yes, sir. I accept.”


King Rorrin smiled one last time, before he laid his head back and embraced the sweet kiss of death. The droplets of blood formed a puddle underneath the man's body, soaking Athena's knees in the red substance. But she didn't care. In her heart, it was as if a dam was released, blowing a tsunami of raw feeling throughout her body. She felt as if in great pain, as if an immeasurably oppressive pressure laid and rammed itself through her very soul. She tasted something salty on the corner of her lips, laying a hand upon her cheek to investigate. Was she found was a clear, watering liquid, pouring forth from her hysterical, wide eyes. She was crying.


And it was in this moment that Athena, for the first time, felt remorse.


She stayed in the same position for several minutes, sobbing out the pent-up emotions locked within her. She just couldn't stand this anymore, this incredible, looming presence of sensation. It felt worse than any wound she ever received, any injury or pain she ever incurred. Why was it that she felt this way? What was this suffering that tormented her in a moment of weakness? She hated it, more than anything else in the world. She just wanted it to go away.


Her detachment would find itself broken via an interruption. A man outside the doorway, shouting through the wood and metal, “My lord! I'm afraid we won't be able to keep this up much longer. The traitors are outnumber us over five to one! You must escape, please. G- augh! Take this you bastard!”


That was right. Her king wanted her to escape, didn't he? She snapped her eyes towards the best escape route, a hidden passageway towards a tunnel to safety. She glanced upwards, back towards the main doorway. Multiple thumps were sounding against the walls. Coup forces were likely trying to break in; she wouldn't have much time. She just couldn't leave the man like this though, dead and on the floor. He probably wouldn't even get a proper burial. That was how you respected the dead, wasn't it? Athena didn't know; she never saw the need for that sort of thing, at least not until now. But she do that for him, not before the coup likely torched his body. She rubbed a hand against the cooling body, feeling the tinge of warm aura clinging to it. She felt something, hard and round. Grabbing it, she realized that it was a gem, but not just any gem. No, this was the king's jewel, the treasure he kept to signal his power. With a fierce grip, she gripped the gem in her hands, and with a swift tug, she broke the weak, metal binding it into a necklace. If she couldn't bury his body, she figured this would be the next best thing.


The thumps and yells outside the throne grew louder, intensifying to create the roars of an enraged beast, seeking to break its way within. She took one glance towards the deceased body, and then one towards the door. No, she wouldn't allow them to reach him. Not just yet.


With a careful motion, Athena laid her father to rest upon his golden throne, seated eternally in his gracious power. Uncaring of the blood soaking her clothes, she proceeded to move towards the barricaded door, locked and shut to prevent entry. While the metal and hinges would take an significant amount of time to break, the wooden boards locking the door certainly wouldn't. She glanced around, searching for something to replace the wood, something far sturdier. Then her eyes came to rest upon her precious blade, and she knew what had to be done.


Unsheathing the prized weapon, she examined it's glowing, pristine condition, the faint runes of inscriptions glowing along it's surface. In the past, this was her weapon of choice, her indication of rank amongst those in the kingdom. Now this was a weapon she was unworthy to wield. Any honor that had remained within her was lost the second she completed her order. She was a shameful, dishonorable traitor. This was not a blade to be used by someone like her.


In a single, swift strike, Athena struck with the blade, imbedding it horizontally across the doorhandles and reinforcing the wooden board underneath. This would hold them, at least for a couple more minutes.


Athena took one, long and meaningful look at the throne room, the seat of the kingdom's power. This would probably be the last she would see of her home, at least for a very long time. She rested her eyes especially upon the image of her father, her king awaiting atop the throne of his kingdom, exuding the very visage of strength, even in death.


Then she bade farewell to the castle, disappearing through a hidden passage into the countryside, far away from the bloodshed and war waging within her home city, Tallimor. She supposed she shouldn't stay here for long, or in the country in fact. Jinn was no place to be, especially not for a traitor like her. Word traveled fast among the nation, until all knew of the traitorous chief assassin, dubbed The Reaper Goddess. An amusing nickname, really


Of course, valiant governor Jaric stepped up the task of running the empire, the king's other heirs having apparently been slain by the assassin as well. A bounty was issued for the assassin's capture, and word spread around about a personal message to the Reaper Goddess, from King Jaric himself.


“Run, filthy scum. Traitorous dogs, so eager to betray their masters like you, are not welcome in this land. You are hereby dishonored and exiled from Jinn for an eternity. If you return, I will personally hunt you down and kill you myself.”


Athena herself had no objections to the matter. Her honor had been lost, and must be regained before anything could be done. More than that, there was no way she could stay in this land. The pain in her heart wouldn't let her do anything of the sort. So she traveled down South, towards the land of Edea. It was in a cave nearby the border, that her father had shown her a hidden oasis within a mountain, lit up by the beautiful formations of crystals in the night.


It was here that she dug a small grave, no larger than the size of her head. And it was here that she cried for a night, basking herself in her new-found emotion. She buried the king's jewel she had smuggled out of the castle, tenderly placing and covering it with the soft, fertile dirt within the cave. And it was here that she took a large rock within the cave, inscribing onto it with the same knife used to slay her king. An improvised tombstone was made in the chill of that night, and a grave completed for a wrongly slain man. She imbedded her dagger into the stone, leaving it to rest along with Rorrin's spirit.


Still, there was one more matter to take care of, wasn't there? Her final mission, to bring peace to a chaotic land of war. Such a thing wasn't possible, even in her wildest of imaginations. Athena was confused, and unsure of how to proceed next. It was when she formally entered Edea, that she realized a temporary solution. She had nothing left to her, nothing to achieve. But, she knew how to fight, how to kill. Joining the draft could have its benefits. Besides that, this could help her with her task. After all, one way to bring peace is to simply conquer all conflicts, right?


Athena signed up with the Edean Army the next morning.


-END-

Vaiya Onterron; Ranger Extraordinaire

Takes place in an original universe. About a ranger called to action in a land divided between two nations.




Smack!


A man tumbled down onto the wood floor, rolling into and toppling a nearby table. The forming crowd 'oohed' in sympathy, empathizing with his pained groans. Shouts and cheers rang echoed throughout the bar as enraptured on-goers gathered around the escalating fight. The bright tavern was filled with the drinking and gambling of eager spectators, some far too drunk to realize what they were betting.


And in the center of this ruckus was a cloaked figure, obscured by the dark hood around its head. With an enraged war cry, a second man charged forward in an attempt to tackle it. But the man would find nothing in his arms as the figure stepped aside his attack, following up with a side-kick against his back that sent him flying.


The first man stood back up again, ringing forward with a fierce right hook. Ducking under the attack, the cloaked figure countered with an uppercut to his chin, sending him gasping and spluttering onto the floor. Now the second one ran in, swinging forward with a clumsy punch at the figure. It was all to easy for it to deflect the strike, retaliating with a fist against his cheek to throw the stumbling man onto the floor.


A loud thump sounded behind the cloaked shadow, this time from a third man with a borrowed wooden chair in hand. Noticing the attack too late, the figure could only bring its shoulder up into a measly defense before impact. With a cacophony of smashed splinters, the chair crashed against its body, throwing it into the sturdy bar counter and blowing a shrouded hood off its head.


Shoulder-length blond hair whisked upon the wood, affixed atop the slender, beautiful face of a young woman with lightly-tanned skin. An aggravated shout resonated from her as she pushed herself off the hard lumber, bringing herself to face her assaulter once more. The man struck the disoriented woman again, flinging her along the counter-top. Proud of his apparent victory, the brute sauntered up to her in preparation for the final blow. Barely recovering her senses in time, the blond grasped a nearby bottle of rum, leaping towards the man with glass in hand. Surprised, he was unable to react in time before she shattered the jug against his head, breaking the glass into fractured pieces. Collapsing onto the floor, the sudden offensive knocked him out instantly.


The blond threw her broken, improvised weapon off to the side, turning to face the remaining two men in her battle. She bellowed a challenging yell at them, daring the two to come face her again, “Come at me, you little I'm uncultureds! I'll take you all on!” A fourth and fifth man stepped up into the crowded arena, growling at her as they moved into a fighting stance. The woman grinned, mocking them one last time before the onslaught began, “Well? Are you coming or not? You're not all just scared, little girls, are you?”


She was Vaiya Onterron, renegade ranger and explorer extraordinaire.


With a howling roar, the fighters dashed forward to collide in the center of this make-shift arena. Vaiya herself first blocked a haymaker from the fourth man, advancing into his guard to unleash a barrage of chambered punches against his abdomen. Stunned, the man took several blows to his stomach before finishing with a left hook against his temple, tossing him into the crowd and knocking him unconscious.


By now the first and second man had reached her, collaborating together in an organized storm of attacks. Forced onto the defensive, Vaiya was forced to retreat backwards, blocking punches and kicks from the two men. For a few intense moments the three exchanged blow after blow, grunting with each strike. It was then, in a flash of movement that the fifth man entered the fight, throwing a roundhouse at her. Vaiya caught the leg with her palm, deflecting aside a follow-up punch from the man with her other arm. She sent her own kick at the man's standing leg, sweeping it off the floor and shoving him onto the ground.


The first man moved forward, stepping to fling a hooked punch at her face, but Vaiya redirected the attack upwards with her forearm. Grabbing the wrist of his second incoming strike, she twisted her waist to launch a roundhouse kick directly into his side, carrying through with another kick to lob him against a wooden table and out of sight.


Shouting a loud battle cry, the second man moved up to hurl an onset of fast jabs at Vaiya. Just scarcely able to block, she was unable to catch one before it collided with her face, stumbling her backwards. Stepping into a table, Vaiya dodged to the side when the man attempted another punch at her, his fist clashing into the table's hard wood. Clutching his hand in pain, the man wasn't able to block the spinning wheel-kick that smashed against his forehead, flipping him head-first onto the wooden floor. Another down, two more to go.


The fourth man had gotten up onto one knee now, recovering before he resumed the attack; it was unfortunate that he wouldn't get the chance. Grabbing a nearby chair, Vaiya bolted forward, pelting the man with the wooden craft and showering a sprinkle of splinters into the air. Unable to sufficiently defend against the smash, he was felled easily, fainting upon the floor, unconscious.


Now dropping the wood, Vaiya looked towards the first man again, who had managed to stand upright once more. She smirked at his flabbergasted expression, shocked that a woman of all things had managed to best his men so easily. She cocked her head in amusement, placing a hand upon her hip as she spoke to him, “Still think you've got a chance with me?”


That was how this fight started, didn't it? She had sipping her drink at the tavern when this brute sauntered up to her, clearly interested in her looks. When she had denied his advances, the man had tried something more aggressive. It was only natural that she countered, kneeing his groin and throwing him against the table. Really, when would those clueless idiots understand what 'no' meant?


Huffing and livid, the man made a reckless dash at her, lunging forward in a tackle. But before he could close the distance, Vaiya had kicked upwards, colliding the tip of her foot with his incoming chin. As he stumbled, she ran up to grip his face with his palm, smacking the back of his head against the wooden pillar behind him. He shouted in muffled pain, flailing his arms to grab her wrist, only to be rebuffed when she kneed his stomach in. The surrounding crowd was cheering even more loudly now, all on edge and excited from the fierce fight.


Taking his head in both her hands, Vaiya face-planted him against the wooden bar-counter, smashing his face in. Rumbling a roar, she threw him into the hard, wooden floor, sending the man tumbling along the ground. He laid there, groaning in pain as he clutched his bruised and injured body. The crowd cheered one last time, satisfied that the bar brawl had ended with a stupendous victory.


Vaiya spit on the ground, officially ending the fight. Turning away, she walked over to the tavern's bar, leaning atop the wood to speak with the bartender, “Sorry about the mess, Zed'”


“Ha! It's no problem at all! Those boys have been messing in my tavern for weeks now; you've done me a favor actually, teaching 'em a lesson like that,” the bartender, Zed, a middle-aged man chuckled as he cleaned a glass cup with a rag. He set down the mug in front of her, grabbing a bottle of alcohol from under his counter. Upon Vaiya's quizzical expression, he began pouring the liquid into the cup, pushing it towards Vaiya when he finished. “How 'bout some good 'ol Ashemian ale, on the house?”


“Heh, thanks Zed,” Vaiya replied, taking a swing of the drink. She would just notice a man dressed in


fine embroidery saunter up next to her, staring. “That was an impressive fight out there, “he said, leaning an elbow on the counter. When she finished her sip, she set her mug down to glare at the man. “What the hell do you want?”


“My name is Yorin Jakovich, and I am an ambassador of the King Aeus the Gr-”


“You expect me to believe that crap? Where's your proof?” Vaiya questioned, looking away to take another drink.


Yorin simply took the seal of the king out of his pocket, displaying it to confirm before continuing, exasperated. “As I was saying, I am a courie-”


“I thought you were an 'ambassador',” the blond remarked, air-quoting with her fingers.


“Would you just let me finish?” Yorin miffed. “I am an ambassador-courier of King Aeus the Great, sent here to deliver an order to a certain Vaiya Onterron.”


“And why would the King want me, of all things?” she demanded incredulously. Vaiya didn't understand what a King would personally want her for; she hadn't really done anything noteworthy recently. Well, besides becoming a folktale. It wasn't really intentional, it just happened. She had come to this part of the border to investigate rumors of the Eighth Nightmare, but just happened to stumble upon several bandit troupes during her search. She dispatched the individual assault groups of course, but as a result, it seemed the locals thought of her as a supernatural protector now.


“Perhaps that's a topic better discussed somewhere..private,” he suggesting, waving at the dispersing crowd nearby.


Vaiya huffed and finished off the last of her ale, smacking the mug against the counter - “Hey, don't you break my glass!” - and moved out of her leaning position. “Fine,” she agreed, gesturing for him to follow, “I've rented a room in the back. We can talk there.”


She pushed through the gathered people to reach a door the back of the tavern, which she promptly opened. Yorin followed Vaiya down the hall past that into a wooden room, sparsely furnished with a bed, a couple of drawers, and a small, lit fireplace. Closing the door for privacy, Vaiya faced Yorin with her back as she moved by the bed.


“Well? What is it that you couldn't tell me?”


Walking towards her, Yorin began his explanation, “The King has requested you for a high-risk, high-reward mission of utmost importance to our nation. I am not privy to the full details, but this letter may be of clarification.”


Simultaneously, Vaiya was handling several items she had placed atop the bed, clasping some of them upon her person. Among these included a couple pouches, her quiver, and Aurora's Retribution, which she carefully mounted into position behind her back. Once completely outfitted, she turned to roughly snatch the wrapped envelope from Yorin's outstretched hand, swiftly unwrapping the red string with a single motion. She walked past him as she pulled the letter out of its casing, stopping next to the fireplace. Glaring at Yorin one last time – who had clutched his hands behind his back and looked at her expectantly; prick – she started reading.


Dear Vaiya Onterron,


His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in navigation will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel as stolen.


Long live Ashem!


Kahmiru Rohga


Grand Secretary of Ashem


Well, that was certainly not what she had been expecting. The King wanted to retrieve the Medallion of Prayers? Was that even real? She had thought it was a myth, a story told to children at night, but it seemed Aeus believed otherwise. Still, it made more sense why he chose her, of all people. Not many dared to venture across the Great Divide; almost none survived. Traveling through that hellhole and into Iadel was a suicide mission, a promised death for anyone. Well, it was actually more like near-suicide for her, the few times she had made the journey. After all, she wasn't dead, right?


Clearly, the King wanted someone with expertise and experience navigating across the Great Divide into Iadel, someone that could guide a small party across the vast wastelands. It just so happened that Vaiya was among the few qualified. She considered her options at this point. If she denied, she would most likely be hounded by Aeus' men for a good long time. On the other hand, if she accepted she would be drafted into a mission she had no interest in.


Actually, scratch that. This was something that could benefit her after all. On the few trips she had made into Iadel territory, she had never got very far before being forced to escape. Vaiya did travel farther and farther with each attempt, but it was too slow for her liking. But more importantly, she had gained some valuable information on her last journey: several Nightmares had been reported to be lurking nearby the island of Serell recently. She didn't know if they were still there, but they had to have left some clues behind. Making her way there alone would be impossible without some serious preparation, which was why she had dismissed the frontal approach before. But now, with a capable party, she might just be able to reach it.


“Well, what's your answer?” called Yorin, impatient with her silence.


Vaiya was reluctant to answer for a moment, but firmly concluded her resolve. Once she made a decision, she would never back down. “I accept.”


“Oh, splendid! I kn- wait, what are you doing?”


Vaiya was currently ripping apart the letter in her hands, resulting in Yorin's panicked exclamation. Throwing the tattered parchment into the fireplace, she watched the paper begin to burn into ashes, before she began strolling towards the exit.


Exhaling an exasperated sigh, Yorin reluctantly followed the blond ranger out and into the tavern once more. Smoothly maneuvering through the crowd, the two meandered outside the establishment. She covered her eyes from the bright sun, glancing around the surrounding area. Soon, Vaiya discovered what she was looking for and began advancing towards it.


“I suppose you're going to need some transportation, won't you? I'm certain there's a fine horse salesman around here somewhe- Stop! That's my horse!”


Vaiya only giggled, whipping the rains of Yorin's former horse in hand. Mock-saluting him as he chased after her, she winked in response to his desperate cries.


“Sorry, man! Going to be borrowing this for a bit; see you back in the capital!”


With a yell and another whip, the horse trailed off into the surrounding forest, leaving an agitated Yorin behind. The horse soon began gaining speed, and in no time she was off, dashing towards their designated rendezvous point, Xynae.


-END-

Sample Character Bios and Personalities

Sora, the Windrunner; Fairy Tail

In the world of Fairy Tail, and in the roleplay Fairy Tail: A New Beginning, mages reign supreme. Among them is Sora, the Sky Dragon Slayer, and destined by her nature to be legendary. Her destiny, however, is soon corrupted by the forces of evil. She may walk the path of darkness now, but will a fateful encounter with an irritating young boy soon revitalize the inner light in her heart?




Biography


Sora, a young orphan taken (quite literally) under the wing of the dragon Matris, was raised to become the Sky Dragon Slayer. Similar to her counterparts, Matris acted as a foster parent to her, teaching Sora the intricacies of culture, language, and behavior. However, what most fascinated Sora were the extravagant stories her dragon told of just about everything: adventure, romance, mystery, tragedy, battle, and more! Sora soon became completely enamored to these tales, addicted even — she would often stay up late just to hear more of what her wise dragon had to say. Her favorite of all these were the stories of the heroic human wizards who fought to protect with all their might, even against the impossible odds of powerful dragons and gods. Learning, training, and listening, Sora's life was about as happy as could be. Unfortunately, it wouldn't last.


One day, her dragon disappeared without a trace, and Sora was left alone for the first time in her short life. She searched far and wide throughout the nearby forest, but found no trace of her adopted mother. She cried for a time. Long enough for the master of an infamous dark guild to notice her. In her emotional state, Sora really couldn't restrain the magical power she pent up within and unleashed her inner fury upon the surroundings. At first, the sight made the master apprehensive, then curious. One of the ambitions of this master was a loyal servant to help him achieve evil goals. He considered that perhaps this powerful girl could be used. With glee, he set a test for her magical powers and set up an attack. Whether it be in Sora’s nature, or because of her sorrow, or perhaps both, she adapted her magic to coalesce into her body and struck the master far more powerfully than he expected. Lost Dragon Slayer Magic definitely interested the man and sealed the deal for him, more so with the revealed potential capabilities of this girl. Soon, Sora's life became hell.


Captured and tortured to her limits, Sora's will was quickly destroyed. Considering her already disoriented and heartbroken mind, she easily shattered under the view of the dark master. Soon, through a combination of memory magic, indoctrination techniques, and her mind trying to protect itself, Sora grew to remember nothing of her past; only details of her loyalty to a dark guild remained. It was easy to convince the brainwashed girl to believe her only purpose in life was to serve the dark master. With her memories forgotten, the girl became machine-like, never to remember the source of all her magical teachings. Or at least, that's what her captors believed. The truth is: Sora has, was, and always will be a strong-willed girl. While it didn't change her circumstances, that desire desperately clung on, and in the dark recesses of her mind, Sora did remember. Those faint, locked-up memories would stay with her, unknown to everyone, even herself, for over a decade to come.


Nobody expected this young, soon teenage girl, to be a trained killer until Sora’s blade had already slit their throat. As a machine, the girl was no good at any autonomous work, but her dark master quickly found her useful in eliminating the opposition. He made sure to train her well, ruthlessly pushing Sora's body to its limits and beyond. She didn't mind much considering that, in her belief, serving the darkness was her only purpose in life. She believed that if she ever failed a mission, she was like an obsolete weapon— useless. That terrified her more than any torture, punishment, or brutality she was put through.


However, one day that all changed. Returning from a mission, Sora wound up encountering someone that would change her life. It was a young man, only just a few years older than herself. Handsome to some, immensely powerful to others, but to everyone that he met, this man could only be universally described as a friend. His name: Ren.


The first time they met would be in battle. Sora saw him as a threat who had found the dark guild's secret location and sought to eliminate him. Their battle was short, yet hard-fought, but in the end the man arose victorious and knocked her out. To her displeasure, Sora later woke up to this curious man staring at her prone body. Her immediate reaction was to attack again, but found the injuries she had sustained far too much to handle. Confused and humiliated, eventually Sora's logical side sorted itself out. Over the course of their week-long encounter, Ren perplexed her to no end. Not only did he not kill her, but the man even showed enough mercy to heal her injuries and watch over her until she recovered. Hell, he even started talking with her and tried to make conversation. She wanted to be as aloof as possible, but there was something about this man that just puzzled her so.


No one had ever treated her like this man did. No one took care of her, nor did anyone ever talk to her like Ren did. Everyone else stared at her with disgust, fear, or cruelty; she did not remember anyone that had ever looked at her with a smile and kindness in their eyes. No matter how hard she tried to plan an escape and kill Ren, something had sprung up within her unlike anything she felt before. It was warm...yet familiar. Perhaps if their circumstance had been just this, they would have parted ways and Sora would ignore these feelings forever.Fortunately for her, she had a lucky break when fate had other plans.


To pass the time Ren told her a story. Then another. And then another. And until he ran out of stories to tell, Sora only ever replied with one phrase to the man: “Please…tell me more.” Even Sora didn't understand why she had this kind of reaction. All she knew was that something in her didn't want Ren to stop. Something old, deep in the recesses of her mind, that reminded her of fond feelings and warm memories, even if she didn’t understand ‘what’ or ‘why’. Sora was later disappointed to learn Ren no longer had any tales to tell...that is, until he showed her something amazing. It was a mass of paper, bound together with string and surrounded by a case of leather. Inside it held unimaginable treasures, priceless and with ancient value. She soon discovered more of these incredible jewels when Ren revealed an entire bag of them, aged and worn through years of usage. They rapidly became a source of fascination to her, a guilty pleasure that she never expected.


They were called books.


Each book she read held tale after tale, story after story, filled with adventure, romance, mystery, tragedy, battle, and more! She didn’t understand why, but a part of her knew that she wanted more of these ‘books’— so much that she later arranged to meet Ren again and again to deliver her more stories within these books, and the recounting of Ren’s latest adventures. She was surprised to learn about the legal guilds in the world, those unaffiliated with the darkness. Even more so when Ren turned out to be a member of one these guilds.


In secret, Sora and Ren continued to meet every week after that. Each time Ren allowed Sora to read more and more books from the outside world in exchange for her help with training in magic. Over time they opened up to each other, exploring the other’s past and gradually understanding one another. While Sora didn’t remember anything from before her kidnapping, the stories she told of dark service appalled Ren; however, it was not Sora herself that disgusted him, but the knowledge that a dark guild would do such a thing to this girl. Unbeknownst to Sora, it was the day she revealed this that Ren vowed to release his new friend from the dark guild’s control, no matter the cost. However, it was not only Sora’s past that was revealed. Along with it came the life of Ren, a young boy who grew up determined to become the most powerful wizard in Fiore to protect his friends with all his might. For the first time in years, Sora understood another to the point that they could be considered friends.


Months passed by until the fateful day that shaped both Ren and Sora’s futures; the very same day when Ren finally decided to commit to his vow with his life. Ren was no mere rank-and-file grunt— he was already one of the strongest wizards in Fiore and a high-ranking member of his guild. With ease he busted into the home of Sora’s dark guild, blasting through dark mages left and right to confront the dark master. Yet, despite how powerful Ren was, and even though he managed to defeat almost every other wizard in that dark guild, he couldn’t beat the dark master. Too exhausted and expended from his previous fights, he fought a close battle with his foe, but found the opponent to be even stronger than himself. Yet, when the tides were beginning to turn in Ren’s favor and victory seemed possible, the unexpected happened.


Sora had returned to a devastated home.


Taking advantage of the confusion, chaos, and Ren’s brief hesitation when the young man met Sora’s betrayed eyes, the dark master activated a magical contingency imprinted into Sora. One that turned her in a machine completely obedient to his orders and would kill without hesitation. Ren rapidly found his advantage eroded upon Sora’s addition to the battle. He tried everything he could to break the indoctrination magic on Sora, but couldn’t stick to her long enough for the task. Being as intelligent and experienced as he was, Ren figured out a method to break the mind control, but it required full contact between himself and Sora for several seconds. There was no way she would’ve allowed that in her state, considering she was trying to kill him and all. However, with no options left and backed into a corner, Ren recognized the impossibility to defeat the dark master in such circumstances, but found himself determined to protect his friend— no matter the cost.


Ren then proceeded to do one of the most hare-brained, moronic, selfless, and heroic acts he had ever done.


To put it simply, he purposely allowed Sora to come close. He allowed her to bypass his defenses and strike with a powerful attack. He allowed her to score a lethal wound near his heart. In doing so, for a brief moment, Ren capitalized on an opportunity to hug her with all the power he managed to muster. With full contact and an iron grip connecting their bodies, Ren was successfully able to merge his aura with hers to overpower the indoctrination magic and release her from the dark master’s control...at the cost of his life.


Surprise, grief, and understanding all filtered through Sora when the binding was broken. She had been very aware of her actions while under the dark master’s control but no matter what she willed, her body would not listen. Unrivaled sorrow poured out of her soul through the windows in her eyes and painfully dripped downwards, as if her lifeblood itself fell onto the dying body of her best friend. His last words haunted her that day, creating a seemingly impossible legacy that would give birth to a legend.


“Heh- looks like I’m not the strongest after all, eh? Sora, don’t cry. You know that I’ll protect my friends no matter what. That’s just how I am. Yes, we may not have known each other very long,” he said, choking on the blood drowning his lungs, “but I prize you just as much as anyone else close to me. You are my friend, Sora.”


Tears glistened in the corner of his eyes, his face struggling to wear its characteristic grin as he spoke to her for the last time. “Sora...live. Live and grow strong. Strong enough to surpass me! I never achieved my dream, did I? To be the strongest wizard of them all. But I know you can, Sora. So live. Make more friends than just little ol’ me, and grow strong enough to protect them all when I could not!”


Finally his pulse slowed, his breathing labored, and Ren exerted everything he had for a few more seconds of life. A smile of bliss crossed his face as he spoke for the last time, “But...at least I was able to protect one treasure, right? I love you, Sora— I’m glad that my life was spent to protect you.”


At that same moment the dark master had recognized the loss of his prized tool; accepting these losses and injuries, the dark guild’s lord had retreated to fight another day just as Ren’s breathing stopped. Isolated from the world in the destroyed remains of a dark guild hall, Ren passed away with joy inside his mourning friend’s arms. Just as they had met and fought, so too would they part as a result of bittersweet battle.


Three years have passed since that day. In those three years, Sora grew to adopt that same stubborn determination of her late friend. It wasn’t perfect, and Sora couldn’t do everything that her friend sought, but she managed to move on. With passion in her heart, Sora swore to fulfill Ren’s legacy and become the strongest wizard in Fiore to protect the innocent — as well as those non-existent friends she was afraid to make and love. She is now a criminal, wanted for the murder of the wizard Ren of Fairy Tail, and a member of the independent guild ‘Crime Sorcière,’ a community comprised of people hoping to repent for their past.


She still doesn’t remember anything about dragon slayers or Matris’ powerful magic, but Sora hopes to one day recover the memories of who she really was and explore everything Earthland has to offer...friends and all.




Personality


At first glance, Sora is the epitome of apathy. Her expression is emotionless, and her blank, emerald eyes show no care for the world. Indeed, only those who know her well (a number that can be counted on one hand) realize that there’s more to her than just an ice queen exterior. Unconsciously, Sora defaults to the blank mask that she’s most familiar with. For nearly half her life, Sora never smiled, grinned, or laughed. Anything positive is new to her and a refreshing experience. Inside those malleable green orbs lies a lingering curiosity for the rest of the world. Sora is always interested and takes joy in exploring new things, whether that be different foods or the strange environments of the world.


While her blank expression is fake, her calm disposition is certainly not. There are few things that can really tip off or upset Sora. Mostly, she just doesn't pay much attention to things that would bother other people; however, when someone really does push her few buttons, that’s when the strength of her emotion comes full force. Sora’s moods don’t shift easily, but when she does it is fierce and intense. The different between two of her moods is like night and day, like clears skies and a raging thunderstorm. Combined with strong will and determination, not many would dare stand in Sora’s way when she is pissed.


If there’s one thing that is constant among her emotions and intentions, it is sincerity. If Sora shows a rare emotion on her face then it’s almost definitely true. Perhaps both a good and bad thing, but Sora couldn’t lie to save her life. She’s too honest for that, and it sometimes gets her into trouble. Being a bit lacking in subtlety and communication, Sora favors blunt and curt, sometimes harsh, responses. When it’s with someone she respects she’s polite, but there’s no way she can fake anything but apathy to anyone. If she doesn’t like them, they will probably know.


Fortunately Sora doesn’t dislike most people. On the contrary she’s quite protective of innocents. As far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like — as long as they are good people, she’ll definitely protect them. Sora’s nature makes it difficult for her to spar with allies, even when it’s just a friendly match. She’s harmed a friend before, and for fear of a repeat, Sora refuses to fight anyone that she does not consider an enemy. However, with those that she does consider evil, it’s a much different story.


Sora is not particularly bound by legal rules or morals when faced with her enemy. She will kill entire dark guilds without a second thought if she got the chance. Perhaps her morals are a bit skewed and quite gray, but she really does have a heart of gold. It’s just unfortunate that her circumstances growing up stained that heart with a thick layer of black dust.


Nonetheless, Sora’s greatest treasure will always be her friends. So precious to her that she refuses to make any, for fear of losing them. As a result of pain and tragedy in her past, Sora is afraid to make friends despite her longing for them. She is terrified that because of her ambitions, any friends she made would be targeted and killed by the enemy. Or worse...herself.


Afraid and protective all at once, Sora goes as far to disguise her guild mark to protect her allies. She even plays the villain sometimes, spreading lies with her actions rather than words. Her twisted logic believes that, if she has no bonds to attach herself to, then there would be no one for the enemy to attack. She stubbornly shoulders the burden of her dream and war alone. Sora is willing to persist until the very end to fulfill her dream and defeat the dark guilds. Every day she struggles with the impossibility and fruitlessness of her ambition, but her foreboding is always overshadowed by her complete trust in her late friend. The same one that entrusted Sora with his legacy and believed she could change the world.


Yet, despite her severe case of hero-complex, there’s still a human behind those masks and dreams. One who has a dry wit and fascination with romance. A young, tormented woman who wants nothing more than the acceptance and love of her friends. A hopeful girl, who keeps up with the latest fashions and newest trends to impress people for reasons she doesn’t understand. An insecure woman that punishes herself with daydreams of just being a normal girl for once-- someone that grows up, has fun, makes friends, falls in love, and lives a happy life.


Her principles are strong, but in the end she’s still just an arrogant moron that tries to shoulder the weight of the whole world by herself. Sora may think otherwise, but her heart’s inner desire calls for support and help. She has struggled to walk her own path for so long that she has started to trip on her own two feet. Will she finally collapse under the pressure of her own weight, or will there be someone that will smile and pick her up when she falls?


-END-

Kolta; Avatar: the Last Airbender

In the universe of Avatar: the Last Airbender, Kolta is a young boy in a war-torn world seeking a sanctuary to call home.




Biography


Spirits have long haunted Kolta’s family. Since the age of his distant ancestor, Avatar Kuruk, his family has maintained a tumultuous love-hate relationship with the mysterious spirits—valuing some; despising others. Koh, the face-stealer, is the most infamous among their enemies, and can never be forgiven for his heinous crimes...or so Kolta had been told.


Before his birth, Kolta’s mother had been a renown healer in the Northern Water Tribe. For reasons unspoken, she had left the safety of her home to travel to the Earth Kingdom and support the war. There she met his father, a young earthbending soldier at the time, and the two later had his elder sister, then his brother, and finally him.


Kolta grew up safely in the walls of Omashu with his mother while his father fought in the war. The man made irregular return trips home, but was almost always need back on the battlefield to command the troops. Still, despite the erratic times he was able to see his father, he managed to live a relatively normal childhood until his early teenage years.


When he turned thirteen on the day of the summer solstice, he was treated to most of the typical generosities by his friends and family. His sister, however, had the idea in mind that they’d go on an adventure together. According to her source, a mysterious ruin would appear in the nearby forest once every five years on the summer solstice, and she wanted to check it out with him. Despite his apprehension Kolta desperately wanted impress her with his courage and adventurousness—both qualities he wasn’t exactly known for—so he went along with it.


At first the ancient ruins proved to be fascinating. Strange creatures were depicted coexisting with humans along the wall, including what appeared to be lion turtles supporting human settlements. His sister was excited beyond belief, but Kolta a bit less so. The sentiment didn’t last long. Soon after, what could only be described as spirits began flooding the halls. The ruins turned to utter chaos as the spirits’ rampage threatened to collapse the structure, leaving Kolta and his sister to desperately flee in order to survive.


When he finally found the exit and entered the soft, comforting grass nearby, he motioned to congratulate his sister...except she was nowhere in sight. Neither were the ruins present, which he swore were there just a moment ago. They had vanished.


He felt horrible; his sister was gone, and he blamed it on himself for going along with the stupid idea in the first place. He stormed over to the nearby pond, where he kneeled in quiet, mournful solitude. The solstice was nearing its end, but in its last few moments Kolta called out in anger against the spirits, pleading for them to return his sister home.


Instead the visage of two koi fish appeared in the water. He ignored them to desperately continue his angry rant. That is, until they shone a bright white, and suddenly Kolta silenced himself to stare transfixed at the harmonious dance between them. Black, and white; Yin, and Yan; good, when there was evil.


In a rage better suited for a firebender, Kolta attacked the water with all the strength he could muster. He entirely did not expect the water to respond to his call and shoot off as a powerful wave, slamming into the forest nearby.


When he returned home to to his family, the expected outrage came true. His brother blamed him for losing his sister, and his mother was so distraught she didn’t leave her room for three days. In time they resolved their irrational anger, but the feelings of loss remained. His brother had forgiven him and her mother returned to her cheerful self, but they all knew that it was just a facade. It was as if a void had opened itself in their hearts that could never be sealed.


From that day on he became obsessed with spirits and the supernatural world. He knew it was unlikely to bring his sister back, only he didn’t care anymore. Kolta spent days in the local library and with travelling mystics learning as much about the Spirit World as he could. He learned nothing about the mysterious ruins or his sister, but found the answers to a few questions he never realized he had.


Often his peers would jokingly mock him for his strange yellow hair. He never thought much of it before. Now he suspected it had something to do with the Spirit World, only both his brother and mother claimed they had no idea. One of them had to have been lying, but he didn’t pursue it further. Instead he showed his mother his incredible new skill: waterbending.


He expected a few things, from surprise to joy, but he didn’t expect fear. His mother told him to never waterbend again under any circumstances, and absolutely refused to teach him anything that she knew. Kolta didn’t get much of a chance to argue when his mother was suddenly recalled back to the Northern Water Tribe, alone apparently, leaving him and his brother on their own in Omashu until she came back. She never returned.


Years later, once Kolta was old enough to take care of himself, his brother had left to join the war. Living alone seemed easy enough, but he was soon found it far too difficult to stay in his empty home in Omashu. So he abandoned his possessions and home in the care of a select few he trusted and traveled around in pursuit of more information about the Spirit World.


Eventually his travels led him south to Kyoshi Island, where Kolta resolved to finally confront one of the only family he had left about his connections to the Spirit World: his father, last reported to be in Ba Sing Se.




Personality


Kolta has always defined himself by his failures. He has a talent for finding the downsides to every situation, and rarely sits down long enough to congratulate himself on success before he looks for something else to improve on. It’s something he prides himself on: the belief that he’s superior to other people because he is wiser and more humble than they are. In truth, it’s just a massive ego overdeveloped by a keen intelligence—not to be confused with wisdom.


He views himself as a leader, who must be strong and supportive of the souls he meets around him. Vulnerability is a weakness he hides as much as he can from the people around him until he can deal with it by himself. Many activities are conducted in much the same manner. Kolta always wants to do everything alone and hates relying on others. He doesn’t trust anyone else to look out for him or do what needs to be done, so he hefts the entirety of his goals and responsibilities upon himself.


Yet, even strong pillars begin to crumble when an immense pressure is exerted upon it. Kolta’s greatest frustration lies with his incapability of being his perfect ideal. Despite the image of confidence he displays, Kolta continuously battles with himself and his emotions. He struggles to find a place or purpose for himself in the world, and is confused about why his life has been the subject to so much loss and turmoil. Instead of making peace with it he pursues blind hope in the Spirit World, where he hopes to find answers.


Family is a sore subject for him, and his experiences with them have left him closed off. He harbors a resentment towards them for abandoning him even though he realizes it’s not necessarily their fault, and strays away from exposing his inner demons to anyone else. Kolta feels immensely ashamed about how weak and fearful he was, and hides it. He models himself after the memory of his lost sister: courageous, adventurous, and helpful. Although it conflicts with his quiet and reflective demeanor, Kolta strives to become more like her someday. In many ways he has.


Although typically serious, Kolta’s protective shell is weakest in stressful times and when he’s cooking. Both are strangely opposite circumstances, but the great emotion he bottles up inside is released when his guard is down. It doesn’t matter if it’s because stress breaks the dam open, or if it’s because he relaxes himself enough to open the gates inside. He’s not a particularly humorous or excitable individual, but his reflective acceptance makes him a good listener and understanding of others even if he disagrees with their opinions.


Like many individuals, Kolta holds a few quirks to his personality. He enjoys singing and music, but is far too embarrassed to do either in public. He’ll sometimes practice the arts when he’s alone, in between talking to himself about one thing or another. The act of speaking out loud helps him think, as long as no one’s listening to think he’s a weirdo.


His curiosity further makes him a rather nosey person, who can’t stop himself from eavesdropping on others and moseying around in others’ business. Kolta wants to take care of the people around him, but is oftentimes unsure of how. That’s something he yearns to learn in the future.


-END-

Kolte Vascreyso; Dragon Age: Inquisition

Takes place in the world of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Once a prominent noble of Orlais, young Kolte finds himself exiled and his family murdered in the worst night of his life. Now he lives to do the one thing he can to run away from his past: fight.




Biography


Kolte began as the eldest son of Lord Vascreyso, head of a prominent Orlesian noble family. Like many others of the Orlesian aristocracy, Kolte grew up surrounded by the luxury and comfortable living afforded to the rich. Yet, despite the easy life that laid ahead of him, Kolte often acted far differently from the other noble children. Where they would be courteous at parties and nag for new toys and entertainment, Kolte would be training with his sword out back. That was not to say he could not do the former; surprisingly enough, he had indeed paid attention to the intricacies of court life and the Great Game despite his obvious boredom. He was a quick learner, and definitely a charm to the other nobles present—particularly the ladies, some would note—but his heart was never into it. Kolte’s ambitions always lied with his father and role model, Lord Vascreyso.


Years past, Lord Vascreyso had been a former Chevalier of the Empress’ court, and a famous veteran soldier from the war with Ferelden. The principles of honor, strength, and fairness rang strong in Kolte’s mind. From a young age, he knew that his dream would be to become a renown Chevalier like his father. Kolte trained well over the years, learning several styles of combat and proficiency with every combination of weapon and armor possible. Despite his quick adaptations and learning though, Kolte would always remember the mentors that made it possible. An old and grumpy dwarf, ale ever present in one hand and axe in the other; a spry, young Dalish Hunter, arrogant and snarky at every chance she could get; and another former Chevalier, a dear comrade and friend to his father, Lord Malken.


But despite the seeming innocuousness and admirability of Kolte’s past, it was not all so. The Vascreysos had harbored a hidden secret for years past, and it would soon become their downfall. Kolte’s mother, Lady Vascreyso, was not just the well-mannered and regal woman many knew her as. In reality, she was an apostate. An escaped Circle mage, to be exact, who had fled with the support of her love, Lord Vascreyso. And among her children, there was only one untalented in the magical arts: Kolte. The majority of the Vascreyso family were apostate mages, who kept their abilities locked up tight for fear of discovery and scandal. To make matters more scandalous than they were, the Vascreysos had recently been involved with leading a smuggling operation for Circle mages after the outbreak of the Mage-Templar war, secretly transporting any escaped mages to Ferelden that they could. No one else knew, except the one man Lord Vascreyso knew he could trust, and the one he should trusted least: Lord Malken.


The attack came without warning. In the middle of the night, Lord Malken had arrived with a contingent of Templars and Chevaliers. Ill-prepared and caught by surprise, the Vascreyso family and their guards were unable to fend off the surprise attack. Men and women were slaughtered in droves by the assault force, led by the particularly vicious Lord Malken. Kolte could have scarcely believed it. This was his mentor, and his father’s friend; Lord Malken was like an uncle to him. Why would he do this? Why destroy his life? To his misfortune, the answer would not come. Instead, the assistance of his servants and family allowed him to survive the mass murder, but at a price: the lives of everyone he knew and loved. His siblings and mother, as mages, were killed all too soon in the ambush. With only his son and a few loyal servants left, Lord Vascreyso entrusted Kolte with the last of the Vascreyso name, and spent his final moments as a distraction for his son’s escape.


Accompanied by his most trusted elf servant, Velani, Kolte successfully eluded the rest of his pursuers and snuck into the forest nearby. The two made it as far as the next town before they heard the news. “House Vascreyso housing blood mages in their midst; assisted in illegal smuggling of rebel mages and conspirators in plot to assassinate Empress Celene,” the messengers had called out. Kolte’s family had been framed in a series of crimes, most of which they hadn’t even done, but it was obvious now that their country would not help. Empress Celene herself had condemned the “crimes” of the Vascreysos, clearly in full support of the attack. Kolte’s family and life was gone, betrayed by one of his most trusted mentors. Now his nation had betrayed him too. Kolte’s passionate fire became extinguished for the first time, and he soon became a hollow and empty shell of what he once was.


Velani was his last remaining friend, and the two took it upon themselves to start a new life in Ferelden where they could plan their revenge. Unfortunately, they didn’t realize life wasn’t finished throwing punches at them just yet. While riding along with a travelling merchant caravan, Kolte and Velani stumbled upon a terrifying sight. Demons, roaming free in the road and engaged in combat with a group of soldiers! They soon learned that it was an Inquisition patrol, who were rapidly being overwhelmed by the demons emerging from a nearby rift. Although still suffering from their recent loss and unlikelihood of survival, the last remains of Kolte’s honor urged him to fight one last time. With the help of the young Vascreyso and elf servant, the Inquisition patrol was able to buy enough time for reinforcements to arrive. However, to Kolte’s horror, the demons soon proved too much for Velani. In a struggle to protect her master, Velani perished at the hands of a menacing rage demon. Yet, her sacrifice proved to be just enough. Although succumbing to his wounds and quickly slipping into unconsciousness, Kolte heard the stampeding rumbling of horses at last. Before he fell, his last sight was the visage of the one who he would later learn was known as the Herald of Andraste.


He awoke days later in the warm beds of the Inquisition camp at Haven. The patrol he aided readily sang their praises of his skill, and soon their superiors learned of his capabilities. They extended their hand to him, to give him a new purpose and place to call home. It was all too easy for Kolte to accept.




Personality


At first glance, one might see the makings of a leader in Kolte. Conviction and determination runs deep through him. Enough that just being with him can make a person feel more brave and certain in themselves from the confidence he exudes. Trained from a young age to be a Chevalier, it was only this driving passion that allowed him to survive the intense struggle and training necessary for his dream...however irrelevant it may feel now. Nonetheless, he is an honorable man, one who has learned time and time again of the principles of fairness and treating others well. Combined with his courageous attitude and willingness to dive into the fray for the sake of his comrades and friends, it is no wonder that many respect Kolte’s strength and loyalty.


But despite how many view him, his passion often extends to many of the finer pleasures of life. He particularly enjoys the back-and-forth excitement that comes with seducing a women, an art which he has practiced many, many times in the most cutthroat political environment of Thedas: the Orlesian Great Game. Indeed, one does not survive in such an environment without great skill in the social arts, although a little charm here and there always helps. As a quick learner, he rapidly picked up on the intricacies of the courts, however much he disliked it, and thus stands today as a very capable player in any political game when necessary. Curiously enough, out of all the interesting subjects political courts had to offer, Kolte seems to have developed a particular fascination with varying forms of dance and music. Although not particularly talented himself, he sometimes practices the elegant ballerina movements he saw a few women dancers perform once before. But you didn’t hear that from him, understand?


Nonetheless, recent events have nearly extinguished the fire Kolte held prior. Now he just feels empty inside, like a shell acting without purpose. Indeed, he’s gone on to develop an unhealthy feeling of responsibility, like he must be the anchor that everyone else can hold on to. For that reason Kolte keeps his feelings bottled up inside, unwilling to let them go or face them head on. Rather than confront the problems that hurt him inside, Kolte runs away from them and instead buries himself with the problems of others, as if solving them would make his own go away. They don’t, but he always feels better after helping someone else out, and as such continues to do so while trying to stuff his own issues away to be handled “later.” As in “never.”


For now, Kolte has taken up the purpose of the Inquisition as his own. He wears it as a cloak to protect himself, devoting and focusing the entirety of his energies on the pursuits that the Inquisition seeks: closing the Breach, and returning order to Thedas. It has become an obsession; for what else can he do but run away to avoid the deep depression and insecurity he feels inside? In any case, his new darkness has dimmed much of the conviction, confidence, and passion he felt before. He taken to drinking in the pub a lot more now, and the moral justification for right and wrong has become a lot greyer than before. What is the point of honor when it leads to death and betrayal, after all?


-END-

Example Character Sheet

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Example Character Sheet

Fandom - [star Wars] Senator Lexstra Auria of the Galactic Republic


Lexstra Auria was the featured Character of the Month for April 2016. Woohoo!

 

[BeetleShinobi]

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[Lexielai]

Oh my, you seem perfect! I'd be very interested in this, would you like me to pm you?

Sure. Just send me a sample of your writing and any ideas you might want to propose!

 

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[Lexielai]

Still looking for partners?

Who knows? Send me a PM with a writing sample and any ideas you might have, and I'll be able to find out.