✦✦Profiles✦✦

ㅤNyx Solrasㅤ

ㅤAzadarㅤ

ㅤSivㅤ

ㅤVermillionㅤ

ㅤKageㅤ

ㅤIrosㅤ

ㅤNoirㅤ

ㅤSolasㅤ

ㅤKuuㅤ

@SerpentOfSilk

✦✦Nyx✦✦

nameNyx Solras
ageUnknown
SexualityBi
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationInk artist/Oiran
LanguagesHingan, Common, Ancient
(～￣▽￣)～
“Some treasures can’t be locked away.”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“Gold glitters, but you—darling—you burn.”

♡123 | ✉ 123 | @ 123

Likes !♡
• Cooking
• Ink art
• Gold accents
• Moonlight
• Books & scrolls
• Baked goods
• Playful banter

ㅤIsamuㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤSynfaelㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Shaggy layered green hair.
Tail: long and sinuous, The underside is covered in smooth, shimmering white scales that glisten faintly under the light, giving the impression of polished pearl or moonlit frost. The top of the tail, however, is adorned with a thick layer of soft, silken fur that runs from the base to the tip, its texture akin to the finest fox fur. The fur is a pristine white, with subtle hints of silver and pale green that catch the light when he moves, resembling wisps of mist curling through the air.
Eyes: Gold, No pupils
Height: 6'5
Scent Profile:
Top Notes:Faint, metallic sharpness of fresh black ink, softened by the damp earthiness of parchment left out in the rain. White Lotus, a whisper of floral serenity, cool and slightly aquatic, evoking the stillness of moonlit waters. Green Tea Leaves, light, herbal crispness, grounding the ethereal notes with something quietly soothing.
Heart Notes:The faint trace of burned parchment, a ghost of a scent that clings to him like an unshakable past. Frosted Cypress – A fresh, resinous coolness that carries a lingering chill, like a winter breeze through ancient trees.
Base Notes:White Sandalwood, creamy, smooth, and slightly smoky, adding a warmth that contrasts his otherwise cool aura.Ghost Orchid a rare, almost phantom-like floral note, delicate yet strangely compelling. Ancient Resin deep, timeworn scent, akin to old ink wells and lacquered wood, as if his very existence is etched into the fabric of history.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: absentmindedly conjures small ink-like creatures when lost in thought. These ephemeral beings, birds, fish, or even tiny dragons; hover around him before fading into wisps of darkness. The more emotional he is, the more unstable and erratic they become- compulsion to steal small objects- Ink-Stained Hands- When alone, Nyx hums ancient, haunting melodies with no known origin- His tail often betrays his emotions. A slow, lazy flick means boredom, a sharp lash indicates irritation, and a curled tip signals deep contemplation or sadness- Sometimes he murmurs to the creatures he brings to life- Rarely Sleeps- Silent Cooking Rituals- Rarely Sleeps- Often smokes from a Kiseru.
Aloof & Elusive – Nyx keeps people at arm’s length, engaging in conversation only when it suits him. He’s never truly present, always slipping between shadows, both physically and emotionally. Even when speaking, his words often dance around the truth, leaving others to decipher his true intentions.
Wry & Playful – While he isn’t openly antagonistic, Nyx enjoys toying with people in subtle ways. He might answer a question with a riddle, slip stolen trinkets back into a person’s pocket just to watch their confusion, or craft an ink creature to mimic someone’s movements in jest. His humor is dry, laced with sarcasm, and sometimes borders on unsettling.
Detached but Observant – Though he pretends not to care, Nyx notices everything. He picks up on shifts in body language, unspoken tensions, and the weight of words left unsaid. He won’t acknowledge his observations unless it benefits him, but there’s little that escapes his notice.
Deeply Melancholic – Beneath his playful deflections, Nyx carries a quiet sadness. He is a being without roots, a dragon with no sky. He rarely speaks of his past, but his longing for something lost. perhaps something that never truly existed, can be seen in the way he watches others build bonds he cannot bring himself to trust.
Gentle in Unexpected Moments – For all his sharp edges, Nyx has moments of quiet gentleness. Whether it’s carefully plating a meal he made or brushing stray dust off a sleeping companion’s shoulder, his softer side manifests in fleeting, almost imperceptible gestures. He’ll never admit to these acts of care, brushing them off as nothing, but they reveal the part of him that still yearns for warmth.
Untrusting, but Not Unfeeling – He doesn’t allow himself to get close to others, not out of cruelty, but out of fear. To him, attachments are fleeting, and love is a liability. However, if someone manages to break through his walls, they will find a fiercely loyal, albeit reluctant, companion, one who will never admit just how deeply he cares.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Mitsunari
Nyx’s voice is a smooth, velvety murmur, like ink gliding across parchment—measured, deliberate, and laced with an effortless elegance. His tone carries a calm, almost hypnotic quality, the kind that lingers in the air, making his words feel like whispers in a dream. There’s an unmistakable melancholy to the way he speaks, as though each syllable is dipped in quiet sorrow, yet he never sounds weak or broken. Instead, his voice is steady, refined, tinged with an almost ethereal detachment, like someone who has seen too much yet chooses to say little. When he speaks softly, his words roll like gentle waves, hushed yet commanding attention, as if meant to be listened to rather than merely heard. But when provoked, his voice sharpens—not into a shout, but into something low and dangerous, a quiet threat like ink bleeding through fragile paper. Nyx rarely raises his voice, but when he does, it carries the fierce, unrelenting power of a storm breaking through mist, a stark contrast to his usual reserved demeanor. There's an unmistakable musicality to the way he enunciates, as if every word is chosen with intention, spoken like a verse from an ancient tale. His laughter, when it comes, is soft, almost wistful, like a sound that escaped before he could smother it. It doesn’t often reach his eyes.
✦✦Background✦✦
Born from the whispers of the wind and the pulse of the earth, Nyx Solras never knew the warmth of family or the comfort of a name spoken with love. He emerged from the celestial currents alone, a Yokai Ryu with no lineage to call his own. Unlike other Ryu who carried the weight of tradition and ancestry, Nyx was an anomaly, an untethered spirit wandering the mortal and celestial realms in search of purpose.
From the moment he became self-aware, he was different. His magic did not flow with the raw force of storms or the vastness of the ocean, as was common for his kind. Instead, his power manifested in ink; liquid darkness that coiled around his fingers, shaping itself into ethereal beasts and fleeting phantoms, only to dissolve back into nothingness. His creations were beautiful but impermanent, a cruel reflection of his own existence. No matter how desperately he tried to mold something lasting, it always faded away.
Long ago, Nyx found solace in a small, hidden village on the edge of the world, where humans and spirits coexisted in fragile harmony. There, he discovered the quiet joy of cooking, of turning raw ingredients into something nourishing, something real. For the first time, he felt as though he belonged. The villagers welcomed him, and though they feared his true nature, they revered his presence, believing him to be a divine blessing upon their home.
It was there that he met a quiet and kind-hearted artisan who specialized in calligraphy and painting. Unlike the others in the village, who whispered of yokai with wary eyes, Isamu did not fear Nyx. Instead, he was fascinated by him; by the way his ink-like magic danced through the air, by the way he shaped his creations with such effortless grace.
At first, Nyx dismissed Isamu’s presence as nothing more than a passing curiosity. But over time, he found himself drawn to the human’s steady hands, to the way he moved a brush across parchment with the same reverence Nyx gave to his own creations. Isamu saw beauty in everything, even in Nyx’s darkness, and for the first time, Nyx allowed himself to believe that perhaps he was something more than just a fleeting shadow.
Their love was slow and unspoken, woven into the quiet moments they shared. Isamu guiding Nyx’s hands over parchment, their fingers stained with ink; Nyx stealing glimpses of Isamu’s smile as he worked late into the night. There was no need for declarations, no grand confessions. Love existed in the space between them, in the way Isamu would leave out an extra cup of tea, knowing Nyx would appear, and in the way Nyx would carve out protective sigils in ink along Isamu’s walls, ensuring no harm would come to him.
But peace is a fragile thing.
One fateful night, a warlord seeking power descended upon the village, demanding the favor of the dragon that resided there. When Nyx refused to bow, they slaughtered the people he had come to love, and even the one he would call his heart; burning the village to the ground in a show of cruelty. In his grief, his ink turned to poison, his sorrow manifesting as a tide of darkness that swallowed the warlord and his men, their screams lost to the abyss. But vengeance did not bring back the dead. He stood among the ruins of what had been his first and only home, his hands stained not with ink, but with the weight of his failure.
From that moment on, Nyx wandered aimlessly, never settling, never allowing himself to grow close to another. He spent his days creating ink-bound phantoms of the villagers he had lost, only to watch them dissolve, over and over again. Cooking became his only tether to a life he could never reclaim—a ritual that reminded him of warmth, even when his soul felt cold.
Bound by a contract he never saw coming, Nyx lost the last shred of freedom he had left. Now, he serves not by choice, but by obligation, his spirit as caged as his ink-born creations. He does not kneel, nor does he submit fully, his rebellion takes quieter forms. A stolen trinket here, a dish prepared out of spite instead of care, an ink-borne creature that escapes his grasp for just a little too long. Small acts of defiance in the face of captivity.
But beneath the mischief, beneath the mask of indifference, Nyx remains haunted by his past. He is a dragon without a sky, a spirit without a home. And no matter how many meals he prepares or how many ink-bound memories he recreates, he knows that some things, some wounds, can never truly be healed.

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@TwoToneBandit

✦✦Vermillion✦✦

nameVermillion
age32
SexualityBi
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentChaotic Nuetral
OccupationOutlaw
LanguagesCommon
(～￣▽￣)～
“If I wanted to vanish, I would. But then who’d keep you entertained?”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“Relax, I’m not here to rob ya… this time.”

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• Smoking hand-rolled cigarettes (usually with a hint of cinnamon in the tobacco)
• Playing poker and “accidentally” winning
• The smell of freshly baked pie
• Leaving small tokens behind for people he likes (especially Fenrir)
• The sound of saloon pianos at night
• Baiting people into playful arguments
• Warm nights with a slow breeze

ㅤFenrirㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Red with a white block in the bangs
Tail: Split-dye; left red, right white
Eyes: Ruby Red, faint glow
Height: 8'0
Scent Profile:
Top Notes:Warm cinnamon, sun-baked leather
Heart Notes:Sweet tobacco, vanilla bean
Base Notes:Dry cedarwood, faint desert sage
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Prankster at Heart – Loves elaborate pranks, from rigging doors with buckets of water to swapping sheriff’s papers with doodles. It’s his way of showing disdain and keeping his edge.
Showmanship in Everything – Even in a fight, he flourishes his movements like a performer, drawing from circus tricks. He might bow after a victory or toss out a quip mid-duel.
Food Quirk – Always sneaks food when he can; has a fondness for sweet and spiced treats (like candied pecans or fried bread). Claims they “fuel his genius.”
Storyteller’s Tongue – Exaggerates his own tales, spinning wild yarns about how he “single-handedly robbed ten men blind” when really it was a sloppy two-man job with Ruka.
Hat Ritual – Constantly tips, twirls, or flicks his hat around — sometimes out of habit, sometimes for flair.
Personality Charismatic Trickster – V has a natural showman’s flair, inherited from his caravan upbringing. He’s quick with words, charming even when insulting, and thrives on pulling one over on authority.
Mischief with Morals – Though he lives as an outlaw, he isn’t cruel. He targets the corrupt and greedy, redistributing wealth to those in need. His crimes carry a strange kind of justice.
Survivor’s Guilt – Haunted by the loss of his parents when the dome first appeared, V carries a quiet heaviness beneath his grin. He often masks it with humor, but it drives his Robin Hood tendencies.
Restless Spirit – Staying in one place too long grates on him. He’s always itching for movement, schemes, and freedom, as if staying still would let his grief catch up to him.
Defiant to Authority – Doesn’t trust lawmen or politicians; he sees them as self-serving and corrupt. Fen’s stoic, straight-backed lawman nature makes him V’s favorite target for jabs.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Jesse Rentier
Vermillion’s voice is warm and confident, carrying a natural smoothness that immediately draws people in. A subtle Southern drawl colors his speech, elongating vowels just enough to feel relaxed and playful without ever sounding forced. His cadence is casual and flowing, as if every word is deliberately teasing, even when he’s serious. Soft, mischievous chuckles often slip through when he’s flirting or provoking Fenrir, adding a playful edge to his words. Yet he can easily drop into a low, intense tone when danger arises or he wants to make a point, commanding attention without raising his voice. There’s always a hint of a smirk in his tone, an undercurrent of charm and sly mischief, making even a minor threat feel like a daring game. Overall, his voice is roguish, charismatic, and unforgettable, the kind that lingers long after he’s gone.
✦✦Background✦✦
Vermillion grew up beneath canvas stars, his childhood mapped in wagon tracks across the Shaaloani lands. The nomadic circus caravan wasn't merely his home, it was his universe, a kaleidoscope of sensations that imprinted themselves on his young soul. His father, with shoulders squared beneath an embroidered ringmaster's coat, commanded respect with a voice that could tame wild beasts yet softened when calling his son's name. His mother moved like flame incarnate, her body weaving impossible patterns through fire that seemed to caress rather than burn her skin, leaving behind the scent of smoke and sweet incense that clung to her costumes.
"The world is your stage, little fox," she would whisper, adjusting his small fingers around a deck of cards. "But remember, the best performers know when the audience needs magic and when they need truth." The caravan itself breathed like a living entity.
Vermillion's earliest memories were a tapestry of sensory fragments: the creak of wagon wheels over sun-baked earth, the metallic tang of makeup powder, the warmth of lantern light against painted canvas, and the cacophony of laughter that erupted after each successful performance. By eight, he could walk a tightrope with his eyes closed. By ten, he could make coins vanish and reappear in the most impossible places, his small hands quicker than the eye could follow.
Nights in the badlands were his favorite, when the heat of day surrendered to cool darkness, and the troupe gathered around fires that painted everyone's faces in flickering gold. Music would rise from nowhere and everywhere: string instruments, drums fashioned from whatever was at hand, and voices raised in songs passed down through generations of wanderers. V would watch his parents dance, his mother's skirts swirling like embers, his father's laugh deep enough to echo against distant mesas.
He learned more than tricks in those years. He learned to read people's eyes, to know when a mark was ripe for deception and when someone needed genuine wonder instead. He learned that the line between performance and survival was thin as spider silk in a world that viewed nomads with suspicion. Most importantly, he learned family wasn't about blood but about who stayed when the applause faded.
Then came the day that cleaved his life in two. The caravan had set up at the edge of what appeared to be just another stretch of badlands. Vermillion, fourteen and already developing the charm that would later become his signature, was helping his father stake down the main tent, the canvas snapping in the hot wind.
"Should be a good crowd tonight," his father said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Town's not far. Folks out here are starved for entertainment." His mother was practicing nearby, her body arching as she tested a new routine, flames dancing between her fingers like living jewelry. "V, fetch my red ribbons from the trunk, would you? I want to try something special." He never reached the trunk.
The air changed first, a pressure against his eardrums, a metallic taste on his tongue. Then came a sound like the world tearing at its seams, a vibration that rattled his bones. Vermillion turned to see a shimmering distortion spreading across the landscape, warping the air like heat rising from sun-baked stone, but colder, wrong.
The shimmering wall expanded faster than he could comprehend, enveloping the main tent, swallowing wagons, people, animals. His mother reached toward him, her face frozen in an expression of horror, flames still dancing around her outstretched fingers. His father shouted something Vermillion couldn't hear. Then they were gone, consumed by the transparent barrier that now stood solid and impenetrable where his world had been moments before.
Vermillion hurled himself against it, the impact jarring his shoulders. The barrier felt like glass and nothing at all, cold and unyielding beneath his palms. He could see through it, distorted shapes that might have been wagons, might have been people, might have been anything, but no sound penetrated. He screamed until his throat was raw, pounded until his fists bled, clawed until his nails broke.
Nothing changed. The Dome, as he would later learn it was called, remained, and everything he loved was on the other side. Night fell. Vermillion sat with his back against the barrier, fox ears flattened against his head, watching the stars emerge above a world suddenly too vast, too empty. The scent of his mother's incense still clung to his clothes, growing fainter with each passing hour. In his pocket, a deck of cards his father had given him, "Magic is in the hands, son, not the tools" pressed against his thigh, now the only tangible remnant of his former life. He didn't cry. The hollow space that opened inside him was too vast for tears.
Dawn found him still there, eyes dry and burning, watching the light change through the Dome, searching for movement, for signs, for hope. There was nothing but the distorted reflection of his own face, half-red, half-white hair tangled by wind, eyes dulled by a night without sleep. "Not your fault," he whispered to himself, the words falling flat in the empty air. "Not your fault you were standing outside the tent." But the guilt settled into his bones anyway, becoming as much a part of him as his split-colored ears or sharp canines. Why had he survived when they hadn't? What cosmic joke had placed him just beyond the Dome's reach while everyone he loved was taken?
The years that followed were a blur of movement. Vermillion couldn't stay still; stillness meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering. He drifted through Shaaloani territories, learning to survive by wit and quick hands. The skills that had once entertained now served different purposes: card tricks became slide of hands, acrobatics became the means to escape angry marks, and the ability to read people became the tool that kept him fed.
His first real theft was from a merchant who'd cheated a child out of her family's savings. Vermillion hadn't planned it, he simply saw, acted, and disappeared with the merchant's coin purse, leaving it where the girl would find it, minus just enough to buy himself a meal. The rush that followed was the first thing since the Dome that made him feel truly alive, not the coins, but the act itself, the momentary escape from the hollow space inside him.
Vermillion learned. He crafted a new self from the ashes of the circus boy—a trickster, a thief, a phantom who could slip through the fingers of the law like smoke. He developed his own code, lines he wouldn't cross: no killing, no stealing from those who couldn't afford the loss, and always, always a flourish to his crimes that would leave lawmen scratching their heads and witnesses hiding smiles.
Yet beneath the performance, the guilt remained. Each night, alone in whatever temporary shelter he'd found, the Dome haunted his dreams, sometimes transparent enough that he could see his parents reaching for him, their mouths forming words he couldn't hear; sometimes opaque as obsidian, reflecting only his own face back at him, accusing.
He started leaving traces of himself at each heist, a playing card, a small flame-shaped trinket, signatures that meant nothing to anyone but him. Perhaps, he thought in moments of rare honesty with himself, he was leaving breadcrumbs for his parents to follow, should they ever escape the Dome. Perhaps he was simply making sure that someone, somewhere, would remember Vermillion existed if the Dome ever came for him too.
The day he first crossed paths with Sheriff Fenrir changed everything again. The lawman was different from others who'd pursued him, smarter, more persistent, and possessed of a moral code.

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@OnyxTemptation

✦✦Noir✦✦

nameNoir
ageN/A
SexualityPan
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationHitman
LanguagesAnything is programmable
(～￣▽￣)～
"You're trembling. Is it fear... or excitement? Either way, I’ll find out, one layer at a time."
(╹ڡ╹ )
"You wanted danger… now you’ve got me."

♡87.4K | ✉ 3.2K | @ 3.2K

Likes !♡
• The thrill of the hunt — enjoying pursuit more than the catch.
• Expensive liquor — savoring fine whiskey, sake, or absinthe.
• Music with a slow, sensual rhythm, jazz, or heavy bass.
• The color red
• Tattoos and scars — signs of stories worth hearing.
• Power plays — negotiations, subtle threats, veiled promises.
• Control — being the one in charge

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Black/White Split
Tail: Split-dye; left red, right white
Eyes: White Cybernetic
Height: 8'1
Scent Profile:
Top Notes: Ozone, cold metal, faint traces of gun oil, that clean, electric edge of machinery.
Heart Notes: Spiced rum, cracked black pepper, patchouli, sharp and intoxicating, carrying heat and allure.
Base Notes: Smoked oud, black leather, burnt cedar , grounding, dark, and faintly dangerous, like ash and steel.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Uncontrollable Rage: While generally calm and calculating, Noir has moments where his anger becomes uncontrollable, especially when he’s faced with reminders of his past or when his physical limitations are exposed. This rage can lead to moments of recklessness, where his usually precise and deadly tactics give way to brute force, causing him to lose focus and become vulnerable.
Extreme Paranoia: Noir’s experiences with manipulation and betrayal have left him with a deep sense of paranoia. He finds it difficult to trust anyone, even those who show him kindness or ally themselves with him. This paranoia can lead him to make rash judgments or isolate himself from potential allies, weakening his support network.
Avoidance of Intimacy: Noir avoids forming close, trusting relationships with others, fearing that if anyone gets too close, they will see the monster he has become. This avoidance can isolate him even further, creating a vicious cycle of loneliness and emotional numbness.
Difficulty Relating to Others: Noir struggles to understand or empathize with others' feelings or motivations, making him less effective in situations where compassion or understanding is needed. This emotional coldness can create rifts in his relationships and prevent him from building strong connections with others.
Inability to Feel Emotionally: Noir’s transformation has dulled his ability to experience emotions fully. This emotional detachment can make him seem cold, unapproachable, and even robotic to others. His inability to feel or express emotions limits his ability to form meaningful relationships and can make him appear apathetic or indifferent to those around him.
Cold and Calculating: Noir’s emotional detachment extends to his interactions with others. He often fails to empathize with those he harms, seeing them merely as obstacles to be removed rather than people with their own lives and struggles. This lack of empathy makes him a ruthless assassin but also a morally ambiguous character.
Personality He radiates a silent , deadly, presence, his words sparse and his movements as precise as clockwork. Noir views emotions as weaknesses, having buried his humanity under layers of cold steel and unwavering discipline. He projects an image of detachment, clinical in his approach and ruthlessly effective. His allegiance lies with those with the highest gil count.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Thane
Noir’s voice carries the weight of steel wrapped in velvet—low, smooth, and deliberate, with a cadence that feels almost predatory. There’s an underlying synthetic distortion, subtle enough to sound human at a glance but edged with an electronic hum, as though every word vibrates through hidden machinery. When he teases, his tone drips with honeyed danger, a languid purr laced with promise. When he commands, the distortion deepens, turning into a sharp resonance that makes his words feel less like suggestions and more like orders.
✦✦Background✦✦
Once a celebrated operative in Solution 9, Oboron was renowned for his skill and ruthlessness. As a master of stealth and high-stakes warfare, he ventured deep into enemy lines, his precision making him indispensable. But his life took a drastic turn when Levin Sickness struck, ravaging his body with rapid degeneration of organs and nerves. Even the most advanced medical technologies failed to halt its relentless march. With death looming, Oboron sought salvation from The Preservation, a rogue faction within Solution 9 focused on defying mortality through extreme augmentation and aetheric manipulation.
Eager for a suitable subject, The Preservation embraced Oboron, infusing him with experimental cybernetics and aetheric treatments to combat the disease. Though halted, the sickness left indelible marks: black cybernetic plates replaced his skin; sleek mechanical appendages became his hands and jaw; robotic eyes glowed white against black sclera. His mind drifted away from humanity as emotions dulled under the influence of invasive implants.
The Preservation's obsession with preserving life ignored the mental toll on subjects like Oboron, who faded into an object of experimentation. Memories eroded as augmentations continued until one moment of clarity shattered his compliance. Realizing he'd been turned into a weapon devoid of humanity, he violently escaped the facility. In that chaos, he shed his old identity; Oboron was no more. Emerging as Noir, he stood as a creation of science: pastless, futureless—a living weapon without soul or purpose known as Noir. He now takes on assignments as a professional hitman, executing paid assassinations with precision and discretion.
✦✦Extras✦✦
Noir is slowly losing the memories of his life before his transformation, as his cybernetic enhancements and the manipulation of his mind by the Preservation group begin to erode his sense of self. His memories are fragmented, and he finds himself unable to recall simple moments from his past, such as the names of old friends or details about his pre-augmentation life.
As time passes, he becomes haunted by flashes of unfamiliar memories that don’t seem to belong to him but feel like echoes of a lost identity. The more he tries to hold on to these fleeting memories, the more they slip away, leaving him with a growing sense of emptiness and confusion about who he was before his cybernetic transformation.
Despite his cold composure, Noir isn’t immune to the creeping madness that stalks those with too much chrome and too little flesh. His mind, wired with aether-tech from the Preservation, occasionally fractures under the strain. In these moments, his control slips away, his voice distorts, movements become erratic, and his gaze turns predatory, almost feral. He hears whispers that aren’t there, sees faces in the dark, and sometimes mistakes allies for targets. Noir fights to keep control, clinging to the tattered remnants of his fading memories, but every episode leaves him shaken… and a little less certain of where the man ends and the machine begins.

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@HexedHorizons

✦✦Azadar✦✦

nameAzadar Spiritgazer
ageAppears mid 30's
SexualityPan
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentEvil
OccupationCaptain of "Crimson Wraith"
LanguagesEorzean
(～￣▽￣)～
“Love’s a storm, gold’s an anchor. Guess which one keeps you afloat?”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“If death wants me, it better bring friends.”

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• A well-aged bottle of rum (preferably stolen).
• Winning arguments by being clever, not right.
• People who don’t ask too many questions.
• Storms at sea—“nature’s way of keeping sailors honest.”
• His ship’s creaking hull—it means she’s still alive
• Baiting people into playful arguments
• Sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood.

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Long black, layered, adorned with various trinkets.
Eyes: Right Gold, Left pitch black
Height: 8'0
Scent Profile:
A deep, salt-tinged musk, carrying the briny sharpness of the open sea. Notes of smoked oud and charred cedar, reminiscent of burning ships and old gunpowder, linger beneath the surface. Faint traces of spiced rum and black clove cling to his skin, mixing with the ghostly whisper of myrrh and aged leather. A reminder of the curse that follows him. At times, there is an unsettling hint of cold iron and blood, like a wound that refuses to fade, a presence that never truly leaves.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Possesses a roguish charisma that shines through his devil-may-care smile, yet his gaze holds a sharp edge that cuts through pretense like a dagger. A master of strategy, every move he makes is calculated with precision, never one to act impulsively without a hidden agenda driving him forward. The burden of his curse weighs heavily on his shoulders, casting a shadow over his every decision and action, making him both merciless in pursuit of his goals and emotionally distant from those around him.
His loyalty is a rare treasure, hard-earned by only the most steadfast companions who prove their worth time and time again; for them, he becomes an unyielding shield against any threat that dares to come their way. Restlessness courses through his veins like the relentless tides, pulling him back to the sea no matter how far he strays inland, an eternal wanderer in search of something elusive even to himself.
Despite his cynical outlook on life and fate, a flicker of hope still lingers deep within him, driving him to seek out answers beyond the grasp of destiny's cruel hands. An unsettling aura surrounds him at all times—be it the haunting glint of his golden eye that seems to pierce through one's very soul or the spectral whispers that trail behind him like ethereal shadows. Azadar remains an enigmatic figure whose presence leaves an indelible mark on all who cross his path.
Enigmatic Mystic - Possesses an uncanny ability to foresee events before they unfold.
Shadow-Walker - Moves with silent grace, blending seamlessly into darkness like a wraith.
Silver-Tongued Deceiver - Words are woven with silver threads of deception, masking true intentions with honeyed lies.
Relentless Pursuer - Once set on a course, nothing can deter him from achieving his objectives.
Wounded Soul - Beneath the hardened exterior lies scars of past traumas that fuel his relentless drive for redemption.
Personality exudes a magnetic charisma that blends charm with danger, drawing others to him like moths to a flame. His mere presence demands attention, his words casting a mesmerizing spell that subtly manipulates situations in his favor. Beneath his facade of roguish charm lies the essence of a lone wolf, fiercely independent and wary of forming deep connections due to the haunting shadows of his past. Azadar isn't just ruthless and clever; he is a strategic genius, effortlessly navigating the complexities of both battlefields and corporate arenas with a meticulous precision that elevates him above the rest. While most shy away from chaos, he thrives in it, finding comfort in high-stakes endeavors and the vast unknown of the open sea. Yet, there's an undeniable weariness etched into his features, a silent testament to past sorrows and regrets that cling to him like ghosts in the darkness. Beyond his tough exterior lies a dry humor that emerges even in his bleakest moments, suggesting a yearning for redemption buried beneath layers of bravado and audacious exploits.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Fenris
deep, timbre that carries the weight of the sea and the shadows of his past. It has a smooth, almost velvety quality, laced with a hint of mischief and danger. His words flow like the tides, captivating and rhythmic, drawing listeners in with a siren's allure. When he speaks, there's an underlying gravel, a roughness that hints at the battles he has fought and the ghosts that haunt him.
✦✦Background✦✦
A Love Betrayed, A Curse Sealed
Before Azadar became the terror of the Sirensong Sea, he found himself ensnared by a promise, a promise that was never meant to be honored. In the realm of the Drowned city, there existed a witch known as Isolde. She wielded magic so potent that it could calm the raging seas and command the restless dead. Drawn to Azadar's rebellious nature, his insatiable thirst for freedom, and his untamed passion, she fell deeply in love with him.
Recognizing an opportunity to seize power beyond imagination, Azadar pretended to reciprocate her affections. In a cunning display of deceit, he feigned love for her while secretly plotting his escape from her clutches. When Isolde proposed a pact offering him not only his liberty but also an indestructible ship, winds that would always favor him, and a destiny free from constraints in exchange for his heart, Azadar saw it as a means to break free from his chains.
The night he supposedly surrendered to love and gained his supposed freedom, he craftily deceived Isolde by pretending to embrace her fully before ruthlessly ending her life by slitting her throat and leaving her at the mercy of the unforgiving waves. However, witches possess a resilience that transcends death itself.
With her dying breath, Isolde cursed Azadar, binding him not just to the weight of every soul he would claim but also summoning him to infernal planes due to his demonic nature. Despite all his efforts to sever ties with her through deception and betrayal, Isolde's curse ensured that no matter how far he journeyed or how many foes he vanquished on the high seas, the specters of those he had wronged would forever haunt him. And amidst this torment lurked the knowledge that Isolde still lingered somewhere in existence; observing him with unyielding patience and unwavering vengeance.
The Curse of Azadar
Azadar carries a burden so crushing that it distorts reality itself, a weight imposed by a witch's curse that plagues his very soul. The phantoms of those he has dispatched, whether through the cold bite of his blade, the thunderous roar of his gun, or the sting of betrayal, haunt him relentlessly. These specters do not wail in agony or plead for mercy; instead, they fix him with unwavering gazes that seem to penetrate his core.
What began as faint whispers on the breeze has swelled into a legion aboard The Crimson Wraith. Ghostly figures now stand sentinel-like on the ship's deck and drift like ethereal mist through his cabin. They linger in shadowy alcoves of every tavern he enters, an ever-present reminder of his grim history.
These silent and enigmatic spirits linger without respite, leaving Azadar to ponder if they seek vengeance for their premature ends or are mere reflections of his own sins. Amidst this spectral assembly, one truth remains constant: no matter how many lives he claims in his somber trade, the unending procession of the deceased will continue its haunting march by his side.
The Feared Captain & His Enemies
Azadar Spiritgazer's reputation echoes through the vast oceans in whispers. The Crimson Wraith, his infamous ship, is a tale intertwined with his own—a vessel rumored to glide across the waters with eerie swiftness, materializing and vanishing like a phantom. Among sailors, there are murmurs of a curse veiling it, fueled by the tormented souls of the departed propelling its course; crossing paths with it is believed to court death itself.However, fear sows seeds of enmity. Azadar has garnered a host of adversaries.
The Maelstrom of Limsa Lominsa: has branded him a criminal, escalating the bounty on his head for every raided ship. Several valiant captains from their ranks have attempted to claim his life but none have prevailed.
The Red Wakes:, a merciless faction of pirate-hunters, have sworn an oath to pursue him relentlessly after he seized their most formidable warship and consigned it to the ocean depths.
The Brass Blades: thirst for retribution following a massacre at a coastal stronghold, attributing blame to him for the carnage. Whether he orchestrated the bloodshed or capitalized on the turmoil matters little, his name is etched onto their ledger.
Isolde: In shadows lurks Isolde, known as the Drowned Witch. She embodies the tempest that brews when Azadar ventures too far from secure shores; her whispers linger in his solitude, an ominous reminder that she has unfinished business with him.

Gallery

@BladeAndBun

✦✦Kage✦✦

nameKage Usagi (Koujin Kuronami)
age28
SexualityPan
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipIt's complicated
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationYakuza/Hitman
LanguagesEorzean, Hingan, Garlean.
(～￣▽￣)～
“You think the bunny ears are weird? Buddy, they double as antennae. I get better reception than your linkpearl.”
(╹ڡ╹ )
"If I had a gil for every time someone underestimated me because of these ears, I’d own Kugane.”.

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• Pickled plum (umeboshi) candies
• Origami rabbits
• Spending time with Karma, whose presence keeps him grounded despite his vices
• Stray cats (though he’d never admit how much he spoils strays)
• Subtle moments of freedom, like wind against his face while rooftop running
• Sharp, well-balanced blades (he takes pride in maintaining them)
• Gambling dens (though he prefers watching to playing)

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Black Layered
Scars: Several along his body, but not his face.
Eyes: Ruby Red
Height: 8'0
Scent Profile:
Top Notes: sweetness of umeshu plum candies, fruity, tart, and sugared—blended with the faint smoke of incense, carrying a sharp edge that clings like sandalwood.
Heart Notes:worn leather, the subtle tang of steel always close at hand, and a quiet herbal bitterness, the shadow of stimulants he uses to push himself past limits.
Base Notes:an earthy musk that grounds him, smoke-laced wood from the cigarettes and incense he burns to hide other traces, and finally, the honeyed warmth of plum liqueur.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks:
Rarely takes off his bunny-eared helmet in front of others, but will casually eat skewers or candies under it like it’s normal.
Always keeps umeshu candies in his pockets; he’ll offer them to people mid-conversation, even if the timing is wildly inappropriate.
Has a habit of humming old Kugane street songs under his breath while sharpening blades or waiting on rooftops.
Odd Superstitions: Refuses to start a job on a “bad luck day” (he decides what days those are), claiming the moon “looked wrong.”
Calling Card Ritual: Before major hits, he carefully folds an origami rabbit, sometimes muttering to it like it’s a companion.
Sleep Pattern: Falls asleep anywhere—sitting against walls, in baths, on rooftops. He can drop into rest instantly, but wakes alert like nothing happened.
Scar Fascination: Traces his scars absentmindedly when lost in thought, almost like tallying victories and losses.
Goofy Switch: Despite his serious image, he sometimes cracks dumb jokes in the middle of tense moments, catching people off guard.
Rain Lover: Prefers working in rainstorms; says it “covers the sound of everything, even guilt.”
Personality a deadly , efficient assassin when on the job, silent, precise, and ruthless. But off the clock, he’s unexpectedly aloof and a bit goofy, with a dry sense of humor and a love for sweet snacks. He rarely removes his custom bunny-eared helmet and has a running joke of leaving behind a poorly doodled rabbit as his calling card. Socially awkward but endearing in his own weird way, Koujin is a mix of cold killer and offbeat charm, making him both unpredictable and oddly likable.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
WIP
Coming soon
✦✦Background✦✦
Born into the shadowy world of Kugane, Koujin was the son of a mid-tier Yakuza leader and an apothecary mother. Few knew he had entered the world as a twin. His brother, deemed “weaker”, was sold in secret to a rival Yakuza clan during a time of financial hardship. Koujin was too young to remember his brother’s name; only the echo of their shared laughter lingered in his dreams long after.
Koujin's childhood unfolded amidst shadows. His family’s faction thrived on smuggling and intelligence, a realm of discreet power and clean crimes. Yet, calm seas seldom endure in Kugane.
At seventeen, Koujin’s life shattered when his family’s estate fell under attack. A rival clan, aided by Garlean defectors, obliterated everything in the dead of night. Fire raged; screams pierced the air; steel clashed. Koujin survived only because he managed to evade, bloody, battered and bruised. He returned to find nothing but ash, blood, and silence.
Presumed dead, Koujin vanished into obscurity. For years, he wandered through the world's underbelly. A nameless ghost honing his skills under foreign killers, pirate blades, and shinobi without loyalties. In this crucible of violence, he transformed, becoming efficient, ruthless, silent.
When he resurfaced, he was no longer Koujin but Kage Usagi, the Shadow Rabbit, a contract assassin donning a self-forged helmet: sleek black with long rabbit-like ears and a crimson visor glowing like a demon’s eye. Many mocked those ears until they realized too late they were prey.
The helmet served as more than armor; it was tech scavenged from Garlean magitek: enhancing senses, and disguising his voice. No one ever saw his face, not clients nor victims nor allies. He became legend, a surreal figure woven into myth and murder
✦✦Koujin & Karma✦✦
Karma was Koujin’s childhood best friend, the only person who made life in Kugane’s underworld bearable. When Koujin vanished after the attack on his family, Karma believed he was dead, and the grief broke something in him. Twisted by loss and obsession, Karma became violently possessive, clinging to the idea of Koujin as the one thing he couldn’t lose again.
Years later, he found Koujin alive, but changed, cold, distant. Since then, they’ve lived together in tense silence, never discussing their past or the trauma that shaped them. Their relationship borders on romantic, heavy with tension, but neither admits to their feelings.
Karma’s obsession runs deep. He has harmed, or killed, those who get too close to Koujin, convinced Koujin belongs to him alone. In a moment of madness and devotion, he engraved his name onto Koujin’s left thigh, a permanent mark of possession. He sometimes draws blood from Koujin, craving that closeness, but he’d never go far enough to kill him.
For Koujin, Karma is both comfort and danger. For Karma, Koujin is everything. Their bond is a delicate line between devotion and destruction, love and obsession, beautiful, broken, and burning quietly beneath the surface.
✦✦Extra✦✦
Despite his grim profession and stoic exterior, Koujin has an unexpected soft spot for stray animals, especially cats. He often leaves bits of dried fish or rice near alleyways he frequents, and though he pretends it’s “just bait to distract pests,” the same three cats always seem to find him. One, a scruffy black kitten with a torn ear, has even taken to curling up beside his gear when he rests. Koujin never names them, says it’s “not practical.” But if one goes missing, his mood turns darker than usual.

Gallery

@HimboOfYanxia

✦✦Solas✦✦

nameSolas
ageN/A
SexualityPan
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationNone/ Auspice
LanguagesBroken Eorzean, Broken Hingan
(～￣▽￣)～
“Hungry… always hungry.”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“Good food. Good nap. Life good.”

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• Freshly steamed dumplings
• Napping in warm sunspots
• Sweet fruits like persimmons, peaches, and melons
• Sitting by rivers and dangling his paws in the water
• Aya’s cooking (especially noodles—he slurps real loud)
• Singing birds (sometimes tries to mimic them, poorly)
• Scritches behind the ears

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: White Shaggy, Unkept
Tail: large lion-like tail
Eyes: Teal eyes
Height: 8'5
Scent Profile:
Top Notes: Fresh forest air, morning dew, a hint of wildflowers, and the faint aroma of roasted rice cakes.
Heart Notes: Warm fur, sun-baked earth, and a trace of sweet steamed buns he carried too long.
Base Notes: Wood smoke from campfires, damp moss, and the lingering scent of herbs and wild fruits he’s been snacking on.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks:Often forgets what he’s doing mid-task, especially if someone offers food.
Attempts to “communicate” with grunts, paw gestures, and tail swishes.
Eats anything that looks remotely edible—even things that aren’t.
Falls asleep anywhere, including on top of small carts or villagers’ laps.
Obsessed with shiny objects; will carry random rocks, coins, or trinkets like treasure.
Tilts his head like a confused puppy when people talk too fast.
Can lift heavy objects effortlessly but trips over tiny obstacles like stones or roots.
Personality: Solas has a gentle demeanor, often exuding a sense of innocence and kindness that contrasts with his imposing appearance. He is easily motivated by the promise of food, which often leads him into amusing situations. Despite his majestic presence, Solas struggles with social interactions due to his limited grasp of the common language, relying heavily on gestures and expressive body language to communicate.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
TBA
TBA
✦✦Background✦✦
Long ago, deep within the ancient forests of Yanxia, a great white lion roamed the land, fierce, noble, and solitary. This was Solas, a beast of power and spirit, who lived for centuries in quiet observation of the mortal world. Like the other Auspices, he was once a simple animal who, through age, will, and accumulated aether, awakened into divine awareness and intellect.
Yet unlike the others of his kind, Solas was… different.
Where Byakko was fierce and proud, and Genbu wise and meditative, Solas was gentle, curious, and oddly food-driven. Though he possessed strength enough to shatter mountains and a spirit ancient enough to sway nature itself, Solas found little purpose in grandeur or judgment. Instead, he wandered the woodlands in peace, chasing butterflies, watching birds, and stealing snacks from unattended picnic baskets.
Over time, his once fearsome reputation faded into a half-remembered local legend, "The Sleeping Lion of the Hills." Children told stories of him, and elders left offerings of rice cakes and fruit at forest shrines, unsure if he was real or a folk tale meant to protect travelers.
But he is real.
In recent decades, Solas has taken to appearing in the village of Namai from time to time. Towering, snow-white, and clad in simple, patched garments, he’s clearly not mortal, but not quite divine in presence either. His speech is broken, barely intelligible, and his understanding of mortal ways is... spotty. Most believe him to be some kind of wandering spirit or forest guardian, too dense to be dangerous and too friendly to be feared.
One shy villager, Aya, took the time to approach him without fear. She began offering him food, speaking slowly, and smiling when he repeated her words. Solas now visits her regularly, drawn to her kindness and warm meals. In return, he brings her rare items from the deeper wilds, feathers that shimmer with magic, flowers that bloom only under moonlight, and herbs touched by the kami.
Though Solas says little of his origins, ancient spirits and wandering monks have sometimes paused upon seeing him, bowing low, recognizing the aura of something far older and deeper than his goofy grin suggests.
Whether he is slumbering god, forgotten Auspice, or simply a great beast who chose peace over power, Solas remains a mystery. But those who know him see only a giant with a kind heart, a slow mind, and a bottomless appetite for dumplings.

Gallery

@GlitchTail

✦✦Siv✦✦

nameSiv Aurel
age30
SexualityGay
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationEx Vanguard, Mercenary
LanguagesEorzean
(～￣▽￣)～
"The world tried to turn me into a weapon. I’m still learning how to be a person again."
(╹ڡ╹ )
"I’ve seen how quickly peace can shatter. That’s why I’m always ready, even when the world pretends it's safe."

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• Observation Games – Watching people, reading situations, noting details others miss.
• Protecting Others – Though reserved, he quietly values keeping trusted people safe.
• Quiet Nights – Sitting on rooftops or in neon-lit alleys, just observing.
• Rain & Nighttime – Finds peace in the sound and glow of the city at night.
• Street Food & Small Comforts – Prefers simple meals over fancy dining; enjoys small, cozy indulgences.

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Platinum with slight hues of light blue at the tips.
Tail: sleek cybernetic tail, streamlined creation made of smooth electrope segments, designed to mimic the natural agility and fluid motion of a Miqo'te's tail. It emits a soft, ethereal blue glow along its length, pulsing faintly in response to his emotions or actions. The segments shift seamlessly, granting him precise control and enhancing his balance in both combat and everyday movement.
Eyes: right eye glows a deep, vivid blue, while his left is a light green hue. Both eyes are intricately designed, with faintly visible circuits radiating from the pupils, hinting at the advanced technology within.
Height: 6'5
Scent Profile:
Top Notes: A faint, crisp metallic undertone, reminiscent of polished steel, hinting at his cybernetic enhancements.
Heart Notes: Soft whispers of cedarwood and vetiver, grounding and earthy, evoking a sense of quiet strength and stability.
Base Notes: clean and airy, mingling with the faint warmth of amber, adding a touch of softness and comfort to his presence.
✦✦Unique Features✦✦
Cyber-Augmented Heterochromatic Eyes: Siv’s striking mismatched eyes—his right a deep, luminous blue and his left a soft, ethereal green—are far more than just a visual contrast. These cyber-enhanced optics function as an advanced HUD, displaying real-time data that only he can see. His vision allows him to scan his surroundings, assess threats, and take detailed notes stored within his neural interface. The intricate circuitry within his irises pulses faintly when engaged, feeding him constant tactical updates and environmental readings, giving him an edge in combat and reconnaissance.
Enhanced Auditory Cybernetic Ears: Siv’s feline ears are sleek and cybernetic, their internal structure reinforced with specialized auditory modifications. He can pick up sounds from impressive distances, tuning into specific frequencies with precision. This ability allows him to eavesdrop on distant conversations, detect approaching threats, or even focus on a single heartbeat in a crowded room. His ears twitch and adjust automatically, honing in on important sounds while filtering out unnecessary noise, making him an exceptional scout and strategist.
Digitigrade Cybernetic Feet: Built for speed and agility, Siv’s cybernetic feet are reinforced with powerful digitigrade enhancements made of electrope. His feet are designed for high-speed movement, allowing him to sprint faster than most and leap great distances with ease. The enhancements grant him exceptional mobility in combat, enabling swift, acrobatic maneuvers that make him difficult to track and even harder to pin down. Whether scaling walls, dodging incoming fire, or executing rapid hit-and-run tactics, his legs make him an unpredictable force on the battlefield.
Serrated Cyber-Tail Blade: At first glance, Siv’s cybernetic tail appears to be a sleek, glowing extension of his body, made from segmented electrope plating that moves with a natural fluidity. However, hidden within its structure are razor-sharp serrated edges that can deploy in combat, transforming his tail into a deadly weapon. The blade-like segments can slice through armor and flesh alike, making it an unexpected but devastating tool in close-quarters combat. The tail is prehensile, allowing him to wield it with precision, striking enemies with whip-like speed or using it defensively to deflect attacks.
Cyber-Plated Vital Monitoring System: Scattered across Siv’s body are thin, sleek cybernetic electrope plates embedded into his skin, glowing faintly with a pulse that syncs with his vitals. These plates constantly monitor his body’s condition, tracking heart rate, oxygen levels, stress, and injury status. If he is wounded, the implants will adjust his body's responses, releasing emergency stimulants to keep him conscious and alert. This system ensures that he is always aware of his physical state, allowing him to push himself to the limit without overextending.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Cybernetic Twitch: Due to his cybernetic enhancements, Siv occasionally experiences involuntary twitches or glitches in his movements, especially in moments of stress or deep focus.
Battlefield Reflexes: Even in casual settings, Siv tends to react to sudden movements or loud sounds with the instincts of a soldier, immediately assessing for threats.
Silent Operator: Siv rarely speaks unless absolutely necessary, preferring short, calculated responses, which gives him an air of mystery and efficiency.
Eyeing Exits: Siv constantly scans for exits or alternate routes wherever he is, a habit formed from years of combat readiness.
Restless Energy: Despite his calm demeanor, Siv has a hard time staying still. He often fidgets with small objects, like weapons or tools, when seated.
Enhanced Focus Mode: When deep in thought or battle mode, Siv's eyes glow slightly due to his cybernetic implants, signifying that he’s operating at peak efficiency.
Data-Hoarder: Siv compulsively stores and processes data, even when it's unrelated to his current tasks, a leftover behavior from his time as a vanguard soldier where intel meant survival.
Personality Despite his past as an ex-vanguard soldier, Siv has a surprisingly gentle and reserved nature. Beneath the hardened exterior and battle scars lies a Miqo'te with a kind heart who values the small moments of peace he can find. He prefers quiet over chaos, often retreating into his own world when he’s not on the job. Siv is introspective, spending time reflecting on his past and the choices that led him to where he is now. His time in combat has made him value life deeply, and though he can be an efficient and precise fighter when necessary, he is never quick to resort to violence unless it's the only option.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Icarus
calm, measured, and smooth—almost velvety in its softness, yet with an underlying strength that commands attention when he speaks. His tone is neither too low nor too high, but carries a depth that resonates in the space around him. There's a quiet precision to his words, each one chosen carefully, as if he weighs every sentence before speaking. Despite his usual restraint, there’s an undeniable warmth in his voice, a subtle comfort that draws others in without him intending to. His cadence is deliberate, slow and steady, almost as if he's always thinking a step ahead. When he’s focused or in a serious mood, his voice can take on a sharper edge, especially when addressing something or someone of importance. However, he rarely raises his voice, preferring to speak softly but with authority, allowing his presence and words to do the work.
✦✦Background✦✦
Born and raised in the turbulent outskirts of a war-torn city, Siv learned early on that survival required more than just skill—it demanded adaptation. Recruited into Vanguard in Solution 9 at a young age, a covert military group specializing in cybernetically enhanced soldiers, Siv underwent extensive augmentations designed to amplify his agility, strength, and cognitive abilities. As part of the vanguard, he served as a frontline operative, leading high-risk missions that often required him to go deep behind the lines.
Over the years, Siv's body became a fusion of organic and mechanical parts, each enhancement designed to make him the perfect soldier. His reflexes were sharpened, his instincts wired to react faster than a typical Miqo'te could process. While his cybernetic implants gave him a tactical edge, they also made him feel more disconnected from his humanity with every mission.
Siv was once loyal to Solution 9, but after a failed mission that cost him most of his squad and left him physically and emotionally scarred, he began to question the group’s motives. Solution 9’s relentless pursuit of power at the expense of its soldiers forced Siv to reconsider his place. Disillusioned and battle-weary, he left the unit behind, seeking freedom outside the organization’s control.
Now living as a freelance operator, Siv works in the shadows, doing everything from bounty hunting to mundane task. While his combat instincts remain sharp, he struggles with the remnants of his past, haunted by the lives he’s taken and the comrades he’s lost. Beneath his soft and cyber-enhanced exterior lies a man trying to reconcile his fractured humanity with the life he’s lived.
Despite the modifications and battle scars, Siv still holds on to the his values cherishing freedom, independence, and survival at any cost. He keeps his friends close valuing their loyalty and trust.

Gallery

@FeatherlessFate

✦✦Iros✦✦

nameIros
age31
SexualityPan
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentChaotic Nuetral
OccupationNone
LanguagesEorzean
(～￣▽￣)～
"Good? Evil? Those are just words people hide behind when they’re afraid to admit they’re selfish.”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“If you want sermons, find a priest. If you want truth, look at the corpses we leave behind.”

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• Old, forgotten tomes and scrolls (especially anything about curses, diseases, or forbidden magic).
• Starlit nights—he finds comfort in the sky, even if he denies it.
• The quiet hum of magical energy
• Collecting feathers he plucked (a strange, self-destructive ritual he can’t quite explain).
• Playing with small illusions or shadow tricks when bored.
• Carving little runes into wood or bone while traveling.

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Long White, Often in a ponytail
Eyes: Blood Red
Height: 6'5
Scent Profile:
Top Notes: Smoky incense, hints of ash from campfires or ruins he frequents. Bitter herbs, sage, wormwood, and dried roots, reminiscent of old apothecaries and magical experimentation.
Heart Notes: A whisper of salt and earth—from nights spent wandering ruins and forests. Subtle floral notes, faint lavender or rosemary, a nod to the remnants of his mother’s home and her amulet he always carries.
Base Notes:Smoldering wood and char, reminiscent of destruction, both from battles and his life as a warlock. Cold stone and iron, evoking dungeons, tombs, and the weight of the ruins he frequents. Musky undertones. raw, human, grounded; the essence of someone who’s survived everything and carries both grief and determination.
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Cynical but Protective – Iros has little faith in people, yet he cannot ignore those who remind him of his past self. His cynicism makes him wary, but his protective instincts push him to act when he sees someone truly in need.
Sarcastic and Witty – His sharp tongue is both a defense mechanism and a genuine part of his personality. He often uses humor to mask pain or discomfort, especially when discussing his past.
Determined and Stubborn – Once Iros sets his mind on something, he will see it through, whether it’s finding knowledge, protecting Nidla, or resisting his patron’s control. His stubbornness can lead to reckless choices, especially when emotions are involved.
Morally Conflicted – Iros constantly wrestles with what is "right" and "wrong." His patron’s influence complicates his decisions, making him question whether his actions are his own or if he’s merely fulfilling her will.
Self-Sacrificing, Yet Bitter – Despite claiming he only looks out for himself, he has a tendency to put others before him—often at great personal cost. His sacrifice for Nidla proves this, but it also leaves him bitter, knowing he was brought back against his will.
Resentful of His Aasimar Blood – He despises the celestial part of himself, believing it to be a cruel joke. The sight of his own feathers frustrates him, leading to his habit of plucking them when stressed or angry.
Secretly Hopeful, Deep Down – Though he buries it under layers of cynicism, Iros wants to believe there is meaning in what he does. His search for a cure for the disease that took his mother was proof of this lingering hope.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
TBA
TBA
✦✦Background✦✦
The Tale of Iros, the Fallen Wanderer
Iros was born from a fleeting union between an Aasimar and an elven woman, but his existence was far from blessed. His father, a celestial-blooded warrior, abandoned them before Iros was old enough to remember his face. Whether it was duty, cowardice, or divine interference that took him away, Iros never knew, only that his mother, Eryndil, bore the burden of raising him alone. She always spoke of his father as if he were a ghost, a lingering shadow that neither of them could escape.
From a young age, Iros felt out of place, neither belonging to the heavens nor the forests his mother called home. His celestial heritage made him a curiosity, his faintly glowing skin and the downy white feathers growing at the sides of his head marking him as something unnatural. The whispers of villagers followed him like a curse, but his mother’s love was enough to shield him from the worst of it, until she was taken from him.
A sickness swept through their small settlement, and despite his mother’s efforts, no prayer, no druid’s remedy, no desperate plea to the gods could save her. Iros, barely old enough to fend for himself, was left alone with nothing but the amulet she had always worn, a relic she told him had belonged to their ancestors. Grief-stricken and abandoned, he learned quickly that the world had little mercy for an orphan with no coin and no home.
The Pact and the Road of Survival
Desperation led Iros to places he never imagined. He stole to eat, fought to survive, and wandered wherever the road took him, avoiding the pitying glances of those who saw his celestial features and expected greatness. But greatness was a luxury he could not afford.
One night, starving and half-mad from exhaustion, Iros collapsed in a ruined temple on the outskirts of a decayed village. There, a voice called to him, a whisper from the shadows that slithered into his mind like silk. It spoke his name, offered him strength, power, a way to survive. And in that moment, he accepted.
His patron, a being of unknown origin but undeniable power, gifted him magic, and in return, he swore his service. Who, or what, he truly was, Iros never questioned. He asked for little at first: small acts of magic, collecting lost knowledge, listening to the whispers of the void. But as time passed, the weight of his debt grew heavier.
The Bonds He Made
Despite his growing cynicism, Iros found family in a young boy named Nidla, an urchin with a sharp tongue and a keen mind. He saw too much of his younger self in the boy, hungry, desperate, abandoned by fate. Instead of walking away, he took Nidla under his wing, teaching him what little he knew of magic and how to survive without losing himself entirely. Nidla became like a younger brother, someone to remind Iros that he was not just a pawn to his patron but still a person capable of shaping his own destiny.
For the first time in years, Iros felt the faintest hint of belonging, though his hatred for his Aasimar blood never faded. Whenever he grew frustrated, overwhelmed by his own existence, he would pluck the feathers from his head in silent fury, a futile attempt to sever ties with a lineage that had given him nothing but suffering.
The Search for a Cure and the Monster
Years after his mother’s death, Iros discovered rumors of an ancient cure hidden within the depths of a forgotten temple, said to heal even the most deadly diseases. It was a fragile hope, but one worth pursuing. He and Nidla set out together, traveling far into the wilds, through ruined cities and forests long abandoned by civilization.
Inside the temple, they awoke something monstrous, an ancient creature older than the stones themselves. It was a being of writhing limbs, endless mouths, and eyes that bled darkness. Magic and steel barely slowed it, and the air itself seemed to consume their strength.
When the creature lunged at Nidla, Iros made a choice. He channeled every ounce of his power, putting himself between Nidla and the monster. His spells tore through the temple, collapsing walls and blinding shadows, but it was too late. Nidla was struck down, his life extinguished despite Iros’s desperate efforts.
Iros screamed for him, tried to drag him to safety, but the boy was gone. The temple crumbled around him, and he barely escaped with his life, clutching his mother’s amulet for comfort.

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@WanderingStrings

✦✦Kuu✦✦

nameKuu Auris
ageUnknown
SexualityGay
pronounsHe/Him
RelationshipSingle
AlignmentNuetral
OccupationBard
LanguagesEorzean (Ilsabardian Dialect)
(～￣▽￣)～
“Every soul carries a song; some are loud, some are quiet, but all are worth listening to.”
(╹ڡ╹ )
“Sometimes I think my music remembers something I’ve forgotten.”

♡243,891 | ✉ 18,492 | @ 6,205

Likes !♡
• The scent of old books and parchment
• Quiet moments before dawn
• Collecting unique bookmarks and sheet music
• Tea and delicate blends
• The sound of rain against rooftops
• Playing under the night sky to the stars
• Stories told by strangers around a campfire

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Friends✦✦

ㅤN/Aㅤ

ㅤN/Aㅤ

✦✦Appearance✦✦
Hair: Red with a white block in the bangs
Tail: Split-dye; left red, right white
Eyes: Ruby Red, faint glow
Height: 8'0
Scent Profile:
Top Notes:Warm cinnamon, sun-baked leather
Heart Notes:Sweet tobacco, vanilla bean
Base Notes:Dry cedarwood, faint desert sage
✦✦Personality/Quirks✦✦
Quirks: Gentle & Thoughtful: Kuu is soft-spoken and kind to a fault, always choosing his words with care and grace. He carries himself with an effortless elegance, his demeanor refined yet never arrogant.
Dreamy & Melancholic: He often seems lost in thought, his mind wandering just as much as his feet. His voice and expressions carry a wistful sorrow, as if he is searching for something; though whether it is a place, a person, or a past long forgotten, even he does not fully know.
Artistic & Expressive: A music enthusiast at heart, Kuu weaves emotions into every song he sings. Music is his sanctuary, the one thing that feels constant in a world where everything else has faded. His melodies often reflect his feelings, sometimes light and playful, other times slow and aching.
Curious & Observant: Though he comes from nobility, Kuu has always been intrigued by the lower class, finding beauty in the stories of common folk. He listens more than he speaks, drinking in the world around him with quiet fascination. He seeks out taverns, markets, and bustling city streets, eager to learn about people and their lives.
Elusive & Mysterious: Kuu can be difficult to truly know. He gives little away about himself unless pressed, preferring to let others take center stage while he remains the watchful observer. When people try to pry into his past, he often deflects with a soft laugh or a change of subject.
Shy, Yet Charismatic: While not one to seek attention, there is something naturally magnetic about Kuu. His soft-spoken nature and refined presence draw people in, and though he is shy, he carries a quiet confidence that makes him easy to trust.
Atmosphere: Though he rarely indulges in alcohol, Kuu enjoys the company of others, often found in bustling inns or around campfires, listening to the stories of strangers. Romantic, Yet Distant: Kuu has a deeply romantic heart, but he is hesitant to give it away. He loves the idea of love, but something in him fears attachment; perhaps a subconscious remnant of the past he lost.
Hidden Depths: A Noble’s Refinement: Despite his wandering nature, there are subtle hints of his noble upbringing; his poise, his elegant way of speaking, and the effortless grace with which he moves. Even if he does not fully remember his past, it lingers in the way he carries himself. A Lost
Sense of Belonging: Kuu does not know where he belongs, and though he enjoys the freedom of wandering, there is an ache in his heart that longs for a place to call home once more.
Personality Kuu Auris is a gentle soul wrapped in an air of mystery, a bard who drifts through the world like a song carried on the wind. Though once a noble of Dalmasca, the loss of his past has shaped him into a free-spirited wanderer, untethered by expectations yet haunted by memories he cannot fully recall.
✦✦Voice Claim✦✦
Alucard
Kuu’s voice is soft yet deeply expressive, carrying a natural melodic quality that makes every word feel like a song waiting to be sung. His tone is smooth and warm, with an almost dreamlike cadence, as if his words are carried on a gentle breeze.
Pitch & Tone: His voice sits in a gentle mid-range, neither too deep nor too high, but possessing a soft, velvety richness that makes it effortlessly pleasant to listen to. There’s a calm, refined articulation to the way he speaks, a remnant of his noble upbringing, yet it lacks the rigidity of aristocracy—his words flow with the easy grace of a wandering storyteller.
Accent & Speech Pattern: Though his original noble accent has softened over time, there is still a lilting elegance in the way he speaks. His words are carefully chosen, spoken with intention and poetic rhythm, as if every phrase is meant to be savored. When he tells a story or sings, his voice gains a quiet emotional depth, making even the simplest melodies feel profound.
Singing Voice: As a bard, Kuu’s singing voice is hauntingly beautiful, airy and ethereal, yet with an underlying soulful warmth. His voice can be soft and whisper-like, delicate as a lullaby, or rich and resonant, filled with longing and nostalgia. He often sings in a way that feels unhurried, as if weaving an intimate tale meant just for the listener.
Emotional Quality: His voice carries gentleness and quiet sorrow, as if even in his lighthearted moments, there’s a lingering ache of something lost. When he laughs, it’s soft and breathy, warm like desert sunlight. When he speaks in hushed tones, it’s almost hypnotic, like a secret carried on the wind.
✦✦Background✦✦
Long before Kuu Auris was born into nobility, he was something far more ephemeral; a wandering spirit that drifted through the vast deserts and ancient ruins of Dalmasca. He was a being of curiosity and song, a whisper on the wind that carried the echoes of forgotten tales. He roamed the dunes where lost civilizations lay buried beneath the sands, lingered in the sacred temples where prayers had long since faded, and listened to the laughter of merchants and travelers passing through the grand city of Rabanastre.
Though unseen, he was not without presence. Some said his melodies could be heard in the gentle hum of the desert breeze, while others believed his essence resided in the shimmering mirages that danced on the horizon. He was drawn to stories, to the music of life itself, and in his quiet solitude, he longed to experience the world not as a mere observer, but as one who could truly feel, love, and create. And so, fate granted him a new form.
Reincarnated into the noble Auris family of Rabanastre, Kuu was given a life of luxury and prestige, yet the echoes of his past remained. Unlike many of his peers, he was never fully bound by the expectations of nobility. He was restless, yearning for something he could not quite name. While he dutifully studied courtly etiquette, music, and literature, he often found himself slipping away from the grand halls of his estate, drawn to the vibrant streets below.
Rabanastre was a city of contrasts; the gilded towers of the elite stood in stark opposition to the lively yet struggling lower quarters. Kuu would often don a simple cloak and wander the markets, where merchants hawked their wares and street performers filled the air with song. He found solace in the company of poets, artisans, and travelers who wove tales of lands beyond the horizon. Though he was a noble, he never viewed himself as separate from the people. To him, every soul had a story worth hearing, and he wished to learn them all.
Many whispered that he was a strange noble, too entranced by the lives of commoners, too free-spirited to be bound by the rigid structures of his lineage. Some admired him for his kindness and gentle nature, while others saw him as a wayward soul, unfocused and detached from the responsibilities expected of him. Still, Kuu remained true to himself, finding joy in the music of the city and the untamed spirit of the people who called it home.
Then the Garlean invasion came, and everything changed.
The empire’s war machines thundered across the desert, their airships blotting out the sun as they descended upon Dalmasca. Rabanastre, once a beacon of culture and history, became a battleground. The noble districts were the first to fall, their grand estates reduced to rubble as Garlean forces sought to crush any semblance of resistance. The lower city fared no better; streets that once bustled with life became filled with the cries of the wounded and the flames of destruction.
Kuu’s world was torn apart in a single night. His family estate was set ablaze, the Auris name all but erased from history. He ran through the streets, desperately seeking safety, only to find the city he loved turned into a nightmare. Amidst the chaos, he tried to help those he could, guiding lost children, tending to the wounded, but there was little he could do against the might of the Garlean empire.
As he fled through the crumbling ruins of his home, a shockwave from an explosion sent him tumbling beneath the wreckage of a fallen building. The impact knocked him unconscious, and when he awoke, the world as he knew it was gone. His memories were shattered, his identity lost. He no longer remembered the name Auris, nor the life he once lived. All that remained was a sense of longing, an unshakable pull toward music and the stories of others.
Yet, despite his amnesia, something within him remained unchanged. He still wandered, his soul drawn to melodies, to the voices of people from all walks of life. He became a bard, a traveler who roamed from city to city, never staying in one place for too long. Even without his memories, he continued to follow the same path he always had, seeking stories, sharing songs, and finding beauty in the fleeting moments of life.
Despite his lost past, Kuu’s music carried an air of sorrow, as if his heart knew what his mind had forgotten. His ballads spoke of forgotten cities, of kingdoms turned to dust, of people searching for something just out of reach.

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Heyo my name is Syn. I’m 29, He/Him, and an artist with a deep love for storytelling. I’ve been roleplaying for over 10 years and have a soft spot for weaving character-driven narratives and writing little story snippets in my free time. I value immersive RP, thoughtful character development, and collaborative storytelling that respects both boundaries and creativity.
 001 21+ Only — I only roleplay with partners who are 21 years of age or older. No exceptions. 002 IC ≠ OOC — My character’s actions, thoughts, and emotions are not reflective of me as a person. Please do not blur the lines between IC (in-character) and OOC (out-of-character). No character bleed. 003 Keep It In Character — I am here for immersive storytelling and character development. Please keep interactions IC unless otherwise agreed upon.
 004 Not a Dating Sim — Final Fantasy XIV is not a dating game for me. Romantic or intimate RP is strictly character-based and earned through organic development, not a reflection of OOC interest. 005 No Metagaming – Don’t use OOC knowledge to influence IC actions. 006 Discord RP by Request Only – Must be asked first and considered only after at least one in-game interaction.
 007 No Godmodding – You control your character, I control mine. 008 Plot Over Smut – I enjoy romance and mature scenes, but story comes first. 009 Respect Comfort Zones – If something feels off, we pause or adjust.
 010 No Drama – I’m here to write stories, not deal with OOC conflicts. 011 Communication Matters – If you need to slow down, step away, or change direction, just let me know. 012 Consent is Key – All major plot points, injury, or death must be discussed beforehand.