Home
Guild
Jewels
Rank
Race
Experience
Reputation
Class
Magic
Strength
Speed
Constitution
Endurance
Intelligence
Mana
Head
Ring
Modification
Companion PERSONA Name: Vyra Emrakul Age: Nineteen | Born Early X772 Gender: Female Sexuality: Bisexual Ethnicity, Father: Unknown; assumed Sevese Ethnicity, Mother: Minstreli Class: Sorcerer Race: Demi-Human (Goat) Rank: A-Rank Guild: Unguilded Tattoo: Outer Right Thigh| Lavender Face: Ganyu | Genshin Impact PHYSIQUE  Height: 157.48 cm | 5'2" Weight: 46.72 kg | 103 lb Hair: Light Blue Eyes: Purple Overall: In Vyra, it does not take much to quickly see just what she see; a beautiful tragedy. A quick glance will expose her radiant features to most, but often this radiance detracts from the rough, haggard, and disheveled features that more accurately tell her story. The soft glances cast from her enchanting eyes try to hide the hopelessness that pools within them. Her long, flowing hair, while lovely in its features and color, now sends shivers of fear down her spine upon even the most innocent hand upon them; the fistful of hair taken and the violent pull that inevitably follows marred into her mind. The delicate and soft steps which she takes, elegant to some, the product of strife and exhaustion in a lonely world. In her body, the slender and developed frame that would leave many envious of, in truth the retelling of the same story; many a night without food, the maws of starvation seemingly sinking around her, only for her to crawl out of once again. And in her face, to which the briefest of glances would leave a person enamored, there is only suffering. Suffering at the hands of a world and its people that have left her a broken toy first, and a scared young woman second. Whilst unfair to assume any could piece together Vyra's plight, one needn't need to know it to have some understanding of what she has gone through; her clothes paint a picture in them alone. Her garbs, although revealing and possessing an foreign appeal to them, up close they more reveal the harsh yet dedicated efforts to extend a tired masquerade. Fabrics wrinkled and offset, colors faded to varying degrees, frayed stitchings indicative of rough handwashing in uneven waters. Tears and rips littering the canvas, patches of cloth looking 'close enough' sewn together by hands that lack of the precision and delicacy of a tailor. Despite her best attempts at painting herself as a picture of exotic, in reality she carries herself as an embodiment of makeshift. Although Vyra's person and clothing of choice may portray a woman of beauty and exotic nature, there is nothing to which more conveys that latter aspect than the two developed goat horns which protrude from her head. Black with the hints of blood red in color, they strike a pronounced contrast against the light blue of her hair and the light pigment of her skin. Whilst undoubtedly a point of intrigue and an attention-grabber, they are often a part of her which Vyra seeks to keep hidden. Unfortunately though, her efforts seldom pay off, and often times to onlookers the horns become as much a focal point as the rest of her total appearance. PERSONALITY  Personality: Vyra is a tragic project; an unfortunate melting pot comprised of a childhood stolen, a society having long stripped her of her innocence, a survivor's mentality left dangling over the abyss, and a sickness within her mind, manifesting into its own identity within her. To the scholar, Vyra is a marvelously intriguing case, one of which layer upon layer may be scraped away, just to leave as many questions asked as there may be answers told. To the priest, what can be done when the corruption is not that of the demon, but that of the mind itself? And to the bartender, when is the story too much that they find themselves needing the drink too? Unfortunately, far too often... In a manner of speaking, Vyra is a woman who does not belong in the world, at least as far as society has come to regard normal. Having grown through a childhood in which she had been deprived of most meaningful interactions, save for moments of condemnation and vitriol laid upon by her own mother, Vyra's grasp on society and its norms has been left torn asunder, if not as much an unknown. This vulnerability - similar to that of a dam failing to hold back a raging current - has left Vyra exposed, behaviors and social norms which many would not give a second thought towards instead often leaving her with moments of doubt, unsure of just what or whom to believe. It is in wanting to find a place, to understand the world and feel a part of it that Vyra has managed to maintain what levels of optimism that she is able to, for what she has endured, whyever remains unclear. Be it optimism, be it ignorance, or anything in between, there is still hope within her. In spite of what she has endured, her upbringing, the circumstances of her survival, where many thrown into the same situation would come to view the world as evil and irredeemable, Vyra still moves forward. But there is some sense in her despite that naievete that she holds onto. Her mother, the world, its people, they have and still hurt her, and with each incident that befalls her, there is part of that hope that dies with her. Vyra grew up a childhood that nobody would ask for, one that anyone would do anything to escape from, one that she couldn't. Her mother never loved her, regarding her not as a daughter, or even a person, but rather as a monster, something unworthy of life. And unworthy of anything that would typically be afforded a child growing up; her social development was utterly stunted, her assessment of her own self-worth left close to nothing. Her experience with her mother left her conflicted, particularly regarding compliments, kindness, or even just signs of affection, all of which are generally alien to Vyra. To receive them now, having grown up without exposure to any sort of positive reinforcement, it has left Vyra uncertain but also eager for that validation and acceptance. Much like that of an addict on the scent of their next fix, Vyra chases that admiration, however fleeting or fake it actually is. Pairing this with her limited interactions with people, it unfortunately has led Vyra down dangerous roads, the end results of which having an all the disasterous impact upon her. In the aftermath of a violent attack against her - an unfortunate byproduct of her innocence and naivete combining with that of individuals who had evil intentions for her - Vyra's psyche began to fracture. Unable to cope with the trauma of what had happened, whatever confidence that she had begun to build in society dissolving away in a single encounter, she suffered a complete breakdown. It's believed that during this or shortly following, something within her snapped and in an attempt to survive, she developed what would be clincally regarded as a form of dissociative identity disorder, a split personality she doesn't even realize she has. For much of what define Vyra in terms of personality, her alternative personality exists as a stark contrast to her. Confident, surprisingly adept and capable of engaging with social norms, and willing to play the same deceptive games like so many others, if anything this personality more mirrors the same behaviors by those who ultimately caused Vyra's psyche fracturing in the first place. Per that, there is almost a sick sense of irony that this identity came to exist as a coping device for Vyra, as a means to shield her from a world that has betrayed her in the past. Albeit unbeknowst to her. It is in instances of high stress, where Vyra feels threatened, overwhelmed, or otherwise just panicked, that the alternate personality will assert itself as the dominant personality. During this period, Vyra's true personality 'goes dark', her consciousness only returning when the alternate personality has left, leaving behind no memory or any sort of indication as to what was said, done, or anything of the sort. While infrequent, Vyra in the past had not given too much heed towards it. The lapses in memory, almost always relatively brief in nature, could as much been attributed to her drinking or otherwise explained away. At least, for a time. More and more frequently she has found these lapses of memory occurring with the alternate personality more and more asserting control, assuming itself as Vyra, in all facets. Assuming its own identity, mannerisms, relationships, and goals, it has slowly pushed to make itself as the primary identity of Vyra, believing itself as the best option for the both of them. This has only proven to be detrimental to Vyra, who despite having her own reservations and fears towards the world, has begun to struggle taking solace within her own mind. Relationships which she never made, supposed deals and engagements she does not remember committing to, places that she never visited, with every interaction the alternate personality decides to act upon, it's another moment that Vyra finds herself losing herself. A lost soul within a world that stands ready to eat her alive. Likes:
Dislikes:
Motivations:
Fears:
ATTRIBUTES Strength: 11 Speed: 11 Constitution: 31 Endurance: 31 Intelligence: 99 MAGICA  Magic Name: Living Plague Magic Element: Darkness Magic Enhancement: Mana Burn Magic Description: Foul Magic that leaves no intrepretation as to its intentions or purposes. Collections of sickly Darkness Magic are released either through or via the user of the Magic in a variety of appearances and forms, including thick miasmic fogs, traditional 'bolts' of Magical energies, liquidious oozes, and other forms, all intended to afflict suffering pestilence upon people. HISTORY  Vyra's story is a disheartening one; a tale still being written full of pain, abandonment, wickedness, and perhaps above all else, sadness. There are few plights to which one would want to induce a person towards, let alone smothering them only with what the worst of humanity has to offer, and yet, that is exactly how the world has come to regard Vyra up to this point. But to fully understand the hardships the girl has endured, one would have to start from where it all began; a small port town in Minstrel called Burro. A largely insignificant and underwhelming place, Burro was hardly any different than that of any other port town that littered the coasts of Minstrel. For some industries it was among the many starting points, where goods were collected, packaged, and then shipped off to however many destinations, inevitably set to land in another town no different than Burro. A rudimentary system, but one in which has allowed for the small, most self-reliant towns like Burro to thrive. Yet for those living within this sort of system, futures were rather limited; adjust and work within how economic rules of the town, or venture elsewhere, either finding a place amongst the numerous ships that came in to dock every year or just by going out on their own. The woman who would be regarded as Vyra's mother would choose the former, living in Burro for all of her life prior to and following the birth of Vyra. A hard worker, most people would characterize her as, but cold, hardened by years of life upon the docks and one too many heartbreaks. The latest, a foreign man whom arrived to Burro sometime in the year 770 and remained there for close to a year, all this time having developed a brief - yet intense - relationship with the woman before eventually departing from the town as suddenly as he had arrived. His parting gift? A woman pregnant with a child that would eventually become known to be Vyra.  When she was born, there was nothing special. No celebrations, no excitement, no merriment. Why should there have been? Births were hardly a random thing within Burro, a town that over generations had come to accept that loose women would find a reason or another to fool around with those aboard the ships. Vyra's mother was far from the first and would be far from the last woman to find themselves raising a child without a father in the picture. But unlike the majority of children born in Burro, only one ever had been born with a feature as unhuman and frighteningly new as the two horns which protruded from Vyra's head. Revolted, Vyra's mother sought to end her child's story before it ever began. One of the nights following the successful birth, Vyra's mother took the child out towards the docks just beyond their home. Impending storms had halted all ships from departing, but looking upon the waves as they clashed against the pier, Vyra's mother saw little to make her believe that there was any hope to a storm. Having thought to toss her newborn into the waves, letting the stormy sea deal with the matter, she hastily instead abandoned the child onto the edge of the pier. If there was reason not to be confident of the sea taking her child, she could at least hope the elements would instead. Momentarily relieved at the prospect of having to raise or explain away the devilish spawn of a child that she had conceived, Vyra's mother felt at ease, but only briefly. As common a thing as childbirthing was, it would be difficult to explain away a lack of a child, circumstances considered. Vyra's birth, while not celebrated, was known through Burro, and any hope of passing off her child's passing as an act of tragedy was waning with every hour passed. With her situation quickly shifting from one of freedom to that of self-incrimination, she ventured back out into the coming storm and spared Vyra, not for Vyra's sake, but for her own.  Resigned to having to be forced to nurture the spawn that was Vyra, her mother made little to no effort to provide the child with any love. Two meals a day, if one could even call them meals, to the child confined within the small room with no toys, nothing for the child save for a worn-down bed, a boarded-up window, and a bucket. For years, this would be Vyra's life, confined to this place, her interactions with anyone limited purely to that of the condemnation and venom spewed by her mother and to the imaginary friends that she constructed, trying as she could to make sense of the room she was in. Perhaps it was foolishness, wishful thinking, or perhaps something as simple as a child being just too young to understand the world around them. All stand to be true, as one cannot imagine being forced upon the situation that Vyra was; treated as a prisoner, rather than as a young child. Held by a scornful mother whom would rather her dead than nourishing or raising her. Without friends or games or basic interactions and instead left with the images and stories she produced, imaging the world beyond the locked window in her room. But soon enough, she would come to get a taste for the world, albeit due to circumstances neither she, nor anyone vaguely aware of what was going on could have predicted. One fateful night, sometime when Vyra was suspected to be around 14 or 15 years old, her mother made an uncharacteristic decision, entering into the room which had effectly imprisoned Vyra over the course of this time. The stench of booze all upon her body, the break from routine and the smell were enough to avert Vyra's attention towards that, and not the knife within her mother's hand. "Those damn horns," her mother lazily hissed at her daughter, stumbling her way towards the young Vyra. In a slowed, drunken sequence, she rose the knife up and down upon her daughter, slow enough and unsteady enough to completely miss her Vyra. The young girl, seizing this moment, struck her mother, hard enough to bring her down and then hit her again and again, enough times to where the girl was comfortable her mother would not bring the knife up to her again. Hastily going through the house that she had almost no familiarity towards, Vyra gathered what things she assumed had some level of value, some food, and then ventured out, leaving the only place she had called home, her mother, and this life behind her.  Without any home, without any family to go back to, Vyra began a pilgrimage throughout the country of Minstrel, finding herself exposed for the first time to a world that she knew only from her imagination. The interactions, the people, the sounds of their voices, the smells, all of it was new to her. At times overwhelmed, Vyra struggled to balance her intrigue and excitement against that of the very real danger that she was in, but could not appreciate. Alone, with no food, no money, no roof above her head, in what amounted to a new world, even those with far greater worldly experience had much better odds than she. The next year or so had her travelling further throughtout the country, although any destination that she had set out for, there was no clarity towards it, no rythme or reason behind it. It was a different place. Perhaps a safer one. Perhaps one more welcoming, with people who may treat her better. In every town, hovel, or port that she had entered, Vyra found herself gambling, not on any sort of money, but rather gambling her own safety, her very survival. At some point or another, her vagabond lifestyle started to catch up to her, as Vyra found herself more frequently leaving places, not out of a desire to find greener pastures, but instead for her own safety. Whatever illusions of protection she may have had were waning thin and it would not be long until there was nowhere within Minstrel that she could go. Left with no option, one late night she stowed away on a shipping port headed off to a new world for her; the country of Fiore.  After days at sea, held up within the lower bows of a cargo ship - unfortunately one of the better situations that she had found herself in recent memory, in terms not only of food but also of room and board - Vyra finally saw the first flashes of her new home. Hargeon, premier port town of Fiore, the final destination of this ship, and where she would hope to start over, hoping for fortunes that would exceed that of what she had found in her home country. Sadly, Fiore would prove to offer little contrast than that of Minstrel. Much like in her own country, she was as alienated and lost within this new one. If there were any solace that Fiore could provide, it was it being a bit easier to survive within this country. Fiore, hardly a paradise, had at least come to establish itself as a place where those who walked more nomadic paths could survive and find themselves. But that did not make what Vyra was forced to endure any easier; she had no money to her name, seldom any food on a given night, and was more reliant on the goodness of people to survive. But expecting goodness so often, one tends to forget the evil of people. And one night, Vyra unfortunately encountered just that. A cold night in Hosenka, rough winds coming in as the autumn season fully loomed its head over Fiore. Vyra, like so many others who had come to the city, found herself within one of the many taverns within the city's confines. A drink or two in her stomach curtosy of a nice patron at the bar, warm food, and a lively atmosphere; it was setting up to be one of the better nights she had had in a long while. Yet for the merriment, she failed to notice the evil eyes fixating on her from across the tavern. As the night went, when she eventually began to scope out the tavern, looking for a nice place to rest her head and not be noticed - a ritual of sorts that she had become accustomed towards - she found herself at the mercy of the men whose eyes had targetted her. Three in total, their crime almost certainly would have been unknown if not for Vyra's cries that echoed throughout the tavern.  She spent more than a few days in bed following that event. Some patrons of the tavern did what they could, providing her food, doing what little they were able to. But something like that, what more could they hope to do? The men who attacked her were stopped and restrained by those good patrons, eventually handed off to the Rune Knights and held accountable for their crime, but the damage was done. In her time throughout either Minstrel or Fiore, never had Vyra been left so vulnerable before. She had been kicked out of places into the cold dark streets before, beaten for trying to steal away a small bit of food, but what they did, she did not realize that people could commit such evil, and multiple at that. She remained in Hosenka for a bit longer, as much as the memory of what happened remained implanted in her mind. But while she had seemed to dwell on it, the world around her continued to move on. The welcome that she had been given eventually waned, and the situation that had brought her to Hosenka, to Fiore for that matter, returned to the forefront. Eventually she departed for elsewhere within Fiore, but the shadow of what happened remained with her as well as something else. Fragments of time, brief windows in some cases no longer than a few minutes, in others, a few hours, disappearing entirely. And while concerning, she pressed on; a small glimmer of hope that wherever she ended up next would be better than here, than anywhere she had been before. Time would continue on. Vyra would further mature into the woman that she has come to find herself now. Her situation though, lends no better than what it once was, in a manner of speaking at least. New power radiates through her, the origins unknown to her. Moments of time continue to elude her, but now more frequently, and for longer periods. The world seemed to be moving past her, without her even realizing it, yet being involved in all the while. To survive in a foreign land without any resources or support is difficult enough. But losing chunks of time on top of it? She had exceeded any expectation that one could have had for her thus far. It was just another burden she'd have to endure. But at what cost? Reference: Levi Mahlet's Scoop Character. Using Death Coin for 100% Experience and Attribute distribution. Character for Reference: https://www.fairytailrp.com/u25461 |
Last edited by Vyra Emrakul on Mon Aug 30, 2021 1:12 pm; edited 3 times in total
Epithet
Weapon
Body
Pouch
