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I'm a British teenager - well, more or less - interested in games, books, music, etc. Standard stuff, really. I'm always interested in new people, so if you feel like it, throw me a message.
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27 years old
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Born April-28-1992
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Current Mood: Eh, sure. Why not?
FETO Profile

RP Data
My Content
22 Jan 2010
Name: Michael Greaves
Age: 22
Creation Points: 10

Appearance: Michael is a little over six feet tall, at around 150 pounds. A thinly built man, his bony features and scruffy appearance gives off the air of a genuine deadbeat, and the absent smile that his expression settles into doesn't help. He's worn the same thin-framed glasses for the last eight years, and the scratches on the rectangular lenses show it. His eyes are an unremarkable hazel, and his dark brown hair hangs loosely around his head. When he's not in the grey jumpsuit he works in, he usually wears plain jeans and casual shirts, in neutral colours.

Background: Click Here To Show/Hide This Text
Michael Greaves grew up in the south of England, the son of a wealthy banker. His parents had high expectations of him, sending him to the best schools, hiring the best tutors, and making sure that he was in the best possible standing to become the best at his chosen career. From a young age, he showed good academic promise - he took to reading especially quickly, and loved fantasy stories.

However, as he grew into a young man, it became apparent that Michael lacked any kind of ambition, or motivation, and had no real goals. He was a well-natured boy, certainly, and he would help others at the drop of a hat, but he was notoriously unreliable. In school, he did only as much work as he needed to pass, and never became significantly involved in any clubs or projects. If something wouldn't be immediately enjoyable, then he wouldn't bother trying. When it came to deciding on a university course, his lackadaisical attitude proved exasperating to his parents.

His father, at a loss of what to do with his aimless son, suggested one day that Michael take some time to travel, in the hope that he'd find something in the world that would give him some inspiration of what he wants to do with his life. With nothing better to do, Michael went along with it. Given £500 in Traveller's Cheques, a satellite phone, and a credit card for emergencies, Michael left home.

He started in Europe - spending a couple of weeks in the capitals, then taking a bus to the next place that he liked the sound of. He spent the better part of a year simply drifting around the world, staying where he felt like it, picking up work when his cash supplies began to dwindle, never staying in one place for long. After spending a month in Marseille, having gotten a job in a restaurant for a little extra spending money, he got tired of having to keep learning new languages, so he got on a flight to America. He headed south after a couple of days in New York (too busy for his tastes) and after giving up on a heavily delayed flight, he tried to travel by coach, only to find himself in a town called Bethany, at two in the morning, having gotten on the wrong bus. Deciding that he was too tired to keep going, he stayed the night in a hotel near the station.

First thing in the morning, he went back to the station, trying to get a bus back to somewhere interesting. After buying a ticket, loading his luggage on the coach, and making sure that it wasn't due to leave for another ten minutes, he went to the bathroom. Sure enough, by the time he got back, the coach had left, taking his suitcase - and most of his money - with it. The station attendant said that it would probably be back in a couple of days at most, and that he should come back then. He was directed to a free youth hostel where he could stay.

Michael never did see his luggage again.

Fortunately, after a few days of forced residence, he found that he kind of liked Bethany, and decided to stay for a while, having cancelled the emergency credit card he'd stowed in his lost suitcase, and leaving his father to deal with the insurance company. He managed to get a job at the local college - as a part-time janitor - to raise a little money. After a while, he couldn't stand staying at the hostel anymore, and found a small apartment, for surprisingly good rent. The college took him on full-time when some of the old staff were fired for some business involving a couple of students and the permanent records, and his plans to save up some money and move on kept being postponed when the temptations to buy a few more conveniences became too strong, and then he found this great new apartment...

So he was in a pretty good place, all told, when he discovered that everything he knew about the universe was wrong. An encounter with a minor fire demon during a so-far uneventful night shift caused his Persona to manifest, and with it, a revelation. The knowledge trickled in, like memories that he'd somehow neglected to notice for years - Personas, demons, magic... There was this whole other layer to existence, and he hadn't even suspected.

A few weeks passed, and he encountered very few monsters. He was nearly finished work; he'd been on the early morning shift, clearing things up before the first students arrived, and there was just one last classroom to hoover, before he could go home. He sensed it, before anything else - the magic-rich air, the agitation in his arms whenever there was a demon around. He set his cleaning equipment down, took a breath, and then walked in. The demon, a woman, sat at one of the desks, staring placidly out of a window. It was mid-Autumn, and the mornings were growing duller every day. The demon turned to look at Michael; dressed in red, classically beautiful, and, most importantly, hadn't immediately tried to kill him.

A smile, an explanation, a deal with a devil - she'd lend her talents when it was necessary, and in return, she'd be able to make use of all that extraneous emotional energy he wasn't using. Michael went along with it, figuring that a little help with fighting these demons would be no bad thing, and he was interested in finding out more about them, even if he hadn't thought to ask one before. Before she stowed away in the engraved hip flask that had been Michael's 17th birthday present, she introduced herself as a Moh Shuvuu demon. Michael asked her for something a little snappier, and she said, with a nostalgic smile, that he could call her Sophia.

Statline: 0/3/2/2; weak: Light

Weapon: A nondescript hardback book, which he habitually carries. Inflicts weak Strike damage when he whacks something with it.


-Active Skills-

Single Normal Wind (+1)
A blade of wind whips out at great speed, damaging a single enemy.

Golden Touch (Cost: +4)
Single Normal Support, Raise (+5), Short-ranged (-1)
Rejuvenates a fallen ally on contact.

Refresh (Cost: 4)
Single Normal Support, Heal (+2) Clear Body (+1), Clear Mind (+1)
A simple healing spell, restores health while returning the target's body to normal status.

Cool Air (Cost: 5)
Group (+3) Normal Support, Defence Boost (+2), Attack Boost (+2), Cooldown (-2)
A gentle, refreshing breeze sweeps across a group, relieving tension, and improving morale. Boosts attack and defence. Temporarily exhausts the user.

-Passive skills-

Wind Rise (+4)
Michael's easygoing personality lends itself well to understanding the nature of the wind; he has a natural affinity with Wind magic.

Life Aid (+4)
A childhood tendency to forget about injuries and illnesses has made it easier for Michael to ignore pain - over time, major injuries become easier to deal with, while minor injuries just seem to... Go away.

Mana Surge (+5)
Michael's robust psyche has given him deeper magical reserves than most.

Mana Aid (+4)
Michael's mental strength has always allowed him to recover very easily from emotional difficulties, or times of stress; no matter how much magical energy he's used, he's always able to find just a little more if necessary.

Manifestation: Fenghuang - a mythical bird, said to represent the five virtues.

Other Notes: His eyes, since childhood, have been unusually sensitive, and he can be easily dazed by bright lights; his resistance to Light magic is weakened.

Demons: Click Here To Show/Hide This Text
Moh Shuvuu - Tier 2
Flying spirits of girls who died without knowing love.
1/0/0/1; Drain: Electric; Strong: Mystic; Weak: Wind
Strike; Bufu
1 Aug 2008
So, my new character that I should be posting tomorrow. He's a Stag. Only he got together with some chick a bunch of time ago, made sweet hot borderline zoophillic love, had a baby, lost his Laguzness, and decided to pick up the staff, so all his fancy noble magic won't go completely useless, and I don't have to get better at fight scenes. A few questions, tho'.
1. Where do I put him? In the Laguz section, Beorc section, or Branded section? I mean, he started out as Laguz, but he should be gaining Beorc levels in Priest.
2. Do Stags have Heron-style empathy, or similar?
3. Will I be allowed to do anything in reference to all his lost Tanz-powers, aside from making him a kickass dancer?
4. Can Laguz sense his other-ness, and will they be all "ew, crime against the Goddess! Icky!" when he encounters them?
5. When does he lose his power to transform? When he does the dirty with the girl, or when the child is concieved/born?
7 Jul 2008
Name: Raymond Creventhall
Nation: N/A

Age: Real age 129; appears to be in his early thirties
Race: Branded (Heron)

Appearance: Ray is a tall, moderately-built man, weighing around 170lb to 6’2” in height. His dark brown hair is kept short, but irregular access to a barber means that it’s usually somewhat untidy. Thick eyebrows sit above his expressive brown eyes, and he makes sure to shave as often as he can. He has broad shoulders, large hands, and sturdy legs, all of which makes his size seven feet look slightly small. While traveling, he wears a simple cream tunic, and dark linen trousers, with a heavy leather traveling cloak. His brand is a small swirl, in the shape of a wing, on his lower-left back.

Personality: Ray is a gentle man, who, despite his height, easily goes unnoticed. His lack of charisma and quiet nature gives an initial impression of apathy, but his willingness to lend a hand for the sake of it suggests otherwise. In truth, it’s simply the effect of long life, coupled with his inherent level of Balance, making him patient, empathetic, and passive. He has a great distaste for conflict, and will often try to play the mediator before taking a side. It takes a lot to surprise him, or flare his temper. Of the few things that irritate him, cruelty has the most immediate effect on his demeanor, making him noticeably colder. He spends as little time with laguz as he can, to avoid awkwardness, as much as any problem he might face if his blood is revealed.

Biography: Ray was born to a noble family in Crimea. As a child, he had a great curiousity, but whenever he got into trouble, he often charmed his way into a lesser punishment than he deserved. His father was a proud man, who had served for much of his life in the Royal Guard, and retired at fifty to govern his estate, and make sure his young son grew into a proper man. Ray’s mother was a serene woman, who never seemed to get angry, or particularly passionate.

Ray was tutored by a minister called Michael Rendall, at the church in a nearby town. He was a generous young man in his late twenties, and ran a small class during the day, teaching any child that was willing to learn, or, at least, needed a way to pass the time, and wouldn’t cause trouble. Ray took an instant liking to words. He loved how they flowed, and how easily they could be broken down, to be rebuilt into something new. The minister was delighted with such an eager student, and it was soon that the priest became more like an uncle, than a teacher. He was also the one that discovered Ray’s latent magical talent, and began to tutor him in the art of staves, alongside his lessons in literature. He took to his studies with enthusiasm, seeming to possess an affinity with prose, poems, and lyrics, and he had an innate patience that was ideal for the healing arts. He would always recite the achievements of the day to his parents over their evening meal, and while his father held little interest in his simplistic accounts, his mother would always listen intently.

It was the day Ray came home, having perfected the art of healing small cuts, that the placid simplicity of his day-to-day life began to falter. His mother was as happy as usual to have him regale her with his stories, but when he said that he was “going to join the church much sooner than he’d thought”, that her gentle smile turned melancholic. Ray asked her what was wrong, but she just shook off his concerns, and told him to keep going with his story. He continued, uncertainly, but it wasn’t long before she interrupted him, claiming to have a headache, and left. Ray spent the rest of the day wondering what he’d said wrong.

It was late evening of the following day, that she finally sat him down, and explained. About the Branded. About the little birthmark on his back. About the reasons why he couldn’t become a priest in the town, like he’d always thought he would. And that his life would be that of a wanderer, never able to settle in one place, never able to become close to anyone for too long, unless they discovered the truth about his blood.

It could be said that he took the news well; he was surprised, but not sad. There were no adverse affects on his studies, or his health; it was almost as if nothing had changed at all. Truth be told, it was actually because he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. He didn’t know the extent of the prejudice held against the Branded, and even his parents weren’t sure about how he’d age. And for a time, that was fine. It was just another fact, a little detail about his ancestors that had no impact on his actual life, aside from making it easier to calm himself when using magic, and it may or may not have given him his lovely singing voice.

Unfortunately, such peace couldn’t sustain itself for long. Slowly, but surely, he stopped aging. Well into his twenties, he could still pass for someone in their late teens. He stopped going into town unless utterly necessary, spending his time secluded in his room, drowning himself in the study of magic, and literature. His old teacher was kind enough to visit, once a week, to make sure he was progressing well, as well as provide some much-needed contact with the outside world. As an alternative pastime, he took up the lute, finding more than enough time to practice, as well as a passion for music that rivaled his love for wordplay.

It was not until he was nearing his thirties, that his life changed. His father became inflicted with chronic bronchitis, which steadily developed into pneumonia. Ray had attempted to heal him with magic, but, inevitably, it was far beyond his ability. He watched as his father became more and more tired, lacking the energy to even get out of bed, and requiring frequent rest. His health stabilized, after a while; it was even beginning to improve, when the country was attacked by Daein in the Mad King’s War. Healthcare was commandeered by the conquering army, and without it, Ray’s father deteriorated again. He went to sleep, one rainy afternoon, and never woke up. They all mourned, but the last few years had been hard on the old man, and it was nice to know that he could finally get some peace.

After the war ended, laguz became more and more common, as they came to help with the restoration. Instead of hiding away in his home once more, Ray took it as his cue to start his travels. He packed light, taking little more than some extra clothes, food, his favourite books, and his lute – which he’d become quite proficient with, over the years – and left. His first stop was the nearby town, to visit his old teacher. He hadn’t seen him since before the war, and they were both sad that their first meeting in such a long time would probably be their last for quite some time. As a parting gift, Ray was given his teacher’s staff, and the promise to meet again.

With the world at his feet, and more than a lifetime to experience it, Ray was completely at loss as to where to go first. He decided to get out of Crimea, at least until the number of laguz helping with the restoration cooled down a little. Daein was his only real option.

He found a job in Talrega, as a healer, but most of his time was initially spent helping out with rebuilding homes, and restoring the flood-damaged farming land. He drew interest to himself among the locals for his uplifting songs, sung in his beautiful voice, accompanied by his lute. Once he’d been taught the traditional music of Daein, as well as a few local favourites, he soon became popular. It was the hardest he’d ever worked, after what had been a fairly cushy life, but it was fulfilling, and he learned a great deal about people. He’d had blamed Daein for being the reason his father had died when he did, and had resented it as a country for quite some time. His stay in Talrega taught him that the people of Daein had suffered greatly from the war, too, and travelers coming from the larger cities always brought a growing number of stories about the Begnion Occupation Army’s maltreatment of the citizenry. Such far-off news didn’t really affect them, however, and Ray soon settled into the community. Working in the local church, he was useful for taking care of children too young to work. Among the children he watched over, he was liked for his music and gentle nature, and the parents were impressed by his ability to make even the rowdiest of boys calm down, with little more than a few words.

After around six years, it was time to move on. He wanted to stay longer, but he couldn’t let people become suspicious of his slow aging; especially in a place where having “sub-human blood” might cause a real problem. He found that leaving was very hard; he'd formed a lot of attachments in Talrega, but he had very little choice in the matter. The friends he'd made were sad to see him leave, but even though they couldn't understand why he was so determined to move on, they understood that he couldn't do anything about it. From there, he traveled to Nevassa, interested in seeing how the capital had grown since the country had been placed under Queen Micaiah’s rule. The city had recovered to some extent, but even though it hadn’t returned to the full strength that is expected of a capital city, the morale of the people was high. Ray only spent a week in Nevassa, not quite ready to settle again, but was fortunate enough to witness a speech from the Queen. While he only saw her from a distance, he felt a power in her words, and there was an odd sense of familiarity about her.

After around twenty years of wandering, he decided to return to Crimea. He wanted to find out what happened to his family's estate, visit his parent's graves, and find out what had happened to his old teacher. After discreetly asking around the town, he learned that the land his father had owned had been passed on to the closest living relative, a nephew on his mother's side of the family. He stayed in the town for a few weeks, gathering information on the fellow, and was happy with what he found; a kind man, who was well liked among the townsfolk, having allowed them to use his grounds for fetes and the like.

On the fifth day of his stay, a middle-aged woman approached him. She asked him if he knew someone by the name of “Raymond Creventhall”. The woman was one of the children he had learned words with, at the old church. After claiming to be his own son, Ray asked the woman about what had happened to the old minister. Her expression then softened, and she directed him to the small hill, behind the Creventhall estate, saying that the previous owner of the house had made sure that “a good friend like him had a place to go”. They parted, Ray promising to remember her to his “father”, before setting off, expecting to find a nice cottage, or something of the sort. On top of a hill, in the shade of a great tree, was a single grave, engraved with the following:

Michael Rendall
Beloved friend, priest, and teacher
“The goddess looks upon all men with the same eyes”

Over the years, he found that people would pay him decent money to hear him sing, enough to keep him fed. He wandered Tellius, learning new tales, gathering new songs, sometimes integrating himself into a village for a few years, sometimes playing the hermit in some lonely forest, always lending a hand to those he met on the way, be it with his uplifting songs, or to heal an ailment. His time in Talrega had taught him not to settle down too easily, but there was only so much solitude even the most patient soul could cope with. To the people he finds on his travels, he introduces himself the same way all over Tellius: a masterless troubadour, a wandering bard in search of the last song he'll ever sing.

Serenes Forest has always held a great deal of interest for him; the birthplace of the Herons, now a haven for laguz. He plans to take a journey there, one day. When he feels ready.

Class and Level Troubadour

Weapon Levels:
23 Jun 2008
A recent art exhibition in Sydney was shut down by the police, due to complaints about its content. It was Bill Henson's latest work, and has been labeled as "obscene", "devoid of artistic merit", and, perhaps most importantly, "child pornography". It was compiled of several photos of nude teenagers in various poses and settings, intermingled with a number of landscapes. The charges against Mr. Henson were dropped, but a number of proponents insist that the exhibition is obscene, and are upset with the outcome of the case.

The questions I would ask, are as follows: were the allegations against the artist correctly dealt with? Was using underage children in an art exhibit - even if they and their legal guardians had consented to the photos being taken and displayed - a morally reprehensible action to take? And, on a wider note, how far should art be allowed to venture into the questionable, unusual, and the obscene, before it loses it's integrity?

This article has more information, and you can easily find the online page of the exhibition in question using a search engine.
9 Jun 2008
Name: Alen Miterander
Nation: Begnion
Age: 23
Race: Human

Appearance: Alen is a man of slim build, weighing in at around 150 pounds to 5’10” in height. He keeps his shoulder length light-brown hair tied back, although the choice to grow it out was a recent one, and it occasionally comes loose. Having spent most of the last few years inside a church, his complexion is slightly pale. He has a high brow, dark green eyes, a fine nose, and usually sets his thin lips in a loose expression of bemusement. As a monk, he mostly wears simple robes of light brown or cream over his slender frame, and the closest thing to jewelry he owns is a plain brass bangle on his left wrist.

Personality: Alen is a laid back fellow, believing that life should be taken as it comes. As a traveling monk, he’s always interested in a little adventure, and his spontaneous nature often leads him into lending a hand to any given stranger he comes across. While he hates the idea of taking life, he has a strong sense of honour, and will do what is necessary if he can help someone who lacks the means to defend themselves. Around new people, he is unfailingly polite, and has an almost crippling weakness for shy, gentle women.

Biography: Alen grew up in a fairly well-off family of nobles in one of the larger cities of Begnion. His parents were kind, even if his mother was mildly obsessed with social standing, and so Alen has few memories of her in his childhood. His father was a wyvern knight, a man who greatly believed in helping the weak, and the source of Alen’s sense of honour. His magical ability was discovered early, much to his mother’s delight, and it was soon decided that he was to join the church. While he took to the study of magic with enthusiasm, his attention would wander easily, and he lacked a real drive to learn.

When he was eight, his little sister, Eve, was born. She displayed stunted growth, and even though she was entirely healthy otherwise, Alen would always remember his mother taking care not to have her get involved with other children. Alen spent much of his time entertaining her, finding that she particularly loved it when he performed his magic. He grew protective of her, picking up their mother’s reluctance to let many people see her, and since his own social life had been greatly disrupted by the studies of magic, they became very close friends.

He was fifteen when he discovered the truth. Eve had been found to possess greater magical talent than her brother, and took to the lessons quickly. He was proud of her, and the competition had given him a reason to put more effort into his studies, to stay as a figure of admiration in his sister’s eyes. Her inherent skill irked him occasionally, however. He was talking to his mother about it one day, when she sat him down, and told him the truth.

Eve was a Branded.

While the news shocked and confused him at first, in time it helped him come to terms with the fact that his sister would inevitably surpass him. He decided that, even if she was stronger that him, he would protect her from being discovered, at any cost. As a result, his effort in his studies was redoubled, and he soon became a member of the church. His sister always felt slightly guilty about being the reason he worked so hard, and it was not soon after that that she also joined, trying to show that she could hold her own.

In time, Alen rose in rank, and the increased workload meant that he spent less and less time with Eve, and their close relationship began to fade. When he was twenty-two, a traveler from the desert visited the church, apparently on a journey. He stayed for a week, before leaving with barely a word. Eve had left with him. Her only explanation was a note that read, “I’m going to a place where I won’t be a burden to anybody", and a small brass bangle, engraved with Alen’s name on the inside, and a small "E".

Alen’s reaction was strange. He showed little change on the outside, remaining cheerful and impulsive, but it was soon evident that his work for the church was suffering terribly. Jobs he was given would be botched and half-done, he began to spend more time on his own, and he never appeared to be wholly paying attention. While people allowed it for a while, it soon seemed that he wouldn’t turn back to normal by himself. They tried several different methods, but nothing seemed to work. Any attempts to talk to him directly about it ended the same way: a carefree, hollow smile, and the insistence that he wasn’t behaving any differently.

A year passed, without change, when the bishop gave him an interesting suggestion: a pilgrimage, to try and find some peace. He accepted the idea as easily as if it was just another errand, and within the month, he had left on his journey.

Class and Level Acolyte, Level 14

Weapon Levels: Light C
Ascent (1 ranks)
Close range divine blinding unstable normal-power Judgement
Bright light explodes from the user's hand. Since it has such a close range, it's often rushed when casting, meaning that controlling it's strength is difficult.

Luce (3 ranks)
Divine high-power Judgment
Needles of light are focused around the caster, and shot at the target.

Flash (5 ranks)
Solar beastslayer high-power Benediction
Creates an extremely hot barrier of light. The intense heat is dangerous to beast Laguz.
Last Visitors

12 Sep 2012 - 20:46

12 Aug 2012 - 0:57

27 Jul 2010 - 2:49

9 Jun 2010 - 19:53

28 Apr 2010 - 10:27

S'highly possible that there's a medical term for it. Drives me nuts, personally, because I jump at the tiniest thing but have trouble making out quiet conversation.
29 Nov 2008 - 10:11
Relic of a lost era.
If you like.
17 Sep 2008 - 17:07
Relic of a lost era.
Sometimes being simple is the best way. And also subtle is often mistaken for simple.
17 Sep 2008 - 16:20
Relic of a lost era.
Your penchant for ruining my fun is minorly irritating. You have yet to learn that the best part of being an intelligent Englishman is screwing with other people's heads.
17 Sep 2008 - 12:31


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