oreooreo | [Demeleier Application]

Player Name: Ku / Saku
Player DW:

creatoremagico
Contact: e-mail: creatoremagico[at]googlemail[dot]com
plurk: creatoremagico
aim: destinomiarrendo

Character Number: Third

Character: Yorolaie Miquiztli Rakke

Source: Memory Keepers of Mnemosynis. (For further information of Memory Keepers please observe ex-Demeleier resident Thanatos Rakke’s application, found: here.)

Appearance: Yorolaie is in many ways the younger model of his father Thanatos. He is slender and elegant; with pale almost white skin and black hair that doesn’t quite reach his waist. He keeps the length braided, aside for two loose strands that hand over his ears. The top section is choppy and messy.

The young man stands at 5’10 and is confident in the use of only one arm. His right arm is missing, severed in the centre of the humorous. He keeps the stump bandaged even though it has long since healed. His eyes are dark grey, almost black giving him the illusion of having practically no iris. He has very large pupils.

He dresses in simple but expensive black clothes such as t-shirts and jeans, usually fastened with buttons rather than anything he will struggle with such as laces and buckles. His shoes fasten with Velcro. He also likes to wear a hooded cloak when travelling.

Personality: Yorolaie’s name, in the Memorian language of Memory Keepers, translates literally to ‘smaller shadow.’ It suits him well being that he is a quiet presence, and like a shadow he is unnoticeable unless you are looking for him. He is not a looming or forbidding man, like his father Thanatos who is the ‘greater shadow’ in this metaphor, but as his name implies, he is the smaller shadow, reliable and constant.

Yorolaie is an honest boy and quite blunt in that honesty. He does not hear his own tone well and that fact makes him socially awkward. He can often sound cruel when he doesn’t really mean to be. His speech patterns are easy to misread as harsh and tactless when in reality he just has a difficulty reading and expressing meaning through tone. In saying that, he is painfully observant toward others and has a way of getting inside people’s heads. It never comes off right when an awkward and blunt person tells you exactly what you are thinking, making him all the more difficult to be around.

He is also quite defensive about several things. Because he misreads tone so often, he does tend to feel attacked or insulted more often that it is actually happening. If he isn’t consoled or corrected quickly things can escalate and he can really lose his temper. He is very touchy about his missing arm and quick to show his displeasure should anyone mention it in an insensitive manner. He is also quite on edge about his Stygian heritage (that which makes him so pale and have talents in the area of shadow magic.) He is quick to assume that should anyone comment on this, that they are being racist, even if they are making a positive observation.

Despite his difficulties with people, he is fond of company. He is a loving and caring young man, affectionate toward his family and friends both internally and also physically, not being too proud to hug and kiss his siblings for example.

It takes him a while to work thorough his initial awkwardness, but once he has gotten to know someone as a friend or something more, he will open up and show more of himself in turn. His defensiveness tends to tone down by that point. He has quite a dry sense of humour that can escalate to silliness very quickly. He has that ‘dignified serious person saying something ridiculous so it’s doubly funny’ thing going for him, much like Thanatos that was as well.

Being a teenager, he also has an active interest in the aesthetics of people. He doesn’t quite know how to put himself forward on that score yet. When it comes to flirting or showing interest in a person he’s usually confident despite being quite shy on the inside. If he is in control he is more confident than if someone else takes the situation into their own hands, then he can become quite shy.

Yorolaie enjoys both solitude and company. When he has been overly social he will retreat back into his comfort zone. When he hasn’t stepped out of it for a while, he will put himself forward to new experiences.

Because he is the child of a Memory Keeper and a Demi God, he understands clearly the nature of the ‘multiverse’ and the fact that there are many different worlds out there with more races and customs than could ever be comprehended. Because of this, he is very diplomatic regarding these different races and customs and is respectful to their differences and to those who are ‘important persons’ in their worlds.

He’ll even share his sweets if he has them on hand. He has a strong sweet tooth, inherited from his Scintillain dad. He isn’t greedy though and is good with sharing. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though so stay away from his cakes and chocolate.

History: Yorolaie is the sixth child of Thanatos Rakke the Memory Keeper of death, and Darryn Miquiztli, the Demi god of Phosphorumbra. He is part of a very loving comfortable family and was raised in the library of death in Mnemosynis with utmost care and affection from all sides. He had many influences to learn from, not only from his parents but from all of his older siblings, Shini, Gilbert, Charon, Cinder, Cole and also Gilbert’s partner, William and Charon’s friend Thahre’x on occasion.

His home has a heavy aura of death surrounding it and as such he is in tune with death and the passing of time. These sorts of emotions give off a comforting feeling of familiarity and warmth to him. The environment was decidedly upper class and refined to an old fashioned standard of living. Things like education, good food, attention, music, comfort etc. were all readily accessible at all times. Yorolaie spent a lot of time reading, learning about other words and cultures, and just spending time with his family.

His life was quite standard for a Memory Keeper child to a point. He never wanted for anything much and was quite happy to stand back and observe what his brothers and sisters were doing more than get too deeply involved in anything himself.

When he was eleven years old though fate played him a cruel hand and a nemesis of Thanatos and Darryn’s, Force Pain, abducted Yorolaie and rigged him into a complex trap in which he could only be saved at the cost of his right arm. The aim of this was to hurt his parents and it was a successful plan. Darryn arrived to save Yorolaie only to find that he had to cut off the boys arm himself in order to free him.

From that point onward there was tension. Yorolaie wouldn’t go near Darryn and told his father outright that he didn’t love him anymore. He needed time to recover, but that time put a rift between them and hurt Darryn immensely. Eventually, when Yorolaie got over the shock and upset he hugeed it out with his dad and apologised to him. They got back to closeness, but Darryn was forever after guilty that he had to hurt his own child, constantly questioning if there was anything else he could have done.

After he lost his arm Yorolaie had to re-learn everything. Having been predominantly right handed before, his left arm needed training. It was frustrating and a long hard process for him to force himself to be left handed. He got used to it as he ages though, and he was promised a mechanical ‘auto-mail’ arm for his twentieth birthday, when his body had definitely stopped growing.

For the rest of his years he took further interest in guns, becoming somewhat a specialist and researching law enforcement through out the realms. He travelled a little, socialising where he could and occasionally seducing women. His first time was with an engaged human lady named Catharine when he was eighteen. She certainly confirmed that he enjoyed those single encounters and was not really interested in anything further than that, relationship wise.

Yorolaie does not know much of his family history. He has learned the text book version, but there is a great deal of buried secrets he is ignorant of, such as Thanatos’ dark past.

Timeline: Yorolaie is only eighteen, which is very much a young teenager where his family are concerned. He has all the emotional hormonal baggage a teenager who is growing up and learning about who he is would have.

Abilities: All though he has not been training for very long, about four years intensively, Yorolaie is already somewhat a gun specialist and is proficient with a sniper rifle to a deadly extent. He knows a lot about firearms and how to use them efficiently, with as few shots as possible. Examples of his skill level are akin to Oren Ishii from Kill Bill [bad-ass example 1] and Tim McManus from The Usual Suspects [bad-ass example 2].

As well as his abilities with guns, Yorolaie speaks a few languages, but they will likely be irrelevant in Demeleir. Even so, he can speak Memorian (the language of Memory Keepers), Rumanji (First Realm Dialect), Scintillian (Language of Phosphoreumbra Northern Hemisphere) English, Japanese and Greek. He is also extreamly observant to people’s emotions and thoughts, should they show any twitch or tell he will pick up on it.

Lastly, he has inherited certain qualities from the Stygian side of his heritage. These traits mean he can see very well in the dark and feel his way around without sight better than an ordinary human could. He adapts easily to cold temperatures and dark places. In fact he’ll use the dark to his advantage; he is extremely stealthy if he needs to be and can manipulate darkness to shroud him.

Inventory:

Rifle

Viola

Blade

Link to an image of the character: [ Image 1] [Image 2]

Prose Sample: [Note: Prose sample was co-written with

drazzi, Cathrine’s mun]

Thirty was rapidly approaching.

Her wedding day was also approaching not too long after that.

It was just too much really. She had long hoped to have settled into two lovers long before she had to worry about planning her thirtieth. Yet here she was, being stood up by another business meeting, sipping a cocktail and with only several wasted one-night stands at the wayside.

Was it so hard to find an attractive, intelligent lover these days?

It seemed so, although there were plenty of pretty pickings around the bar tonight. Catherine ran the rim of her finger around her martini glass eyeing the young giggling girls in their groups, the laughing men in their own and then those few brave souls who were alone, like her.

There was one quite exotic looking young man, a frown on his eyebrows and an uncertainty to him that didn’t put him far past twenty, if even there. Pale, dark haired and interestingly enough, confident in use of a single arm even if he seemed to be avoiding people.

Catherine watched him a while, and then gestured to the barman. “Top up the young man’s drink,” she pushed a twenty across the counter, gesturing over to the boy in question.

“Right away Ma’am.” The barman complied. It was then only a small matter of waiting in silence as the young man’s attentions were drawn her way. He looked from across the room as the bartender mutely pointed her out.

He did not smile at her, but levelled his dark eyes on her face and proceeded to scan down her entire body before returning to her eyes. There was something otherworldly about this boy, the way he stood up and moved toward her as if there was nobody else in the room was almost predatory.

“Who are you?” He asked flatly as he came to stand by her side. Up close she could see for herself just how intensely dark his eyes were and hear in his accent that he was implacably foreign. His English was too good for a native speaker, too perfect even to be upper class.

She did not offer her hand, her fingers closing around the stick in her martini’s olive, spinning the item slowly in the alcohol. “Catherine Estelle Grant, I will not be terribly hurt if you have not heard of me.”

Catherine kept her gaze levelled on the boy’s eyes, but in her peripheral she could see the boy was toned beneath his clothes. She lifted the olive to her lips, pressing it to her lower lip before asking, “And you are?”

“Yorolaie Miquiztli.” He answered, his eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth.
She lifted her brows, “How exotic.” Yet hadn’t she already pegged him for that?

“Thank you for the drink, Catherine.”

He had paused briefly before he said her name. This was because he was considering whether or not to call her ‘Miss Grant.’ He decided against it. He did not know her salutation, nor want to address her as if she was a school teacher.

She took the olive into her mouth, placing the stick down on the bar with a soundless click. “How old are you, Yorolaie?”

“Why do you want to know?” He asked with some semblance of a smirk. He was eighteen, of legal age to do whatever it was adults of this world were not allowed to do until then. Even so, something like age, he had observed, could be used against him if he wasn’t careful with it as a piece of information. For now, he chose not to disclose. “I hope you’re not an officer?”

“Officers tend not to drink martinis on the job,” she pointed out smoothly, recrossing her legs. Or wear such revealingly short dresses, she mentally added. “You seem out of place, is what I was implying.” Catherine gestured to the groups of loudly chatting and laughing people that seemed closer to his age.

He took that as a compliment. He also watched her legs move and fought back the images that gesture caused his mind to make.

“I am out of place. You’re right.” He replied, still standing rather than taking a seat at her side. “To be honest... I wasn’t sure why I came here tonight.” Honesty. Something he was an expert at.

“Is that so?” She sipped her drink, well aware that young men rarely knew why they did many things. “Well, I came here for the same reason I always come here. To prowl.”

At that, he lifted an eyebrow at her, and paused to sip his drink. It was clear, with ice.

“Prowl?” He questioned. “Are you a hunter, Catherine?”

“Of a kind,” she replied with a touch of a smile just hugging the very corner of her lips. She placed her glass on the bar, where the barman automatically moved to refill it, and very slowly used the tips of her index and middle finger to draw the strap of her dress from where it had slipped back up onto her shoulder. Her engagement ring shone in the bar’s lighting, but she gave it no mind.

“I seek lovers,” she stated simply, finding no need to hide that either.

The words made his heart kick against his chest. He reigned it in fast.

“That’s very bold of you to say.” He commented. “Surreal and bold. I wonder, how is it working out for you tonight?”

In her eyes he was quite cool, perhaps she could place him on twenty rather than before it. It didn’t really matter though.

“Who can say, so early in the conversation?” She remarked, sliding another note across the bar as the barman placed a fresh drink beside her. “Are you attracted to women, Yorolaie?”

That comment caused him to frown quite quickly. He was rather defensive after all.

“Do I look as though I’m not?” He asked before taking a breath. “I am.”

“One can never be sure. Older women?”

“That depends.” He regained his smirk. “How old are you?” The question transcended words, but she did not need to know that if she was human. To a human his question was playful, not calculated.

“As you chose not to answer that question, I reserve the right to do so myself. I think we can both be assured though, that you are younger than I.”

Catherine adjusted herself in her seat, picking up her drink and recrossing her legs again. This time though the toe of her foot moved very smoothly up Yorolaie’s inner calf and up towards his thigh before it resettled in its standard position.

“How long are you in England, young exotic boy?”

He gulped as her foot withdrew from him, but thankfully the music and chatter were loud enough to drown out any noise it might have made. Deliberating her question, he decided to answer it on the assumption of what he thought she wanted to hear. The moment was ripe for him, he wanted very much to sink his teeth into it.

“Just for tonight. Older, prowling woman, whom I find extremely attractive.”

Journal Sample: I’ve started a fire. [The young man speaks steadily against the crackling of flames. He is outdoors, and in the darkness of night the orange hue of flame gives his skin a warm colour, shadows enhancing the contours of his face as he smiles ever so slightly.] I don’t mind the cold, but… This is the only way to have marshmallows.

[The mirror reveals that he is indeed roasting marshmallows. Where he got them from he does not say, the fact is, they look deliciously brown and melty on those sticks he’s holding.]

I am not opposed to sharing.