Rexnii

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

((How do you respond?))

With a distant gaze, he watched as the amber gems danced and flickered, casting shadows through his long-eyelashes. The tent. . he was in a tent. Eyes loomed around the surroundings as he sighed.

"Ah, the ever-changing tapestry of fate."

The male mused, his voice a mere whisper soft-as ever. As if awoken from a trance, he shook himself from his reverie, a wry smile playing upon his lips. Maliciousness coated his cheeks as he seemed quite disturbed. "Forgive me." His words tinged with a hint of deja-vu.

"It seems I have become lost in the chaos of my own thoughts."

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows upon his knees-seated, his gaze fixed upon some distant point on the horizon. "My tale begins with a humble excuse, a cloak to veil the truth of my origins. A night, much like any other, precded the tragedy that would shape the course of my destiny. Perhaps destiny is a strong word for me to describe."

"It was a night of whispers, of secrets hidden in the depths of blur. And though I cannot recall the specifics, the memory of it lingers still, like a ghost haunting the corridors of my mind. Haha. Just like the voices playing their foolish tricks on me."

The eyes flickered-become vibrant as he spoke. "I was born into privliege, the heir to a legacy steeped in tradition and honor. Yet, it was not the opulence of my surroundings that defined me, but the companions who walked by my side, guiding me through the road of life." It was hard to decipher the meaning of the words. Almost as a curtain covered them closed. 

"Mh. . but they were more than mere companions. They were mentors, comrades-in-arms. Them, without me towards me, braved the stormy seas of adversity, forging bonds that would withstand the test of time. And yet, for all their guidance and wisdom, there came a time when I found myself at a crossroads, torn between demands and desire, between the path laid out before me and the one I yearned to tread. Which was covered in bloody-rocks."

"It was then that I made a-mayhaps a decision, a choice that would irrevocably alter the course of my destiny. With a heart heavy with sorrow and resolve, I set out into the unknown, leaving behind the safety of familiarity for the promise of..." A pause. The words fell silent.

A solitary hand rose up and  graced his thin-exposed chest in an warming gesture, his tongue danced with the echoes of sirens, their pitch-black allure cascading like molten whispers into the ear. His voice-it was soothing and soft despite the deepness coated into. Nen'ra's narrowed eyes glowed with an amber haze, his tongue swirling behind before gravity settled seriousness upon his countenance. Bravo. His appearance was showing off so lovingly towards the mysterious woman.

"But even as I embarked upon this new ‘life’, I found myself haunted by the specter of my past, a shadow that clung to me like a cloak of despair. And though I sought to outrun it, to leave it behind in the dust of my footsteps, it followed me still, a reminder of all that has cursed me to death.” 

He shifted his position as he leaned back. “As the days blended together, I found myself trapped within the confines of my own mind. While the world went on its way, mine stopped. A reckless choice made in a drunken moment became an incessant echo in my thoughts, igniting a cacophony of voices within me. But when I broke free from my self-imposed restrictions, I discovered a sense of liberation."

A hard swallow passed through his throat, clearing his words. All the words that choed through his lips had darkened his thin pupils with fear. “My father's disappearance, which may seem insignificant to some, had great meaning for my mother and cast an unpredictable shadow on my own existence. My inclination towards the mystical arts, which initially began with oppression, later evolved into a manifestation of my own will, weaving an intricate tapestry of destiny. Unbeknownst to most, my plans were meticulously developed, but then I found myself adrift, longing for a purpose amidst the void left by unmet expectations...for I knew that only by confronting the demons of my past could I ever hope to find myself again.”

"And so, as I stand before you now, a one in saerch of redemption, I am reminded that the journey is far from over. Maybe it hasn’t started an actual faith in me. For though the road ahead may be long and fraught with danger, I walk it with head held high, knowing that with each step forward, I come one step closer to finding the answers I seek. Now, here I am. Where am I? That’s the answer I am looking for at the end."

((Aditional information || Character description below))

A hybrid slender figure stood ahead - his frame, petite and thin, yet defies expectations with an above-average height it was seen. Well, in a rough language a stick figure. Wrapped in an aura of aloofness, his demeanour veils a deeper intensity, as if cloaked in a silent vow written in blood. More closer you dived in more elegant it become. Flowing like liquid silver, his locks cascade in long, wavy strands, cascading down his back to brush against his thighs. Braids intertwine with the strands, adorned with delicate golden accents, bestowing an air of regal elegance upon him. A crimson-scarlet ribbon, a bold contrast against the pale hue of his hair, binds a portion of the luscious locks, a striking adornment against the shimmering silver.

Eyes, like gems of muted-vibrant amber, gleam from beneath a veil of numbness, their depths inscrutable, exposing the points of his soul. Pupils, elusive and almost nonexistent, offer little insight into the maelstrom of thoughts that surely whirl within. The sharp contours of his visage carve shadows upon his silhuoette, casting an oblivious allure that pulls a one. A canvas of one, his skin bears intricate tattoos, etched with precision upon the canvas of his face, accentuating the chiseled lines of his cheekbones. Golden earrings dangle from his sharply pointed ears, a relic of ancient tales, adding a touch of mystique to his countenance. It was perfcetly chosen despite his physical appearance, specialized. Another story for the day.

Clad in soft cotton clothes carefully tailored to emphasize his slender form, the man wears his scars with quiet dignity; The sleeves of his outfit act as a shield against prying eyes. Yet, beneath the veil of indifference, lies a contradiction-a man with eyes that betray a warmth that belies the coldness of his exterior. Long lashes frame his gaze, casting bright shadows upon his amber gems, revealing an oblivious blend of ruthlessness and compassion.