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Rkyo

"The oath-breaker bleeds..."

0 · 823 views · located in Yōsái Village

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Nemo

Description

Rkyo Kyoujin

Image

Empty-handed I entered
the world
Barefoot I leave it.
My coming, my going --
Two simple happenings
That got entangled.
Like dew drops
on a lotus leaf
I vanish.
-A Jisei, by Shinsui



Rkyo [rik-ee-OH] appears to be a boy in his late teens, perhaps around seventeen or eighteen years of age. His hair, perhaps his most striking feature, is a deep shade of vibrant sanguine, flowing effortlessly down to fierce eyes; black as ebony. His body is well-built and sturdy, carefully hidden beneath loose clothing and unremarkable dress-ware. Were one to manage a look at his muscled physique, they would find his torso tattooed in a plethora of etching scars, clustered about his chest, shoulder and abdominal in no discernible pattern.

While the boy appears more-or-less handsome, he emanates a cold, chilling aura... as dark and foreboding as it is mysterious. His gaze is sharp and feral; his touch fiery and stern. When he speaks, his voice flows smoothly and articulately; easy to understand yet strangely unpleasant to listen to. Everything about him looks appealing on the surface... and becomes horribly unsightly when examined more carefully. Indeed, the young man is quite strange... unsettling... almost inhuman...



"Dika ro a'tartoramren
Ulcisco ro o'rkyem
Nemonus securum eo
Temen imperi dikio
O'rkyo sangeo"
-From the Opuskro. Kyoujin law.


Translation:
"Death to the traitors
Vengeance to the oath-breaker
No one is exempt
They must die
The oath-breaker bleeds"

So begins...

Rkyo's Story

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#, as written by Nemo
"A'avu subo brikum sangorm eo
Memik manemusi eran rovn'narsin
Rovno verorm
Exsteo tam, nemonem otro
Tam omna eo"

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo lifted his head quietly, repeating the chant again,

"A'avu subo brikum sangorm eo
Memik manemusi eran rovn'narsin
Rovno verorm
Exsteo tam, nemonem otro
Tam omna eo"

The setting changes from Worn Path to Gambit's Bar

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo sat quietly at Gambit's, absently flicking his thumbs across his ankles as he watched the quiet patrons with strained effort. They had told him to come here. Told him someone would find him. Someone. Eventually. And yet, for all the grey months he had spent in the shadows, observing drunk after drunk with dedicated patience... no one had arrived. They had NOT come. Not yet.

And yet Rkyo knew he could not give up so easily. Neither, however, was he immune to the feeling of boredom. Lifting his chin, the young man began to chant... softly at first. It was an old poem, one taught to him in his youth. Spoken in his native tongue, Rkyu was certain there was no one in the bar who could possibly translate anything he was saying. Grinning slyly to himself at his invulnerability, the young man cooed quietly...

"A'avu subo brikum sangorm eo
Memik manemusi eran rovn'narsin
Rovno verorm
Exsteo tam, nemonem otro
Tam omna eo"

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#, as written by Nemo
What's up?

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo stopped his chanting almost immediately as Yuriko approached him, offering the girl a faint smile. His eyes peered up at her from beneath his thick, sanguine bangs... studying the young woman carefully. She, of course, looked like a school-girl. Much like the kind he might have seen in his hometown: Aemori, Japan. Perhaps once he might have tried to talk to her. Flirt with her. Offer her a drink or some ridiclous, meaningless compliment on the off chance he might end up getting lucky that night.

...but this was another life.

"There are drinks at the bar," Rkyo nodded, his voice clear and young, "if you have the credits, you can help yourself. They have good prices here." He had neglected to offer her his name.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo stiffened immediately, his ebony black eyes shooting up to Yuriko's instantaneously. His teeth grit in his jaw, his fingers clenching as he became painfully aware of the mental probing of the psionic Taiyou. Definitely not an ordinary girl.

"...take your drink," the young man spoke lowly, his voice rasping along a feral growl. As Yuriko searched his mind, she would likely find it totally unlike anything she had searched before. There were no mental-walls or obvious defenses. Neither, however, were there the typical nueral paths and highways streaming throughout his consciousness, as those of a mortal man usually had. Rkyo's mind could only be described as 'red'... whisping tendrils of sanguine swirling about like a mist... sweetly intoxicated and alluring. But perhaps most alarming of all was the mental content of his inner-thoughts. There were no knowledge. None at all. No memories. No experiences. No personal profiles or understandings of the world.

Rkyo's mind was filled with poetry.

They cooed in serpentine voice, wrapping themselves around Yuriko's invading consciousness like a lover's embrace. 'Girveo, ama...' 'Dikeo tem...' 'O'rkyo sangeo...' 'temen imperi dikio...'

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo smiled, glad that he had not scared the girl off with the sudden glimpse of his demonic thoughts. It was good to have someone to talk too after months of mindless waiting, and he didn't shy away from the conversation.

"Nirn'mal, solimn exraio," Rkyo shrugged, muttereing under his breath before looking back up at the girl, "...not 'mean'. Just... 'different.'" He paused for a moment. "...I've heard some of these Terrans use the word 'special' to describe someone who's different. I think I like that word better." He cast a wary eye back at the psionic. "...I think you're a bit 'special' yourself, no? Not many people can preform a mind-scan as perfectly as you just did."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo furrowed his brow at Yuriko's struggled description of her history. Taken as a little girl from her human life... brought up by some iron-fisted idealist with no regard for her own free will... this one's history didn't sound too different from his own.

"I'm sure you're very special, Yuriko," Rkyo nodded, smiling as he paid her a compliment, "very beautiful, too. But I have to wonder... do you WANT to be 'special'? Is it something you ASKED for?" Rkyo's voice took a more serious tone.

"...I mean, from what you've told me, you make sound as if you didn't have much of a choice in what happened to you." He shrugged. "Eo yam vera? Are you -yourself-?"

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo winced, crossing his arms over his chest and exhaling loudly. "If that makes you happy, Yuriko." He smiled gently. "...just remember... you don't have to be anything you don't want to. Choice exists." He bowed his head thoughtfully. "...even for a slave."

"O'animo forto eo, o'consimus forosyml eo. The mind is strong, the spirit stronger."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo sat quietly at Gambit's, absently flicking his thumbs across his ankles as he watched the quiet patrons with strained effort. They had told him to come here. Told him someone would find him. Someone. Eventually. And yet, for all the grey months he had spent in the shadows, observing drunk after drunk with dedicated patience... no one had arrived. They had NOT come. Not yet.

And yet Rkyo knew he could not give up so easily. Neither, however, was he immune to the feeling of boredom. Lifting his chin, the young man began to chant... softly at first. It was an old poem, one taught to him in his youth... nothing terribly sinister to it; just a way to pass the time. Spoken in his native tongue, Rkyu was certain there was no one in the bar who could possibly translate anything he was saying. Grinning slyly to himself at his invulnerability, the young man cooed quietly...

"A'avu subo brikum sangorm eo
Memik manemusi eran rovn'narsin
Rovno verorm
Exsteo tam, nemonem otro
Tam omna eo"

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#, as written by Nemo
Tongue in his cheek, Ryo watched the argument between the Soviets with mild interest. Fights in this place seemed to be as common as drunks at the counter. And yet... rarely had he been impressed by the numerous spectacles. Most battles he had witnessed had been little more then complete wastes of time and energy. Buffed-up children wielding childish powers... striking at anything that so muched as looked at them the wrong way. The young man smirked, watching the soldiers with poorly-hidden conceit.

"Nirn'terripes o'mognimus, sed o'manus ekv rouneo tem..." he muttered under a breath, "...fear not the gun, but the hand that wields it."

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo sat quietly at Gambit's, absently flicking his thumbs across his ankles as he watched the quiet patrons with strained effort. They had told him to come here. Told him someone would find him. Someone. Eventually. And yet, for all the grey months he had spent in the shadows, observing drunk after drunk with dedicated patience... no one had arrived. They had NOT come. Not yet.

And yet Rkyo knew he could not give up so easily. Neither, however, was he immune to the feeling of boredom. Lifting his chin, the young man began to chant... softly at first. It was an old poem, one taught to him in his youth... nothing terribly sinister to it; just a way to pass the time. Spoken in his native tongue, Rkyu was certain there was no one in the bar who could possibly translate anything he was saying. Grinning slyly to himself at his invulnerability, the young man cooed quietly...

[color-darkred]"A'avu subo brikum sangorm eo
Memik manemusi eran rovn'narsin
Rovno verorm
Exsteo tam, nemonem otro
Tam omna eo"[/color]

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo entered quietly, a chilling wind following the teenager as he walked forebodingly into the bar, a fierce expression etched into his young face. Not for the first time had the mysterious wanderer found himself in this location... and each time was even LESS pleasant then the last. It was a cosmic shit-hole. Not necessarily because of the atmosphere or the condition of the establishment itself... but because of the god-awful patrons who seemed to live year-round in the hallow confines of the musky bar. Superhumans... demons... drunks... vampires... all so remarkably different and yet all strikingly similar. It was as if abnormality was the norm at Gambit's.

Nonetheless, Rkyo had a mission to fulfill. Night after night he came here, quietly waiting... patiently searching... confident that every grimacing hour spent in this dump would pay off in the end. SOMETHING would reveal itself. Something must. The boy walked quietly near Tycho, taking a seat next to the confused man. From Rkyo's point of view, Darsin was just some bar-drunk taking to an inanimate object. Nothing particularly interesting there... although Rkyo WAS a bit tempted to mess with him.

He sighed, quietly muttering a short little collection of poetry to himself in his native tongue. "A'auvu subo brikum sangorm eo..." he began quietly. It was something to pass the time, at least...

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo grumbled, an obvious frown contorting over his face as he listened to Ian Thorn rant to the entire bar... the Warlock's obnoxious voice painfully resonating in Rkyo's already aching head. First his annoyingly cliche/overdone entrance... then his cock-strutting about the bar like a dog in heat... this guy was seriously getting on the young man's nerves. "Would you shut the FUCK up, kid?!" he snarled in Ian's direction, "I don't give a SHIT what whore you've been paying off for your amusement. That's not something I need to know, and it's not something you need to tell me." Another curt growl. "Kids these days..."

Some of his former anger cooled over as he turned back to Tycho, a slight grin spreading across his face. "...bravery, huh?" he raised an eyebrow, admiring the amulet, "tell me then... how'd a dashing soldier like yourself end up in a place like thi-" Rkyo stopped in mid-sentence as his gaze rolled over the amulet... carefully noting the elaborate texture of the pendant... the beautiful design of the dragon... but there was more. An energy resonated off the gold. Something hidden. Something alive.

"...where did you get that amulet again?" Rkyo said in a quiet husk, mesmerized.

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#, as written by Nemo
"Nothing you could offer me, love," Rkyo smiled back at Imani, offering her a short nod. "Gratim omnivum. Thanks anyway."

The young man then quietly stepped behind Tycho. He had been about to engage in an all-brawl with Ian. After all... he HAD been given an invitation. However, seeing as how Tycho was taking the initiative in fighting the Warlock, the teenager suddenly had a better idea.

With Tycho having his guns trained on Ian, Rkyo quietly attempted to swipe the golden amulet from the bar counter. Even with Tycho distracted, it would be a tricky theft... the dragon pendant was hardly a few feet from the aggravated war veteran.

"Silnemok corpum..." he hushed, his bodily movements and rustling instantly silenced as the dark spell washed over him. With his movements muffled, the young man would attempt his swipe at the object.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo nodded, appearing to be more-or-less interested in Tycho's story. "By all means, regale me." Rkyo grinned. He would entertain this old soldier like a child did for his senile grandfather. And the moment this old-timer took his afternoon nap... the amulet would be his.

Rkyo just HAD to know what the mystery was behind the dragon pendant. Without a doubt, the energy resonating from the amulet was unlike anything he'd ever senses before. It was almost alive.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo entered the bar shortly after the Arthonian, his tough leather-shoes beating a calm cadence against the floor that stood remarkably out-of-place against the fumbling chaos instigated by his opponent. In his right hand he brandished a simple katana, the sword kept carefully off to his side in masterful grace.

Rkyo looked toward the Arthonian, his eyes ablaze as his voice spoke clear and true.

"Frinwald Gramwick, you're wanted by the Terran officials for suspected rape and murder," he spoke plainly, his tone not that of anger but of mere irritation, as if all of this was an enormous waste of time, "I ask you again: submit peacefully. I have no desire to expend the energy it would take to incapacitate you."

Aside from the gleaming sword, Rkyo looked completely normal. A simple red button-up stretched over his subtly athletic frame, a slim pair of jeans acting as his only means of armor. Aside from the commanding presence of his voice, the young man didn't look the slightest intimidating.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to The Arena

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo stepped into the ring quietly, forgoing any dramatic entrance or flashy introductions. The young red-headed boy appeared no older then eighteen. He stood at-ready in the sands of the collosal dome, his shirt cast aside, revealing the toned network of muscles beneath. Aside from this, the young man had his jeans and a pair of sneakers. Nothing else.

"RIK-EE-OH!" the announcer bellowed.

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo looked up at the hulking demoness, as fearsome as she was attractive. A curious half-grin peered out from beneath his blood-red locks.

"Zehn-Yah!" the announcer bellowed in turn.

Rkyo took a few steps forward, his height considerably less then the woman's. He rolled one of his shoulders, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"I know you probably don't get this a lot," the boy grinned mischeviously, sarcasm dripping in his brooding voice, "but do you work out?"

The setting changes from The Arena to Gambit's Bar

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#, as written by Nemo
Rkyo entered the bar shortly after Nhazul, his tough leather-shoes beating a calm cadence against the floor that stood remarkably out-of-place against the fumbling chaos instigated by his opponent. In his right hand he brandished a simple katana, the sword kept carefully off to his side in masterful grace.

Rkyo looked toward Nhazul, his eyes ablaze as his voice spoke clear and true.

"Desist immediately. You're wanted by the Terran officials on more charges then I care to count on fingers," he spoke plainly, his tone not that of anger but of mere irritation, as if all of this was an enormous waste of time, "I ask you again: submit peacefully. I have no desire to expend the energy it would take to incapacitate you."

Aside from the gleaming sword, Rkyo looked completely normal. A simple red button-up stretched over his subtly athletic frame, a slim pair of jeans acting as his only means of armor. Aside from the commanding presence of his voice, the young man didn't look the slightest intimidating.

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