Description

Name: Vaan "Vaana" Olida
Age: 17
Race: Orii'm
Gender: Male
Orientation: Homosexual
Class: Spirit Healer

Description:



Vaana actually looks almost like his mother's twin, even more like her than the other girls, save for his dark brown hair and his father's sea-foam eyes. His skin is fair and his body is lithe, if not a little bit too long sometimes, making him seem almost clumsy. He stands 5'6" without his heels, and 5'8" with, and wears a plethora of fashions he has traded for from passers-by and little shops. He looks like a cultural mixing pot if judging by his clothing, and he has little understanding of personal boundaries, as his little village was like a family and didn't require a lot of personal space. He is very graceful when he's focusing, but sometimes when he's too immersed in thought he'll become clumsy.

Personality

Vaan is not bubbly nor happy, but rather quietly serene. He's shy around people until he gets to know them, and is easily excited over stories and pieces of equipment or items that are strange to him. He's easily pleased, and a bit naive to the hardships of the world, so he takes sadness onto himself. He tends to get depressed easily if someone around him is hurt or even if he feels like they've been wronged. It can be a bit of a bother at times, as the empathy is almost overbearing.

Equipment

Vaana relies primarily on his spells and prefers to be a non combative support. He does, on the other hand, carry packed explosives in the case of extreme duress.

History

Vaan was born to a large family. He was the third in a pack of four, and the only boy, to boot. But, like his sisters, Vaan inherited his mother's good looks. For this reason, his father jokingly nicknamed him "Vaana" at a young age, and it stuck. He was especially gifted in the druid tradition, and his parents were happy to support him in his endeavors to learn the art of Spirit Healing, but Vaana found himself more in the care of the birds than his teachers, and he was always the first to meet strangers. Stories were Vaana's passion, and the tales and arts of the other cultures drew him like a bee to a flower. He was fascinated by the idea of the technology that other cultures were coming up with, and almost entirely ignored those around him who spoke ill of the stories of others. Like a pining duckling at the opposite side of a rushing river that separated him from destiny, he observed the world with both eyes open and ears perked all around for tales.

His obsession was little worry to his parents, as long as he did well to his studies, and his sisters, although sometimes teasing, were loving. Overall, Vaana was a happily spoiled child with little to worry about but singing and study, and he did both with the enthusiasm of a child at play. He attempted, once, with the pieces of a busted steam gun that had been brought back for him by his father when he found it, to restore the contraption that had obviously been broken enough not to be of any use to anyone anymore, but after weeks of working on it only managed to get it to fire once at the target range he had snuck into, and the explosive shot announced itself throughout his tiny village, bringing many to see what the commotion was about in the dead of the night only to find Vaana with his hands burnt and his hair singed staring at the target, which had been pushed much further down the range, and exclaiming happily that he had hit it.

It was after that his parents had to give him a talk (For his good, and at the request of the town), and a broken-hearted Vaana gave up his obsession for the steam based weaponry he coveted so. This experimentation, though, lead him down the road to creating small explosives in his free time, although he never had used them to harm anyone or anything. The blast was controlled enough, but the damage was too great for hunting and too impractical for target practice.

Vaana still spent his days gathering stories and pining for the great world beyond their little village, and with a heavy heart at 15, his father gave him leave to explore and get more practical experience with his magicks, as he had been taught thoroughly by the village elders and his family, and it was time for him to make his own way. Although this practice was not shared amongst most children, Vaana's family knew he had a wandering soul, and they parted ways with tearful goodbyes and his promises to return after he had seen the world.


*AN EVENT IN TIME*

The clip-clop of a few dozen horses taking a pleasent stride down the pathways towards a small village that retained much of its beautiful sights. The men atop the horses were clad in leather coats that reached their knees and had a few peices of scrapped armour to add to the already tough leather. The company of men seemed like excellent company, they laughed and talked their way out of the quiet boredom of the nightbourhood tucked away in the forest.

"Crutch is lost! The voice cannot deny, for my past is full of singing and dancing, my heart is set on freedom and comfort." They sung with surprisingly light voices that fitted the jaunty tune of the hooves. "Who can say what we do is wrong? Have they seen us eat, drink and be merry? Company with brutal honesty, the silver fox watches us all, our free-will is best! We lack the virtues that the Thrones demand." Sinix finished as he dismounted, moving a hand to gesture for his men to do soo too.

They took a look around before he ordered his men with a gruff voice to take the needed supplies and pay in full payment. There was no need to cause such violence in a quiet village such as this.

Sinix was younger, he lacked the gruff visage of his goatee and his blonde hair was much fairer. The would-be-maurderer leaned on his pony who let out a heavy snort of approval. "Eh, what do you think of this place, Welsh." Sinix said cooly.

Little did he know, someone was eying his stolen prototype black-powder firearm.

Visitors were always a charm; every time one wandered in, Vaana was not too far behind. There had been a grand procession these last couple days. A few guardsmen had come to stay at the small way-home in the center of the village, and now this group of rough-looking riders had come with singing and smiles. The eager young brunet had been at his tree, climbing up to the higher branches when he had heard the sound before he ever set eyes on them. The tunes were unfamiliar to the town and the voices were not the lyrical tones of his mother or father, and far too raucous to be anyone else he might have named--and he could name many a name--so they must have been new.

Branches swung from his way as he slipped down in a rush, snagging his tunic and nearly toppling head over heals into the waiting dirt if not for his quick reflexes - and his practice with nearly killing himself in rushing down this tree. His foot swung out to catch a branch across and slow his momentum in one direction while his fingers tightened around another to correct his descent in an arch through the air. A tumbling roll onto the dirt resulted in him on his feet at the end of it, looking just as confident as any felid who had just nearly met with calamity. Eyes that shimmered like the sea under a sunset turned upward just in time to spot him.

At the head of the procession was a flaxen-haired man with confidence that was draped about him in a cloak, and if that wasn't enough to get the young Vaana's attention. . . the weapon in his possession was.

A gun. He'd been told to give up his ventures for them, but there it was--and pristine, new, unbroken. . . unlikely to explode in his hands.

Sinix placed a hand on his prized and recently liberated weapon from a caravan a few weeks ago. The gunpowder was hard to come by, but the weapon was brutal enough to rely on in close-combat. Sinix had been toying with the idea of affixing a dagger upon the barrel too. It almost shone towards the young Vaana.

The bandit-leader turned towards the pony, giving it a kick as he saw his men return with supplies and such. The gun glittering in the new light before being wrapped in the folds of his coat. "We'll set up camp in those there plains." Sinix shouted, pointing towards a plain that was behind some long pine trees.

It was an effortless ten minute ride though the forest and then the clearing as they disembarked from their rides and started to slowly but sing their way though the dismal work of setting up a camp.

After awhile, Sinix sat on his lonesome on a rock as he watched the setting sun, perched lightly with his spine to the smooth edge. He'd unclipped the coat to reveal the chainmail shirt, old and rugged trousers, seven belts and a vail of black gunpowder.

With the grace of any young boy stalking a group of grown men--that is, none--Vaana had found himself apologizing to every person he had run into on the venture. His focus was so entirely on the toy at hand that he lost touch with the world around him repeatedly, bumping into his neighbors and stubbing his toe on rocks and carts. Eventually, he gave up trying to split his focus and instead went to looking for his next hiding place and then admiring the piece of art he was so blatantly pining for.

The torn tunic even went ignored, despite it's open-air policy to his back and shoulders. He had the presence of mind to give a small thanks for his tight cincher around the lower half of his torso keeping the cloth from falling off of him repeatedly, although it attempted to vacate his shoulders a few times and was irritably righted with a small huff of indignation from the young Orii'm.

They came to rest just a short distance away from the village, but it was far enough that Vaana felt like he had ventured too far out and kept giving nervous glances back toward his home. Up a tree again, he pulled his body upward into the safety of the leaves and branches. Fingers parted the leaves out in front of him to give him a good look at the man who obviously lead the pack of rogues. He tilted his head to the side, letting the brown strands of hair escaping from the ponytail at the nape of his neck tickle his cheek.

The Guardsmen that had been staying inside the nearby village that Sinix and his crew of motley Silver-Foxes had been in hours ago had finally caught the rumor of said pack of rogues arriving. Now the news of such a crew had spread thoughout the land like wildfire as the group had targeted only the caravans and traders that looked like they had good loot to 'give' of their own will.

The twenty or so men and women took up swords, maces and anything they had brought on their long-patrol between kingdoms and moved onto the camp with torches and cries of justice for the group of mauraders.

The camp was suddenly ablaze with actions as Sinix burst out of relaxation and tore the gun from it's belt and withdrawing an equaly threating longsword from its sheath, both weapons glinting lethally in the moonlight.

Just in time too, as the Guardsmen tore into the barely-prepared mauraders as they clashed violently. The two guardsmen that had met Sinix suddenly found themselves apart of a fight with a highly trained warrior and rogue.

Sinix held out the gun towards one, a loud hiss and a bang as the firing pin clashed against the tinderbox in the barrel and a loud bang and flash of crimson light spewed out scrap, lead balls and sparks. The unfortunate target of this effect was the first guardsmen, the explosion of metal and lead reducing the leg of a said individual into a hunk of smoking meat and a geyser of gore and blood, the recoil sending his arm spiraling upwards.

The other guardsmen fled for his life, dreadfully afraid of the roaring fire.

Course, it didn't stop the accurate crossbow bolt implaing itself into his stomach, ripping a gouge into his flesh and leaving Sinix gasping in pain, hissing though his teeth as he tried to glean air.

The Silver-Foxes, as small of a group they were back then were slightly more lethal then they were now, as many of those individuals had been childhood friends of Sinix not hired bandits and scum from villages as they beat back the Guardsmen.

His skin paled at the shouts of war that erupted all around him as the ambush set off. Eyes shot from place to place as he almost felt the wounds that ripped through flesh and invited souls into the next life. His fingers chewed into the bark of the tree where they held, whitening his knuckles and breaking nails under the pressure, but a battle like this happened in an instant.

What seemed like hours to a young boy in a tree, what seemed like days, had happened so fast that he was sure he hadn't breathed during its proceeding. People fell upon the peaceful group like waves, steel flashing under the firelight and making the whole image almost surreal. Time stopped and sped all at once, bringing Vaana out of the world and back in like a roller coaster. Fingers clutched his chest, as if he had been struck, and tears welled up from behind his eyes as the pain rose up over him and stole his senses.

Blood fed the grass this night, and the trees sputtered the noises of a drowning man gasping for breath as they drank. Vaana moved as if one of the living dead, dropping from the tree to land upon his feet in dirt that felt as if it might swallow him as it sucked at the bottom of his soles. The robes around him brushed the ground; the dress's hinge touched the blood-soiled dirt as he stepped forward and caught beneath his boot tip, sending him forward onto his face. His hands reacted as if they were moving through thick and grasping molasses. His shaking body didn't want to react; it didn't want him to move down here. Every molecule that danced and bounced off one another screamed that this was not the place for him--that he should run, not be here. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and moved the heel of his hand up to strike the tears from his eyes, smearing dirt and blood where salty water had once been. He killed that man. That man is dead--unrecognizably dead. How can you think to heal someone who did that to another human being? Leave him. He warred with the thoughts in his head even as he crawled a few short steps forward and pushed his feminine body up to his feet only to stumble forward again.

"Gods. . . I- I. . ." He muttered under his breath even as he dropped beside the man and onto his knees to look at the crossbow buried in flesh, the blood welling up around and out of the wound, "I'm. . . so-sor-sorry." The utterance was barely a whisper, an apology to everyone as much as it was to the man in front of him as he cursed himself for being so cowardly and slow.

Sinix looked to the figure that was apologising towards himself. The bandit lowered a hand to his stomach, probing the bolt lightly. It was even more crude than the scraps fired by the 'Thunderclap' These bolts were barbed.

"I hate barbed bolts." 'Everyone does' he added a second later in his private thoughts as he thought his comment as stupid to even mention it to the female-form infront of him. Sinix thought the stranger was a girl.

"What are you sorry for, I'm dead anyway." he grumbled.


Vaana shook his head violently back and forth, sending his brow ponytail flopping against his bare back and shoulders with the action. The voices in his head were immediately silenced by the sound of the blond's own--he knew what had to be done. He wouldn't just let him die. There was no person worthwhile in the world who would choose that option.

"Th-this. . . will hu-hurt." He placed a hand on the stomach of the man and muttered a wish as his other moved to the shaft of the bolt. Blood wet his fingers and warmed them and he closed his eyes tightly so as not to watch the rivulets swim down his hand as they began.

"Si vis iudicandos pro meliori paucorum," His voice rung as the sound of bells from a tower, ushering the lost back to the path. His hands warmed where they touched flesh, the light of the moon overwhelmed by the bright shimmer that swept through him, flowing from the center of his torso down his arms to slide through the tips of his fingers, and into the flesh. "manere sinas manum redemptionem!" The flesh began to heal at the organs first, stitching the wounded flesh together as he grasped tightly the bolt and pulled it free with the nauseating sound of ripping flesh, blood splashing across him in an arch as he discarded the bolt and opened those iridescent eyes, the pupils all but disappeared beneath the light that had consumed them. Cooing in a singing voice, he instructed the spirits where and how to stitch the flesh back together.

Sinix blinked, then gasped. She was a healer? He could not remember his last healing, that had been a minor sickness as a child and this was different, this was bringing him back from the door of death, taking his hand away from fates cruel claws.

The intrepid rogue moved his hand to gently prod the healed stomach with a ginger finger as he curled them in a fist and got to his feet. "I-" It occured to him that the healing had been one of mercy, she could have just waltzed away like any sensible individual would do. "Thanks." He said down to her. The guardsmen could mistake her for a rogue herself, he thought as he unclipped the belt of the gunpowder and primal weapon as he placed it in her hands. "Keep it safe, until I come back for it, her name is 'Thunderclap'" He answered in a kind voice, a tone he woudn't use for the next few years.

The sounds of battle slowly returned to his ears, the scene of war came shortly after. "Now run!" Sinix said, pulling her up and pushing her back in the direction of the village.

Vaana hadn't even been aware that the fight had continued a bit further into the tree line, away from them. He was so busy with the panic and the sound of his heartbeat throbbing in his ears accompanied by the voice that was confusing him so that he had lost track of his surroundings.

The gun.

It was in his hands, and he wasn't sure why he was clutching it so tightly. It had just completely removed a large portion of the upper body of another man, and yet he still was fascinated enough to hold it like the finest treasure the world had to offer. The taller man grasped his wrist and pulled him upward with a start, setting him to the right on his feet as if he weighed no more than a kitten. He swayed momentarily before his knees locked into place and he found his footing again and the roar of the battle rushed back into his ears with a sudden fear that overwhelmed him. Had Sinix not pushed him toward the village, Vaana might have run in the wrong direction just to get away from the sound and the blood and the trees crying in anguish and rage.

Sinix watched the young woman(Or what he aussumed was.) run towards the village, he pulled his sword up from the dirt and made a whistling gesture as a sleek, black but very rugged and distressed pony galloped out of the campsite and with one smooth move, Sinix mounted the pony and rode off into the forest in order to save his comrades from the overwhelming Gaurdsmen.

Sinix would contine along the rule-breaking path, his refined desires and wants slowly corroding into the basic desire to usurp the rules set forward by the seven Thrones