Zevran Arainai

[zevran]

Zevran Arainai

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&&--You, who shall pull the strings

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Name: Cen~
Age: 20
Roleplaying Experience: Enough
How you found the site: Advertisement

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&&--The character cheat sheet

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Name: Zevran Arainai
Gender: Male
Age: Twenty Two
Hair Color: Blond
Eye Color: Brown
Skin Tone: Latino tanned
Height: 5’4”
Weight: 133 lbs
Wealth: Average
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Why they are in La Campana: In need of a job and in the witness protection and relocation program, Zevran was assigned to work at La Campana as a Spanish language TA, if only because it was the only skill that he could ply at the school. He has recently also managed to bully his way into being allowed to teach the Sexual Education class, if only for his own amusement.[/size]

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&&--What makes the clock tick

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Likes:

❥ Music
❥ Dancing
❥ Festivals
❥ Sex
❥ Alcohol
❥ Exotic clothing
❥ Witty banter
❥ Leather
❥ Warm temperatures
❥ Knives
❥ Ethnic art
❥ Precious metals
❥ Jewelry, especially earrings
❥ Fish
❥Rain
❥Flowers

Dislikes:

❥ Uptight people
❥ Racists
❥ Being outmaneuvered
❥ Losing arguments
❥ Putting in overtime
❥ Overly serious situations
❥ Living paycheck to paycheck
❥ Prudish people
❥ Homophobia
❥ The Crows
❥ Cold
❥ Being rejected multiple times
❥ Having serious, emotional talks

Turn Ons:

❥ The tips of his ears. Having them molested in just the right way is a surefire way to reduce Zevran into a flustered mess.
❥ More experienced ladies.
❥ Naivety. Zevran finds corrupting innocence to be a wonderful game.
❥ Attitude; there’s nothing better than knowing a partner has a bit of a bite
❥ Exhibitionism and group encounters
❥ Having the nape of his neck bitten; it‘s a major erogenous zone
❥ Breasts. Oh yes, he likes him some breasts.
❥ A bit of kinkiness, though certainly major things such as gore and other ‘out there’ fetishes repulse him
❥ Leather.
❥ Bondage, ranging from rather vanilla to heavy

Turn Offs:

❥ Close-mindedness or a purely vanilla sex life.
❥ Being ordered what to do all the time. While he doesn’t mind being submissive at times, he will not stand for being ordered around like a dog.
❥ Untidiness or a partner who isn’t in shape
❥ Racism
❥ Prudishness. Nothing worse than an uptight or repressed partner who never lightens up.

Nervous Habits:

❥ Flirting. Flirting comes as naturally as breathing to Zevran.
❥ Brushing his hair out of his eyes
❥ Playing with whatever is in his hands

Fears:

❥ Love. While Zevran is perfectly fine with one night stands and impersonal relationships, he is awkward and does not know how to deal with actual romantic feelings, as he killed the last person whom his heart actually fancied.
❥ The Crows, if they ever manage to find him.
❥ Imprisonment.

Goals/Aspirations:

❥ To work freelance, without the Crows.
❥ To avoid the Crows at all costs.
❥ To own a home near a tannery.

Appearance:

Zevran is small, slight, and one of confident stature. He is short, standing at less than five and half feet tall, but he carries himself as one who is better than everyone around him. Indeed, his cocky, good-natured attitude is expressed through his posture, and one would be hard pressed to say that he does not project an air of danger around him as well. He is of Spanish stock, and thus has very tanned skin which is augmented by various tribal tattoos all down his body. Perhaps the most obvious of these is some artistic lining down one of his cheeks, all in black ink. Brown eyes are always filled with mirth, constantly watching over his surroundings in a hawk -like way that hints at a very inquisitive nature. Complimenting his dark features is a finely combed mess of almost platinum blond hair that is meticulously combed and braided each day.

Perhaps one of the most stunningly obvious things about Zevran is that he has had cosmetic surgery in order to point his ears. While many would consider such an act as completely, entirely frivolous, it is something that means very much to the man, as it is considered a mark of one of his old gang. However, that being said, because he has been relocated, he does not flaunt the oddity as much as he did in his younger days. While he makes no effort to hide his ears, he also does not try to draw attention to them much.

He tends to wear very nice clothing, the best he can afford, with lots of leather accents. Boots and gloves are a must for any outfit that he ends up wearing, and somehow both pieces always match the rest of his clothes. Generally he tends towards dress shirts and nice dark pants, with plenty of jewelry always, and he never cares to go out if he feels he’s looking less than his best.

Personality:

Shameless. Perhaps the best way to describe Zevran is simply shameless. His sordid origins and upbringing have cultivated a rather open and utterly amoral personality, and though many others see him as a careless hedonist, he enjoys the best of life without all of the accompanying guilt that most so often feel. While he can be an incredibly glorious bastard at times, he finds nothing wrong with his attitude or his lifestyle and does not endeavor to change himself, even if he does not act in a manner deemed ‘proper’ by modern society.

He is an extremely sexual creature by nature, raised by whores and later trained to use his physical appearance to manipulate others, and it would not be an overstatement to say that he generally makes it a habit to sleep with half of the city he currently resides in as soon as he moves. It is, however, not about the attention or the power that he gains when he manipulates the men and women he beds, but instead is merely a way for him to stay sane in the tumultuous career that he used to be involved in. Along the same lines, he rather enjoys tormenting and teasing those more innocent, naïve, or uptight than him and never seems to be discouraged when they end up inevitably mad at him. He is very blatantly bisexual, and does not understand why people would want to change or hide their natures, very contrary to the entire logic of La Campana. Speaking about intercourse and other such things comes naturally to him, and he does not hesitate to give advice to those that he thinks need it, whether they ask for such or not.

However, when things take a turn for the serious and emotional, Zevran often comes up lacking. Coming from a profession and a world that discourages the latter, he is entirely uncomfortable about truly opening up to people. He stays guarded emotionally, rarely letting people grow close to him nowadays, if only because he is now slightly afeared of the idea of actually caring about someone. While he does indeed covet love, he does not wish for the pain that it can bring him, and thus does his best to remain aloof towards people beyond casual friendships and alliances. It is because of this that his nature as a Casanova is a bit understandable to those that know him, and certainly it is entirely the reason for why he tends to sleep around, even though he is out of the mafia and no longer has need to. He is wired to look out for himself and himself only, and thus it is almost impossible to expect a commitment out of him.

Beyond the frivolous appearance lies a rather cold and cunning man. Having been trained since he was small as an assassin for the mafia, Zevran is indifferent towards the lives that he has taken and makes no attempts to hide the fact that he has committed cold-blooded murder. If asked, he will gladly relate his tales, sparing no gory detail if he feels in the mood to shock. Remorse seems to be entirely absent from his range of emotions, and if asked about his feelings on his former job, he merely states that what good would it do to feel bad about things. When asked if it would be better to live in penance, he scoffs at the idea, also unable to understand why anyone would try to make up for things that they don’t care about. While it may seem cruel, he merely does not know any different, having never been introduced to the idea of compassion as a child.

Yet he does seem capable of nostalgia and at least a bit of regret for things that do not involve his former profession. Things that remind him of his home city seem to be particularly effective in invoking these feelings, and he will, on occasion, stop to reminisce if presented with the right stimuli. Leather, ethnic patterned articles of clothing, fish, and illicit sex seem to be the most common things to set him off, and he has no qualm about stopping classes to tell stories of his past and explain things.

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&&--A glimpse of the past

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Father:

❥ Unknown/Deceased

Mother:

❥ Cruz Arainai/25 [at death]/Deceased

Sibling/s:

❥ None

Other important relatives:

❥ Rinna / 18 / Former Lover / Deceased
❥ Taliesen / 29 / Former Associate / Living

Pets:

❥ None

History:

Here there be spoilers for Dragon Age: Origins! Read at your own discretion.

A son of Spain, Zevran was born to a prostitute and a local woodcutter, an accidental child brought into the world by mere fluke. Despite this, he was loved as a boy, and while his mother was killed when he was very, very young, the entire brothel banded together to help raise the boy, showering him in both love and hatred. So was his first few years of life, suckled, pampered, and taught by various prostitutes and the madam of the brothel. He was never forced to attend school, if only because his existence wasn’t quite ever made to the government, and instead was taught by the members of the brothel, reading, writing, math, and a multitude of other strange, if somewhat questionable things over the years. Though it wasn’t a necessarily good life for a child, he survived, even thrived in the environment, venturing out at times to play with other children in situations similar to his own, learning and cultivating a deep sense of personal freedom at a young age.

At age five, the care of Zevran fell solely upon madam of the brothel, who could not afford to keep him. With no place for the little bastard boy, he was put up for auction in an illegal, underground human trafficking ring. Being so young and slightly exotic, he was purchased by a scout for a large underground criminal organization known only as “The Crows”. His life was no longer his own, and Zevran was taken from his ‘happy’ little life and thrust into the depths of underworld intrigue.

Immediately his studies took a turn for the shady, and while he was indeed educated in a top notch facility, it was not any sort of government run school. The Crows instead trained all of their potential members themselves, hand picking the children that they believed to be the best of the best out of the group of slaves that they had purchased. Those that met with approval were pushed hard, both academically and emotionally as the elder gangsters began to push on them, forcing them to toughen up and harden their hearts in order to shape them into effective machines that could be used for their cause. Zevran was among the children chosen, and what followed was years of harsh training that bordered on torture. To this day he will not speak of much that went on, but it is entirely obvious of how he emerged: a tempered, yet deadly teen. As a final sign of his devotion to the Crows, his ears were clipped, marking him as a full fledged, if new, member of the mafia. Though it had taken almost ten years, he was finally given a degree of autonomy, even if he was still under the care of various trainers and mob bosses.

Years past, and Zevran honed his skills, plying sexuality, charm, and deadly grace in order to take down targets for his new family. He was rather effective, and managed to rise through the ranks rather quickly, if only because of is natural luck and innate talent. However, such things managed to draw attention and jealousy from some of his higher ups, and Zevran found himself the target of ridicule and abuse. Despite that, he rolled with the punches, throwing quips back and ever improving himself, much to the chagrin of those that were trying to keep him down.

However, it was at the height of his success that he met his downfall in the form of a young woman named Rinna. Much like himself, she had been trained under the Crow’s tutelage, and despite the fact that they could have been considered rivals at one point, he found himself intrigued by her. She was a strong woman, smart and deadly, all of the qualities that he had come to praise, and though it was explicitly forbidden by the doctrine of the mob, he found himself falling for her. It was the first time that he had ever felt such emotions, and they were so foreign that he was at first unnerved by everything.

It was a twist of fate that brought Zevran and his beloved together, along with one of his close associates Taliesen. The three were sent to kill a wealthy merchant that had become a target of the Crows, and it seemed that everything was going quiet well until one night that Taliesen came to Zevran with horrid news. According to the other man, Rinna had been selling information to their target and needed to be eliminated as quickly as possible in order for the mission to be salvaged. The two confronted her, and she begged and pleaded with them, crying and sobbing that she had done no such thing and would never betray the Crows. Though he wanted to believe her, truly, Zevran had to harden himself, laughing at her attempts to sway them and utterly denying her any sort of mercy. When all was said and done, Taliesen slit her throat, and Zevran, trying to ignore his broken heart, spat on her corpse. They disposed of her, and the assassination went completely as planned, without a single hitch.

However, that was not the end of things. It was revealed that the information leak had not originated from Rinna, and that the dead woman was actually innocent of any wrongdoings. The two had killed her in haste, perhaps in anger, and she had done nothing.

After his return to Antiva, Zevran was a changed man. While externally he still projected a very confidant and nonchalant persona, internally he was conflicted and confused. The situation with Rinna had shaken him, thrown his ideals out of the normal. Taliesen convinced him to lie and they reported that Rinna had been killed in action, but the higher ups in the Crows knew well what the two had done. In fact, one actually told such to Zevran’s face, laughing and saying that it didn’t matter. In fact, someday someone would come along and do the Spaniard in as well, it was an inevitable.

His devotion to the Crows, once absolute, had begun to waver, and for once he began to wonder what it would be like to escape his ‘family’, it if were even possible. It didn’t seem so, but there was one other option that he had, though many would not have considered it to be at all feasible. A job had come in, though it was exceeding risky and complicated, almost a suicide mission, and Zevran knew that he had to take it. A local, very powerful, very corrupt politician had requested the mob’s services in taking care of a young upstart who had managed to gather information on some illicit dealings of his. It was a long shot that anyone sent would be successful, but by that point it didn’t matter to him. He was death driven, and if he died while on a mission, he was convinced that everything would be made right. The Crows would have no hold over him in death, and his sacrifice would atone for the murder of Rinna.

So, after an short debriefing, he was packed up and sent to England with little preparation or information. It was during this mission that Zevran fully expected to die, and thus he was more reckless than normal. While things were still planned out impeccably by normal standards, it was a surefire trap. However, even his colleagues in the other country had managed to underestimate his mark, and things ended up going horribly wrong. Everyone other than him was killed, and he was confronted by the group that he had just attempted to kill. Finally, finally he was ready to die.

He was not, however, expecting compassion. The very mark that he had been sent to kill was instead a man willing to spare his life. Seeing his chance at freedom, Zevran bargained with him, asking to be allowed to work with the side that he had previously been against, if only because it would save him from having to return back to the Crows. It was a long shot and he knew it, but he was surprised that his proposal was accepted, and suddenly he found himself bound by the English government into helping the Wardens with a new task: bringing down some sort of mafia infestation across the country.

Things progressed quickly after his forced coercion. Journeying along with a ragtag band of unlikely heroes, Zevran helped call a myriad of forces together, ranging from religious leaders to isolationist nomads that roamed the English countryside. With such strength behind them, it became clear that the Warden that he was once sent to kill was now strong enough to take out almost the entire underworld in England, and with that, it became possible for him to return and kill the politician that once had hired him.

After everything was said and done, it was possible for the Wardens to finally confront the head of the mafia, and though it seemed that the odds were against them, the allies that they had called upon provided enough support that their small group was able to break through and confront the leader. After a tremendous firefight, it was the Warden himself that managed to kill the wretched woman, but not without the cost of sustaining a fatal injury himself. The man died there, a hero, but because of such things were thrown entirely out of joint for the rest of his group.

Because of his involvement with things, it was too dangerous for Zevran to remain in England, and thus he was placed in a witness protection program and deported to, ironically, Barcelona, Spain, as it was one of the few cities that the Crows did not have influence in. Given a new life, he was assigned to work for La Campana Academia, if only because he did not have many skills to ply other than his ability to speak the native language.

Roleplaying Sample:

The air around him was humid as too many bodies writhed together, a mockery of sexuality with only a few, scant layers of clothing separating their bodies. Hedonistic, some would call it. Perverse, others would say. But who were they to judge? Certainly there were those in society that fed off of the more primal energies that humans were so accustomed to falling to, and Zevran knew he was no exception. In all his years, he had yet to find anything so stimulating, so utterly satisfying, then the rush that came with seduction. Killing had its own appeal, the anticipation of the hunt and the satisfaction of prey well dispatched, but it almost paled in comparison to the yearning, electric feel of knowing that he garnered the attention of everyone in the room.

The metal was cold, pleasantly so, against his thigh, and he threw his weight back, catching himself as blond hair flew everywhere, revealing eyes alight with mischief and danger. It was instinctual, brought upon by the resounding bass, the awed gasps and catcalls, and he reveled in the attention, feeding off of the nameless desire. Life as an assassin lent itself to pleasure, but rarely was he free to pursue it at his own leisure. The Crows had taken his life, clipped his metaphorical wings, but now he was free, and a joyous, if lecherous, smirk graced his dark lips. His free hand skated down his chest, the soft, worn leather of his gloves caressing dark, tattooed flesh in a gesture so profoundly intimate, and yet vulgar and almost obscene.

The Spaniard could feel their stares, the jealousy, the lust, and it was nothing short of delicious. He basked in the whirl of emotions, sliding down the pole with a smooth twist of his body. Leather-clad hips met steel, and he thrust against it in an unmistakable mockery of intimacy. So many times he had been told that sexuality would be his downfall, but no, never. At least not tonight, when the blood racing through his veins had been replaced with fire, and his body moved with wild abandon, long since surrendering to its natural instincts.

As he spun, he raised a leg, contorting into a position that should perhaps not have been humanly possible, a hand straying back up to his lips with almost gentle grace. A pale pink tongue laved at the digits, wetting the leather in a crude simulation of an act so much more obscene, and he was rewarded with more cheers, more of the love that he craved. To be seen as a symbol of raw sexuality…he threw his head back and groaned, pleased with how things were turning out. Certainly he could have had his pick of the lot of them all, men and women alike, but there was just something so alluring about the chase, about the way he was revered as he made love to the pole.

The Crows could have been watching. Even within his reverie he was acutely aware of everything that was going on around him, but it was almost worth the risk. His chest heaved with the effort, sweat beading upon his exposed flesh, but even exhaustion and fear of death weren’t enough to deter him from his fun. If anything, they added an element of danger that was almost intoxicating. To know that oblivion could be so close around the corner, and yet what would it be like to die? Would it be as heady, as erotic as his current actions? If so, Zevran wasn’t sure that he would have even minded. To be able to dance for all eternity, to be loved, worshiped even…it was worth the price.