☆ walk-ups. ✓
☆ tells. ✓

trigger warnings | emotional & physical abuse, themes of body horror, stockholm syndrome, eating disorders, dysphoria, sleep disorders, amnesia

HOOKS.

Note : These are opening for you to grab- if you wish for me to approach instead please send me a tell <3

out for blood.

Are you seeking a partner in your hunt? The man before you is not one to barter his skills for gil alone. No, his price is far more— he trades in whispers, in secrets, in the knowledge you are willing to share. Gil, of course, never hurts, but it is the weight of your information that holds his attention, that makes him lean in just a little closer, like a predator scenting the air. He is a mercenary with a peculiar code—he is not drawn to bloodshed for its own sake, but he is willing to take on any job, even those that do not end in violence. His indifference to the suffering of others is as sharp as a blade, but there is a certain tenderness in the way he caters to those who find themselves drowning in their own grief or despair.But be warned—do not ask for his help if you are not prepared to pay the toll. For his price is steep, and his methods... well, his methods can be as ruthless as they are effective.You may see his rabbit ears twitch, delicate and sharp, attuned to the promise of words, to the subtle vibrations of a deal unfolding. If it is information you seek, if it is answers you require, he is more than willing to spill blood to uncover the truth. But know this: you must pay him well, and you must speak clearly—there are no vague promises, no half-formed requests here. If you are willing to meet his price, to offer up your payment in full, then he will do as promised, and he will do so with the same cold precision with which he handles his blade.

★★★

Sharlayan traveler.

This man carries himself with an unmistakable air of elegance. There is a quiet confidence about him—a poised certainty that only reveals itself when the moment demands it. Yet, more often than not, he remains an observer, his gaze sharp and deliberate. But then there is his voice. It is subtle, yet unmistakable—a rich cadence, laced with an accent that seems to curl around each word with an artistry all its own. The way his tongue dances on syllables, drawing out the melody of his heritage, makes it clear: he is a man of Sharlayan descent.Though he moves with his companions, his presence is never quite the same as theirs. He wears the guise of one who follows, yet there is something more—always that journal, ever-present, hanging at his left hip like a quiet companion. A weapon, yes, but it is the weight of knowledge that truly defines him. He is not simply walking beside them—he is studying, watching, observing, with a gaze that could pierce through the veil of any situation. And more than once it seems the focus of his scrutiny seems to rest on you, as if you were the subject of an unspoken study.

slitted gaze.

Amidst the endless hum of voices filling the room, there is a sound that stands apart—a soft, deliberate voice, cutting through the brief pockets of silence. It’s the sound of a conversation, or perhaps a quiet argument, though the exchange is hardly filled with venom. No, it’s more of a playful back-and-forth, a sparring of words, as if each sentence were a parry, each retort a jab, all laced with a subtle but unmistakable amusement.The fiery redhead, ever the spark of this verbal dance, rolls his eyes—though not out of frustration, but rather a knowing exasperation, usually directed at one of his companions. Yet even in this, there is a spark of humor, a teasing edge to his words that lands like a playful thrust of a dagger, sharp but never meant to wound. And then, there’s his laugh. It rises from deep within, a sound that catches in his throat, just a moment too long, as if he’s savoring the humor in the moment. But then—silence. In that breathless space between words, his gaze shifts. His eyes, once focused on his companions, now find you. How strange, how utterly unexpected—this shift of focus, this quiet moment where, for reasons unknown, you become the object of his gaze.

★★★

wicked tongue.

His teeth gleam in the soft light, a flash of brilliance as his lips curl into a grin—playful, mischievous, as if the world itself is a game he’s more than eager to play. He stretches, stretching not just his limbs but his very presence, often revealing more of himself in the process. His skin, warm and inviting, catches the eye, almost daring you to look closer. A companion by his side, his banter light and teasing, he draws attention when it benefits him.He doesn’t resist the weight of conversation, welcoming it like a well-worn friend. He thrives in the trade of words, the exchange of secrets, savoring the sweet thrill of whispered confidences and shared knowledge. His charm is not forced, but natural—a fluid, effortless glide between people, as if he’s a master of navigating the currents of interaction. There’s an ease to him, an openness that invites others to step closer, to let their guard down. But then, every so often, his gaze shifts—his golden eyes, like molten honey, catch yours across the room. There’s a moment, suspended in time, where the air between you thickens, his gaze locking with yours. It’s not always clear what it is—perhaps it’s curiosity, perhaps something darker, something hidden beneath layers of playful charm. But one thing is certain: there’s a hunger in that look, an insatiable desire to understand, to know. And yet, just as quickly as it arrives, it moves on, slipping away as he continues his exploration of the room, of faces, of stories, never lingering too long in one place.

snakes lament.

Are you a student of the Sharlayan Studium, or perhaps one who has walked those hallowed halls in years past? The man before you is familiar, his presence echoing memories of youthful ambition and academic rigor. If you have seen him before, it may have been when you were younger, caught in the whirlwind of your studies, surrounded by the promise of knowledge and the pursuit of understanding. Now, he stands before you, though his appearance has changed—his tie, a symbol of his affiliation, now a permanent fixture on his person, often tucked with casual ease into his pocket, or more playfully, tied around his wrist like a reminder of his past, a subtle homage to the Studium’s distinguished uniform.A man who belongs to the world of scholars, of thinkers, of those whose very essence is defined by their connection to that great institution. His body language is open, inviting, as if he were still the same eager student, though time has carved its marks in more ways than one. You may find him in the midst of lively conversations with friends, his attention divided, yet never entirely closed off.If you feel something stir within you, a flicker of recognition, of kinship, do not waste the moment. This is not a chance that comes often.

★★★

strength in scales.

Before you stands a man whose frame speaks of quiet strength—his build lean, but not fragile. There is a suppleness to his form, a flexibility that betrays the precision with which he moves. He is no dancer, his motions not light and airy, but purposeful, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. His bones carry a weight that speaks not of burdens, but of power, a latent force honed by years of discipline and training. He is built to wield a weapon with devastating accuracy—perhaps a scythe, its blade sharp and sweeping, an extension of his own fluidity. His gloved hands move with a strange grace, twisting and pulling at nothing, as though they are not accustomed to being empty. His fingers flex, yearning for something to hold, to grasp—a weapon, perhaps, or something more. Beneath the fabric of the cotton gloves, though, the truth lies hidden—deep, crimson scars tracing the length of his hands, burns etched into the skin. As he shifts his weight, unable to stand still for long, his gaze moves, scanning the room with an air of quiet vigilance. His eyes flicker over faces, over corners, over shadows.Then you watch his gaze twist- and fall directly onto you.

hook.
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documentation.

nature.

Perceptive. ✧.* He watches you, as you watch him,,, his eyes a silent stage. He basks in the glow of attention, a star whose shine draws all eyes, leaving none to notice where his gaze truly lies.Playful. ✧.* He clicks his tongue against ivory teeth, his gaze lingering on every shape and form. Playful, with a knowing charm that could captivate, should he play his cards just right. He feasts on knowledge, and if your lips offer the taste, the deal becomes all the sweeter.Polite. ✧.* Few discern the quiet tug of his questions, or the slow shift of his answers. There is always a purpose behind them, though whether kindness graces his intent remains hidden. He will remain courteous, a mask of politeness veiling his true design.Dominating. ✧.* A man who clings to control, even when surrender would serve him best. He thrives in the grip of dominance, savoring the power of another’s submission,,, relishing the dance of pushing and prodding, as if it were the air he breathes.Deceptive. ✧.* posuere suspendisse varius sagittis non urna curabitur pellentesque. Vivamus viverra hac; at ex scelerisque rutrum. Duis blandit sagittis sociosqu ante per mus cubilia.Greed. ✧.* posuere suspendisse varius sagittis non urna curabitur pellentesque. Vivamus viverra hac; at ex scelerisque rutrum. Duis blandit sagittis sociosqu ante per mus cubilia.

★★★

✧.* Control was more than mere dominion,,, it was the embodiment of power itself, a mastery over something so primal and untamed that it defied ordinary understanding.To Vesper, the scythe was not merely a tool of harvest or destruction. It embodied a duality—both a comfort and a threat. In his hands, it was an extension of his will, a weapon capable of cutting through the chaos of the world, yet also a symbol of care for those he held dear. Its blade, sharp and precise, could offer a swift, merciful release, slicing through the burdens of those he cherished, like a gentle stroke of fate’s hand. But it was also a force of ruthless efficiency, a sweeping arc that could cleave and carve, leaving nothing untouched, a deadly edge that would not hesitate to sever what stood before it.

him.

✧.* This Viera, like his brethren, carries a beauty both feminine and ethereal, yet beneath that grace pulses the heart of a man. Masculine in his own quiet strength, he embraces the balance within, catering to both sides, whether it beckons the bite of desire or the sting of caution. A fisherman of souls, he casts his line far, luring both men and women into his careful snare, only to reel them in with the curiosity of one who seeks to understand the world, not possess it.An adventurer at heart, he wanders the world with a scholar’s hunger, collecting knowledge like precious relics,,, writing, painting, observing the ebb and flow of life as though it were a canvas he must fill. Every few months, he returns home, a quiet student of the world, passable in the eyes of those who glance his way but unnoticed in the deeper currents. His collection of degrees, earned through means not always by the book, tells little of the man,,, his true lessons are learned in the shadows, where the price of knowledge is a little less pure. But he cares not.

✧.* playlist

name | vesper van. helen.
age | 28.
race | viera — veena.

hair color | dark red, white.
eye color | gold, yellow.
skintone | light pink, iridescent

✧.Not while eyes—gleaming, unseen—lingered behind the cracked and weathered tavern windows, their stares a cold, penetrating force that pierced through the dim glow of flickering lanterns. The heavy oak doors, ancient and groaning with age, creaked ominously as they swung shut, the sound echoing like a mournful wail through the hollowed silence of the night. These doors, unyielding and vigilant, sealed off the last vestiges of hope, their relentless clamor a reminder of the darkness that lay beyond.✧.As the hours stretched interminably from late nights into the bleak hours of early mornings, the atmosphere grew thicker with despair. Shadows lengthened and twisted on the walls, cast by the feeble light of guttering candles, dancing grotesquely in a macabre ballet. The tavern, once a place of transient solace, had become a realm of insidious foreboding, where the nightly toil seemed never-ending and hope dwindled like the dying embers in the hearth. The very air seemed to conspire against the weary souls, heavy with a sense of inexorable dread that gnawed at the edges of their sanity.

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connections.

✧.* Vesper tends to his relationships with the meticulous care of a master vintner nurturing a rare and exquisite wine. He approaches both his familial ties and romantic entanglements with an almost reverential patience, understanding that true connection, like the finest wine, demands time and tender attention to reach its fullest potential. At the outset, these relationships are like young, unrefined wine, encased in fragile glass bottles. They possess a raw, untamed potential, but their future is uncertain and their fragility undeniable.

Hidden key | ✶ - UNKNOWN ✸ - UNKNOWN

Morrigan Igras

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Brash, unsteady at times, yet undeniably strong—Morrigan moved through the world with a confidence that often ruffled feathers. His presence, a storm in the calm, could unsettle most, but Vesper paid it little mind, as long as the task was done. Vesper’s hunger for knowledge, though never truly sated, gnawed at him like a constant ache. Morrigan lends a firm hand, though he did not feed the craving, he was a willing ally in the hunt, helping guide Vesper’s pursuit.

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Alea Xityrrith

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Vesper was drawn to those who resisted their own desires—there was a mystery in their restraint, a temptation to twist the hands of time and watch how it faltered, ticking out of rhythm. Alea, ever silent, was louder for it—her stillness spoke volumes, a quiet storm beneath her calm exterior. Just as brash in her silence as the loudest of voices, she was a riddle that made perfect sense.

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Asana Et'cetera

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A brother in spirit, though never a replacement for his true kin, Asana filled a space in Vesper’s heart—softly, yet profoundly. It was a quiet joy to watch him savor life with the same fervor, a sweetness that held its own weight, balancing against the rest of their party. Asana was a delight to tease, a puzzle to unwind, and Vesper reveled in the playful dance, watching him stir, his reactions a dance all their own. A healer, quick to clash with his steadfast tank, yet in the quiet moments, Vesper found a quiet appreciation for him.

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hook.
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Gallery.

screenshots.

artwork.

✧.* all art here is made by myself, unless stated otherwise.

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archives.

WIP.

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ooc.

SYLENCE.

Intro. Hello! Seems you've found my little babies carrd! have fun exploring! I've been playing ffxiv for quite a while, though am new to the ffxiv roleplay scene! (Not roleplay in general) ;)links.
★ Commission info
★ Bsky
★ throne
★

roleplay preferences.

writing style. I enjoy all types of roleplay, and my writing style adapts to match the person I'm roleplaying with. Typically, I lean towards Advanced Literate writing, but during game hours, I usually keep it to a paragraph or two.Writing partners. Minors stay away! I firmly only roleplay with those who are 18+themes. Please note that if you are willing to go farther than skin deep with my character, you will see themes of emotional & physical abuse, themes of body horror, stockholm syndrome, eating disorders, dysphoria, sleep disorders, amnesia. Otherwise I will keep it pretty light!

limitations.

nsfw. My rp's aren't often nsfw centered, though I do enjoy nsfw if talked about before hand ooc! My character is flirty, and may be willing to do more than talk. He is versatile, leaning towards top.character. My character is not a good person. He can be mean and cruel at certain moments, but please understand that this is just a roleplay and not a reflection of me. What he says should not be taken personally—I am not my character.carrd temp. by myself omgee.

hook.
docu.
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