"For the Fury, for Fate, for the god named Dream."Raphael Delarue | Balmung | PST/PDT | 21+

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OOC INFORMATION.

  • Lightless code available upon request.

  • M-F availability: ~7pm PST onward. Weekends are variable.

  • This is a drama-free zone. OOC communication and respect is a given. Conflicts, concerns, and potential triggers will be discussed amicably.

  • Lore-bending is fine. However, I prefer to write with characters who are meaningfully engaged with canon lore in order to avoid isolation.

  • 21+ plus only, please. No child characters.

  • I prefer not to interact with canon characters since their stories are attached to the MSQ, which is unaffected by RP.

  • Raphael is an antagonist. I am not interested in "fixing" him; I want to enjoy the logical consequences of his fuckery.

  • Walk-ups preferred. Tells okay, but RP will be public unless moved to a private location or we determine party chat is the best place for it.

  • Low-moderate power levels, please. No godlike characters, no canonical WoLs. This just means I don't want to engage that aspect of your OC; it doesn't mean you can't play with me. Unsure? Just ask!

  • Discord is reserved for friends and potential friends; we should RP for a little while before exchanging ours.

  • Discord RP is not my main focus; happy to finish a scene there if need be.

  • I keep IC and OOC strictly separate and expect the same.

  • Queer as fuck and intolerant of bigotry.

BIOGRAPHY.

"A shred of things in themselves, the world as it is apart from me, apart from everyone. A force of nature. A matter of fact. Perhaps the truth is there are no gods after all.Only men like you."-Raphael, speaking to Father Salem of the Order of Nald'thal

NAME. Raphael Delarue
ALIASES / NICKNAMES. Raph; "Brat Prince"
DOB | AGE. 10/21 | 25 summers
GUARDIAN DEITIES. Halone, The Fury; Dirzaste, The Dreambearer; Medri'chev, The Beloved
RACE. Half Ishgardian elezen and Veena viera
HEIGHT | WEIGHT. 6'1" | 160 ponze
GENDER | SEXUALITY. Male | Homosexual
JOB | OCCUPATION. Spellblade (PLD/RDM) | Mercenary; Dancer
PLACE OF ORIGIN | HOME | AFFILIATION. The Brume, Ishgard | Empyreum, W3 P37, Hawkfeather
FAMILY. Ser Julius de Dzemael, Father; Ser Lirael Gauvin, Sister
EYE COLOR | HAIR COLOR | SKIN TONE. Blue | Silver | Alabaster
AETHERIC SIGNATURE. Prone to imbalance. Astral ice.
ALIGNMENT | ROLE. Chaotic Neutral | AntagonistNOTABLE FEATURES. Slitted pupils; tends to stare a little too long. Pointed canines and strong, tapering nails. A vertical scar to the left of his midline stretches from sternum to belly, thick as a dark knight's blade. Printed on his right side is a series of scarred punctures in the shape of a dragon's mouth. Always wears a small vial of dark glass strung on a leather cord around his neck.PERSONALITY. Ambitious. Charming. Ruthless. As far as Raphael is concerned, the Dragonsong War ended too soon and now all that unfinished business with Halone is everyone's problem. The ex-military Brume-rat has the charisma required of a mercenary leader-- or a cultist, hard to say which. He will say only as much about himself as may charm his company, preferring to subject his favorites to the kind of zealous devotion only the Fury's faithful can convey. Raphael will be whatever it takes to get his own way, as eager to please as he is to provoke.LIKES. Control. Sweet wine. Spicy food. Xaela. Duskwight. Poor, downtrodden folks. Restless soldiers and ex-military. Dueling. Chocobo racing. Gambling. Song, especially hymns. Strong, silent types. Loyalty. Straightforwardness. Honor. Sincerity. Snowball fights. Being challenged.DISLIKES. Distractions. Clergy, particularly Halonic Orthodox. Summertime. Nobility. The rich. Sycophants. Unsalted food. Clownery. Wasted potential. Compromise. Being on a boat. Being misunderstood. Duty. Water. The dark.

"Her wings were lifting. The darkness around us shimmered with the clouds of Her gilded blood. Beneath my feet were the bones of a thousand years. I thought: I cannot bear this world a moment longer.Then, child, make another.She glided off into the dark, trailing a ribbon of silver behind Her."-Adapted from Madeleine Miller's "Circe"

BACKGROUND. When Julius de Dzemael sired a child with his vieran maid, there was little question what would happen next. Raphael was born in the Brume and raised by a gang of war orphans after his young mother's mysteriously convenient passing, and it was from this vantage-- ever looking up-- that he witnessed the final years of the Dragonsong War.Naturally, he enlisted, and was squired to a knight who begrudgingly received the full brunt of Raphael's worship. Though the training was hard, Raphael considers these the best years of his life. They were cut short, however, during a routine patrol near Whitebrim, where Raphael sighted a white hawk racing away from the dawn. He followed it to a cavern, where a grim encounter drove the teenage soldier to desert his unit and flee as far south as he could go. Ever faithful, Raphael had hoped to muster an army unburdened by Halonic Orthodoxy in order to redeem himself and achieve knighthood, but the war ended before he could accomplish this goal.Disillusioned, Raphael remained in Thanalan. He worked as a sellsword and joined an Ul'dahn gang called Diabolos' Due, protecting its leader until it eventually dissolved. A priest of the Order of Nald'thal became, after a rocky friendship, the closest thing that Raphael had to a father, and remained Raphael's strongest connection to the Arrzaneth Ossuary. It was via Father Salem's teachings that Raphael's understanding of Halonic Orthodoxy was shaped according to notions of balance and desert.As a mercenary, Raphael primarily offered protection services to Ul'dahn merchants and Monetarists, though clandestine work for the Ossuary continued off the books. The liberation of Ala Mhigo and Doma from Garlean control shifted Raphael's focus from local concerns to matters that affected all of Eorzea, and he expanded his allies accordingly. Clients became friends; friends became comrades. A dream was forming in his mind, a place brighter even than Halone's hallowed halls.Inevitably, Raphael gathered a small band of individuals-- some sworn, others paid-- to assist in the completion of private contracts and other, more mysterious work. Based in Ul'dah with strong connections to its underground, they called themselves the Silverbrands. No voidsent were left unslain under their gaze, no slaver left with their bowels intact. For years their record continued to be, by Ul'dahn standards, curiously spotless.But when it became clear that leading the Silverbrands ran contrary to the very dream it had been founded for, Raphael stepped down. The safety of his friends and the home they had built was not something Raphael was willing to sacrifice. With the company left in capable hands, he returned to Ishgard, where he began something at once new and old. A small knot of soldiers held like a fist and named for the very hawk that had led Raphael astray so long ago, this new company was the promised brand of silver.Or so he thought. Peacetime is crueler to soldiers than war, and inevitably the Hawks tattered, some walking into the horizon, others hunting purpose at the bottom of a bottle, but each one enslaved to their own dark dream.So Raphael made a god of it. If they were to be martyred to this God Named Dream, then it would be with open eyes, a willing heart, and a mouth hungry to evangelize. Truth would prevail.He broke the bone-etched glamour seal given at birth, embracing the Veena heritage of the exile mother he remembered only as the fragrance of smoked lily and snow. He breathed new life into the dead goddess Dirzaste, entrusting unto She all that callous Halone had abandoned.Now, it is from within the belly of the past that Raphael assesses the vulnerabilities of Ishgard's new orthodoxy, biding his time while he builds force worthy of those lost to the lie of the Dragonsong. The faith of the past may be rotten, but what is entropy but the bend of reality towards everlasting balance? As sunflowers chase the light do men turn to their dreams, aching to harmonize injustice, to vindicate their sacrifice, to taste meaning in every choice.Peace demands a new goddess, and Dirzaste's scales crave their pound of flesh.

"They say that Coerthas froze because we worshipped only one of the Twelve. They say that in the wake of the Calamity, the gods willed the region icebound as punishment for honoring only the frigid Halone. But I don’t think that's true. The gods would know better than to confuse crusade for crucifixion. We pray for nothing but the chance to prove ourselves– what better way than to outlast this eternal winter?If the ice is not a trial sent by the Fury Herself, then it is surely a gesture of her everlasting love. She is with us always. There is no spring, no summer, no autumn for her adoration. Hers is a relentless love. It seeps into the bones. It blankets everything so thickly that even the most ancient trees must bow. It catches the sunlight and throws it back all the brighter. It mirrors the stars, doubling their secrets underfoot.How can it be, then, that Her love is not enough?"-excerpt from a journal entry, postwar

PLOT HOOKS.

  • To residents of the fringes, be they Ul'dahn underground, Brume catacombs or Gelmorran underdark, Raphael remains a steadfast phantom.

  • Regular patron of local fight clubs and speakeasies, the grittier the better. Raphael was as often in the ring as he was at the bar; perhaps you were an opponent.

  • Raphael is a friend of the Lavendals, a Gelmorran troupe known for its dealings with surface folk.

  • Gelmorran? Are you looking for connections to fellow Duskwight and traditional ways? Raphael may be willing to help you.

  • Garleans-- be they refugees, staunch nationalists, or conscripts-- will find a friend in Raphael.

  • Tribal Xaela, especially Buduga, Uyagir and Qerel, will find Raphael an inquisitive companion.

  • Patrons of certain nightclubs and brothels may remember someone bearing a strong resemblance to Raphael working the crowd and the pole.

  • If you're itching for a friendly (?) duel then Raphael is your man. Especially if you put a wager on it.

  • Fellow Brumeborn? Open to old Brume gang friends, soldier buddies, maybe you saw him at the cathedral too often.

  • Halonic priests may be subject to interrogation and potentially worse. If you want to be the victim of anti-Halonic violence we can discuss it.

  • Priests of the Church of Saint Adama Landama may know him as "that gravedigger kid" who helped bury locals several summers past.

  • Wax poetic about aetheric metaphysics and Raphael will cheerfully indulge you.

  • Those sensitive to aether may notice something strange about Raphael's, like a hole where something ought to be. A skilled mage will notice a great deal more.

  • Characters with large aetherpools or noteworthy vitality may be oddly distracting to Raphael.

  • A fading rumor holds that Raphael used to be a voidhunter, preying upon the beasts in a manner much like their own.

  • When in doubt, feel free to walk-up IC and strike up a scene, I love organic roleplay.

Please note that I have taken liberties with interpretation of lore involving voidsent and the effects of awakened Dravanian blood in Ishgardians. This description is not intended to be taken literally, only to give an impression to aether sensitive characters.

AETHERIC SIGNATURE. Vast emptiness, the dark matter of a marred soul where more should be but isn’t. Embers flicker throughout the fabric of it, celestial clumps coalescing in scattered clusters. Yet their radiation is dense enough to blind should one look too long.White fire, cold fire. Blue-tasting astral ice, the steadiness of frigidity indistinguishable from inferno. Biting, burning, endless cold.Darkness as memory. Lightless ink an outline of what used to live there. Voidstained scars still seep their energies into the aetherwell, umbral spikes catapulting otherwise stagnant aether to quicken, to seethe its own irregular tides. Voidstain as first cause, voidstain as interloper, voidstain as the reason why the astrally imbalanced soul does not simply stop and die.There is no voidsent here. But perhaps once, there had been. And in its wake a precarious balance has been struck.Hunger throbs. It twists the fabric of the aether, tangling mind, body and soul into knots. The gravity of it draws aetheric webs into one mass, something that Raphael can direct. It is dense. Volatile. Precious. Easily spent because it wants to be spent; it cannot be held for long in this state. Compressed ice forced to bursts of blue flame, like being cut by star’s breath.Penumbra pressurized, crushing itself to sparks. The body wearing the husk of itself like a post-nova halo.And beneath it all an ancient, rattling undertow, alien and essential. A Dravanian scream echoing through tissue twisted by repeated awakenings to it, bloodborne rage and despair foaming at the shores of the mind.A vessel empty and not empty, broken and repaired but missing a few shards, still prone to steady leakage through cracks. Never filled, never satisfied, ever craving the missing piece.

“Have you learnt nothing?”You saved my life and left a hole where the rest should be.“Exotic rites shan’t fix a soul born ill.”I’ll fill it as I please.“You’ll never be satisfied, child. As you pick the wings off butterflies and wonder why they die.”I’ll fill it as I please.-Between Salem and Raphael, post-exorcism

I have invented this goddess because despite the best efforts of the devs, I am not finished with notions of divinity or the metaphysics of primal creation. You do not have to acknowledge this deity, though you may use Dirzaste lore for your own ends. This is, after all, how gods are made.

DIRZASTE. Dreambearer, Slaver of FantasyGelmorran etymology:
dirz: dream, dreaming, fantasy
-aste (feminine): bearer, keeper, slaverGoddess of inspiration and sacrifice, memory and change.Patron saint of the artist and the warrior, the forgotten and the silenced, the ruthless and the tender.Her symbol is the chrysalis.Her element is Harmony, the state at which all elements are balanced. For balance is the essence acted upon that begets the dreams that enslave their dreamers: when the scales tip too far, such dreams are made to set it right.Where ever men suffer dire injustice— the abrupt and pointless slaughter of countless; the chronic denial of basic needs and dignities; the silence of history rewritten by the victorious usurper— there Dirzaste resides, nourishing the hearts of her faithful to chase the means to change it.Derisively known as the Widow, an arachnid siren who spins dreamwebs to ensnare the souls of men and consume them, as well as Saint Stillbirth, referring to the fact that more often than not, the dreams of her faithful die unrealized.Fondly known as Dreamslaver by her zealots, who view themselves as martyrs to the dreams she gifts them. To chase these fantasies is not a choice, but the reason for living to which nothing may stand against.Originally an offshoot of elemental reverence born in North Shroud among a small Duskwight troupe, called Noqumtor, it grew with Coerthan notions of Halonic Orthodoxy during a period of particular atrocity during the Dragonsong War. Its adherents began to infiltrate Ishgardian society and were branded heretics, prompting the total annihilation of the cult’s heart in North Shroud caverns.

It was quick– a breath and it passed, a whisper before the curtains fell and then it was a face staring back at me, terrible and pleasant as it slid back into place.“Some men prefer their Gods cruel. Look at you now. Tormented– plagued by doubt. She is punishing you now, is She not?”So this doubt is proof of Her existence after all.“It is.”The look on his face, too serene. As wrong as the ocean without a ripple. I couldn't look away, afraid the afterimage of what I'd glimpsed would fade if superimposed on the trees around us, the rich earthiness underfoot and a world away."They are because we say They are, Raphael. It is as simple as that."-A conversation held while the Dragonsong War still raged

“I wonder if he realizes that he covets love,” he remembers how that rapier feels in his stomach, how blood mixes with his own.
“I wonder if he realizes he serves me, his god, death.”-Beloved

MEDRI'CHEV. The Nameless and BelovedGelmorran etymology:
medri: death bringer
-chev: belovedYou will know him by the slant of the light, the way it angles towards him no matter where he is, no matter how faint. Even starlight seems to halo his face, constellations distorting themselves just to fit inside his mouth. How many pieces would you chop yourself into just to be able to tuck beneath his tongue? How brightly would you burn just to make him turn his head?You will feel him between the beats of your heart, tender, loosening his grip on the muscle to permit another pulse. When he squeezes you will lament, you will panic, you will cry, and when he smiles in the final moment you will rejoice.You will hear him sing in the quiet of the field when the blood soaks into the dirt and the flies gossip. You will know his sigh when the maggots find the marrow. You will crave his teeth when you starve for purpose, for company, for food, for a loving hand, and he will show you how to eat yourself. He lives in the goosebumps that spill down your arms when you can't catch your breath; his laughter warms the hole the spear leaves in your guts; his fingertips trace every exit wound, lovingly shaping bullet, arrowhead, and claw to hook just right.He will never leave you. He is always leaving.You will immolate with the need to bleed more just to watch him lick it up. You will scrape your spirit back into your dead meat just to beg him to rip it out over and over and over again.You will forget the difference between killing and murder, torture and justice, duty and obsession. You will call it love. He will leave you to choose only when there is no choice, there never has been, for to know him is to worship, to taste him is to adore.Divine, divine. You cannot imagine his kiss until it is upon you like a storm, and then you cannot live without it.Benevolent, betrayer. Beloathed, Beloved.You will want to crawl into his ribs and etch your name on every one. He is affliction. He is peace. He is the reason there exists reason, every day you will seethe, condemned to survive just to behold him.

"Why are you defiant, little lamb?
bucking and braying without direction.
does it hurt?"-Whispers of Medri'chev