CaliforniaState

Steel Ball Run | Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

_Mention: 「 [@Everyone] 」

---

Just as he was getting comfortable with his second bowl of stew, Simon once again opened his gullet and this time it wasn’t to eat his stew. His spoon stopped while his mouth stayed agape for what seemed like ages. It was a miracle hadn’t flown into it for a night or even worse. With every word he spoke the creases on his forehead increased, a sign of aging like that of the rings within a tree stump. Catching every other word and trying to decode the rest his eyebrow twitched before he dropped his spoon into the stew leaving splashes of cream on his jacket. “Listen if you don’t start speaking English better than a newborn, I’m gonna have to crack you one every time you speak like that. You’re annoying..” Joseppi tugged his hat down casting a shadow on his gaze once more to appear a little more menacing than before.

“Huh?” Joseppi almost forgot that Donny had left despite having shrugged it off not even five minutes ago. Oh well there was no use to waste resources looking for him, if they decided to, he would stay at the camp and rest on his own. “Don’t bother wasting your time neon, if Airbag can’t sense him in the air that means he’s as good as gone. Matter fact Airbag can finish putting that there tent together.” Airbag rose out of Joseppi like a ghostly apparition and headed over to the tent and helping neon. His attention was redirected back to Jules though. “Lest I forget you’re gonna tell me what happened before the end of the race or our deal is off” he noted, “Misunderstandings don’t tend to lead hitman from across the oceans to hunt down one girl.”

Finally, she spoke a lick of sense, maybe he had misjudged her then again maybe not. “You guys go ahead I’m going to stay out here for a while.”

Shelter

Location: Teacher's Lounge -- Group Discussion

---

Words were only getting them so far.

It seemed with every wave of new ideas there was an equally proportionate voice that eroded away at any thought of entertaining an idea. It was clear as day the anger was wearing thin on the faces of the many teenage high schoolers in such a cramped room. Unfortunately for Xan he had exhausted all of his usefulness for the time being, despite being quite the introvert and avid PC gamer, no matter of zombie portrayal in media would help him survive this. He had no provisions to offer in the beginning unless you count a crumpled paper bag with apple slices with brown discolorations.

Saying the heat wasn’t getting to him would be nothing but a farce. All the talking and closed airways was turning the room into the sauna. Surely dying in a sauna would have been better than being torn to pieces by the undead, too bad they couldn’t just feed exhaust fumes from Jaden’s car into the room. At least that would have been less painful than this. Elvina’s sudden tongue lash was equally as hot as the rising temperature in the room. She had a point, seniority in this case was anything but helpful. But then again none of this squabbling was getting them anywhere either.

And so, the carousel of arguments went on and on while even Xan’s patience began to wear thin. Just as he was about to join the disorder, Elliot spoke up once again. There was some sort of soothing property to her speech, something he only read in comics when Scott Summer or Stever Rodgers spoke to rally their respective teams together. It was about time everyone put their differences aside and worked together to get out of this room at least. Taking the first steps out of the rest of the crew, Xan walked towards Elliot. Taking his place adjacent to her he looked at the rest of the lounge and raised his arm as if being called on by the teacher. “I agree, lets just get out of here. After we find a way outside you don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. We can get that far at least, right?”

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

Kvasir had been busy punching trees outside until his knuckles were raw, but more importantly trying for the last half an hour to catch quite the elusive fly that had been pestering him for the last several days. This however was not guild etiquette especially in display of any onlookers even reporters to say the least. The violent giant still fresh blood to the guild was gently reminded of this by Aiden when he came waltzing outside. The mage full of grace and poise snatched the fly out of the air by its wings before handing it to the savage brute. He crushed it just as quickly as he obtained it leaving nothing more than a litany of body parts. Aiden spoke of a mission to some place called Bludmach, he didn’t really pay much attention besides a few grunts to show he was fine with whatever the guild needed.

The wagon was more or less, broken. It was quite the miracle it was able to house Kvasir, Eldrid who was rivaling his stature for a woman, and the dog that could stand on just his hind legs. Whether it was a party trick or magic, Kvasir couldn’t tell but similarly found it too exciting to care. Bludmach’s decrepit environment had done nothing in the way of alarming Kvasir. He had been used to seeing harsh environments on his way to Winter’s Blade from the countryside. Unfortunately for Klaus, Kvasir’s attention had been on him the entirety of the ride. Kvasir couldn’t help but feel a strange compulsion to comb through the dog’s fur looking for any kind of fleas or ticks.
”Haha silly doggy” he thought until he was violently thrown across the wagon into the fiery red head. Kvasir propped himself up with what appeared to be a hand on Eldrid’s bosom.

Steel Ball Run | Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

_Mention: 「 [@Everyone] 」

---

The first to respond was the gruff cowboy that had originally been the source of his tumultuous start to the race. All ill will for the burly man had seemingly left his body in one go as if he had burrowed his anger into his face already. Oddly enough his face did appear to have some off colored bruising now that he thought about it. Not putting too much stock into it he simply shrugged off the notion that the two could possibly be connected. Airbag however shook her head and open palm in unison before collapsing her face onto her head to hide further disappointment.

Making sure to continually stir his stew as to not burn any of the contents he simply cocked his eyebrows in retort to Simon. “Yeah matter of a fact she wasn’t the only one hunting this one over here. Not to scare y’all any further but I spotted one of them Nazi looking fellows gazing in her direction. Now I know that ain’t much to go off of, but after all the years of detective work, I got under my belt you start getting a gut feeling for these things. Shame it was off for you Simon, I do not know how I got that one wrong. Must of done something in a past life” Joseppi said laughing while attempting to taste his stew.

It needed a few more spices before it was complete otherwise it tasted succulent. Turning to his bag once more he noticed Annie had gone her own way and retrieved a tent. Joseppi was kind of bummed out having thought they were simply going to rough it out and sleep under the gaze of the starry night. A tent didn’t sound so bad once he thought it over. Perhaps first watch would go to him and free up some space for the others seeing as Simon was fat and Joseppi was no teacup himself.

The rest of the ingredients went in and he stirred a few more times before removing from the fire. He divided the stew into equal portions, hand delivering it to each of his newly found companions. Except for Donny who he somehow managed to lose, horse and all. He’d eventually find his way back or at the next neck of the race if anything. Sitting back down he faced Jules once more, “Yes quite wonderful. Now tell me this miss, how did a dainty thing like yourself get tangled up in this kind of mess with these kinds of people? You seem pretty harmless got a pretty face to keep you out of trouble even” Joseppi blew on his spoon before stomaching down his stew. “There’s something you ain’t telling me and I need to know if I’m going to protect you until the end.”

He stopped eating with the slights delivered by the devious woman, perhaps she was a criminal and just playing dumb. “That’s fine with me, the bounty never said I needed you back alive miss nor in one piece. Go with him if you want or that lady on that account” he continued, “I did catch a look and seems like he’s not the type you want to get wrangled with miss.” Joseppi finished his bowl before dipping into what would have been Donny’s. The fire crackled between the four of them, the only thing that drowned out the desserts silence.

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Y2K

_{Smells Like Teen Spirit}

---

The 90s were finally coming to a head and ending the year in what many believed to be set for disaster in the year 2000. The 90’s had really everything actually, from the trendy trapper keepers’ kids brought to school to the advent of the internet. That wasn’t all though, you had enthralling police chases like that of OJ Simpson in his famous white bronco, you could buy and bid on anything with the creation of ebay, and one of the best gifts of all, grunge music. The idea that there was one more year till they hit the 21st century was nothing less than enticing for Rocco. I mean it was the first time he ever lived through a decade that he could almost perfectly remember. One more year his thought lingering with him like a spirit attached to a house that just won’t quit. The promise of college and girls fashion inspired by the spice girls gave him hope for both future education and art.

Before he could dream anything however, a knock at the door followed by a timely ”Wake up!” that could be heard from the crack in his door. He would miss his mother being his natural alarm, he wasn’t quite used to using such antiquated systems like an alarm clock. The blaring noise interrupted his feng shui or so he claims. The cloyingly sweet aroma rising from the kitchen tugged at his nostrils and lifted him from his sateen sheets and privately escorted him downstairs without missing a beat. Breakfast had been served and nestled in the middle of the table. Cinnamon rolls were only for rare occasions and the last first day of his high school career was something that permitted such an occasion. Scarfing down a few morsels of his frosted delight, Rocco proceeded to get ready ensuring he had sufficient time to meet the bus at the end of the block.

The ride was all the same, trees in the distance with the signature flashing red lights halting traffic. School wasn’t much different; the halls were familiar yet strangers all at once. The bell rang and first period was underway only this time he wasn’t going to stay in class. Instead they were headed out to Museum of Natural History for the day. This would be perfect as his muse, he always appreciated the artistic values carried over millennia before him. There was more of the same droning procedure before they were finally loaded back onto the bus as if they were prisoners. It wasn’t until not even five minutes into the ride did he feel the sudden weight of another human’s head on his shoulder. Unbothered by her lack of sleep the boy simply ensured he’d wipe any drool dripping from her mouth off himself and her face with his handkerchief before she awoke.

The familiar smell of dirty water dogs and roasted peanuts had etched a serene smile on his face as he proceeded forward into the museum. Fossils of the king of the dinosaurs had been meticulously and carefully crafted together, completely innocuous the T-Rex stood but still demanded an heir of fear mixed with respect. He ignored what his other classmates had to say about the museum itself and instead planted himself down at the T-Rex and began to sketch ever so carefully, hoping to really capture the authority this figure had. T-minus five hours and counting before the start of the end or so he imagined.

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

What's your blood type?

Guild Membership Card

---

Personality

_{Kvasir is very basic in principle when it boils down to personality. He is almost devoid of any and all learned behavior and nuanced traits. Bare to the bone, the best way to describe Kvasir would be a rabid dog. He has no real concept of what right and wrong is nor the civility between humans in an open setting. Instead Kvasir relies on his basic animal instinct, his gut has never steered him wrong and he has gotten this far without need for anything else. Though near feral and paranoid, he however can become a loyal companion that bends to authority depending on who he becomes subservient to with enough time and compassion.}

Appearance

_{Kvasir is a god among men, both literally and figuratively. His godlike physique can only be attributed to the blood pumping through his body and the sinful inclusion of his god Kvasir. His height is a staggering 6’3 while he weighs an impressive 190 pounds. This amount of mass lends itself to his chiseled physique than can be visually seen from the definition in his arms, chest, and leg muscles. His eyes are a piercing emerald green with waves of lush chestnut colored hair, one strand locked in a braid hanging off to the side of his face. He is naturally adorned in brown and golden robes that allow ease of movement when in combat. A wrapped headband in the same fashion as his robe and pants with the addition of golden jewelry around his neck and fingers.}

---

“Let me go first.”

| N a m e: |

Kvasir

| Alias|Nickames|Titles: |

Bloody Mess

| G e n d e r: |

Male

| A g e: |

20

| R a n k: |

C+

| Guild Membership Status: |

Fresh off the boat

| Guild Seal Location: |

On top of his tongue

| History: |

While most humans’ lives revolved around magic, Kvasir’s world revolved around religion. The recollection of events shy of the first mark of sin on his body have all been repressed and practically purged from his mind. Kvasir wasn’t his birth name nor one chosen by him, instead it was one granted to him by the group at large. You see Kvasir was born into a family that was victim to a cult. The cult wasn’t renown or heard of outside the parcel of land they claimed atop the snowy mountains secluded from the rest of the world and their tales of magic and monsters. Instead they were their own monsters. The cult itself believed in many gods that were dictated by a dichotomous view of the world. These gods eventually organized themselves into two separate tribes that had gotten along until a break down in relations plummeted the two into war.

To save you from the details, Kvasir’s story revolves around one god that the cult worshipped religiously who was known as none other than Kvasir himself. This is important for he did not share the same name as their god until the aftermath that ensued. You see Kvasir was their god of wisdom considered to be the wisest of all beings. There was no question for which he did not have a ready and satisfying answer. He took up the life of a wanderer, dispensing his wisdom to all whom he met along the road. When he came to the house of two dwarves, Fjalar (“Deceiver”) and Galar (“Screamer”), they killed him and drained his blood into three containers. They told the gods that Kvasir had suffocated from an excess of wisdom. The two dwarves then brewed mead by mixing Kvasir’s blood with honey – the Mead of Poetry. In fairness this religious sham of a cult operated in the vein of Fjalar and Galar rather than the god himself; true wisdom falling on deaf ears.

So, in order to obtain this wisdom, the cult need a spring to drink from, one that bore the bountiful fruit of wisdom. But how could they cultivate and allow for something so sacred and rare to grow? Their greed and ambitions turned to the children. You see in order to carefully curate this fruit they needed the wisest of all vessels. Children were often seen as innocent, smart, and quick to learn while adults were past the age of ripeness. The idea that wisdom could be harvested from children became their mantra. And so, with the finest of rituals the cult began to create their vessel for wisdom. This was done in a few steps, first was collecting the first son from every family, followed by carefully examining them medically to ensure they were free from ailments or disease. After that, was an arduous and tedious learning regime spanning from the age of recruitment all the way to their coming of age in what was otherwise known as puberty.

Whomever was to score the highest at the end of their cycle would be nominated as their sacrifice, their cult mentally ruling out any qualms of this barbaric process. Once chosen they would be bled to death over days until there was enough blood to be passed around the cult, those who weren’t chose were integrated back into their families. The yearly ritual was fast approaching and Kvasir being the second son born to his family was safe from being chosen. This however meant his brother would be chosen in his stead. Yet his brother struggled in his studies and was fearing the judgement of his family for not being a front runner in their tradition. Confiding in Kvasir his brother asked for help, safe from the ritual he reluctantly accepted in servitude to his brother. As he began to teach his brother, he learned that the material was easy and quickly absorbed into his mind.

It was almost a day and night change with his brother’s aptitude after a few weeks practice, he would for sure be picked. It wasn’t until a routine medical evaluation that he learned he disqualified due to the growth of a sickness inside him. Instead of waiting for the following years harvest they took Kvasir as tribute instead. At first, he played the idiot and tried to fail through the exams, but he was quickly reminded lying led to pain. His scores blowing his contemporaries out of the way led him to being chosen as this year’s tribute. While everyone had been blindly led to follow their fake gods practice, he had the wisdom to know they were wrong, he protested his god and rejected his teachings. His rebellion was ignored as they tied him up to his fate.

His vision was fading, becoming blurry, his mind slipping away from this ritual sacrifice. He pleaded to any god that could hear him that if they helped him escape, he would become a vessel for them to live through. Only one god answered and that was Kvasir himself, ironic as he rejected him. The blood that pooled out of him retreated inside his body leaving some still outside to coat his hands in the form of blades. Free from his bindings he eviscerated his cult family and drained them, using whatever blood was left to be taken inside his body.

On purely instinct, Kvasir was driven and drawn to the city of white harbor where he collapsed in front of the Winter Blade’s Guild.

| Magic: |

Blood God Slayer Magic (血の滅神魔法Chi no Metsujin Mahō)
Is a rare specialized god slayer magic that deals with the element of blood, that is red and black in color. Kvasir can manipulate his own blood in a multitude of ways but most notably scene in weaponized constructs.

ᚶ Rune Magic ᚶ (文字の魔法 Moji no Mahō)
Native to only Kvasir as of now, Rune magic is a form of combination magic from enchantment magic and letter magic. The blood used from either himself, his magic, or a foreign blood source will act as the ink to the start of his magic. Once he draws a nordic rune on his body he can activate a magic relating to the meaning of his mark depending on whether it is Elder or Younger Futhark.

| Strengths and Weakness: |

Strengths:
Excels in close range combat
Fearless
Tenacious
Athletic in and out of combat (Running, jumping, swimming)

Weaknesses:
Can become frenzied and lose himself in battle
Has a hard time being social
Can’t replenish his reserves from long range
Rash

| Miscs : |

When in combat he adorns what can be seen as gauntlets which house two hooked hidden blades, blood drawn from these feed into a tube that goes directly into Kvasir's skin.

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

Let's try this again shall we

What's your blood type?

Guild Membership Card

---

Personality

_{Kvasir is very basic in principle when it boils down to personality. He is almost devoid of any and all learned behavior and nuanced traits. Bare to the bone, the best way to describe Kvasir would be a rabid dog. He has no real concept of what right and wrong is nor the civility between humans in an open setting. Instead Kvasir relies on his basic animal instinct, his gut has never steered him wrong and he has gotten this far without need for anything else. Though near feral and paranoid, he however can become a loyal companion that bends to authority depending on who he becomes subservient to with enough time and compassion.}

Appearance

_{Kvasir is a god among men, both literally and figuratively. His godlike physique can only be attributed to the blood pumping through his body and the sinful inclusion of his god Kvasir. His height is a staggering 6’3 while he weighs an impressive 190 pounds. This amount of mass lends itself to his chiseled physique than can be visually seen from the definition in his arms, chest, and leg muscles. His eyes are a piercing emerald green with waves of lush chestnut colored hair, one strand locked in a braid hanging off to the side of his face. He is naturally adorned in brown and golden robes that allow ease of movement when in combat. A wrapped headband in the same fashion as his robe and pants with the addition of golden jewelry around his neck and fingers.}

---

“Let me go first.”

| N a m e: |

Kvasir

| Alias|Nickames|Titles: |

Bloody Mess

| G e n d e r: |

Male

| A g e: |

20

| R a n k: |

C+

| Guild Membership Status: |

Fresh off the boat

| Guild Seal Location: |

On top of his tongue

| History: |

While most humans’ lives revolved around magic, Kvasir’s world revolved around religion. The recollection of events shy of the first mark of sin on his body have all been repressed and practically purged from his mind. Kvasir wasn’t his birth name nor one chosen by him, instead it was one granted to him by the group at large. You see Kvasir was born into a family that was victim to a cult. The cult wasn’t renown or heard of outside the parcel of land they claimed atop the snowy mountains secluded from the rest of the world and their tales of magic and monsters. Instead they were their own monsters. The cult itself believed in many gods that were dictated by a dichotomous view of the world. These gods eventually organized themselves into two separate tribes that had gotten along until a break down in relations plummeted the two into war.

To save you from the details, Kvasir’s story revolves around one god that the cult worshipped religiously who was known as none other than Kvasir himself. This is important for he did not share the same name as their god until the aftermath that ensued. You see Kvasir was their god of wisdom considered to be the wisest of all beings. There was no question for which he did not have a ready and satisfying answer. He took up the life of a wanderer, dispensing his wisdom to all whom he met along the road. When he came to the house of two dwarves, Fjalar (“Deceiver”) and Galar (“Screamer”), they killed him and drained his blood into three containers. They told the gods that Kvasir had suffocated from an excess of wisdom. The two dwarves then brewed mead by mixing Kvasir’s blood with honey – the Mead of Poetry. In fairness this religious sham of a cult operated in the vein of Fjalar and Galar rather than the god himself; true wisdom falling on deaf ears.

So, in order to obtain this wisdom, the cult need a spring to drink from, one that bore the bountiful fruit of wisdom. But how could they cultivate and allow for something so sacred and rare to grow? Their greed and ambitions turned to the children. You see in order to carefully curate this fruit they needed the wisest of all vessels. Children were often seen as innocent, smart, and quick to learn while adults were past the age of ripeness. The idea that wisdom could be harvested from children became their mantra. And so, with the finest of rituals the cult began to create their vessel for wisdom. This was done in a few steps, first was collecting the first son from every family, followed by carefully examining them medically to ensure they were free from ailments or disease. After that, was an arduous and tedious learning regime spanning from the age of recruitment all the way to their coming of age in what was otherwise known as puberty.

Whomever was to score the highest at the end of their cycle would be nominated as their sacrifice, their cult mentally ruling out any qualms of this barbaric process. Once chosen they would be bled to death over days until there was enough blood to be passed around the cult, those who weren’t chose were integrated back into their families. The yearly ritual was fast approaching and Kvasir being the second son born to his family was safe from being chosen. This however meant his brother would be chosen in his stead. Yet his brother struggled in his studies and was fearing the judgement of his family for not being a front runner in their tradition. Confiding in Kvasir his brother asked for help, safe from the ritual he reluctantly accepted in servitude to his brother. As he began to teach his brother, he learned that the material was easy and quickly absorbed into his mind.

It was almost a day and night change with his brother’s aptitude after a few weeks practice, he would for sure be picked. It wasn’t until a routine medical evaluation that he learned he disqualified due to the growth of a sickness inside him. Instead of waiting for the following years harvest they took Kvasir as tribute instead. At first, he played the idiot and tried to fail through the exams, but he was quickly reminded lying led to pain. His scores blowing his contemporaries out of the way led him to being chosen as this year’s tribute. While everyone had been blindly led to follow their fake gods practice, he had the wisdom to know they were wrong, he protested his god and rejected his teachings. His rebellion was ignored as they tied him up to his fate.

His vision was fading, becoming blurry, his mind slipping away from this ritual sacrifice. He pleaded to any god that could hear him that if they helped him escape, he would become a vessel for them to live through. Only one god answered and that was Kvasir himself, ironic as he rejected him. The blood that pooled out of him retreated inside his body leaving some still outside to coat his hands in the form of blades. Free from his bindings he eviscerated his cult family and drained them, using whatever blood was left to be taken inside his body.

On purely instinct, Kvasir was driven and drawn to the city of white harbor where he collapsed in front of the Winter Blade’s Guild.

| Magic: |

Blood God Slayer Magic (血の滅神魔法Chi no Metsujin Mahō)
Is a rare specialized god slayer magic that deals with the element of blood, that is red and black in color. Kvasir can manipulate his own blood in a multitude of ways but most notably scene in weaponized constructs.

ᚶ Rune Magic ᚶ (文字の魔法 Moji no Mahō)
Native to only Kvasir as of now, Rune magic is a form of combination magic from enchantment magic and letter magic. The blood used from either himself, his magic, or a foreign blood source will act as the ink to the start of his magic. Once he draws a nordic rune on his body he can activate a magic relating to the meaning of his mark depending on whether it is Elder or Younger Futhark.

| Strengths and Weakness: |

Strengths:
Excels in close range combat
Fearless
Tenacious
Athletic in and out of combat (Running, jumping, swimming)

Weaknesses:
Can become frenzied and lose himself in battle
Has a hard time being social
Can’t replenish his reserves from long range
Rash

| Miscs : |

When in combat he adorns what can be seen as gauntlets which house two hooked hidden blades, blood drawn from these feed into a tube that goes directly into Kvasir's skin.

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

Pls no bully

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

What's your blood type?

Guild Membership Card

Personality

_{Kvasir is very basic in principle when it boils down to personality. He is almost devoid of any and all learned behavior and nuanced traits. Bare to the bone, the best way to describe Kvasir would be a rabid dog. He has no real concept of what right and wrong is nor the civility between humans in an open setting. Instead Kvasir relies on his basic animal instinct, his gut has never steered him wrong and he has gotten this far without need for anything else. Though near feral and paranoid, he however can become a loyal companion that bends to authority depending on who he becomes subservient to with enough time and compassion.}

Appearance

_{Due to his age, Kvasir hasn’t fully completed his growth cycle. With his late growth spurt he’s currently stunted at a height of 5’6 which makes him amongst the shortest in the guild by nearly a few inches. This doesn’t lend itself to a napoleon complex, but instead gives way to a more acrobatic frame and method of attack. Besides his short stature his body is rather small too. He only weighs around a 120 pounds, but he has some meat on his bones to match his scrappy nature. His body is covered in ink and marks in random striations and designs that represent the sins and blood of man. Most of his appearance is pure skin aside from a red bandanna that matches a tattered red waist cloth and bandages that line his forearms and shins.}

---

“Let me go first.”

| N a m e: |

Kvasir

| Alias|Nickames|Titles: |

Bloody Mess

| G e n d e r: |

Male

| A g e: |

16

| R a n k: |

C

| Guild Membership Status: |

Fresh off the boat

| Guild Seal Location: |

On top of his tongue

| History: |

While most humans’ lives revolved around magic, Kvasir’s world revolved around religion. The recollection of events shy of the first mark of sin on his body have all been repressed and practically purged from his mind. Kvasir wasn’t his birth name nor one chosen by him, instead it was one granted to him by the group at large. You see Kvasir was born into a family that was victim to a cult. The cult wasn’t renown or heard of outside the parcel of land they claimed atop the snowy mountains secluded from the rest of the world and their world of magic and monsters. Instead they were their own monsters. The cult itself believed in many gods that were dictated by a dichotomous view of the world. These gods eventually organized themselves into two separate tribes that had gotten along until a break down in relations plummeted the two into war.

To save you from the details, Kvasir’s story revolves around one god that the cult worshipped religiously who was known as none other than Kvasir himself. This is important for he did not share the same name as their god until the aftermath that ensued. Like many other children in the cult he grew up quite normal with the exception of being subject to being homeschooled. The practices and teaching were of course skewed and bias and not what most other kids are taught in traditional schools. The village was led by one male figure head who harbored multiple wives and dictated rules that became law. While such close-minded fanaticism usually gave way to benighted individuals, Kvasir was different. Instead he chose to challenge the knowledge being instilled by wandering off from his village and experience the outside world. This brought him to white harbor many times.

Through his curiosity he learned from those around him who were both handy with an ax and that of magic. The older he became the more he began to conceptualize and develop. When he was old enough Kvasir began to spout out and correct all the information that was being taught to them, not solely on his word alone but through demonstrations. Eventually the cult began to see him as one of the wisest of beings despite only being a child. His childlike ignorance didn’t alarm him to becoming a Self-fulfilling prophecy. Kvasir was their god and the god of wisdom and it was foretold if he were to be killed and drained of his blood to be mixed with honey, they would be able to drink in his wisdom.

Thus, one night in the stillness of the moonlit sky, Kvasir was restrained and taken as sacrifice. Bound and gagged he was bled upside down like a pig. His vision was fading, becoming blurry, his mind slipping away from this ritual sacrifice. He pleaded to any god that could hear him that if they helped him escape, he would become a vessel for them to live through. Only one god answered and that was Kvasir himself. The blood that pooled out of him retreated inside his body leaving some still outside to coat his hands in the form of blades. Free from his bindings he eviscerated his cult family and drained them, using whatever blood was left to carve their names and sins into his skin as a reminder of the ritual he performed to obtain his power.

On purely instinct, Kvasir was driven and drawn to the city of white harbor where he collapsed in front of the Winter Blade’s Guild.

| Magic: |

Blood God Slayer Magic (血の滅神魔法Chi no Metsujin Mahō)
Is a rare specialized god slayer magic that deals with the element of blood, that is red and black in color. Kvasir can manipulate his own blood in a multitude of ways but most notably scene in weaponized constructs.

| Strengths and Weakness: |

Strengths:
Excels in close range combat
Fearless
Tenacious
Acrobatic in and out of combat

Weaknesses:
Can become frenzied and lose himself in battle
Has a hard time being social
Can’t replenish his reserves from long range
Rash

| Miscs : |

Attached to his bandages are gauntlets which house two hooked hidden blades, blood drawn from these feed into a tube that goes directly into Kvasir's skin.

Winter's Blade: A Fairy Tail RP

Will have an app up today quote me on that.