Recent Statuses

1 yr ago
Current I love sixteen hour flights
2 yrs ago
Birthday, officially twenty years old today! yikes
3 yrs ago
Happy Holidays, everyone! Enjoy the time with your families, and stay safe on your travels!
3 yrs ago
It's my birthday! Another year towards twenty, woooooo
3 yrs ago
For whoever comes to read this, continue being awesome. I'm rooting for you.


nothing important

Most Recent Posts

(minus the eyepatch)

[Full Name]
Maelys Ernst Pleiades

Mael (preferred name)

The Syndicate of Cretus

[Starting Class]

Heir to House Pleiades

Major Crest of Pleiades

Seventeen years old

[Date of Birth]
22nd of the Hallowed Moon, Divine Year 764

[Appearance Information]
Mael stands at a modest 182 centimeters tall (or 5'11), and weighs around 79 kilograms (or around 175 pounds). He is said to bear a great resemblance to his grandfather in the latter's youth; his long facial features are well-sculpted, his strikingly natural charm attributed to his noble heritage. Many have observed that his thin eyebrows often narrow to give off sudden sharp expressions, his light blue eyes sharing that same articulation. He has medium to long, wavy dark brown hair that he prefers to comb back, going great lengths to style and preserve it each day. Spending plenty of his years basking in the sun, his skin complexion is moderately tan, considered an 'undesirable' trait for someone of his stature and background.

While Mael is a fairly slim person, his attention to conditioning has kept his body in a healthy, athletic shape, which he actively works to develop. He wears the standard Officer's Academy uniform in his own personal manner, preferring to keep the jacket loose and unbuttoned (similar to Sylvain) while folding the sleeves up to his elbows unless the weather is too cold or in the case of required formalities. He has tribal markings imprinted on his arms from the biceps to wrists, and wears a necklace with two colorful feathers and a keepsake attached.

Despite his heritage, Mael is unlike the usual pompous and superfluous attitude that most nobles portray towards their associates and subjects, preferring separation from formality in his everyday interactions. He has been a habitual troublemaker since early adolescence, never seeming to learn from all of the past scolding and reprisal. When the young man doesn't have the urge to scheme another one of his antics, he likes to take the passing days in stride, enjoying casual conversation behind a good meal. He is genuinely friendly and approachable, always looking to befriend others and be within the presence of his companions.

Though, when it comes to certain things such as sparring or contests of any sort, he can become fairly competitive against his rivals. Mael is devoted to his conditioning, possessing a strange fixation on becoming the strongest boxer and strengthening himself tirelessly to meet this ambition. To this end, he will accept any sort of challenge regardless of how ridiculous they may be, simply to prove his own power to himself, with the exception of monotonous tasks and chores.

[Personal History]
Born Maelys Ernst Pleiades, he is the grandson of Farfalle Roose Pleiades, the only Crest-bearing child of the noble family's bloodline. He was declared the heir to House Pleiades after his father, Bach, fell out of Farfalle's inheritance from the absence of their Crest. While Mael was considered his grandfather's child foremost than his own father, their enormous wealth removed any amount of difficulty from his upbringing, and the young boy found himself in the presence of caretakers and tutors more often than his own family. He would frequently prove to be a troublesome youth, for he would slip out of their extravagant abode to escape the 'boring' instruction against his grandfather's decree to play with the other children.

Through all of the stern reminders of the destiny set out for him, Mael accepted the inevitable responsibility of House Pleiades' future on his frail shoulders, however reluctant the boy may have been. His childhood was rife with marriage proposals and promised betrothals to many princesses due to their wealth, but Farfalle refused them all, citing anything short of perfection as meaningless to their name. At the age of ten, he was taken under the wing and personal instruction of his grandfather to undergo the Path of Pleiades, testing the mettle of his birthright when the time would come. Mael would be sent to the Officers Academy after his grandfather's sudden illness prevented the continuation of his grooming, where House Pleiades would await the return of a true man.

[Preferred Fighting Style]

Training Gauntlets, Vulnerary

[Learned Spells]

  • Battle training
  • Theater

  • Hiking
  • Fighting
  • Strength training
  • Acting
  • Spicy foods
  • Playing musical instruments

  • Responsibility
  • Board games
  • Cold weather
  • His family
I'll reserve the heir to House Pleiades if that's fine. CS will be up sometime tonight.

I lied. I am scared.

Telling him wasn't any easier from the ebony smog that poisoned the air as the sky bled crimson. My expression mirrored his own, one draped with terror, a dread as overbearing as that monster played with the destruction of our land.

My throat burned of charcoal, a croak passing my soot-stained lips as the earth rattled again. And again. And again.

It's coming apart, I screamed.

But he didn't say anything. Just looked at me, frozen in fear. This wasn't him, the boy with tears welling in his eyes.

Please, save me. We're friends, right? You have to save me, I begged. This is all my fault, he finally spoke. His face fell to his feet, shaking his head in ruin. Wait...

Come back!

My screams lingered, unanswered, the sight of his back to me growing smaller in the distance.


Castiel Pace drew a gasp as a sudden force sent the young man off balance, his footing stammering forward as his face lit with awakening. He would barely catch himself against the guard rail, only after his forehead struck against the stone. With equal irritation, a sound of irritation trailed his lips, his eyes searching for the culprit responsible for his assault. "Ahaha! Ya look like you've seen a pair of aldgoats in heat!"

"Thal's balls," Castiel cast a long frown upon realization, pulling himself back onto his feet and raising a gauntlet against his aching head. Had he truly been sleeping like such once again? And even after I rested early last night! Wheeling around to the individual, he found himself unsurprised. "Trying for some cheap shots before the match now, huh, Harper?"

A stocky Ala Mhigan of large frame, Harper easily towered over him, crossing his arms together as he tilted his head, scoffing. "Afraid to dent your pretty little face?" the Hyuran male spoke, a lax confidence about his features.

Castiel sighed, looking up to the darker male with a similar scowl.
"You forgetting how fast that one lass left you after what happened in that match of ours some months ago?" Half a smile began to rise on his lips, a lightness behind his voice. "I remember those nice drinks that she and I had on that night. And I definitely remember-

"Alright, alright," Harper seemed to admit defeat over the reminder, his imposing structure defusing into a wave from his hand and the onset of laughter. A closer friend to Castiel, he had been embroiled in a highly-publicized rivalry with the larger male many fortnights before, until his victory on the Bloodsands earned the fellowship of the Ala Mhigan. "Can't have you catnapping 'fore the match, an' you go straight fer the throat!"

Their conversation had persisted even throughout the ruckus of the Quicksands that occurred behind him. Castiel pounded his armored hand against his chestplate, wearing a smug grin with glee.
"What can I say? Ain't the Phantom Pace for nothin'!" he nodded with exaggerated swagger, much to the chagrin of his friend. "Yea, an' I'magine you finished just as quick with Ursula than ya did our duel."

"Poppycock," Castiel brushed off Harper's rebuttal, turning to watch the ragtag brawling that continued on. Always the same dream... His mind retreated into deeper thought, cupping his chin on the palm of the gauntlet. Yet, it's never in my body, in my shoes. It's always someone else; why? "Whaddaya want, anyway? Can't be bothered to have a drink with these whoresons pissin' over themselves."

Castiel turned his head as Harper stepped beside him, watching the Ala Mhigan speak. "Like I said, ya should stay focused. Today's matchups aren't gonna be a joke this time, I hear."

"That's what they always say," he interjected over the raucous music, drawing a sigh. "Always underestimatin' me like they did back then, but I-"

Turning his back to the undying brawl had been a folly as Castiel found himself struck with a chair, having been thrown hard enough to break upon impact with the back of his head and his armor. While his Ala Mhigan associate and some other patrons went to his aid, the young man wrestled himself from his large friend's grasp as he felt a pitch in his temper.

"Alright, ye dumb cunts! his shout brought the commotion to a pause, leaping over the guard rail with anger written on his expression. Castiel drew his sword, provoking the incriminating brawlers as he pointed his blade at them. The crowd seemed to die down from all of the fighting, with some realizing who the overseer was. "I don't mind a 'lil warm up before the tournament, folks! I could carve all o' you like a dodo for dinner!"

[Character Theme]
Nobuo Uematsu - "Gau" from Final Fantasy VI (Instrument ver.)

[Birth Name]
Castiel Pace


The Phantom Pace (stylized as 'Castiel, the Phantom Pace')


(Doman) Midlander / Highlander (Ala Mhigan)

Twenty-three years old

The Fortress City of Ala Mhigo, Gyr Abania

Bloodsands gladiator


Attack helicopterMale

Oschon, the Wanderer

[Sexual Orientation]

A hot-headed and often obstinate plebeian with an eye for gil, such vanity befits that of the champion's demeanor. Castiel is an individual who elevated himself from the lowest dregs of society, boasting a grandeur vision of a life showered with what he considers his sacred trifecta: women, wealth, and wine. He is prone to quite the temper flare at a moment's notice, though this fiery temperament is usually tied to the confidence in his swordsmanship.

Beyond this, one may find a truer friend and companion in Castiel than he does himself justice. He hosts a great deal of warmth and compassion in his everyday life outside of the Bloodsands, and is never the one to resist a round of drinks at the Quicksand or any other fine establishment. His days are taken in stride, and with a relaxed outlook on everyday life, his quick-witted speech and sarcastic tongue make him a gregarious association.

Truthfully, the young man wishes to numb the heartache of vices past, conflicted with the pursuit of a precise purpose and setting his feet on an unknown path to redemption. Scattered over his being, Castiel unwillingly hearkens to these insecurities when the lull of sleep falls.

[Other Information]
Castiel dislikes wielding shields, although he understands their importance, and uses them reluctantly, sometimes in an unorthodox fashion.

hello it me
the tank
here's a birb

Just as she set another foot beyond the boundary of the tavern doorway, Ursa cast a look over her shoulder as one of the establishment's patrons approached. A fancy garb adorned the girl's figure, the little things from her hairstyle to her dramatic strut assuming a regal air. Tilting her head, her cautious eyes scanned the girl, not a weapon nor reason to spot. "Lovely," the mercenary laid her sword arm aside. "And how do you intend to fight without a weapon?"

It would not have surprised Ursa if the girl was a practitioner of magic; it seemed as if all of the Estalans dabbled in the Gift, one way or another. Magic had not been an oddity to the clans of the Ibion Expanse, herself including, although the elders condemned it as voodoo. Even so, she had always preferred the feel of a hilt between her hands, and the rush of excitement when two swords clashed. To her, it was the heat of melee, the thick of combat where songs and stories wrote themselves. No legends would tell of the ones who cowered from the shield of the front line.

Her free hand rested on her hip as another girl, shorter than the other, volunteered her clerical services. Ursa found her woes multiplied tenfold as a third face sought to involve himself.
"The plan?" Ursa drew a heavy sigh, evaluating their gathering as an inconvenience. "You've got nothing but a bow, the little lady is defenseless," she looked past the archer and the cleric. "And for all that I know, she will toss that jewelry of hers at those soldiers, pray that they falter and snap their necks, and call that fighting."

Another peer down both ends of the alleyway reassured Ursa that the remainder of their assailants were spread elsewhere along Port Sesta. "I can not babysit children during a battle," she emphasized. "Especially if it's those from Anarcas... this is a dangerous situation."

Renvall "Ren" Protego

The Kingsroad — Three minutes from Port Sesta

@LordVoldemort @Ambra

As the caravan was steadfast on their approach to Port Sesta, it had become very much apparent that there was a greater stirring that was unfolding within the walls of Port Sesta. Ren's mouth dropped open as he leaned forward, his gauntlets gripping the wood of the wagon tightly as Rhea delivered an onset of the situation.

"Anarcan ships?"

Ren had been very much aware of the ongoing tensions that existed between Estala and Anarcas, but to his knowledge, the crown had not sent an invitation of counsel to the Anarcans for several years. His eyes watched as the displaced began to disperse from around the entrance of Port Sesta, watched as they were running for their lives. "Were they warships?! Is there a ram at the front of the vessels?!

Maize raised a hand to silence the questioning company. "Calm down, you two," the knight spoke, turning to Rhea. "Are you certain?"
© 2007-2017
BBCode Cheatsheet