"Waiting for something to happen?"
I K I O
ihk · KEE · oh
[crossroads]
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Archetype: Outlaw, Innocent
Role: Protagonist
——————
Full Name: Irving Ashwood
Birth Name: Mikael
Age: 27 (09.30)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Majian
Relationship: Single
Status: Alive
Religion: Atheist
Occupation: Unemployed (Thief)
Nicknames:
Ikio (by everyone)
Iki (by sister)
Aliases:
Aurelio (as ???)
The Shadow Thief (as thief)
"The world is unfair, you say? How wrong you are. The ugly and the beautiful, the good and the evil, the living and the dead—they all coexist, they all get what they don't deserve, they all never obtain what they've always wanted. Oh, the world is very fair."
A P P E A R A N C E
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 100 lbs.
Body Shape: Slim
Body Type: Ectomorph
Race: Mixed (appears caucasian)
Ikio is as average as a man can be—or so he claims. His frame is slight and slender, bones more than pronounced against his skin, lithesomeness (verging on tenuousness) hidden behind layer upon layer of fabric in an almost obsessive means to hide as much flesh as he can from the world. His hair is neither dull nor bright in its splendor of copper, nestled upon his head in a mess of curls and untamed locks, the strands dangling past pierced ears and eyebrows to conceal the scar marring his forehead, and caressing his jaw as if in gentle comfort. His face is a touch of handsome, with sharp cheekbones, a near-perfect symmetrical bone structure, and a surprisingly angular, yet still soft, jawline, coupled with just the slightest touch of freckles on those oh-so-squishable cheeks. He is one many do bat a single eye at. The measly and insignificant do not acknowledge the existence of the likes of him.
Just as he wanted. Just as he wants.
If he was to just take care of himself a little more, to show off more of his effulgent ivory skin, to comb his hair from being a disaster to something more pleasant to the eyes, to wear a smile that doesn't look the slightest bit fake nor tired, he would have looked beautiful. But Ikio is not one to draw attention to himself. No, he's done with having eyes fixed on every inch of his body, and will do his very best to keep things as they are now: him hidden somewhere in the background, stirring up meaningless trouble, a shadow to be lost to time.
And lost to time he will be. He will do everything in his power to be someone so very close to the farthest end of the theater that he is all but engulfed in darkness. He will cloak himself in the farce of average for as long as he can, a foolish wish of his that surfaces in everything that he is: in his drab clothing; in the way he walks, he moves, talks; in the way he smiles, neither too wide nor as barely a twitch, never genuine but still reaches those dismal amber eyes, neither fake nor true—as everything he is and will ever be.
Scars: He has small tears at the edges of his mouth, barely noticeable against his full lips. He has many... marks on his thighs. Crisscrossing white lines mar his back. One could say that his pierced earlobes are scars as well, considering how he got them. The most distinct and easily seen of the bunch, however, would be the ragged, long white line races from directly above his left eyebrow diagonally to under his hairline on the right side of his face. This... imperfection marring his forehead is hidden behind his bangs most of the time. He has many other scars that can't be seen, though. Ones borne from a... certain kind of forcefulness. But the worst would be the long-ago healed stab wound on his chest, mere inches from his heart. The skin is ragged and puckered. His stomach twists in revulsion whenever he sees it, but he likes to think that he takes pride in its existence, considering how it goes to show that even something so lethal failed to kill him. He knows exactly why the sight disgusts him: he wishes, sometimes, that knife hit its target.
Tattoos: None.
ATTIRE
Ikio is often seen wearing a basic dark brown tunic with darker brown highlights and near-black brown hosen pants. His clothing is always far too big on him; they’re extraordinarily baggy and appear almost uncomfortable to walk properly in, but Ikio makes it work. Shoewear is kept simple: he need only smack on whatever leather boots are available to him and he's good to go, so long as they're dark in color and long enough to climb up his ankles (not that their true length is ever really seen, considering his pants never cease to consume quite literally two-thirds of his shoes). A constant in his attire is his woolen, raven-black long coat, one that is fashioned with a hood that he is never publicly seen to make use of. He doesn’t pay much attention to what he wears. All that matters to him is that they're long enough to cover every. single. inch of his skin.
As for... other very specific occasions, Ikio's clothing becomes more complicated, though only in style and type than in color. He wears all black: a black tunic; a black hosen; a black hood, attached to a cape, which isn't given free range to dance in the breeze, being constricted by his raven-black jacket; yet another black hood, attached to a shorter cape that goes around his shoulders; his aforementioned raven-black jacket; and, finally, black leather boots. Instead of being baggy, the majority of this ensemble—sans his onyx jacket, of course—is much more close-fitting, though doesn't quite hug his skin. Something unusual that comes along with this outfit is the long strip of torn and battered silk that can be found sewed into the portion of his outermost hood; the silk often dangles behind him in the breeze, like a broken cape. Perhaps it means something to him.
ACCESSORIES
He wears a very simple beaded bracelet. Most of the beads are black, with one small yellow bead, an even smaller white bead, and one blue bead. The string keeping the bracelet together has almost completely snapped in half, but still remains on his wrist—by pure spite, it seems.
He also carries around a black, belt bag, which is attached to... well, his belt. He only wears it when he's going about being the infamous Shadow Thief, though. He carries around with him a… rather large sack with drawstrings, as well, when he’s not being the Shadow Thief.
Voice: Rather soft and charming, delivered incredibly boisterous and loud. He always sounds as if he's smiling, as if he's planning something mischievous, but there's a hint of... unsureness in his words, insecurity and awkwardness, perhaps stemming from a lack of social awareness. He presents his laughter with raucous and hitch-pitched cackles, but his genuine laughter is much deeper than his speaking voice, and is quiet yet bright—two words that feel strange when associated with him.
Accent: A clear accent, one that changes depending on what region he's found himself in and for how long he's been there, with just the very slightest hint of a Majian accent via the Majian dialect.
Handwriting: He doesn’t know how to write.
Handedness: Left-handed.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Positive Traits
Blithesome, Energetic, Lively, Convivial, Charming
Neutral Traits
Mysterious, Mischievous, Reserved
Negative Traits
Overthinker, Indecisive, Self-Critical, Liar
Ah, how does one possibly describe this man? Perhaps, to begin with, he is mysterious, someone who seems so open but no one can quite get a proper read on. He is so very clearly mischievous, as can be easily discerned by how his eyes brighten whenever he thinks up some sort of shenanigan, and yet it is not often he gives in to true rascality, content to perform only mild misdoings whenever necessary simply as a means to keep himself alive; what absurd things he gets himself into are done in the presence of a good few he can’t say he’s fond of. He can be charismatic and charming, blithesome and merry, magnetic and alluring to the eyes of the naïve, and yet he keeps to himself, a rare figure to be seen wandering openly in the streets. He is beyond talkative, a mess of word vomit and nonsensical sentences, but leave him alone and he’ll do nothing but stare into an abyss only he can see. He is a show-off, his smirks arrogant at times, and he might even speak proudly and over-exaggerate his accomplishments, but he is as self-critical as a man can be and cannot stand being himself. He is tired, but prone to boredom, and so he will carry on despite his insatiable longing to dig a hole and become one with the loam forever. He wishes to do no good because good brings attention and he despises attention, but his moral code is too strong for him to ignore. He is intelligent, his eyes sharp and astute, capable of seeing monsters behind kind eyes, and yet he is the very definition of dumb of ass. An idiot, a fool everyone can take amusement in, a master of making a moron of himself—though whether this is done on purpose, not even he's for certain. He is this, but is that, over and over again: a walking contradiction.
He is a liar. His lies are so perfect they've become the truth. It's the only way he's survived. If he can't find a way to run away—from every problem, from every inconsequential thing, from life itself—he will lie, and he will keep lying until he is one with the dirt.
He is afraid. Of what? Of everything, one might say. For good reason or not is irrelevant; he would be afraid forever if he was allowed to be.
Not that anyone knows. He's good at hiding behind smiles.
Loves:
+ Merek. +
Likes:
+ Freedom. Or the idea of it, at least. +
+ The feeling of wind on his cheeks. +
+ Physical touch. He craves it, in fact. Just from someone he trusts. Too bad there's no one out there he trusts. +
+ Talking. About food, mostly. +
+ Dark colors. +
+ C h i c k e n. +
Dislikes:
- Sleeping on... soft things. Like beds. -
- Chains. Just thinking about them makes him sick. -
- Looking attractive. -
- Physical touch. Isn’t he so confusing? -
- Silence. It gets too much, sometimes. Perhaps that's why he often frequents loud, busy streets. -
- Being vulnerable. Vulnerability equates to weakness, after all. -
Hates:
- Himself. -
- Merek. -
- Feeling like he’s losing control of his life. -
- Getting reminded of things he… doesn’t want to get reminded of, dammit. -
Mental Illnesses:
C-PTSD
Repression
Suppression
Hypermnesia
Dissociative Amnesia
A B I L I T I E S
Intelligence—3.5/5
Discipline—2/5
Charisma—4/5
Greediness—3/5
Confidence—4/5
Sanity—4.7/5
Wisdom—2/5
Leadership—1/5
Frankness—3/5
Libido—0.5/5 (if he's feeling sad, 4/5)
Temper—3/5
Bloodthirst—0.7/5
Pessimist/Realist/Optimist: Pessimist
Naive/Perceptive: Naive
Reserved/Social: Reserved
Introverted/Extroverted: Extroverted
Sassy/Polite: Sassy
Patient/Foolhardy: Foolhardy
Moral/Immoral: Somewhere in the middle.
Strength—1.5/5
Constitution—4/5
Dexterity—4.7/5
Stealth—4.9/5
Fight/Flight/Fawn/Freeze: Freeze
STRENGTHS
+ He can be very persuasive. +
+ He has a strong moral code. He is simply too afraid to act on what he believes to be right. +
+ He is one hell of a good listener. This is mostly because he's spent years mastering the art of digging information out from people who might know a thing or two about what he's planning on... permanently borrowing next. +
+ Years of life on the streets, bouncing from one place to another to evade death from the highly dangerous... "things" he does, has taught him many, many things. +
+ He knows to be wary of everyone. He can see deceit behind the most masked of faces. +
+ When it comes to his environment, he is easily adaptable. +
+ As he is stubborn, he does not easily bend to anyone's will. +
+ He is lithe and fast, a slippery worm not even death can grasp—for now, at least. +
WEAKNESSES
- He is a liar. His default action is to lie. He doesn't even consider telling the truth anymore. -
- He is a coward. -
- He is self-destructive. -
- He is a hypocrite. -
- He is somewhat socially inept and often jumps to conclusions. In truth, most of his charisma comes from mimicry. From whom did he obtain this charisma from? Ikio would rather not speak of him. -
- He internalizes too much of his pain, claiming that he is perfectly fine when he is very clearly not. -
- He panics in unexpected situations. "Unexpected" mostly pertaining to parts of his past that he'd very much rather not speak of, thank you very much. -
- He is an overthinker. Thinking too much makes him feel like he's going to lose his mind. -
- He is extremely, extremely stubborn. -
- He can be lazy. -
- Ikio is an angry person. He boils with it; rage simmers underneath his mask nearly every moment of every day. If he wasn't so keen on hiding behind a perfect smile and a perfect life and a perfect, fabricated everything, he probably would have been an absolute terror. -
- He doesn't often speak his mind, even with those he trusts. -
- It is extremely difficult to win his trust. -
- He is illiterate. -
- He is physically weak. Mentally…, perhaps the same is true. -
- He wonders, sometimes, how close he is to breaking. -
TALENTS
Sewing and perhaps… singing?
SKILLS
Stealing, subtly digging information out of people, obsessively seeking out chicken, bottling up his every emotion (including positive ones too, you know, balance out the negative—), being charming and… a certain kind of persuasive.
MAGIC
Magical Affinity: Extremely High
He is a treasured anomaly. The amount of power he holds is ridiculous. With a full 70% of all magic, if he was trained, he could access every branch of magic. If he bothered to make use of the only good thing this sick world gave him, he could create and destroy anything at the snap of a finger. He can be said to be half of magic’s heart itself, after all. But Ikio only just makes use of his abilities, choosing to do nothing more than basic manipulation of shadows. For someone so powerful, you'd think he'd be using it all the time, but he hates his magic more than he hates himself, so a vast majority of his magical power lays dormant, sitting lonely and unused in some cavity he's forced it to linger in as he continues to reject who he is and what he can do.
WEAPONS
Always On His Person
- A worn, rusted, blood-stained dagger. He has somewhat of an attachment to it, which is why he doesn't really use it. He simply drags it around to flaunt to whoever whenever appropriate. When asked, he'll state that it's the knife that plunged right into his chest, mere inches from his heart, and failed to kill him. He doesn't say anything else, preferring to brush off his brief introduction to death with an exaggerated shrug instead of delving into details he'd rather forget. -
- Three, short, blunt-edged knives. -
- A slim, very sharp dagger of good condition. -
Often On His Person
- Two daggers with rather wide girths. Their respective conditions vary, ranging from absolutely filthy one day to so clean the sun envies their glinting surfaces; it depends on Ikio's motivation to clean his weapons. -
- Many, many knives. The sheer number of knives on this man's body is just truly astounding. -
Sometimes On His Person
- Several knives and daggers of varying conditions. He keeps what he can’t have with him at all times in his sack. -
Never On His Person
- A broken bow. Ikio holds a very strong attachment to it. He keeps it in as good of a condition as something snapped completely in half can be. He doesn't consider the bow his weapon or even a possession of his; to him, he's simply bringing it with him on his quest to nowhere. He keeps it in his sack for safekeeping. -
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
Does it really matter if they're all going to leave him anyway?
FAMILY
Damiana (Older Twin Sister)—he doesn’t know her current status (he’s come to terms with the likely fact that she’s dead) and he doesn’t remember much about her, but he recalls her having blonde hair and violet eyes. They cared about each other very much, he thinks.
Ejona (Biological Mother)—he doesn’t remember her name all that well anymore, but he knows that she had blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. There are times when he hates her; most of the time, though, he thinks of her fondly.
Lucian (Biological Father)—he had red hair, amber eyes, a smile brighter than sunlight, and millions of lies on his tongue. Ikio doesn’t like thinking about him.
Mischa (Niece)—Ikio doesn’t know of her existence yet.
ALLIES
Bahja (Close Ally)—she hails from Kipokl. She is a master of illegal trade and operates in the black markets infested with thieves. She was the first fair person he traded with during his first days of stealing all sorts of shit. He likes her.
Demelza (Ally)—another master of illegal trade. After that… stunt she pulled a few years back, Ikio lost what little respect he had for her, but he continues to put up with her if only for the resources she provides him.
Presley (Ally)—her obnoxious pranks are the epitome of annoying even to someone like Ikio, but she knows more about the black market than Bahja and Demelza combined. Sometimes, she tries to underprice him, but a quick glint of a knife has her re-learning exactly what it means to be fair.
ACQUAINTANCES
William (Respected Acquaintance)—Ikio met him in a bar, drinking his worries about his family away. Ikio hasn’t seen him in a while. He’s probably busy traveling from kingdom to kingdom selling all his grain.
FRIENDS
Leofwine (Former Best Friend)—Ikio hates thinking about him. Ah, him.
Averill (Former Friend)—Ikio doesn’t like to think about her. Who?
Cuthbert (Former Friend)—it’s best to leave it behind. What a strange name.
Arantxa (Former Friend)—why does he need to remember? My, that’s a unique name.
Arleigh (Former Friend)—Ikio would rather forget. How do you pronounce that name?
FAMILIARS
Merek (Primary Familiar)—don’t give him wrong, he adores her. Dearly. But… there are times when he wishes she’d just die so he could follow and she should just stop caring about him and why is she even still here she’d stop nagging. He’s not ten years old. She is. She barely even reaches his waist! She’s not even longer than two of his stick-like arms stacked on top of each other!
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
- His blood type is A+. -
- He is a lightweight. He need only drink one (1) glass of wine to be completely drunk. He found this out the hard way. -
- As Ikio is an overthinker, he often has several odd scenarios planned out in his head. So, when the strange unexpected bursts out the ground and rains down on the undeserving, he can almost seem prepared. -
- Ikio is dyslexic. -
- One major thing that Ikio never expects is his past coming to light. He is so incredibly, intrinsically certain that he has buried every aspect of his... previous lives—so to speak—before Irving Ashwood that a mere mention of something related to his past, be it direct or indirect, can send him into a panic attack.
- He resents his father deeply. Ikio refuses to refer to the man by name, simply calling him "That Man" whenever he comes up in conversation. He has attempted to forget about him, but the hatred he has in his heart for That Man is simply too great, and Ikio is stuck knowing exactly how That Man looked, acted, and smiled. What Ikio doesn't remember, however, is why he hates That Man so much—perhaps this is for the better. -
- Ikio "inherited" his proneness to cursing from his mother. -
- Ikio knows several Srulva curses from both his sister and his mother. He also acquired a Vlassan taste from them. -
- He vaguely remembers the names of the individuals he was with during his early years as a thief. He doesn't remember where he met them, how he met them, or any of his time with them, but he thinks they were his friends, that they were... good friends. -
- He refuses to acknowledge the existence of a certain someone who betrayed him. He refers to this person simply as "A Friend with Silk". He has forgotten the details related to this individual, but he does remember the bastard's name and, vaguely, how he looked. -
- He remembers a blurry face and a blurry smile from his childhood, when he could more easily pretend that everything was okay. He doesn't remember this friend's name, gender, appearance, personality—anything, really; but, he does remember how they loved to read books about magic and mythical beings together and that he broke a promise they'd made with each other. -
- He remembers that he was from Majia. He remembers nothing about how Majia looked. He doesn't remember the violence during Garjiang's take-over. -
- He remembers, in explicit detail, each and every moment he was... He’d rather keep it out of his mind, but he doesn't remember anything else outside of these moments, outside of his time with his... masters and the... ones that rented him. -
- Ikio remembers the first four verses in one of his mother's many lullabies, and often sings them when he's alone to fill the silence:
Бай, бай, бай,
скорее умирай.
Заутро мороз,
а тебя на погост.
This melody translates to:
Hushaby,
Quickly die,
On the morning will be frost,
And you’ll go to the graveyard.
It's fortunate, then, that Ikio never bothered to learn Srulva. -
PLAYLIST
Who I’ve Become - Munn
Fake Smiles - Munn
Heat - Faye
Cruel World - Faye
Summer Month: 2 
Night Weather: 
Earthquake Moon: 
