Tanaigre's World

(If I'm doing this wrong, please feel free to let me know. I'm just going by what I've seen on this section.)

1. Talos, Hemitian (Giant Water Bug, genus Lethoceros)
2. Rook, Ropharan (Blue Morpho butterfly)

Name: Talos

Sex: Male

Age: Early 50s (not that you’d know from looking at him). Looks like… an adult of his species.

Race: Hemitian (Giant Water bug, Genus Lethoceros)

Home: (area, continent)

Appearance: I CANNOT DRAW TO SAVE MY LIFE but a very dear friend of mine who's also looking to join in this RP drew him awesomely for me (another awesome friend is coloring him) DA Link. He gives me the heebie jeebies. . Talos is… to put it mildly, he’s a wall. Armored in smooth, heavy, overlapping plates in dark shades of brown and blue with a whorled black pattern, he has two heavy, pillar-like legs, and four powerful arms (the lower pair is smaller), each ending in three heavily taloned fingers. On each shoulder plate he has a piercing (through the plate only) of a brass ring. Even his face is armored, and under the retractable mouth-parts there are a loooooot of very sharp teeth-like serrations. No one ever said water bugs are herbivores. However, that much armor and muscle, not to mention edging into old age, do mean he’s very slow on general motion. It takes him a while to get up to running speed, but once he does it’s a bit like having a runaway train on your trail. And while he’s not good for a chase, if you’re in range of those arms to begin with, you might want to pray to your deity of choice: those talons are sharp, and he can give the kind of bear hug that crushes thoraxes like grapes. His eyes are smooth gray, the better to go unnoticed when he’s fishing. Underwater, he’s fast, deadly, and just about what you’d expect of his kind. (He doesn’t have toxic spit, though. Just a helluva bite.)

Personality: Me dumb! Me strong! Me work for food! Me like water! Me play now? That’s Talos in a nutshell – in public. In private, with someone he likes and trusts, he’s well educated, surprisingly intelligent, quite calm and polite, and suffers no fools. Unfortunately, people seem to think being smart makes you less… big. Or strong. He’s not sure. Either way, it’s easier to find work and learn what people are really like when you play the idiot.

Likes: Swimming, fish-hunting, traveling, learning.
Dislikes: Bullies, rudeness, slavery, dry areas.

Extra!: Talos’ first memory is of white water. His father found himself caught by who-knows-what threat, and rather than give up his last surviving youngling to hungry jaws, he tossed him to the mercy of the river. Young enough to know that the rapids saved him, but not old enough to remember what they saved him from, Talos still feels himself safest only at the bottom of violently rushing water. He’s not sure where he surfaced after that, either; it all merges into enforced servitude. Rings were put on his shoulders and a heavy chain attached to them, and from then on he more or less led a life as beast of burden for whoever his “master” rented him to. Said master would tell those hiring him that he was “simple”, that he’d found him on a beach and that he had probably banged his fool head into too many rocks on his way down from whatever place had spawned him. Talos merely listened, and was silent. And learned. He learned the languages of those he was hired to, carrying their goods from city to city and land to land. He learned of seasons, trading, farming. He was rented out to a few masters in academies and teaching centers, at first unable to even name the places he found himself at, but slowly expanding his intellect. Unlike most of the students, he was silent, and he didn’t have anything better to do but learn.

Serendipity released him. Bandits struck the caravan he was hired out to. The chains lashing him to the cart he pulled were struck, the better to steal the goods with, leaving only the brass rings on his shoulders. Freedom was a novelty, but not an unknown concept. With a quick glance to ensure he wasn’t noticed, he slunk away, dove into the nearest bridge, and swam off. Ever since, he’s spent his time going from town to town, avoiding large cities (just in case!) and working for whatever can be spared, though he’s not yet found any of his kin, no one carrying the same designs as he does. He can do his own fishing, deep underwater, and he doesn’t really need anything else. His deal with Ere is the first steady employment he’s had in a very long time.

Name: Rook
Sex: Male
Age: Early 20s
Race: Rhoparan (Blue Morpho)
Home: Grimm, originally, but he bailed out like his tail was on fire.
Appearance: Slim, very lithe, with a wiry built that makes him slightly taller than the norm. Black fuzzy body and limbs (two legs, four arms). The legs end in a bird-like, three-toed prehensile grip, the arms in four-fingered (three fingers, one thumb), velvety hands. His face is handsome, angular, with four eyes matched to the hidden color of his wings. He keeps his wings closed tightly and pressed down whenever he’s not flying, revealing only the dull brown undersides. The edges are scarred, but after years out of Grimm, they’ve mostly healed up. He covers himself up in tied up snatches of clothing bound to his arms and legs – and usually hides at least two blade under each piece of fabric, one on each arm secured to his person by silk lines capable of taking at least five times his weight.
Personality: Quiet, polite, responsible, ruthless.
Likes: Time alone, good manners, peace.
Dislikes: Bullies,

Extra! Morpho was captured when he was barely a toddler by young wasp soldiers of a very small hive that thought it would be hilarious to convince the fragile little rhoparan he was one of them. They beat him, abused him, made fun of him, brutalized him as they would have one of their own that was too slow, too weak, too useless. The only thing they didn’t do was kill him. He was too slow. So he pushed himself until he was faster. He was too weak. He trained and fought until he’d grown stronger. He was too useless. He became an accomplished raider and killer. Eventually, the hyme grew nervous – he was getting awfully good at what was meant to be a game, too good. Far too good. So they dragged him away from the hive and tried to kill him, at which point Rook demonstrated just how well he’d learned the wasps’ lessons of brutal, ferocious survival.

He dragged himself out of that fight mostly dead and certainly in the mood to be as far away from the hive as possible. The gods of the wind were kind, and carried him away, far away from Grimm and all he’d ever known. And he couldn’t be happier about it. Living alone as a hermit for a long time in the wilds and woods taught him what he had known for a long time: he was no wasp. Still, there are times, even now as he cautiously edges his way back into society, that he still thinks like one.