Kvasir Sigurrós (Kasra)
Nov 6, 2022 13:57:07 GMT -5
Post by Kvasir Sigurrós on Nov 6, 2022 13:57:07 GMT -5
Kvasir Sigurros
The Archivist King's Unwilling Vessel
"I remember what cannot have happened, and forget the things that happen to me now."
Age: 29
Birthday: June 26th
Gender: Foxy. (Male-leaning, but gender is a concept he doesn't care for (He/Any))
Race: Foxfolk, descended from the Kitsune and Pariyan
Nationality: Moonglade/Zeinav Desert – it’s… complicated.
Religion: He loosely worships Solaria, but is hardly pious or especially dedicated. He is a bit soured on deities.
Appearance: To all who might approach him, Kvasir cuts a stunning figure; he stands at a respectable 5’9 with an archer’s lean build, with sharp features, all angles and sharp lines all the way down– from the sharp curve of his waist to the lines of his torso and shoulders, to the slope of his jaw and the slender lines of his fingers. His complexion is a light brown, and his one eye is a brilliant forest-green, though it is offset by a ring of gold around the pupil– in the right light, the entire iris almost mirrors the sun in color, though it may be a trick of the light. He keeps his other eye concealed by an eyepatch forged from magically-preserved flowers– it is a mystery as to what happened to it, as to if it is intact or not. His hair is ink-black and cascades down his back, often held back in a loose, braid-laden ponytail, often adorned with flowers– a sharp eye will catch the streaks of white peering through, threatening to overtake it all one day. Of course, most striking is the pair of fox ears atop his head and the tail at his back, both black and silky in color and texture. Most find him intimidating with the stern air he commands, though he is unaware he even possesses it– he dresses simply, in attire that blends elements of both of his homelands, in colors of both the forest and the desert. He favors striking shades of eyeliner in cool and warm colors-- teal for the Moonglade's jade-leaved woods, and scarlet for the heat of the Zeinav sun.
Personality:
To call Kvasir Sigurros a complicated man would be quite the understatement.
He presents himself as one with a stern and serious aura, at first, with a doctor's pragmatic and precise approach to situations, able to focus on the core matter and break things down to the minutiae. He is often unsmiling, bordering on stoic, usually doing his best to assess any situation before him as clinically and carefully as he can; however, while Kvasir is ultimately good at deconstructing situations in such a way and sharp as his job demands, he is hardly anywhere close to being the serious and unsmiling man he sometimes tends to present himself as. This, ultimately, is part of a safe facade-- something neutral and easy that demands no emotional commitment, and thusly, risks nothing. If he approaches the world carefully and distantly, then he can focus on fighting to cling to the memories he still has yet to lose without worrying about distracting himself with clinging to countless more.
Inevitably, though, Kvasir has always been a sentimental man; it is the very thing that sent him running across a continent to chase a life with a man he'd known for a mere half a year, and it is the thing that makes it so difficult to function with a god mining away at his mind. Kvasir is ultimately a gentle soul with a kind heart, and his desperate attempts to distance himself from others for their own safety often crumbles very, very easily, often lasting for all of a second before he lapses right back into hospitality. He is selfless to a fault, having chosen his career path because he wished to help others, and he continues to make foolish and irrational decisions to distance himself from potential support systems because he believes he could be a danger to them-- it is an unhappy cycle for a man like him, who thrives on the joy that comes with helping others, but thinks the best thing he can do for most is to never step near them again.
His fickle memory and inability to remember things about his own life, up to and including his own name, sometimes, have made him desperate to cling to anything tangible, and thusly, desperate to find anyone who might want him, or show him kindness despite all that has happened to him. This makes him easy to use; his desire for connections with others regardless of his fear of being a danger makes him all too willing to turn a blind eye to the worst qualities of people he cherishes. He's not necessarily naive, in the end-- he's willfully blind to the worst traits of the people he loves most, and he'll go as long as he can without acknowledging the things he knows will hurt him if he looks them in the eye.
On top of it all, Kvasir is absurdly meticulous; he takes alchemy, beauty, structure, and all things equally seriously, valuing their finer details and caring deeply for their arrangement. He is careful and particular about all facets of his life, from the measurements of the potions and medicines he crafts to the amount of spices he puts in his coffee or tea, so on and so forth. Some might even say he's a bit overly particular; he is not necessarily overly neat, but his idea of order makes sense to him, and he does not like his controlled chaos going disturbed-- especially in regards to his mantras and notes which he uses to hold onto his failing and fading memories.
Those who know him well would be aware that he has quite the scathing sense of humor, fond of tossing out a biting remark or two packaged in the form of a joke, and he's capable of throwing in a flirtatious edge to his words. It's really all a matter of getting him in the right mood.
History:
Kvasir Sigurros was brought into the world like anyone else, and that is where the problem begins.
He was the second child to a widowed medic within a forest in the Moonglade, and although he grieved the loss of his mother early on in his youth, he led a fairly normal childhood alongside his father and older sister, often herb-gathering for his dad to help with his medical practice and doing what he could to help around the house. Although his sister took more of an interest in travel and combat, Kvasir’s eyes shone at the idea of being able to heal people in the same way his father did, and he was quick to throw himself into medical research at a young age, absorbing all the knowledge he could about fruit, herbs, fungi, grasses, poultices, bandages, materials, anything and everything his young mind could retain– and his father, happy to see his passion, was delighted to take him on as an apprentice. Kvasir quickly accelerated through the processes of his apprenticeship, excitedly undertaking every new challenge and advancement thrown his way, and once he had reached his late teen years, his medical proficiency was far beyond his years, to the point where his father happily allowed him to work by his side as a fellow medic.
They worked in tandem that way for two years, treating travelers and other patients who wandered through their woods or sought them out, but one particular patient would bring a rush of change with him– a foreign man with hair like late-autumn leaves and skin as warm as the sun, who collapsed in the clearing in a pool of blood from brutal injuries in the dead of night as Kvasir mixed salves by moonlight. Kvasir was quick to bring him inside to treat him, and it took the young man a whole day before he regained consciousness, where he then introduced himself as Mehr Mirzadeh, a nomad from the Zeinav Desert who had come to the Moonglade in search of some specific herbs, and proceeded to profusely thank Kvasir for saving his life. The two of them got to talking until the sun crept up around the horizon, and Kvasir explained that, based on the severity of Mehr’s wounds, he would be bedridden and likely not be able to travel for some time, so he could just stay here– but days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and once they hit the six-month mark, Mehr finally admitted that he should probably return home since his family was likely incensed with him as is, but he nervously placed out the offer for Kvasir to come with him. Of course, he didn’t expect him to say yes, there was no reason for him to say yes, they hadn’t known each other very long and he knew that was a big thing to ask and he’d understand if the answer was no–
Kvasir cut him off with a soft, brief kiss, a tender smile, and a whisper of “I would love to come with you.”
Within the week, the two made their travel preparations and set out for the Zeinav Desert to find Mehr’s tribe, and after weeks of traveling together, Kvasir was welcomed into the Tribe of the Lotus with great compassion and open arms, while Mehr was welcomed home with a stern lecture about disappearing for several months. Of course, when the anger slowed to a simmer, the two of them adjusted quite easily, with Kvasir’s medical proficiency being heavily valued within the tribe, and as the years passed, talk flew around about the two of them getting engaged. It was the most content Kvasir had ever felt in his life– but, naturally, he would only be allowed to hold onto that joy for a short time.
One morning, as he was gathering materials for medical purposes, Kvasir happened upon a strange artifact buried in the sand: glimmering gold and shining glass, radiant as the sun despite its clear age. He knew better than to touch it, knew better than to meddle with the remnants of the past, and he was content to walk on and ignore it– but whenever he walked on, again it would manifest, as though it was following him across the plains of sand, determined to catch his attention. With growing unease and a desperation to ignore it, Kvasir resolved to finish his work and return home to Mehr as quickly as possible, but as he reached for a specific material half-buried in the sand, his fingertips brushed against metal, and his vision went white and then gold, pain splitting through his skull as if rending it apart, his already-oversensitive ears ringing with the ghosts of old screams, old voices, old echoes of something lost, something gone–
He awoke a week later with his head in Mehr’s lap, tearstains long-dried against his cheek, and bandages wrapped around the left side of his face, his mind an ooze of conflicting information. He was Kvasir Sigurros, a medic from the Moonglade, and Mehr Mirzadeh was the love of his life. He was Kasra, God of Remains, Archivist King, and Deity of What Once Was, and all he’d ever loved was long-gone. He was both. He was neither. He was an amalgamation of knowledge from different times, of memories that could not coexist, of bodies that could not coexist, and all he could do with the confusion of it all was cry into the lap of a man he was only somewhat sure he loved and pray that it all went away, that something would start to make sense.
Of course, it didn’t– it only got worse, with Kvasir’s memories constantly slipping in and out, with him referring to members of the tribe by names of long-dead people, even calling Mehr by the name of the god Kasra’s own lover multiple times, all without realizing it. His mind was slipping, cracking under the weight of divine memories that threatened to overwrite his own, of love and feelings that were Not His and slipped beneath his heart and flooded through his veins like a parasite all the same, and Kvasir was only distantly aware of it, only distantly able to hold onto some semblance of who he had originally been. He could see the way it wore on others– could see the way Mehr tired of dealing with a lover who couldn’t remember his own name half of the time, let alone his, and that steady, silent exhaustion with him was all the urging Kvasir needed to leave the tribe, to leave the desert and travel into the world, desperate for an answer, desperate for a way to fix this– or at least, desperate for a way to prove that he was here before Kasra erases him completely.
He left Mehr with a letter, one last tender kiss to the cheek, and nothing else, and disappeared into the cold desert night.
Significant NPC’s
Mehr Mirzadeh - A male human, with dark skin, deep red-brown hair, and amber eyes. Kvasir’s former fiance, the son of the chief of a nomadic tribe within the Zeinav Desert. He and Kvasir were in a relationship for around six years– it is unknown if he is looking for Kvasir today, or if he even holds onto those feelings. Kvasir theorizes that he most certainly does not.
Austri Sigurros - A male foxfolk, specifically descended from the fox spirits of the Crescent Isles, with sharp blue eyes and greying hair, as well as a sturdy, muscular build. He’s Kvasir’s father, and has been out of contact with his son for a few years, but not out of a lack of desire– Kvasir is just afraid to tell him what has happened regarding his memories, but is equally afraid to forget him. Not to mention that Kvasir no longer remembers where he lives.
Shahrazad Sigurros - A female foxfolk woman known as a Pari, a spiritual guardian of Zeinavian kings, gods, and chiefs. In life, she'd had dark skin, hair in rich shades of tan and brown, and sharp green eyes-- she was Kvasir's mother, who he'd forgotten about entirely until recently. She was once the steadfast companion of a nomadic chief named Shahryar, who left Zeinav to be with Austri-- her cause of death, beyond a mysterious illness, remains unknown.
Sindri Sigurros - A female foxfolk, with turquoise eyes and blue-black hair, whose whereabouts are currently unknown as she travels the world. She’s Kvasir’s older sister, and the two of them used to steadily keep in touch, but Kvasir no longer remembers her name, nor how to contact her.
Sariya Mirzadeh - A female human, with dark skin, dark brown hair, and sharp amber eyes. The mother of Kvasir's former fiance, the chief of the Tribe of the Lotus within the Zeinav Desert. She loved Kvasir as though he was her own son, but was the quickest to yield when she figured out what had happened to him after coming into contact with that strange golden artifact. In her words, "there is nothing mere mortals can do to challenge the will of a god."
Niloufar - The minor goddess hailed by the Tribe of the Lotus-- in her humanoid form, her hair is a brilliant red, her eyes pale pink, and her skin a gold-brown, with spiralling floral tattoos spanning down her arms. In her appearances to her people, she is fondly regarded as a stalwart and compassionate deity with a great fondness and protectiveness for her people-- Kvasir certainly remembers her... bittersweetly.
---
Sahar - A female human, with sun-gold skin, pale brown hair, and deep orange eyes. She was a tall and fearsome warrior of the desert, wielding a blade the size of her body. She was the beloved wife of the forgotten God of Remains, the stalwart warrior to his silent scholar. Her passing marked the moment that killed the faith Kasra's people had in him, as it showed that he truly did not care for the present moment as much as he did for the past.
Cool and Epic Fox Facts:
- Kvasir's name, altogether, roughly means "crushed roses." He knows little about the origin of his name beyond the fact that his mother picked it, and that it was allegedly from a book.
- If you get him talking about plants, be prepared for him to be absolute incapable of shutting up; he adores botany in excruciating detail, and will happily write you a verbal essay about any plant you ask him to name.
- He has a great deal of issues with oversensitivity due to his vulpine features and lineage, and he abhors loud noise.
- Despite the above, his favorite flavors in the world are very strong; he loves citrus and spices above all, specifically adoring orange and cardamom, though he's also partial to subtle floral flavors like rose.
- He is half-Zeinavian by blood. He is only vaguely aware of this.
- He owns an apothecary in the Zeinav Desert's Oasis called The Desert Rose.
protect him at all cost. (can’t use discord anymore so making use of this here)
