Name: Kreans Minkva
Gender: Male
Age: 8 sweeps (18 human years)
Race: Troll
Kingdom: Prospit
Psychological description:
Kreans had always been a bit of a narcissist, and his ever growing arrogance did not improve this. He began to lose what few friends he had due to his extreme flatulence and pessimistic views. Sadly, he does not seem to be able to notice this himself, and believes others are simply "scared off by his presence." Many attempt to knock him down a peg, but Kreans simply brushes it off, not because he is thick skinned, but because he is simply too immersed in himself to take it as anything but a compliment in disguise. On top of such quirks, Kreans is extremely distrustful. He refuses to leave a single cent of his earnings in the hands of others, and makes sure to count out every single cent twice a day to make sure he hasn't been looted. He rarely indulges anyone in his full name and in return, does not ask theirs, preferring to call them various pet names that, more often than not, come off as demeaning. All together, he is a rather unpleasant fellow. His carapace raised him as best he could, but he grew up to be a rude child and eventually, a very lonesome young man.
His pride causes him many problems. He is easily offended, and quick to anger, which landed him in many fights, the majority of which he lost. He is also quite fond of holding grudges, remembering the smallest little things such as the girl who laughed at him when he was 5 and the elderly passerby who looked at him funny two months ago. His self absorption is another cause of conflict. When in a conversation, he finds it very hard to listen to others, preferring to be at the centre of the discussion. He also finds it quite hard not to compare others to himself, which is generally not received well. Once every so often he finds it in his heart to say something pleasant, but by then, nobody believes him.
Background:
Ever since his childhood, Kreans has had one goal: get rich, get famous, get out of the lower district. Unfortunately for him, his yellow blood typecast him to be a failure from the start, placing him at the bottom of the food chain. Still, with every passing year his dreams grew, and, to the dismay of his peers, so did his ego. Kreans would never give up: one day he knew he would be a star, with a beautiful matesprite and thousands of adoring fans. Yes. He would be a slam poet, and sing the song of his people to all of Skaia!
He was raised by a caring young carapace in the lower district of prospit from a very young age. He remembers little to nothing about him home planet, but finds much enjoyment from the secret stories relayed to him by his guardian. At that time, Kreans was a healthy and pleasant little troll, but it all changed once the bullying started. He was a yellow blood, and had no apparent psychic abilities at the time, and was thus the target of many others. The higher bloods pushed him around for being weak and "useless," the lower bloods not daring to disturb the upper cast's fun. Kreans did not comprehend the concept of bullying, and did all he could to be accepted by the high bloods. They were better than he was, so logically, begin their friend made him superior. It took little to no time for these events to imprint themselves into his young developing subconscious, and leading to his future psyche. He became resigned from the lower caste and his carapace, and did all he could to be accepted by the higher class in any way he could, to no avail. He felt quite hopeless during those days, then he heard it. Slam poetry.
It was while walking home one day that he heard it. There were two boys; one giggling on a park bench, the other standing before him with a paper in hand. Kreans stopped to listen, as the standing boy rattled off verses of rhymes to the beat of the sitting boy. He was mesmerized, amazed, and for the first time in ages, hopeful. It was then he knew how he would rise above all those who had once oppressed him, and become their shining star.
His social ineptitude left him hard pressed for work, but his accounting and money management skills had lead him be quite the advisor, with the gift to double his clients money within a short span of 5 years, if they can get past his personality. Luckily for him, he was also born with the psychic powers usually gifted to those of his low blood stature. He has the uncanny ability of retrocognition, allowing him to perceive information about past events. This could prove to be useful, if he was not so convinced that its only use was to look upon the lives of the rich upper class and how they lived. His hate for the upper class evolved with time as well.
Kreans fascination with the upper class has lead him to think like the upper class as well. He has no interest in rebellion, and would be quite content to fight for such a lovely lady, seeing as he sadly must refuse her love at the end; he already had a muse, and all these ladies falling for him might scare her.
The girl with the emerald blood:
It was the middle of night when he first saw her. He was having a hard time sleeping, and decided a walk through the streets would clear his brilliant mind. As he gracefully strutted (more like hobbled sleepily) down the streets, he happened to see her, her skirt twirling as she walked down the streets. He watched her fro the shadows, his heart beating rapidly. She was beautiful, with her freckles and her wide eyes. The next day, he turned over every stone in search of her, only to find out she was of high blood. If Kreans had been infatuated before, it was nothing like now. This girl was the only one he wanted. The one fit to be his matesprite, and he knew, he was perfect for her as well.
Physical description:
Kreans has a lean build, with a boxy figure that he works hard to maintain through physical activity. He is of average strength and height (around 5'11" or so) with a stout, defined, boxer-like face. He has yellow blood, and has matching horns: two pronged in the shape of a U, with a shorter stem in the back and rounded ends.
He has an under bite, his lower teeth protruding above his lip. He cuts his course black chair short, in an attempt to keep it in order, but it always looks like he just woke up from a restless sleep. His eyes are set under a dark brow, scowl lines creasing along the ridge of his nose and his forehead. The bags under his eyes are the accumulation of sleep loss and unfortunate genetics, making him seem grouchy 24/7.
He wears a golden yellow shirt cut off at the sleeves, which he found cumbersome, and matching yellow shorts. Combined with his white socks are dark brown sandals. Somehow, he thinks this is a fashion statement, and that when he becomes famous, everyone will dress like him and his "superior fashion sense."
RP sample:
"Five hundred and fifty two… Five hundred and fifty three…" droned the monotonous voice. Kreans sat up, stretching his arms above his head ad twisting his neck back and forth. Satisfied by the cracking noise, he lay back in his bed, staring listlessly at the ceiling above. His entire life's work lay in the pile at his feet, all eight hundred and seventy three dollars and fifty-three cents. At least, that how much there was when he checked this morning. Who knows what kind of low blood thieves could have snuck in and helped themselves to a little bit of his happiness?
Still, it was tedious work at best, he thought as he rolled over on his side, falling unceremoniously off the bed, smacking his face on the cold stone floor. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. Just his luck. He crawled slowly across the room to his door, lifting himself with the help of the knob, before making his way down to his kitchen in search of ice.
Once his nose found the cool embrace of the compression, he slunk down into one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. "Stars don't fall." he said to no one in particular, before rethinking it and adding "I mean, they do, but not off their beds.” He looked around the dank, dirty room. When he was little, the kitchen was one of his favourite spots, where he would sit at the counter while his carapace prepared supper and told him stories. He swallowed his sorrow, preferring not to think of such sad things. She left him a long time ago, just like his friends. Just like everyone else, and he was fine with it.
“And when they hit the ground, the floor regrets it." He finished. He grumbled a bit more, then stood up, and dragged himself back to his room, to finish what he had started.
When he entered the room, it took hi ma minute to grasp the scene before him. It seems he was not the only thing that went flying off the bed. His money, which had once been in two neat piles, was thrown everywhere, as a result of his tumble. He stood there, fuming, before gathering the stray coins and bills, and sitting himself back on his bed.
“One… Two… Three…”
OOC: Hey guys, if you don't already know me, I'm the same role-player who plays Nepeta! :33 I thought it would be fun to revamp my OC for this RP.
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