Post by Tristan Lampago on Dec 19, 2012 20:45:11 GMT -5
Name: Tristan Lampago
Title: Flash
Age: 678/21
Gender: Male
Class: Arrancar
Affiliation: Las Noches
Rank: Espada
Description: Scars of lands where rain hesitates to fall, a body touched by the gods; however, marred by the passage of time and conduction of battle. Vivacious, but lacking, a vessel of extreme physical beauty, but diluted by the essence of darkness. No one can boost such attractiveness, no people could never compare Tristan to the ones before them in term of attractiveness. A flaw in statement only by the glistening of sapphire instead of ruby. Each orb palpable and considerable in their own strength, gleaming in their intelligence and unfathomable beauty, but lacking something in the depths.
They are fragile almost, like pieces of stained glass or fine silks. A touch alone would seem to be too much, but a glance from them, few could resist. Set are these precious jewels on the visage of Tristan, so touched by Aphrodite’s calm hand, then carved out till the aging have been halted.
The Espada features, sharp and complex make up the brunt of his face, constructed of only the peerless material’s available. A bold chin, shaped highly and in remembrance of a nobleman with authority. No streaks of black hair, no thin eyebrows or illustrious lips can give him that attraction. An absence of this life makes him appear as a cold ice mirror about his face; a specimen of absolute coldness and desirable to the eye, but fleeting. Each black wave of hair that rocks pleasantly like a field of grain in the wind, is a reminder to himself of how cold he is. Each portion of this face grants expression in great detail, sadness, anger, happiness and the like all compete for a moment to exist. Each shining brighter than the last when their moment on stage comes, though briefly flashing; the emotions are conveyed with great strength brought home like a blade across the psyches of those witnessing the act.
His body is well-toned and muscular, the body of a man who is very enthusiastic about battle. On his chest remains the tattoo of a “3” given to him by the rank, which he keeps as a bartering chip—a sign of his authority. The majority of his physical features, such as his physique, hair and eye color, remain when he is in his Gigai, but his tattoo, mask, eye markings and hollow hole are not present.
Tristan is not quite vain, but has a sense of his own presence. Holding himself with an arrogant air, he almost slinks as he walks, shoulders back, chin high, and with the slightest forward lean. His posture and mannerisms do not change at all in Gigai.
Style, eloquence and fashion are a meaning of proving…they exist for the sole purpose to cover the nudity that should remain unconcealed. A mockery of beliefs and ideals, but one that is enforced with unbridled savagery. As such, he dresses, clothes himself in at his own discretion in different ways than most Espadas. In origin Tristan has no orientation, but he chooses to mix elements of japanese with the Chinese ideals as well though he wear his white espada cloak most of the time.
Although not obvious, he doesn’t wear any undershirt below this layer of clothing, leaving his chest bare if the apparel is ever opened. He wears an umanori or divided hakama most of the time.
This umanori, tied snuggly at the waist with a navy piece of silk, is still different from the average Espadas. Each leg flutters down to the ankle, just where Tristan’s sandals poke from beneath. Along the path to the foot, the umanori are split in eight places around the calf, each split is used to better circulate air to the wearer.
As articles of clothing go, the rest of Tristan’s ensemble is simple. Over the grey-shirt is a simple espada vest, the brunt of which is pure white; however, along the neck line and the stitches are a silver in lay giving a more regal appearance. The rest of Tristan’s hakama, or the haori, red jacket, is only worn in special occasions. His graceful arms, rarely fall through the holes of his haori, he merely holds it across his shoulders for warmth at times.
Faceclaim: Naruto Shippuden - Sasuke Uchiha
Personality: Where the river Styx ends or begins, an eternal question on the lips of the forlorn, too torn about by the bloody cycle of birth, death and rebirth to care. So to is this young soul cast about the torrents of time and trapped inside a icy shell. Thus, there was poured, in a cascade through the eons, a personality.
One cosmic mistake leading into the birth of a species and the spirits, each holding claim to their own traits and abilities. Amongst all of them, arose Tristan, rising from the dust and thistles, erupting from day one and considered as a monster. So begins his personality as a clear shining symbol of where he came from; despite, his current position.
Determination is his prime trait, an inability to back down or give up in the face of adversity. No matter how far down he has been beaten, until he can no longer move, he will stand back up and continue onward for the sake of his comrades.
Nothing to date has ever made him stop advancing forward through life, ever. Tragedies have occurred and friends have been lost, many incurable wounds occurred because of him, but he manages to pick himself up and carry on. He has regrets, there are things he wish he hadn’t done and he reflects on these, but never once has he left them become more than thoughts.
His determination and desire to advance further and further have never granted him a moment to stop, he pushes himself until he is exhausted or near death. Rest or hesitation on anything, barring socializing, is unheard of for him. He sleeps once his jobs are done or it is absolutely necessary for him to be at peek performance; otherwise, he will not stop.
His outward personality makes him to seem a little colder than he really is, being one who tends to not associate with others too much on a personal level. Though he does initiate and participate in conversation when it comes to major events and other work-related matters, the male is usually silent majority of the time, usually giving simple direct answers and leaving very little room for small talk. At times, his words can be a little too blunt and insensitive as well; hence, why he usually keeps his mouth shut. He also can be a little hot-headed, and openly shows his irritation on his face once someone starts getting under his skin.
He is well-rounded with many and varied hobbies (the list of which is constantly growing), owed to the fact that he’s ready and willing to try anything. In his leisure time, Tristan has taken up piano, designing, art, oration, free-weights, and Parkour; He also enjoys the music in the human world. It is when Tristan becomes a victim of boredom that he is at his most irritable and dangerous, lashing out viciously at anything that moves.
Finding battle, finding prey, avoiding boredom, and setting the stage for his goals are all the extrinsic motivation that could move him to action; Tristan's hedonistic tendencies to do whatever feels best account for many of his actions. He believes in himself almost to a fault, and is driven to prove his strength. He takes sadistic delight in defeating and humiliating opponents, and is mercilessly manipulative once his true personality gets out. He is keen to hone in on weakness, and quite capable of thinking on his feet.
Like a poisonous flower, Tristan is really attractive on the outside though he is really deadly once touched. When planning or thinking alone, He often paces and speaks aloud to himself—on the battlefield, the habit condenses itself into a fidgeting with his Zanpakutou of some sort. When listening to others, he tends to eye-roll vacantly (When he isn’t listening, he suddenly becomes very interested in the back of his hand, clawing at it sometimes to the point of bleeding). His other hobbies come into play when he has nothing else to do, and have proven quite useful in keeping him from going into “Murder Mode”.
Through time the youth seems to have developed a secondary personality as he often keeps it at bay. While his outer personality remains to be that of a noble and charismatic one , what's inside would be a totally different story. Never judge a book by it's appearance , one would say. Inside of Tristan rests a cold emotionless monster that would kill without even blinking. It's the total opposite of his first personality and Tristan becomes really manipulative and snide once unleashing his true self out.
Yet, Tristan has a paranoia feeding on his soul, grinding against the depth of his very being. As an arrancar he suffered the ultimate betrayal by someone he trusted greatly; this grievous wound has left a scar on his psyche. Tristan is a respectful character out of a sense of self-preservation. One could consider him almost like a nobleman, though considering his current reactions and physical forms , it makes sense.
Tristan takes pride in being able to work well with others in combat and considering his non-lethal take on everything, it is almost necessary for him to do so.In fact there are only two things that Tristan holds grudges towards to in life and those things are assumption and betrayals.
Tristan maintains only a bare minimum of a moral code: repay favors, avenge wrongs, and do not attempt to fix what is not broken. Tristan is very vengeful, holding grudges for as long as it takes to get revenge for them, and will take on a grudge for something rather small—with the revenge being rather disproportional at times. He may kill someone who does nothing but bump into him in the street. The longer it takes him to avenge himself, the worse the beating will be when it comes, and he will never forget a wrong before it is set right. In his justice system, he is both sheriff and posse. He believes there is always a single someone to blame, and is a staunch opponent of group punishment, preferring to take failure out on either the responsible party or a scapegoat.
History: On the north coast, it was said that he cut his way out from his mother, knife in hand. That was a little…well, absolutely, false. A sprightly young child, born naturally, came into a world of promise; loved by his parents until his mother passed shortly after his birth. As a child, he played with strings and set traps like his father though one day while they were on a trip , the entire family would have died from a horrible accident. His sister and father was gone from his side in an instant. Finding himself alone at night , the boy gave in to the darkness as he wandered within the streets at night.
Tristan awoke dead. Having choked in freezing waters of voyage, he expected to lavish in soothing clouds of Heaven, or at least relax in calming rooms of Purgatory. No, he failed to see his face reflected in the cruel waters (or anywhere at all, for that matter), nor could he pinpoint anything. The only discrepancy the child noted upon him was a troubling, metallic chain upon his chest which devoured itself; aghast, he couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen when the chain vanished. In a dazed panic, he managed to drag her distressed self to his home town, where he began crying at the sight of his own funeral organized by the neighbors. No adults should outlive his child, he thought dolefully, and brooded uncontrollably at the horrible fact that he had ended the long and successful line of his family forever. An insatiable voracity hunger consumed him, metaphorically and physically, a craving for life, a desire for bodies, a need for souls. Confused, Tristan started at the criminals he observed on the Greek streets. He caught the rapists, the murderers, the thieves, the bullies…the innocent souls. The vigilante had turned into any ordinary hollow, chain completely eroded. A fraction of his reason remained and he hated himself for what he had become. With nothing left to lose, he eagerly jumped into a strange portal fabricated across a nearby port, whimsically thinking it a sepulchral black hole he could die in, securely locked off from innocent people. He wandered earth in a state of confusion and eventually found his way to the deserts of Hueco Mundo, starving and tired. Only when another hollow attacked and devoured him did he come to his senses and realize what he had to do. Fighting his way to consciousness was difficult, but he did it.
It went on like this. On and on. It was something eternal, This Life. There was nothing but the Fight… and the hunt. If he had known that Death would bring this, he’d have surrendered to it long ago. This was Paradise.
It got better as he became stronger. He (He felt he had earned the right to say “me” instead of “we”) Had been approached by a man, A man who called Himself primera . This primera made him an interesting offer. Power, he said, was what he offered to anyone willing to take it. He had but one price: Loyalty. Tristan took the deal—Power was His game, after all. Primera led him to a massive dwelling the hollows who dwelled near it called Las Noches. It was there that primera transformed Him, painfully. But the pain was worth it, he concluded, as he once-overed Himself while walking down a long Hall of shining Tile. Sexy—and strong-looking. He ran his hand over the “3” drawn on his back, the permanent mark of his debt and the show of his power. His rank was 3, as if he cared. Whoever he met, he’d take down if he had to, numbers be damned. He figured primera didn’t know, because how could he? He wasn’t a mind reader or anything, right? He really didn’t care, because he could leave and hunt, training whenever he wanted to. He was just waiting until he could repay his debt, in full, with interest, and then some.
His high ranking life like nobility among inveterate friends endured, but one aspect of it truly upset him: Quinta. A boy as merciless as he was aesthetically displeasing (his spoon made hollow puppies cry), Tristan found within him the epitome of pure hatred he viciously fought off during his early life. For jejune, ludicrous reasons Tristan found brutishly easy to fathom, the boy hated him. Guerilla attack after crude insult after contemptible scheme: the boy just couldn’t stop himself! He once decimated an entire area of hollows during a search for Vasto Lorde, for what seemed to Tristan completely childish reasons. He attempted to explain to him the faults regarding his actions; because the Espada were once nothing more than bare hollow, could Quinta not emphasize with the corruption of his plots? To this, he would reply with rejoinders dry and hateful. He proceeded to enlighten him upon reason, not much different from the reason mentioned in the era he had avidly frequented during his time alive. As beasts, the hollows had no reason to understand their cruel deeds; however, as Arrancar, there was a reason to draw blood, a reason to defend. Quinta could not comprehend.
Tristan considered it his moralistic duty to ameliorate his horrendous perspective, to strengthen him both mentally and physically. Before the boy committed what would have been pure suicide, he saved him, and afterwards continued to enjoy his novel. He awoke to his answer that he had saved him only to prevent the Espada from losing a member. The answer (whatever answer it may have been, he was too arrogant to realize the generosity of his action) hurt his pride, aggrandizing his antipathy for him. From this point, Tristan followed Quinta like a big brother. He truly hoped to protect him, to see a day where his human side had as much compassion as his Arrancar side had strength. He provided him with another honest answer: he consistently tailed him only because he was weaker than him. He had apparently stamped on his pride like “an open wound” by pitying him, and thus he drove himself further to defeat her. Countless battles rolled by, and with each one Tristan refused to kill him. He had no reason to kill him, and to him, Quinta couldn’t even warrant the title of warrior.
It seemed like years, but it happened. Primera finally decided to make his move, attacking some enemy he wanted to overtake He sent another Arrancar, Quinta, to the Human world first. The weakling didn’t even kill anyone. Whatever Primera’s plan was, Tristan wasn’t paying much attention. He just fought for his higher up, his one and only higher up—Tristan Lampago. He attacked the same humans Quatra had studied, killing all the humans though he was wounded severely, and was dragged back by the ear to Hueco Mundo. Oops.
He woke up with a mouthful of sand. Sputtering, he thought he’d failed to get through the garganta until a low rumbling sound greeted him from…somewhere to his right. He looked to it, and there was an ocean—A Whole ocean. He had made it, but he was dead if he just laid there. He pulled himself up to his feet. He was so weak; it was disgraceful. Then, in a language that was foreign and thick with an accent he didn't recognize: “Oi! Was tun Sie hier?”
He looked around and quickly found the speaker: a tall, burly red-headed guy. The guy was definitely talking to him, but how? Normal People in the human world couldn‘t see Arrancar. The redhead walked over to him, Further inquiring, “Tun Sie benötigen Hilfe?” Tristan looked him over, and realized that the guy was a tall sunuva—at least five or six inches taller than he himself was. After a few awkward moments of the two staring at each other, Tristan curtly informed him (after overcoming the language barriers—how many tongues did the guy know, anyway?) that yes, some help would be nice, and he had just dropped in a random spot and he really had no idea what he was doing there. He stayed with the man (who called himself Johann) in the human world for a while, recovering and taking up a vast set of hobbies to pass his time. During this time, he acquired a reiatsu-concealing gigai and a gikongan through a set of incidents that confused him because they happened extremely quickly. It seemed that Johann was both spiritually aware and knew somebody who knew that guy , and Johann had been able to acquire the set of items. While he really didn’t think it was necessary, Tristan took them; if he ever decided to come back, it would be good to have them.
He woke up with a mouthful of sand. Sputtering, he thought he’d failed to get through the garganta until a low rumbling sound greeted him from…somewhere to his right. He looked to it, and there was an ocean—A Whole ocean. He had made it, but he was dead if he just laid there. He pulled himself up to his feet. He was so weak; it was disgraceful. Then, in a language that was foreign and thick with an accent he didn't recognize: “Oi! Was tun Sie hier?”
He looked around and quickly found the speaker: a tall, burly red-headed guy. The guy was definitely talking to him, but how? Normal People in the human world couldn‘t see Espada. The redhead walked over to him, Further inquiring, “Tun Sie benötigen Hilfe?” Tristan looked him over, and realized that the guy was a tall sunuva—at least five or six inches taller than he himself was. After a few awkward moments of the two staring at each other, Tristan curtly informed him (after overcoming the language barriers—how many tongues did the guy know, anyway?) that yes, some help would be nice, and he had just dropped in a random spot and he really had no idea what he was doing there. He stayed with the man (who called himself Johann) in the human world for a while, recovering and taking up a vast set of hobbies to pass his time. During this time, he acquired some new pair of clothes and a cellphone through a set of incidents that confused him because they happened extremely quickly. It seemed that Johann was both spiritually aware and knew somebody who had a big well known shop, and Johann had been able to acquire the set of items. While he really didn’t think it was necessary, Tristan took them; if he ever decided to come back, it would be good to have them.
After he was well, he considered killing the redhead. Then what he quickly realized was something humans called common sense nudged up again and he left amiably—after getting an address and a promise that if he needed help, he could get it. Deciding to stay in the world of the livings for a unknown time , the youth has somehow been attached to this magnificent world that once gave him life. Tristan roamed throughout Tokyo, in search of a place to hide from the other hollows. He became like a human and tried to live like one, until a hollow spotted Tristan wandering the streets and wanted to report him to the Primera. Tristan thought he had at least found a place to be safe. But he was wrong, shortly after two weeks of staying in the world of the livings, an army of hollow was sent to recapture Tristan. Frustrated and pissed off ,the boy killed them right away before moving on to his next destination.
The United States was now his favorite place to be at. The colorful streets were constantly plagued with noises and people which never made Tristan felt lonely. Taking advantage of his time on doing the things that he hadn't had the chance to do as a normal human being during his youth , the espada quickly got used to this life style and wandered throughout the dark corners of the city. Night town , Bars , Karaoke , Black markets , he went to all of them in order to experience all sort of different feelings.
Statistics
Reiatsu Hue: Blue
Reiatsu Flavor: Despair, filling others minds up with dark thoughts, making them to cringe in fear or back away.
Stats
Reiryoku: 150
Power: 90
Agility: 160
Affinity: 150
Skill Tier:
Lvl 1
Lvl 2
Lvl 3
Abilities
Title: Flash
Age: 678/21
Gender: Male
Class: Arrancar
Affiliation: Las Noches
Rank: Espada
Description: Scars of lands where rain hesitates to fall, a body touched by the gods; however, marred by the passage of time and conduction of battle. Vivacious, but lacking, a vessel of extreme physical beauty, but diluted by the essence of darkness. No one can boost such attractiveness, no people could never compare Tristan to the ones before them in term of attractiveness. A flaw in statement only by the glistening of sapphire instead of ruby. Each orb palpable and considerable in their own strength, gleaming in their intelligence and unfathomable beauty, but lacking something in the depths.
They are fragile almost, like pieces of stained glass or fine silks. A touch alone would seem to be too much, but a glance from them, few could resist. Set are these precious jewels on the visage of Tristan, so touched by Aphrodite’s calm hand, then carved out till the aging have been halted.
The Espada features, sharp and complex make up the brunt of his face, constructed of only the peerless material’s available. A bold chin, shaped highly and in remembrance of a nobleman with authority. No streaks of black hair, no thin eyebrows or illustrious lips can give him that attraction. An absence of this life makes him appear as a cold ice mirror about his face; a specimen of absolute coldness and desirable to the eye, but fleeting. Each black wave of hair that rocks pleasantly like a field of grain in the wind, is a reminder to himself of how cold he is. Each portion of this face grants expression in great detail, sadness, anger, happiness and the like all compete for a moment to exist. Each shining brighter than the last when their moment on stage comes, though briefly flashing; the emotions are conveyed with great strength brought home like a blade across the psyches of those witnessing the act.
His body is well-toned and muscular, the body of a man who is very enthusiastic about battle. On his chest remains the tattoo of a “3” given to him by the rank, which he keeps as a bartering chip—a sign of his authority. The majority of his physical features, such as his physique, hair and eye color, remain when he is in his Gigai, but his tattoo, mask, eye markings and hollow hole are not present.
Tristan is not quite vain, but has a sense of his own presence. Holding himself with an arrogant air, he almost slinks as he walks, shoulders back, chin high, and with the slightest forward lean. His posture and mannerisms do not change at all in Gigai.
Style, eloquence and fashion are a meaning of proving…they exist for the sole purpose to cover the nudity that should remain unconcealed. A mockery of beliefs and ideals, but one that is enforced with unbridled savagery. As such, he dresses, clothes himself in at his own discretion in different ways than most Espadas. In origin Tristan has no orientation, but he chooses to mix elements of japanese with the Chinese ideals as well though he wear his white espada cloak most of the time.
Although not obvious, he doesn’t wear any undershirt below this layer of clothing, leaving his chest bare if the apparel is ever opened. He wears an umanori or divided hakama most of the time.
This umanori, tied snuggly at the waist with a navy piece of silk, is still different from the average Espadas. Each leg flutters down to the ankle, just where Tristan’s sandals poke from beneath. Along the path to the foot, the umanori are split in eight places around the calf, each split is used to better circulate air to the wearer.
As articles of clothing go, the rest of Tristan’s ensemble is simple. Over the grey-shirt is a simple espada vest, the brunt of which is pure white; however, along the neck line and the stitches are a silver in lay giving a more regal appearance. The rest of Tristan’s hakama, or the haori, red jacket, is only worn in special occasions. His graceful arms, rarely fall through the holes of his haori, he merely holds it across his shoulders for warmth at times.
Faceclaim: Naruto Shippuden - Sasuke Uchiha
Personality: Where the river Styx ends or begins, an eternal question on the lips of the forlorn, too torn about by the bloody cycle of birth, death and rebirth to care. So to is this young soul cast about the torrents of time and trapped inside a icy shell. Thus, there was poured, in a cascade through the eons, a personality.
One cosmic mistake leading into the birth of a species and the spirits, each holding claim to their own traits and abilities. Amongst all of them, arose Tristan, rising from the dust and thistles, erupting from day one and considered as a monster. So begins his personality as a clear shining symbol of where he came from; despite, his current position.
Determination is his prime trait, an inability to back down or give up in the face of adversity. No matter how far down he has been beaten, until he can no longer move, he will stand back up and continue onward for the sake of his comrades.
Nothing to date has ever made him stop advancing forward through life, ever. Tragedies have occurred and friends have been lost, many incurable wounds occurred because of him, but he manages to pick himself up and carry on. He has regrets, there are things he wish he hadn’t done and he reflects on these, but never once has he left them become more than thoughts.
His determination and desire to advance further and further have never granted him a moment to stop, he pushes himself until he is exhausted or near death. Rest or hesitation on anything, barring socializing, is unheard of for him. He sleeps once his jobs are done or it is absolutely necessary for him to be at peek performance; otherwise, he will not stop.
His outward personality makes him to seem a little colder than he really is, being one who tends to not associate with others too much on a personal level. Though he does initiate and participate in conversation when it comes to major events and other work-related matters, the male is usually silent majority of the time, usually giving simple direct answers and leaving very little room for small talk. At times, his words can be a little too blunt and insensitive as well; hence, why he usually keeps his mouth shut. He also can be a little hot-headed, and openly shows his irritation on his face once someone starts getting under his skin.
He is well-rounded with many and varied hobbies (the list of which is constantly growing), owed to the fact that he’s ready and willing to try anything. In his leisure time, Tristan has taken up piano, designing, art, oration, free-weights, and Parkour; He also enjoys the music in the human world. It is when Tristan becomes a victim of boredom that he is at his most irritable and dangerous, lashing out viciously at anything that moves.
Finding battle, finding prey, avoiding boredom, and setting the stage for his goals are all the extrinsic motivation that could move him to action; Tristan's hedonistic tendencies to do whatever feels best account for many of his actions. He believes in himself almost to a fault, and is driven to prove his strength. He takes sadistic delight in defeating and humiliating opponents, and is mercilessly manipulative once his true personality gets out. He is keen to hone in on weakness, and quite capable of thinking on his feet.
Like a poisonous flower, Tristan is really attractive on the outside though he is really deadly once touched. When planning or thinking alone, He often paces and speaks aloud to himself—on the battlefield, the habit condenses itself into a fidgeting with his Zanpakutou of some sort. When listening to others, he tends to eye-roll vacantly (When he isn’t listening, he suddenly becomes very interested in the back of his hand, clawing at it sometimes to the point of bleeding). His other hobbies come into play when he has nothing else to do, and have proven quite useful in keeping him from going into “Murder Mode”.
Through time the youth seems to have developed a secondary personality as he often keeps it at bay. While his outer personality remains to be that of a noble and charismatic one , what's inside would be a totally different story. Never judge a book by it's appearance , one would say. Inside of Tristan rests a cold emotionless monster that would kill without even blinking. It's the total opposite of his first personality and Tristan becomes really manipulative and snide once unleashing his true self out.
Yet, Tristan has a paranoia feeding on his soul, grinding against the depth of his very being. As an arrancar he suffered the ultimate betrayal by someone he trusted greatly; this grievous wound has left a scar on his psyche. Tristan is a respectful character out of a sense of self-preservation. One could consider him almost like a nobleman, though considering his current reactions and physical forms , it makes sense.
Tristan takes pride in being able to work well with others in combat and considering his non-lethal take on everything, it is almost necessary for him to do so.In fact there are only two things that Tristan holds grudges towards to in life and those things are assumption and betrayals.
Tristan maintains only a bare minimum of a moral code: repay favors, avenge wrongs, and do not attempt to fix what is not broken. Tristan is very vengeful, holding grudges for as long as it takes to get revenge for them, and will take on a grudge for something rather small—with the revenge being rather disproportional at times. He may kill someone who does nothing but bump into him in the street. The longer it takes him to avenge himself, the worse the beating will be when it comes, and he will never forget a wrong before it is set right. In his justice system, he is both sheriff and posse. He believes there is always a single someone to blame, and is a staunch opponent of group punishment, preferring to take failure out on either the responsible party or a scapegoat.
History: On the north coast, it was said that he cut his way out from his mother, knife in hand. That was a little…well, absolutely, false. A sprightly young child, born naturally, came into a world of promise; loved by his parents until his mother passed shortly after his birth. As a child, he played with strings and set traps like his father though one day while they were on a trip , the entire family would have died from a horrible accident. His sister and father was gone from his side in an instant. Finding himself alone at night , the boy gave in to the darkness as he wandered within the streets at night.
Tristan awoke dead. Having choked in freezing waters of voyage, he expected to lavish in soothing clouds of Heaven, or at least relax in calming rooms of Purgatory. No, he failed to see his face reflected in the cruel waters (or anywhere at all, for that matter), nor could he pinpoint anything. The only discrepancy the child noted upon him was a troubling, metallic chain upon his chest which devoured itself; aghast, he couldn’t bear to imagine what would happen when the chain vanished. In a dazed panic, he managed to drag her distressed self to his home town, where he began crying at the sight of his own funeral organized by the neighbors. No adults should outlive his child, he thought dolefully, and brooded uncontrollably at the horrible fact that he had ended the long and successful line of his family forever. An insatiable voracity hunger consumed him, metaphorically and physically, a craving for life, a desire for bodies, a need for souls. Confused, Tristan started at the criminals he observed on the Greek streets. He caught the rapists, the murderers, the thieves, the bullies…the innocent souls. The vigilante had turned into any ordinary hollow, chain completely eroded. A fraction of his reason remained and he hated himself for what he had become. With nothing left to lose, he eagerly jumped into a strange portal fabricated across a nearby port, whimsically thinking it a sepulchral black hole he could die in, securely locked off from innocent people. He wandered earth in a state of confusion and eventually found his way to the deserts of Hueco Mundo, starving and tired. Only when another hollow attacked and devoured him did he come to his senses and realize what he had to do. Fighting his way to consciousness was difficult, but he did it.
It went on like this. On and on. It was something eternal, This Life. There was nothing but the Fight… and the hunt. If he had known that Death would bring this, he’d have surrendered to it long ago. This was Paradise.
It got better as he became stronger. He (He felt he had earned the right to say “me” instead of “we”) Had been approached by a man, A man who called Himself primera . This primera made him an interesting offer. Power, he said, was what he offered to anyone willing to take it. He had but one price: Loyalty. Tristan took the deal—Power was His game, after all. Primera led him to a massive dwelling the hollows who dwelled near it called Las Noches. It was there that primera transformed Him, painfully. But the pain was worth it, he concluded, as he once-overed Himself while walking down a long Hall of shining Tile. Sexy—and strong-looking. He ran his hand over the “3” drawn on his back, the permanent mark of his debt and the show of his power. His rank was 3, as if he cared. Whoever he met, he’d take down if he had to, numbers be damned. He figured primera didn’t know, because how could he? He wasn’t a mind reader or anything, right? He really didn’t care, because he could leave and hunt, training whenever he wanted to. He was just waiting until he could repay his debt, in full, with interest, and then some.
His high ranking life like nobility among inveterate friends endured, but one aspect of it truly upset him: Quinta. A boy as merciless as he was aesthetically displeasing (his spoon made hollow puppies cry), Tristan found within him the epitome of pure hatred he viciously fought off during his early life. For jejune, ludicrous reasons Tristan found brutishly easy to fathom, the boy hated him. Guerilla attack after crude insult after contemptible scheme: the boy just couldn’t stop himself! He once decimated an entire area of hollows during a search for Vasto Lorde, for what seemed to Tristan completely childish reasons. He attempted to explain to him the faults regarding his actions; because the Espada were once nothing more than bare hollow, could Quinta not emphasize with the corruption of his plots? To this, he would reply with rejoinders dry and hateful. He proceeded to enlighten him upon reason, not much different from the reason mentioned in the era he had avidly frequented during his time alive. As beasts, the hollows had no reason to understand their cruel deeds; however, as Arrancar, there was a reason to draw blood, a reason to defend. Quinta could not comprehend.
Tristan considered it his moralistic duty to ameliorate his horrendous perspective, to strengthen him both mentally and physically. Before the boy committed what would have been pure suicide, he saved him, and afterwards continued to enjoy his novel. He awoke to his answer that he had saved him only to prevent the Espada from losing a member. The answer (whatever answer it may have been, he was too arrogant to realize the generosity of his action) hurt his pride, aggrandizing his antipathy for him. From this point, Tristan followed Quinta like a big brother. He truly hoped to protect him, to see a day where his human side had as much compassion as his Arrancar side had strength. He provided him with another honest answer: he consistently tailed him only because he was weaker than him. He had apparently stamped on his pride like “an open wound” by pitying him, and thus he drove himself further to defeat her. Countless battles rolled by, and with each one Tristan refused to kill him. He had no reason to kill him, and to him, Quinta couldn’t even warrant the title of warrior.
It seemed like years, but it happened. Primera finally decided to make his move, attacking some enemy he wanted to overtake He sent another Arrancar, Quinta, to the Human world first. The weakling didn’t even kill anyone. Whatever Primera’s plan was, Tristan wasn’t paying much attention. He just fought for his higher up, his one and only higher up—Tristan Lampago. He attacked the same humans Quatra had studied, killing all the humans though he was wounded severely, and was dragged back by the ear to Hueco Mundo. Oops.
He woke up with a mouthful of sand. Sputtering, he thought he’d failed to get through the garganta until a low rumbling sound greeted him from…somewhere to his right. He looked to it, and there was an ocean—A Whole ocean. He had made it, but he was dead if he just laid there. He pulled himself up to his feet. He was so weak; it was disgraceful. Then, in a language that was foreign and thick with an accent he didn't recognize: “Oi! Was tun Sie hier?”
He looked around and quickly found the speaker: a tall, burly red-headed guy. The guy was definitely talking to him, but how? Normal People in the human world couldn‘t see Arrancar. The redhead walked over to him, Further inquiring, “Tun Sie benötigen Hilfe?” Tristan looked him over, and realized that the guy was a tall sunuva—at least five or six inches taller than he himself was. After a few awkward moments of the two staring at each other, Tristan curtly informed him (after overcoming the language barriers—how many tongues did the guy know, anyway?) that yes, some help would be nice, and he had just dropped in a random spot and he really had no idea what he was doing there. He stayed with the man (who called himself Johann) in the human world for a while, recovering and taking up a vast set of hobbies to pass his time. During this time, he acquired a reiatsu-concealing gigai and a gikongan through a set of incidents that confused him because they happened extremely quickly. It seemed that Johann was both spiritually aware and knew somebody who knew that guy , and Johann had been able to acquire the set of items. While he really didn’t think it was necessary, Tristan took them; if he ever decided to come back, it would be good to have them.
He woke up with a mouthful of sand. Sputtering, he thought he’d failed to get through the garganta until a low rumbling sound greeted him from…somewhere to his right. He looked to it, and there was an ocean—A Whole ocean. He had made it, but he was dead if he just laid there. He pulled himself up to his feet. He was so weak; it was disgraceful. Then, in a language that was foreign and thick with an accent he didn't recognize: “Oi! Was tun Sie hier?”
He looked around and quickly found the speaker: a tall, burly red-headed guy. The guy was definitely talking to him, but how? Normal People in the human world couldn‘t see Espada. The redhead walked over to him, Further inquiring, “Tun Sie benötigen Hilfe?” Tristan looked him over, and realized that the guy was a tall sunuva—at least five or six inches taller than he himself was. After a few awkward moments of the two staring at each other, Tristan curtly informed him (after overcoming the language barriers—how many tongues did the guy know, anyway?) that yes, some help would be nice, and he had just dropped in a random spot and he really had no idea what he was doing there. He stayed with the man (who called himself Johann) in the human world for a while, recovering and taking up a vast set of hobbies to pass his time. During this time, he acquired some new pair of clothes and a cellphone through a set of incidents that confused him because they happened extremely quickly. It seemed that Johann was both spiritually aware and knew somebody who had a big well known shop, and Johann had been able to acquire the set of items. While he really didn’t think it was necessary, Tristan took them; if he ever decided to come back, it would be good to have them.
After he was well, he considered killing the redhead. Then what he quickly realized was something humans called common sense nudged up again and he left amiably—after getting an address and a promise that if he needed help, he could get it. Deciding to stay in the world of the livings for a unknown time , the youth has somehow been attached to this magnificent world that once gave him life. Tristan roamed throughout Tokyo, in search of a place to hide from the other hollows. He became like a human and tried to live like one, until a hollow spotted Tristan wandering the streets and wanted to report him to the Primera. Tristan thought he had at least found a place to be safe. But he was wrong, shortly after two weeks of staying in the world of the livings, an army of hollow was sent to recapture Tristan. Frustrated and pissed off ,the boy killed them right away before moving on to his next destination.
The United States was now his favorite place to be at. The colorful streets were constantly plagued with noises and people which never made Tristan felt lonely. Taking advantage of his time on doing the things that he hadn't had the chance to do as a normal human being during his youth , the espada quickly got used to this life style and wandered throughout the dark corners of the city. Night town , Bars , Karaoke , Black markets , he went to all of them in order to experience all sort of different feelings.
Statistics
Reiatsu Hue: Blue
Reiatsu Flavor: Despair, filling others minds up with dark thoughts, making them to cringe in fear or back away.
Stats
Reiryoku: 150
Power: 90
Agility: 160
Affinity: 150
Skill Tier:
Lvl 1
- Hakuda
- Cero Control
- n/a
Lvl 2
- Reiatsu Control
- Hoho
- n/a
Lvl 3
- n/a
- n/a
- n/a
Abilities
- Cero
- Hierro
- Bala
- Garganta
- Ressurecion
- Sonido
- Soul Link: Tier One