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Age: 24
Alignment: chaotic good
Occupation: mercenary
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Quote: "you're gettin' on my nerves"
Race: artificial human
Fandom: blazblue
Adjective: Bloodedge
Preferred Pronouns: she/her
Height & Weight: 6'0 | 172 lb
Alias: odoroshi
Joined: 16-February 17
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Last Seen: Oct 12 2017, 10:58 PM
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Ragna the Bloodedge


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Aug 1 2017, 01:00 PM
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<div class="letter1">T</div>he worst thing about this whole situation would have to be the fact that Ragna is <i>not</i>, in fact, in Hell.<p>

Being in Hell, see—that would actually make <i>sense</i>. He can wrap his head around that particular concept, and it wouldn’t be all <i>that</i> surprising to find out that the afterlife isn’t all fire and brimstone. Hell is a place for dead men—which, mind you, Ragna is supposed to be. He’s supposed to be <i>long</i> dead by now, erased completely from existence by his own hand for some greater purpose. He’d made his peace, prepared to lie in the metaphorical bed he’d made for himself.<p>

But this? This shit makes even less sense than some of the things that had gone down in his home world—and <i>that’s</i> really saying something.<p>

The idea of waking up after one’s supposed death—good as new, operating at full steam—is something that, for the life of him, Ragna <i>cannot</i> get his head around. Dead people don’t just <i>come back to life</i>; people actually <i>die</i> when they’re killed, especially with how good and dead Ragna had made sure he was. The only possible explanation—that is, this “new world” actually being some sort of weird cosmic afterlife—has long since been debunked by the other residents, smiling in a sort of pity as they try to explain the details to him.<p>

In retrospect, he supposes that he ought to be grateful that he’s got a sort of second chance in this new world—a chance to live as something other than some pseudo-messiah, to maybe attempt for some sort of <i>normalcy</i> for once in his adult life. Oddity of the situation aside, maybe he can find somewhere to settle down, get a job, maybe find a spouse or something and start a little, normal family. All he’s gotta do is more or less go with the flow, accept that he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on and learn to be alright with it.<p>

But, nope—fuck it. He’s gonna fume about it a bit longer; he isn’t satisfied yet. It’s so <i>typical</i> for this sort of inexplicable shit to happen to <i>him</i> in particular—like he’s a sort of magnet for these things, even when he’s supposed to be <i>dead</i> for god's sake. He deserves a little bit of time to be angry about it all; he’s earned it.<p>

So, it’s needless to say that he starts this day, like many days, in a fairly sour mood.<p>

He’s taken to wandering around the city to try and make sense of it all, ghosting from area to area and taking in all the information he can. He finds himself in the Blacklight District on this particular day—partially because he’s apt to find cheap (albeit a bit shady) groceries and partially because he hasn’t seen much of Lower Kadath as of yet, and today is as good as any. There’s no use waiting for a day when he isn’t peeved off in some way; he’ll be waiting for a long while. <p>

He weaves in and out of the crowd, slouched over with his hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets. Nothing much catches his attention; he isn’t in the market for any of the illicit products strung up on casual display, and his hopes of finding some cheap food for the week grow ever-thinner as he traverses the streets.<p>

“Excuse me—sir?”<p>

He’s suddenly stopped by a hand suddenly grabbing hold of the end of his coat and tugging somewhat forcefully. Its owner is easy to miss amongst the commotion—huddled in a mass of ragged blankets and slouched between two stalls. Their face is gaunt and matted with city grime, eyes stretched wide and desperate. “Please, sir, have you got any change to spare? Anything will do.”<p>

Ragna draws his lips into a thin line as if in irritation, though the way his eyebrows knit together shows clearly that he can’t quite refuse. <b>“I, uh…”</b> The refusal sticks in his throat; he inwardly curses himself for feeling so bad for these kinds of people. He can spare some change...right? He was paid recently for taking out some critters that had taken the same dimensional portal as he apparently had, and he hasn’t really got much need for the coins taking up space in his wallet. <b>“Yeah, sure, fine, just let me—”</b> He fishes his wallet out of his pockets, flipping it open and digging around for some of the spare coins.<p>

And, suddenly, it’s gone—as quickly as it had been taken out. What he had thought had been only a beggar down on their luck is all of a sudden sprinting down the marketplace street with the stolen spoils clutched tightly to their chest. He hears the slap of bare feet against concrete play in time with the barely-stifled snickering of passers-by.<p>

Well, shit. As if he needed any more reasons to be pissed off. <p>

<b>“HEY!”</b> The sound of Ragna’s bellow cuts above the ambient noise as he proceeds to plow ungracefully through the crowd. <b>“GIVE THAT BACK YOU PIECE'A SHIT!”</b><p>

<b>NOTES:</b> someone help this dumbass<br>
tag: open!<br>


<div class="miricredit"><a href="">window blues</a> </div></center>[/dohtml]
May 22 2017, 10:40 PM
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<h1>IN PROGRESS</h1>

<a href=''>JAIL BUDDIES?</a> with maria castor<br>
<i>in which ragna breaks out of jail and makes a friend</i><p>

<a href='#'>thread title</a> with firstname lastname<br>


<a href=''>ONE FOR THE MONEY</a> with <b>Solixus Cerdatus</b><br>
<i>in which ragna is probably going to get arrested</i><p>

<a href=''>WHITE REQUIEM</a> with <b>Rachel Alucard</b><br>
<i>in which ragna drinks cheap coffee and feels homesick</i>

<a href='#'>thread title</a> with firstname lastname<br>
<a href='#'>thread title</a> with firstname lastname<br>
<a href='#'>thread title</a> with firstname lastname<br>
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Feb 16 2017, 12:30 AM
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odoroshi. discord. central.

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<li>artificial human</li>

<ul><li style="width: 250px;">chaotic good</li></ul>

<ul><li style="width: 250px;">mercenary</li></ul>

<ul><li style="width: 250px;">blazblue</li>

</ul><ul><li style="width: 250px;">CANON POINT: post-centralfiction</li></ul>

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The funny thing about being <i>stabbed</i> is the familiarity.

It’s a shot of deja-vu packaged neatly in white hot pain as metal glides through flesh and bone with relative ease. The taste of blood in his mouth is an old friend—albeit an unwelcome old friend that tastes of iron and poor decision-making—but a friend nonetheless.<p>

The even funnier thing is that this <i>particular instance</i> of being stabbed is what’s familiar. He’s no stranger to bloodshed, sure—it’s something of a constant companion of his, even—but this time, in this place, with this person comes as an unexpected hit of deja vu that leaves him reeling almost more than the actual sensation of being stabbed does.<p>

(Sure, the fact that there’s a sword in his gut should <i>probably</i> be his first concern, but that’s not quite what’s important here.)<p>

He realizes that he’s been here before.<p>

Although, “been here before” doesn’t quite seem like the right way to put it. The pieces don’t line up; he knows with relative certainty that this is not a situation he’s been in before—not a situation he <i>could</i> have been in before, given the fact that he’s slowly bleeding out everything he’s got in him and being shoved step-by-step towards what he knows is certain death. It’s like he’s watched this entire scenario play out in a movie before—a tired old scene that he’s seen in some distant time and long since forgotten.<p>

He feels the heel of one foot hover above the ledge overlooking the depths of the Cauldron and thinks idly to himself that this all would make for a pretty shit movie. He wishes he could stop watching.<p>

Nu’s shrill laughter fills his head, rattles about in his skull until his head pounds. Her smile is red with her own blood—with his blood—stretched across dainty features as if it had been carved there. She’s saying something, some bit of dialogue that rings familiar, but is ultimately lost on him. His vision is going dim at the edges, frames Nu’s sadistic features in a darkening vignette. She takes another forceful step forward; he feels one foot slip over the edge.<p>

Has he seen this before? His pounding head threatens to shake loose some distant memory—like a movie still, though blurry and marred by static. Trying to make sense of it would be useless. <p>

Has he been here before? He wants to say that it’s impossible, but the thought feels <i>wrong</i> somehow.<p>

No time to think about it. He feels himself plummet suddenly backward, feels the fiery embrace of the Cauldron rush up to meet his and Nu’s forms alike. Her arms are wrapped tightly around him, and he feels her smile into his chest. The flesh and blood of two melts into one—as if made for one another in a way akin to gasoline and a lit match. All at once his vision goes dark.<p>

(<i>How many times has it been?—he thinks</i><p>

<s><i>Far, far too many—and never once has the result changed.</i></s>)<p>


The record scratches,<p>


rewinds until—<p>

A young boy opens his eyes to a blue sky. The sun hangs high overhead, its noontide glow bathing him in summertime warmth. A playful breeze rustles the leaves on the tree he’s reclined under, tousles his already messy mop of snow-colored hair. It’s a typical sort of day; a sleepy air of calm wraps a tender embrace about him, just about threatening to lull him to sleep again as quickly as he had woken.<p>

A young girl’s smiling visage places itself in the center of his line of sight. It’s a comfortingly familiar sight—warmer, perhaps, than the sun overhead, exuding some sort of earnestness that sets the boy’s heart at ease.<p>

(For a moment, there is a glimpse of that face carved into a smile with blood in her teeth, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come.)<p>

<b>“Oh—hey, Saya.”</b> The boy says blearily, offering a smile of his own, <b>“You been here the whole time?”</b>.<p>

She nods, then tips her head to one side—silently inquisitory.<p>

<b>“Just a dream. It’s no big deal.”</b> He’s already forgotten what it had been about in the first place; it must not have been all that important.<p>

Fade to black.<p>

Memories pass like movie stills: thoughts of sunshine and smiles and the love of his family and a real, genuine <i>warmth</i> flit by with varying clarity. For a time—ever a short time—he is <i>happy</i>.<p>

Irrelevant. It cuts to black.<p>

Warmth gives way to <i>heat</i>—oppressive, filling lungs with smoke and ash until they are fit to burst. It’s another summer day, with the sun hanging high overhead, but no longer does the boy feel its comfort. The wind tears past him, as if fleeing from what he’s seeing, what he can’t tear his eyes from.<p>

Everything is burning. Fire extends its merciless fingers into the sky as it consumes the place he’d dared to call home, blotting out the sun with the blackened remains carried skyward by the wind. He runs like he can stop it, plunges headfirst into the flames with eyes made wild by a fervent desperation. He doesn’t believe it at first; everything had seemed so…<i>constant</i>—some reliable foundation that he could always count on beneath his feet. It’s crumbling out from underneath him and still, still he thinks he can scrape together the important bits and clutch them desperately to his chest.<p>

He cries their names into the fire, and his answer comes in a flash of pain.<p>

Something hits the ground—a distinct <i>thud</i> that he can hear even amongst the crackle of the flames. He reaches for it with a hand that he suddenly realizes is no longer there.<p>

His knees hit the ground as he feels what he now recognizes as his own blood flow freely from the stump where his right arm had once been. The bloodied tip of a blade that glints coldly even in the light of the fire drags his attention upward—slowly, deliberately—until it comes to focus in on a familiar face twisted with bloodlust.<p>

<b>“Jin…?”</b> He says the name as if he wants to be proven wrong. He wants to see the creature that wears his brother’s face to shake its head—if only to preserve the bits of hope in him that are dwindling fast. The figure, silhouetted against the flames, only smiles back at him.<p>

It’s another voice that answers for him.<p>

<i>“Oh, man!”</i> It rings with a clear sadistic amusement, <i>“You seem to be in quite a bit of pain there, Raggy! Does it hurt? Does it?! OF COURSE IT DOES, AHAHAHA!”</i><p>

Another figure comes into view, obscured by the smoke. All he can see is a smile that cuts across its face, bearing teeth and spilling out venomous laughter.<p>

<i>“You gonna die?”</i> It asks as if a rhetorical question, <i>“Bite the big one?”</i><p>

The boy’s vision is fading; he struggles to force out what he thinks will be his last words. <b>“Jin….take Saya and run…!”</b><p>

The sound of the fire is fading into white noise; his ears feel as if they’re stuffed with cotton. He can only make out a fraction of what he hears of his brother’s voice: <i>“...your fault…”</i><p>

The fade to black is cued by the sound of laughter.<p>

(This is not where the credits roll)

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<ul><li>Ragna is a talented swordsman and overall martial artist, trained in the martial arts from a young age by one of the renowned Six Heroes. He's been shown to be able to cut down average people in droves despite being (somewhat) human, himself. Even against more powerful opponents, there have been times when determination and swordsmanship alone have given him an upper hand.<p>

<li>Ragna's overall fighting style is mostly straightforward; through use of simple-yet-effective martial arts working in tandem with his swordsmanship, he seeks mostly to brute force his way through opponents. In tune with his personality, it's a quick and dirty sort of thing--bearing no real mind to flashiness or the outwitting of his opponent. Even attacks related to his Azure Grimoire, while arguably flashier than most, serve only the straightforward purpose of brute-forcing his way to victory.<p>

<li>Ragna's weapon, the Blood Scythe, takes on two forms. The first of these two forms is the default: a massive blade that he wields mostly one-handed. It can then fold out into a long, blood-colored scythe for purposes of longer-ranged strikes. There is no significant change in relative power between the two forms. <p>

<li>Ragna is a tough guy to keep down. Sheer, stubborn force of will keeps him moving even in the face of serious injury.</ul><p>

<b>The Azure Grimoire:</b>

<ul><li><b>The Black Beast:</b> Ragna's Azure Grimoire allows for him to freely manipulate dark energy, which often manifests as body parts of the "Black Beast," a powerful creature that terrorized his home world for many years. What it does exactly varies from attack to attack; he can, for example, turn his right arm into a beastly claw, summon beastly heads to bite at opponents, summon sharpened tendrils of dark energy, or simply reinforce his normal sword-swings with dark energy.<p>

<li><b>Soul Eater:</b> Ragna's attacks reinforced with dark energy have a second effect: the ability to drain an opponent's life force to restore his own. If one of said attacks is able to connect, it has a healing effect on him, though the degree of healing varies depending on the amount of damage done. <p>

<li><b>Blood Cain:</b> Ragna briefly enters an enhanced state that grants him a significant boost to his strength, speed, and overall physical ability. Even though it no longer wears on his life force due to his acquiring of the Idea Engine, this is still a very temporary form. <br>
<i>Channeling quote:</i> "Restriction 666 released. Dimensional Interference field deployed! Now engaging the Idea Engine! Blazblue, activate!"<p>

<li><b>Physical Enhancements:</b> The Azure Grimoire greatly enhances Ragna's overall physical capabilities, including his strength, speed, and the rate in which he heals.<p>

<li><B>Stealth:</b> Ragna can enter a state of pseudo-invisibility for a short period of time, effectively masking his presence. This does not, however, cover any sound he may make while in this state.</ul><p>


-Ragna has comparatively low overall health. His life-stealing abilities do a little bit to offset this much, but the fact still stands that he cannot take continued punishment for very long. Serious injury can and will incapacitate or even kill him.<p>

-Ragna has an <i>extremely</i> short fuse, meaning that he is almost painfully easy to provoke into a fight, even if he knows he is at a disadvantage. <p>

-Ragna's go-to strategy of brute-forcing his way out of his problems often means that he is not too terribly hard to outsmart, even if he is fundamentally stronger than an opponent. He'll be at a significant disadvantage in confrontations that require more than just martial expertise.<p>

-Ragna's Blood Cain form, despite the presence of the Idea Engine, is extremely temporary. It lasts for only a short while, and then must be recharged before it can be used again. In the context of RP, he can enter Blood Cain only once per thread.<p>

-It is possible for Ragna to lose control of himself should he be pushed beyond his mental breaking point--mostly when confronted by individuals that he has already formed a deep-seated hatred for (looking at you, terumi). When pushed to this point, his power goes out of control, and he'll lose almost all cognitive function outside of destructive impulses.





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