Goncharovich, Zabulon

[Guest]

 

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CASE FILE: Alkahetrist {Warrant Officer}

"Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?"
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FULL NAME:
→ Zabulon Goncharova

AGE:
→ 25 26

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Moscow, Drachma

RACE:
→ Drachman, but he isn't sure if thats all.

DATE OF BIRTH:
→ May 9th, 1986

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HEIGHT:
→ 185 cm

WEIGHT:
→ 73 kg

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

→

Adopted Child Sveta:

DESCRIPTION:
→ The snow falls outside, but the room is warm. A figure sits in a wing chair in front of a fire, hands folded in his lap as he stares distantly into the dancing flames. His blood red eyes would initially call claim to Ishvallan, but his pale skin and black hair could almost dictate Aerugese heritage. The Drachman male looks up at a sound and pushes himself up from the chair, standing up to his full height.

Aye, he was only about 6' and his form was slender, but his muscles were clear in the way he moved. Not all strong men were bulky after all. He was wearing a button up black, longsleeved shirt that was mostly unbuttoned down to his mid torso. Black slacks complimented the look, his finger nails rather long for a man. But they were clearly well kept. His feet were bare for he was in his own home after all, walking towards the window to peer outside. His long hair fell past his waist, almost seeming to blend into all the black that he wore. Crimson tattoos curled about inbetween each finger of his right hand, gathering together on the back of his hand into a transmutation circle.

Pushing the curtain aside with his left hand, he stares down to the streets below, a soft caw drawn by the black crow perched in his room. "I'll let you out soon. I don't trust those fools outside." He speaks softly, his voice a deep tenor. A man of few words, he's been accused more than once of brooding or being a mute. Oh the labels... They held nothing to him. Ignorance born of quick judgement. Whatever.

Buttoning up his shirt, he sighs lightly as he tucks it into his pants, moving to the one side of his room to pick up a pair of socks from his drawer. Everything is in its correct place, for once defying the man-den stereotype. As he finishes dressing, black boots are on his feet along with a warm jacket, his hair remaining free down his back. A holster for the giant blood colored scythe came next, along with said weapon, hanging off of his back. Holding out an arm, the crow immediately flying to his shoulder as they stepped out the door into the very early morning cold.

His walk is reminiscent of a predator, yet with the ease of a refined man. There was the slightest hint of his military training, but few would immediately pick up upon it. Not unless they knew what to look for. A strange man, very very strange indeed.

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PERSONALITY:
→ Have you ever had a talk with the shadows? It is quite interesting to hear what they have to say. They speak of the fall of humanity, the destruction that Father tried to create before. They whisper the insanity of men, and the lust for blood hidden amongst our brains. It speaks of the boredom that so many try to counteract, the fallen romances, the tears. I've spoken long and hard and I have looked it in the face.

It is why I merely watch the world as it decays about us, why I watch the life and beauty that grows and falls away. I observe, and I will speak when I so choose to. If I need to, then I will. Whether they are orders, a comment, or a piece of advice. Otherwise I ask that you respect my decision not to speak. Thank you.

Manners are a matter of importance my dear. Respect and trust are both things that are earned, not given away freely. I will be civil as a default, but you must prove yourself to me for you to receive my respect and trust. This is not too much to ask, is it? I ask this of my subordinates, my equals, my superiors. Of course if someone deserves a certain treatment, I will give it for it would be unwise to otherwise. Such as flipping off your boss, not wise at all.

The world has rules, and these rules should be followed. Perhaps this is what drew me to the military. You follow orders, you obey your superiors, you don't ask questions. It is like math, there is always one definitive answer. Perhaps this is why people call me "intense." Or perhaps this is why I'm so good at my job. There are always two sides to every coin.

Of course I realize the world isn't black and white. The world is made of grays. I live in that grey area you buffoon. Fluidity is important to functioning in the world, especially one such as ours. We can't all be proud of everything we do, but if it must be done, then it must be done. Complexities give form to everything, and the hardest questions are always the last ones asked. Life is poetry. We each interpret it in our own ways, and let us just leave it at that hm?

LOVE:
→ Reading
→ Poetry
→ Philosophy
→ His pet crow, Olga
→ Beauty in its various forms (this does include blood splatter mind you and death)
→ Music
→ Honor and duty
→ Drachma
→ Pudding
→ Potatoes
→ Respect
→ Giving of himself
→ Cute things. Don't ask.
→ Sveta
→ Valeria Diablos

HATE:
→ Rudeness in its various forms
→ Dishonoring your home country no matter where you are from.
→ Pink things. Don't ask.
→ Failing to protect a friend, a loved one, or his country.
→ Ignorance
→ Fighting for no good reason. If the reason is just, then ok.
→ People touching his scythe.
→ Booze. He finds it pointless.
→ Anyone who harms Sveta, Valeria, or Olga his Raven companion.

DEEPEST SECRET:
→ He doesn't remember before the age of seven. So he has no idea what happened to his family or anything.
→ The more that his family grows, the more he wonders at his own parentage. Who were his parents? What had they done? Had they died and left him alone on the streets or in an orphanage? Or had they just found themselves unable to raise him and just… gave him up? Why?

IDOL:
→ Svetlana Goncharova, his adoptive mother.

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HISTORY:
→ Cold. It was always so cold on the streets. People walked by without a second glance, for who would stop to think about another hungry child on the street? A child with strangely colored eyes, a child that didn't fit in. A child who clung tightly to a book of alkahestry as if his life depended upon it. No... no one would stop. Those blood red eyes lonesome, and yet... they swore people would look one day. Yes... one day they would look.

From a young age, Zabulon wasn't entirely sure of his familial background. He was born in Moscow, this he knew. He knew his name. He knew how to read. He could tell whom he might trust, and whom he might kill. He knew that alchemy ran in his family. And he knew how to watch people. He knew how to do that best. But what he didn't know, was what had happened to him as a young child. He was seven years old without a single recollection as to who he was before. Or a home.

But there was one day when someone did look. A woman. A woman of the military. She was in town to check on the defenses of the capital, and she could see the defiance and strength within this youths eyes. "Come with me." She whispered, and he did. The way she carried herself, the way others behaved around her... This was a woman of power, and she knew things. Many things. He could tell. She had been hurt, she knew how to hurt, but she could teach him how to move on.

He did learn. He followed her on her periodic visits between the various headquarters of Drachma, and she did not make things too easy for him. She taught him many things, how to fight, how to survive, how to lead and how to follow. Whatever he needed to know, she showed him. She even helped him with his alchemy. Her own was what inspired what he uses now. She could heal, and he could tell that how she used it was different from alchemy. But she still understood alchemy.

Once he was old enough, he enlisted and worked his way up without her aid. Both of their prides wouldn't allow such a thing. The way that she supported him was by what she had taught him, and by pressing him further. She was killed in action when he was 20 and he took her death with a strange sort of grace. He understood all things must pass, and it had been her time. Even if it still hurt. Grieve he did.

He continued to implement what she had taught him, but he still remembered what that small child had sworn as he watched everyone walk by. People would look. Now he values such signs of respect with an iron clad fist. He tries to battle off a sense of loathing towards humanity with the sense that he must protect this land that he called home. So he did what was somehow logical to him, take over his adoptive mothers post. And thus he did strive for Head of Defense of Drachma.

The war. The war where the Amestrians came and ransacked his home, raped his people, murdered their pride. Their spirit was nigh unto broken because of their bloody war. Zabulon had done his best to keep the civilians safe against the pillagers, the artillery shells, and the raid through the streets. In the end…. He failed. He failed to protect the city of Moscow, and its neighboring cities and towns. He failed to keep friends and comrades from being taken, from being destroyed. The weight of his guilt and the knowledge tore at him as the retreat was sounded and the enemy finally left. And yet, despite the gun, smoke, blood, and destruction, there was one shining light in his life.

A young girl being attacked by Amestrians, her age so close to his when his adoptive mother had found and saved him. Her name, "Sveta." It was a name spoken so softly and with such shock still coursing through her being. He took that girl to a safe place and saved her just as Svetlana Goncharovna had saved him all those years ago. Once her health had been restored and the immediate paperwork of the war finished, he applied to be her adoptive father and was soon taking care of her. He was a father, something that he never really thought as possible. He had been the instrument of destruction, or the instrument of protection, never an instrument of nurturing. He took her to regular check-ups on her condition, as well as placed her into a school.

It was on one of those visits to the hospital that he met a woman by the name of Valeria Diablos. She was incensed, in a daze and raging about the corridor over whatever the doctors had told her. He reached out a hand and helped her, taking her outside to speak with her. Much to her surprise, as he could see, he saw right through the mask that she tried to wear. That was the beginning of their acquaintance, and soon their friendship. She came to live with them upon his insistence for she apparently had none in his country. He could not allow a comrade to be in such a state. Then they left to attack Fort Briggs. But unlike the war on their capital city, they won. They brought that proud bastion to the ground and laid low those bastards whom had broken his people. That was a very proud day for him.

It was after the war that Valeria moved in, and also when he discovered the injury she had sustained from some man that she had battled with at Briggs. So he began to look into the matters of auto mail and the doctors that he visited himself (thus trusted) very quietly. For him and Valeria? They are apparently… what was the word… ah yes, dating. Another shock for him for that is the one area he knows very little about. Give him a map and strategies and he's golden, but put him in a a crowded restaurant with him and his date? He is lost, not that he'd ever really show it of course.

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TRIVIA:
→ He's bisexual
→ He constantly caught between a loss of faith in humanity, and the wonders that it holds.
→ His scythe is something he always has on him.
→ Olga, his Raven companion, can usually be found nearby.
→ He is teaching Valeria how to speak Drachman.
→ Drachman, Aerugese, Amestrian, Cretan
→ He's learning Esparian as well. It is a very broken understanding and speaking at the moment.

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ALIAS:
→ Vi, Vivi... whatever really.

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Alisa, Jeu-Hee, Rosaleen, Rebecca, Lisbeth, Sabina, Selina, Wei Zhao, Izanami, Feona

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ Soo... The whole reason I decided to make him was because on FB, my friend said my profile picture in drawn/anime form looked like Testament and he promptly posted a picture. Thus, Zabulon was born.

Also! I must credit Vani for his alchemy.

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]Guilty Gear/Daisuke Ishiwatari[/b]/[i]Testament[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ Crimson Testament
→ Bodies End

OFFICIAL TITLE:
→ Head of Defense
→ Red Rook

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[Dai]

A P P R O V E D

Just be careful of using his Alchemy on PC's. :3

[Dai]

Rolling Drachman Rank~

[Dai]

The member 'Dai' has done the following action : Rank Roll

'Lieutenant Roll' : 1

[Guest]

LEVEL 2 COMPLETE!! Now for alkahestry...

[Csilla Angelis]

{APPROVED}

Promoted to Colonel due to level 2.

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