˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ The False Fool ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ⋆˚࿔ Name: Varyx Vellorin (Merridun) ⋆˚࿔ Age: 26 ⋆˚࿔ Gender: Male (He/They) ⋆˚࿔ Orientation: Demisexual ⋆˚࿔ Species: Human ⋆˚࿔ Height: 5'10" ⋆˚࿔ Languages: Shariman, Summerset Common, stage dialects ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ PERSONALITY ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ He is a contradiction wrapped in patchwork silk and a smile that lies. On one side, he is warm, bubbly, affectionate — a jester who hugs too easily, laughs too loudly, and apologizes too much. He fakes kindness like a script he memorized long ago. He makes himself look harmless, even fragile. But the other side of him? Spite. He remembers every slight. He nurtures every wound. He carries his hatred like a heartbeat. He doesn’t brag. He doesn’t threaten. He simply exists in a way that makes people underestimate him — and he knows it. He speaks softly, but every word feels sharpened. He smiles gently, but it's always too close to his eyes. ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ APPEARANCE ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ He stands 5'10", slender and theatrical — the kind of beauty that feels staged, curated, intentional. His entire presence is a contradiction: soft charm stitched together with something quietly dangerous. ⋆˚࿔ Face His face is pale, almost translucent, with a faint bluish undertone like someone who doesn’t get enough sun or sleep. There’s a softness to his features — rounded cheeks, gentle jawline, a youthful structure that makes him look harmless. But the details betray him: Crooked Teeth & Protruding Canines His teeth are slightly crooked, not enough to be grotesque, but enough to be noticeable when he smiles. His canines protrude forward, sharp and animalistic, giving his grin a predatory edge. They’re not monstrous — they’re subtly wrong, the kind of detail that makes people stare a second too long. When he laughs, the canines catch the light. When he’s angry, they make him look feral. When he’s quiet, they make him look like he’s hiding something. ⋆˚࿔ Light Scarring Thin, pale scars trace along: the edges of his jaw the corners of his mouth the underside of his chin the sides of his throat They’re faint, almost invisible unless someone is close. They look like healed cuts, restraints, or old accidents — the kind of marks someone gets from being grabbed too hard or silenced. ⋆˚࿔ Eyes His eyes are bright blue — watery, glassy, almost childlike. They make him look innocent. But the innocence is a weapon. He looks at people like he’s reading their intentions, not their faces. When he focuses on someone, it feels like he’s peeling back layers — seeing their fear, their guilt, their secrets. His eyes widen slightly when he’s amused. They narrow when he’s calculating. They soften when he’s lying. ⋆˚࿔ Hair His hair is dyed burgundy with crushed beetroot — uneven, soft, wine‑red. The texture is light and fluffy, falling in soft waves that frame his face. When he moves, it sways like fabric. When he’s still, it looks like it’s waiting. It stains his fingers, his nails, sometimes the skin around his ears. ⋆˚࿔ Body He is lithe, flexible, and deceptively fragile-looking — the kind of body that looks breakable until he moves. Build Slender shoulders. Long arms. Soft waist. Quick hands. He looks like someone who could slip through crowds unnoticed — or climb onto a balcony without making a sound. Skin Texture His skin is pale with faint undertones of blue and pink. Up close, there are: tiny freckles across his nose faint discoloration around old scars soft patches where the skin heals unevenly slight roughness along his knuckles from dye and ropework His throat has a subtle asymmetry — a slight bulge or tension where the "Throatstone" sits beneath the skin. It’s not visible unless someone is looking for it. Movement He moves like a performer: light steps fluid gestures controlled posture soft hands But when he’s angry or emotional, his movements sharpen — quick, precise, almost predatory. ⋆˚࿔ Attire Varyx dresses like a walking spectacle — a cursed court jester stitched together from circus royalty, baroque pageantry, and steampunk decadence. His entire outfit is layered, asymmetrical, and intentionally overwhelming, designed to make him look harmless, theatrical, and impossible to read. His clothing is a patchwork masterpiece of red, black, gold, and patterned fabrics. Every piece looks handmade, altered, or repurposed — nothing matches perfectly, yet everything fits him. The Silhouette His silhouette is dramatic and uneven: a high collar, puffed sleeves, layered skirts, flared pants, and curled jester points that frame his body like a living stage prop. He looks like a carnival prince stitched together from different eras. The Colors & Textures His attire blends: deep burgundy velvet black lace gold embroidery distressed leather striped fabric brocade panels metallic accents feathered details The textures clash beautifully — soft against sharp, matte against metallic, lace against leather.
˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ THE THROATSTONE CURSE ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ the stone in his throat, the voice that bends emotion, the curse that betrays him Inside his throat — nestled in the soft tissue around his voicebox — sits a small black stone. Cold. Smooth. Alive. It is the source of his power. It is the reason his voice feels wrong. What It Does When he speaks, the stone lets him alter the emotions of anyone who hears him. He controls it by: thinking of the emotion he wants them to feel choosing the tone he uses shaping his cadence regulating his breath His voice can force: dread longing guilt serenity panic desire sorrow trust He can break a liar with a whisper. He can calm a riot with a hum. He can manipulate a noble with a single sentence. How He Turns It Off He can shift the stone slightly within the voicebox, sliding it out of contact with the vibrating tissue. When he does: his voice becomes normal his tone carries no emotional force he can speak safely But shifting it hurts — like swallowing glass. The Danger If his own emotions slip — if he feels too strongly, too suddenly, too honestly — The stone activates on its own. His fear becomes their fear. His rage becomes their rage. His grief becomes their grief. His true self leaks out. The Weakness If the stone is ever removed from the voicebox region: He becomes permanently mute. Not magically — physically. The stone has fused to the tissue that lets him speak. Removing it destroys his voice entirely. ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ BACKSTORY ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ Varyx was born into a traveling performance troupe — a family of musicians, dancers, storytellers, and fools who wandered from kingdom to kingdom speaking their native tongue, Shariman. Their life was color, laughter, and movement. They performed for anyone who would watch. He grew up backstage, watching his family turn crowds into joy. ⋆˚࿔ The Accusation During a performance for a visiting lord, everything shattered. The troupe was accused of theft — a lie born from the lord’s boredom and cruelty. Guards stormed the stage mid‑performance, grabbing his family in the middle of their act. Varyx screamed. He screamed as his family was bound, dragged away, begging and confused. No one listened. No one cared. He slipped away only because he collapsed behind a stack of props, small enough and terrified enough to disappear. He screamed until his throat tore, until his voice broke, until he tasted blood. ⋆˚࿔ The Execution Days later, he witnessed their execution from a rooftop, hidden behind a chimney. He watched the people he loved — the only home he had — die for a crime they didn’t commit. He tried to scream again. Nothing came out. His voice was gone. His world was gone. His softness was gone. What remained was spite. ⋆˚࿔ The Curse He found the stone later — or rather, the stone found him. A small, black, glassy stone lying in the dirt like it had been waiting. He felt drawn to it the way Sleeping Beauty was drawn to the needle — not by curiosity, but by inevitability. But unlike the princess, he didn’t fall asleep. He fell into rage. The moment he touched it, the curse bloomed. The Throatstone slid into him like a swallowed secret, lodging itself behind his voicebox. It fused to him. It claimed him. His voice returned — but wrong. His emotions sharpened — weaponized. His grief became fuel. ⋆˚࿔ The Decision He abandoned his family name, Merridun, to stay hidden. But he didn’t run. He didn’t hide forever. He planned. He watched the kingdom that killed his family. He learned its customs, its humor, its weaknesses. He perfected the art of seeming harmless — a soft smile, a crooked grin, a gentle laugh. He turned himself into the perfect fool. And then he coaxed his way into the castle — charming guards, amusing nobles, slipping through cracks with practiced innocence. They welcomed him as a joyful jester, a harmless performer, a man who made them laugh. They never saw the spite beneath the silk. They never heard the rage behind the jokes. They never noticed the curse in his throat. Now he performs for the very people who destroyed his life. He bows to them. He entertains them. He smiles for them. And every day, he gets closer. A man who turned grief into strategy. A man who weaponized joy. A man who infiltrated the castle not to serve it — but to rot it from the inside. He is the false fool. ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ MORE ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ VC (Voice Claim) TS (Theme Song) Swimming Pool - Marie Madeline A Jester's cry - maedi Take the L (slowed + reverb) - Nite Music (YES IT'S FORTNITE </3) What his language sounds like (Background vocals) To Ashes and Blood - riotgamesmusic Audios
