"Required to Rise"
|Citizenship||Gridania, Eorzea at Large|
|Guardian||Oschon, the Wanderer|
|Namesday||20th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon|
It was not terribly long ago that a young and reckless puppetmaster had found himself at Death's Door. When he looked within, he saw only a precipice beyond the threshold. Beyond the precipice, he saw only a yawning abyss, and no light to speak of.
Virtually alone on a battlefield of broken soldiers, this young man felt that he had no one to blame but himself for coming to this point. Circumstances had given him an opportunity that he had wholeheartedly seized, taking no care to heed the consequences. His actions had left him in solitude, his peers and colleagues thinking him long-gone. He was all but forgotten, and truly had no means of reclaiming the more glorious days of his past. He knew that the syndicate- the family he had built- he knew that it yet lingered. It would have to be enough, for looking at his shattered automaton Allouette gave him little comfort or confidence that he could continue on in this world, in service to a Goddess who'd long fallen deaf to his cries.
His feet could not reach the ground, for whatever reason. He dragged himself along the ground toward the Door, only dimly aware of a figure as black as the night, eyes ablaze in yellow, warily prodding a blade into his back as he crawled. It was only when his still functioning right hand reached the ground of the precipice on the other side, that the figure violently buried hooks in his shoulders and tried to drag him back. A puppetmaster is averse to being played by another's strings, however, and his resolve was greater than his body's aching pleas to die and rest in oblivion. He hauled himself beyond the threshold, hooks and figure both held fast to him, and fell gracelessly into the abyss. He finally knew peace, on his own terms.
Until he heard a voice.
It requested something of him.
It requested that he "Hear," and that he "Feel," and that he "Teach." In fact, it requested a great many things, as it bathed him in a new light, and planted his feet firmly on a vessel on a sea he had no knowledge of, bound for a city he'd never heard of, on a celestial body spinning through a cosmos that was certainly not his own.
A smile played across his lips for the first time in what he felt was a very, very long time.
Alas, no life is without hardships. After being driven to Ishgard, he went underground. Gaining several confidants among the heretics and Ishgard's invasive criminal elements, he reemerged sometime late in Eorzea with disciplines as a Machinist and a Dark Knight, before falling off the map entirely for a few weeks. Upon his arrival back on Eorzean shores, he dismantled a handful of criminal operations and made contact with Doman colleagues from a "previous life."
Since then, he has bounced between the nations of Eorzea, Ishgard, and the nigh ruinous wilds of the Dravanian countryside. His intent is still widely unknown, but he still seems to be trusted among his long-time peers.
First noticed in his current form when he displayed almost no Auri tendencies, and visibly observed almost none of their customs. This is perhaps the first time he has changed forms and retained the majority of his personality from a previous "incarnation." If anything, his transition from the Miqo'te to the Au Ra has been a movement toward being slightly more stoic. He stands at 6'10" (roughly 200cm) now, with the usual Au Ra trappings of horns and scales. He carries himself with an almost predatory stance, slightly hunched. Another explanation for this could be that he simply isn't used to being so much taller, and unconsciously moves to view things from a perspective closer to his previous one.
Though reports on Tempest's appearance vary wildly, it can at least be generally agreed upon that he has predominantly dark hair, with highlights on the opposite end of the spectrum that appear to occur naturally.
It is almost universally agreed upon that this person has an addiction to Fantasia potions and toying with identity, yet still retains the name, regardless of what gender Tempest embodies at the time. There has even been precedent for an imposter posing as Davy Tempest, only to be used as cover for the real Tempest, who had at the time taken the form of a male Lalafell.
One unusual quirk that has been noted, however, is that Tempest's personality seems to vary wildly with each consumption of Fantasia potion. Already a dangerous substance as it is, the very idea that one might be inevitably drawn to it by their own nature or some form of addiction seems outlandishly terrifying, depending on their past or motives.
On the other hand, Davy seems to escape mortality with the usage of Fantasia, but at a cost that cannot be properly quantified. At least some of Tempest's memories remain intact, while others are lost entirely without hope of being regained. This has left a handful to ponder if clinging to the name "Davy Tempest" has offered some kind of anchor which allows him to retain some level of control or consistency in his life.
Tempest's style of combat tends not to differ much from instructed norms. He prides himself on his retention of technique or teachings, and his talent for mimicking abilities as he observes them. For this reason, his skill set is remarkably diverse, but he has to rely on unpredictability in order to maintain the upper hand against anyone who outclasses him in practice or discipline.
Before encountering the Mother Crystal, Tempest had a pretty good read on most people. Since, he has found that he often winds up with more information than he'd care to have about any given person, whether he knows them or not.
A talent for manipulation has long been a part of his repertoire, but it has rarely proven so useful as when he finds himself up to his eyeballs in the unwanted dirty little secrets of any given person.
"It's like a wound. You ignore it and hope it heals, but without care it can fester. That's what this memory's like, but for the life of me I can't cauterize it, or abandon it. It's trapped with me and burns like a hot coal rattling around in my skull..." ~A visibly distraught and mentally ill Hyur in bizarre clothing.
"Don't touch Bishop or Alouette. Unless you're an experienced goldsmith and familiar with automata, do NOT touch." ~A midlander Hyur Tempest, visibly agitated, regarding a visitor's curiosity.
"Mmm, yes, you two are fabulous and definitely most welcome here, but you should have left your grumpy friend at home..." ~A drunken Lalafell Tempest conversing with a pair of breasts, and to a lesser extent, their highly aggravated owner.
"Is no one else going to take that Allagan's foppish hat? He's stopped moving. No? No one at all? ... I'm taking this hat." ~A Miqo'te Tempest as recorded on an expedition to secure the Syrcus Tower.
"Some will tell you that great power comes from submitting to Darkness, but that's ridiculous. You should no more submit yourself to Darkness than you should fully surrender yourself to Light, or drink, or lust. No, control and mastery of the self is still the best way to achieve great things... perhaps with the aid of some strong drink, here and there." ~Upon being encountered for the first time in Gridania as an Auri Dark Knight.
He's entirely used to people not knowing what he's talking about at any given time, and passively embraces attempts to correct his usage of words or vocabulary. With this disregard for cultural divides, he can wind up endangering himself and others due to what is seen as general cultural insensitivity, when in fact he has merely lost all ability to heed such things with the severity others try to lend to these subjects.
He's prone to philosophical arguments and sets expectations unfairly high for those around him to find a similar moral compass without necessitating some form of fearful deity or god. While not possessed of a the belief that the gods don't exist, he sees their perceived influence in the day-to-day events of society as a superfluous notion that unnecessarily ties basic decency between civilized parties to some form of needless worship.
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Hopelessly romantic to a sometimes painful fault, every shape Tempest has taken cannot help but wonder the timeless question of "What might be."
While as a lalafell he was observed as having a much more open and flirtatious attitude, this was mostly while drowning himself in spirits in the Seventh Heaven, an establishment of no small amount of notoriety in Revenant's Toll. This eventually led to him desiring a place to call his own, inspiring his dream to build a massive tavern where he could hopefully attract the right kind of people.
The Riot's Rest, as he calls it, has served as a cluttered lounge for the other members of the Free Company he takes membership under. Most of his friends and colleagues can be found here, though he has been known to hold ties with organizations such as the Twin Adders, Maelstrom, and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.
Insofar as personal or intimate relationships are concerned, nothing is on record. He seems to use flirtation as an icebreaker, rather than a romantic hook.
While a dependence on Fantasia potions has been uncovered alongside a series of adverse effects that occur when he takes Fantasia, speculation on a terminal illness has arisen that is somehow staved off by the properties of the rare draught. These claims are thus far unsubstantiated, and have been lent even less credibility as it seems his current form has remained stable longer than any other before it.
Alignment shifts so frequently, it's difficult to say. He's said he aligns himself to Reason, but he would usually follow it with a noncommittal shrug and try to move the conversation along.
Saeglopur, by Sigur Ros