Character(s) Majin's Menagerie of Characters

[themajinone]

Name: Tal Beroya - Means Blood Hunter in Mando'a

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Pan/Demi



Physical Characteristics:

Age: 26

Height: 6'5

Build: Lean, Lithe, and Lanky

Race: Near Human, Echani

Skin Tone: paper white

Hair: blue-black mohawk. ear length, original color white

Facial Features

extremely androgynous. No facial hair or body hair. High cheek bones, gaunt cheeks and long features.

Eye Colour: Silver

Markings and tattoos: Their body is a canvas and covered in art. Most prominent is a black Mythosaur skull at the left center of his chest, over his heart. They have a small round burn on their left forearm for every Jetii and Dar'Jetii he has killed with their bare hands, totaling seven burns. He has a myriad of scars too, the most prominent being a jagged pink mark that runs from the corner of his mouth to his ear lobe.


Additional notes:
Just picture the armor more black, I was having a hell of a time with the generator.

I wasn't going to fight with it over the tattoos and facial scar.(Note that the skin should also be paper white and eyes should be silver as an Echani should be)
Personality:

Confident, sarcastic, facetious. His ego is strong but not so much much that they can't learn or be kind. He is Mando'ade in every sense of the word, often code switching when he speaks. Loyal, dedicated, and strong willed.

Likes: A tight ship. Fighting, drinking, and carousing. Physical scars that tell a story, well kept armor that still shows a history
Dislikes: True Chaos. Undisciplined soldiers, cowardice, dishonorable conduct, poor maintenance of weapons and armor.

Abilities:
Teräs Käsi - Master
Skilled with an Echani Dueling Foil and practiced in Shii Cho, Makashi, and Juyo but not as proficient as a forcer.
Echani Martial Arts
Skilled marksman, demo, tech. Handy with a hydrospanner. Pilot.


Background:

Narin Lsu was born Echani, but war claimed his bloodline before memory could root. Orphaned on a battlefield scorched by blaster fire and silence, he was found by Ven Beroya—his father’s closest comrade, a man of iron and oath. Ven did not hesitate. He took the child in, not as a favor, but as a vow.

The gai bal manda was brief, as all true ceremonies are. In the quiet firelight, Narin was given a name and a soul: Tal. From that moment, he was Mando’ade—not by birth, but by choice, by bond, by blade.

Raised in the rhythm of conflict, Tal learned to walk with armor before he learned to dance. His first donning of beskar was not a rite—it was a rebirth. In that moment, he knew Cin Vhetin: the clean slate, the severance from past blood and sorrow. He was no longer orphan. He was warrior.

Tal fights not for vengeance, but for justice and legacy. His story is written in the cracks of his armor, in the red highlights that mark both memory and fire. He is lean, quiet, and precise—like the Echani before him, but tempered by Mandalorian steel.

 

[themajinone]

FOR SOME REASON THE WEBSITE IS REBELLING AND EVEN AFTER DELETING AND RESUBMITTING AND SEVERAL ATTEMPTS TO EDIT, I CANNOT REMOVE THE SECOND SPOILER THAT HIDES THE MAJORITY OF THE SHEET. Sorry.


Chosen Name: Kaelai (Kay Lie) (Kae- change and Lei- thunder)

Family Name: Renshi (Ren- Lotus and Shi- Spirit {literally death})

Dead Name:

Spoiler

Talgon[/unspoiler]

Age:

Spoiler

22 if just after the 100 year war-107 AG (making her around the same age as Zuko)

Pronouns: She/her

Identity: Trans woman, Fire Nation punk, firebender

Affiliation: Ember Lion Vultures

Appearance:

Fingerless gloves with firebending channels

Volcanic red hair with soot blackened roots in an asymmetrical cut is shaved on the left but long on the right and falls down into her face and past her chin. Strands of hair cover one of her intense, amber-gold eyes. She has tanned skin and freckles. Her genes betrayed her at birth, so she sports a small Adam’s apple and a flat chest on a toned but wiry body that just doesn’t curve in the right places. Her face is effeminate but still holds some tells. High cheek bones, and thin cheeks are prominent features. She wears the expression of a moody teenager at most times that some might describe as a resting bitch face. Head and shoulders she is around five feet and ten inches tall. She’s not a monster in height but still taller than she wants to be. A low cut silk shirt with an orange flame sigil painted across the front has been scorched into a dark color. Hidden under a scorched leather jacket is a brand of a feathery wing. It is the mark of her gang. The jacket is modified so that it too is asymmetrical. One sleeve rolled up to the elbow and the other sleeve torn off at the bicep. Its decorated with heavy and permanent paint colored in reds and oranges. Under this partial sleeve is the ends of a fiery tribal tattoo in orange and also red. It travels up from her hand and wrist like a scar- which it might actually be- of lightning shape and potentially of origin. The jacket has melted stained glass sewn into the places it has previously ripped. She wears heavy, charcoal pants with pockets sewn onto the sides in copper wire. This wire was aslo used to create a flame pattern on the pants at the hem. At the feet, military issued armored boots that are probably stolen. To complete the look is the flame spark pendant she wears as a necklace and the copper inlaid fingleress leather gloves. The pendant hangs down to her solar plexus.

Spoiler

Bending Style: Scorchbending — expressive, theatrical, unpredictable.

• Firebending used like protest art. She’s wild, expressive, and unpredictable. She bends fire like it’s a manifesto. Her lightning is erratic but poetic—used to etch symbols into walls, not just strike foes.
• Lightning bending (struggles here, but when not pressed can call forth lighting and channel it through herself/)
• Color bending- she has studied with the Sun Warriors and learned how to channel her flame in all the colors of the spectrum.

Philosophy:

“Fire is transition. It consumes, transforms, and reveals.” Kaelai sees bending as reclamation—every flare a vow, every burn a truth.

“Fire is not legacy. It’s choice.” Kaelai believes in burning down systems, not just symbols.

She views autonomy and agency to be key to living full and happy lives.

Backstory:

Born into Fire Nation nobility, trained in classical firebending.

When Zuko became firelord, the nobles had a hard time adapting and some were even planning coupe. Kaelei and about twenty-to-thirty other children would not allow for this. They defected into a street gang and now are spread over the fire nation’s main islands. While they don’t officially support Zuko or any hierarchical regime, they support his policy changes for a better future. They’re all willing to fight for that future, even if it means taking on Zuko as a patriarch of the Fire Nation and taking down his rule to put the power in the hands of the common people. Their first fight, however, was to not let the nobles stop progression into that better future.

The night her and other children escaped, she burned her family crest to ash and took a small piece that she would later fashion into a necklace. This is also the night she officially came out as a woman. When she did took her new name and disappeared, leaving the house destroyed and scorched.

She vanished into the undercity with the rest of tne resistant group she had helped create to take on Ozai. The founding members of the Ember Lion Vultures have grown their ranks to upwards of two hundred today.

While sketching phoenixes and dragons, she leads raids against the military and noble houses she writes propaganda and creates antinobility flyers which she has no shame in posting around major cities. This work has inspired groups in the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes to pop up.


Her life history is rather dull as a noble, her life didn’t really start until the formation of the Ember Lion Vultures and taking the name Kaelei. Throughout the years she has orchestrated and lead many attacks on the fire nation, mostly against the noble families but occasionally against Zuko and his military. Most of which have been considered successful.

Gear:

• Spark grenades
• Chalk
• Paper
• Tool belt with wrenches rocks and bottles
• Paint and brush for graffiti

 

[themajinone]

Fayi Sutai

(From chinese Fay meaning “begining”)
Age: 18 (173 AG)

Pronouns: They/Them

Assigned Gender at Birth: Female

Gender Identity: Questioning, leaning toward nonconforming masc

Faction: Jade Tigerdillos (ideological wing)

Appearance

Lean and wiry, this individual stands slightly hunched. Eyes of hazel, flecked with gold, gaze out from tired sockets.They ever observant, and in the moment. Always searching and rarely still. A bit of ink smeared on their cheek, they have a very tired, neutral expression that plays a tiny smirk. Their hair is shoulder length, tied back loosely with an ink stained cloth. The green dyed black hair is rough cut, probably trimmed with a knife every so often and not scissors or professionally done at all. Over the bordering on the scrawny brokedown frame of their body is an Earth Kingdom tunic that is layered with a sleeveless protest vest that is stitched with slogans in faded thread. A long scarf is draped asymmetrically around their shoulders Two studs grace their lobes, one a cracked jade bead and other missing a decoration all together. They carry a satchel filled with flyers, charcoal sticks, and coded maps. It has all manor of paper and art supplies and worn notebook with half finished poems and a mural of sketches. On her middle finger on the right hand is a ring made from a tram rail scrap, metal bended into the shape of resistance.

Spoiler

Expression & Movement

• Moves with quiet urgency—never rushed, but always with purpose
• Speaks in measured tones, often trailing off mid-thought when ideas bloom faster than words
• Avoids mirrors, but stares at reflections in puddles, stretched windows, and bent metal—distorted truth feels safer

Xi Shu Sotai

(from Chinese, meaning “Happy Tree”)
Pronouns: he/him

Gender Identity: Transmasc, nonbinary

Faction: Jade Tigerdillos (ideological wing, cultural resistance)

Age: 21 (176 AG)

Appearance

• Hair: Cropped shorter now, with soft green streaks near the temples. Often tousled, sometimes dyed with ash or pigment from mural work.
• Eyes: Hazel, steady, with a warmth that wasn’t there as Fayi—like he’s finally looking outward, not just inward.
• Build: Lean but more upright than Fayi—shoulders relaxed, posture open. He’s growing into himself.
• Clothing:
  • Earth Kingdom tunic reworked into a painter’s wrap—sleeves rolled, hem stained with pigment
  • Wears a sleeveless jacket with mural patches sewn in—each one a piece of resistance art
  • Jade bead necklace with a single carved leaf pendant
• Accessories:
  • Satchel now filled with brushes, stencils, and pigment jars
  • A new notebook—bound in green cloth, stitched with the name Xi Shu
  • Wears a belt made from old tram rail leather, etched with Tigerdillo claw motifs

Spoiler

History

Fayi’s Early Life in Ba Sing Se’s Lower Ring

The Neighborhood

Fayi grew up in a narrow alley off the Tram line. It was always so damp and the air smelled of cabbage steam. The puddles thick and sometimes even tinged with green. Her and her family lived huddled together in a cramped apartment over a dye shop. She didn’t have her own room, she slept on a couch that faced a window. The window in question overlooked a mural, half erased and half revered. Fayi stared it every night, creating fantasies about what the other pieces may have looked like, who made it and what they were like.

She was a quiet girl, soft spoken, and loved art. Something that didn’t change all that much as she grew.

In her area, the Dai Li didn’t patrol much. The area was high in crime but no one cared. Everyone was on their own here, and a friendly face was in short supply. The Dai Li’s presence was still felt in silence, missing neighbors, and the aversion of eye contact at the whispered mention. It was rough and it had its own little name: Kampong

Kampong was its own town, a dirty village. A slum. It marked everyone who ever lived there in ways they’d usually rather not speak of. It took lives, it transformed boys into monsters, and most of all, it reeked of cabbage and despair.

Family & Survival

Her family was rooted in the Jade Tigerdillos culture. Her mother was a seamstress who stitched coded messages into old cloth. Paper was easily scrutinized, a pocket handkerchief was not. Eventually she disappeared like many others in the small rebel movement.

Her father, a man with tired eyes, was quiet and always watching. He was never the same after Noi was taken. Nuli Satoi turned to drinking as if it were a professional sport.

She learned to read early, but when Noi vanished she turned to discarded flyers and banned books that were passed around the dye shop, she learned to draw by copying the graffiti sigils and more complex work from walls in alleyways. Her first act of rebellion was to paint a tree on the doorframe of the dye shop, a mark that she had stood at that door, and did something in that moment that would change it forever. A mark that meant she could have an affect on the world around her, something permanent and long lasting. She tagged a small tree everywhere that was important in her life.

Identity in the Shadows

In the Lower Ring, gender was a whisper. Fayi wore what fit, spoke when safe, and flinched when called “girl.” As she got older, she started binding her chest. They got older, they got sneakier, they wanted peace. Peace from the world around them, peace from the war within them. When the hold cloth became too warn and her chest too large, they stole better strips of fabric. They stole what ever they could to survive, and binding was about survival against the dysphoria that tore at their very soul. They just wanted to breathe when there was no oxygen to be found, only dysmorphia and depression. They’d hide their face with a scarf too, just to not be identified. The first time someone called them “kid” instead of “miss,” they smiled for hours.

The First Flyer

Age 16 the year is 170 AG and Fayi prints their first flyer on stolen paper, using a hand-carved stamp. It read: The wall is not the city, the city is us.

They post it at dawn, their heart pounding. By noon it is gone and their heart sinks. By dusk there are three more that pop up in different alleys, By the next morning there are twelve. Each one bearing the tree in the corner of the page, They would not yield.

The Seed of a Happy Tree.

There was a tree in the courtyard of the old tram station—cracked, stunted, but alive. Fayi visited it often. They sketched it in their notebook over and over. Sometimes with roots like lightning. Sometimes with leaves made of stone. Sometimes they painted it in all the colors of hope.

They don’t know it yet, but that tree would become their name.

Fayi Sutai Moves to Republic City (Mid 171 AG)

Why They Leave

Whispers of rebellion grow louder. Fayi’s flyers are being noticed—and that’s dangerous.Things are not looking great for her and the Dai Li are looking for the mysterious individual that signs there work as a tree. A mentor and leader within the Jade Tigerdillos offers them an out. They have no choice but to take it, or vanish themselves.

Fayi does not say goodbye. Instead they leave art on the side of an old building. A giant tree. With lightning roots and a smiling face. It’s the perfect fuck you to the Dai Li and all those in power. Its done a building that is not made of rock and the paint is mixed so that it bleeds through whatever is painted over it. It is their legacy, their insult, and their pride.

The Journey

The train ride is long, the compartments crowded, and absolutely full of stories. Fayi keeps their scarf high and their notebook close. In it they’re sketching out the scene on the train, One of several moments in time they’ve captured on this ride alone.

At some point a small child tugs on their sleeve. “Hello.”

“Well hello there.” they say, having learned to disguise their voice to an extent.

The child looks confused, it seems the kid was hoping for vocal context but did not receive any. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

Fayi smiles behind the scarf and replies “I am a tree.”

The child is not satisfied with this answer and presses further. “I dont… no.. thats… Tree is a boy or a girl…”

“That is the point, little one.”

The kid’s eyes widen. “You’re not either? How does that work?”

“It just does. I am a tree, a happy little tree.”

The youngster seems to accept this and nods. They nod as if this is the absolute indelible truth of the Tree’s existence and move back to their mother, declaring that that person is actually a tree.

Republic City Life

Fayi settled in the immigrant quarter—above a noodle shop and not far from a printing press. In a more liberal environment they can express themself and their art more freely. And they do. The arm of the Jade Tigerdillos here quickly has them making flyers and propaganda. They are suited to this work, and the anarchist group has them doing it full time- so full time they don’t have time for a real job. The Tigerdillos provide instead. It’s like a dream come true for Fayi. Write and draw all. Fucking. Day. and get Paid??! They never thought that could even be an option. They started working immediately.

Republic City is loud, fast, and full of bending. Fayi doesn’t bend, but they learn to move with the breeze, swaying and creaking but never, ever bending or breaking.

The Shift Toward Xi Shu (174 AG) (this date can be shifted forward to accommodate rp done as Fayi)

In Republic City, Fayi began to shed the ambiguity—not all at once, but in layers. First they cut their hair shorter. Over time the started referring to themself as a he and using masculine self descriptors without actually identifying as a man. Over time he decided he should change his name but couldn’t decide on what exactly

The gender queer masculine afab, came out into the public light day to do street art like he used to and when he was tagging a wall with his signature, the tree with lightning roots and a smiling face. A stranger said, “I’ve seen your mark before. You must be Xi Shu, the happy tree.” The queer little being’s heart skipped a beat and he did not correct them, he decided in that moment that it was time to be public with more than just comrades, that he would be open with every one and life his truth.