Vakir WraithMoon

About Vakir

• Not My Fault...

  

  Vakir WraithMoon

  Male | 25 Years | Merchant | Single

• This is the Life

  Avatars, doodles and head cannons I've drawn for this idiot. All original art because I am bad at finding cool stuff on the internet...
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• Personality

  Confident | Flirtatious | Calm | Filial | Obsessive

  
  Vakir knows exactly who he is, why he's here and what he wants. He speaks his mind. He is comfortable with himself and others. He takes life in stride, seemingly with no effort. He is charming, witty and untouchable by life's miseries.
  
  But it is, of course, a carefully constructed mask. No one is untouched by life...
  
  Likes

  Parties
  Music, the louder the better
  Meat, meat, meat!
  Any woman that can stand him for more than half a minute...

  
  Dislikes

  Water. A lot. Like will not touch that stuff with a ten foot pole, thank you, goodbye.
  Solitude
  Captivity- real or imagined
  Taking orders
  Any sort of carpentry-related chore- he's hands are made for the finer arts- not bashing with hammers, thanks.

• Background

  Clan WraithMoon is one of the largest, wealthiest trading families in the Kala Ree basin. Their main estate sprawls several elaborate tree-bound structures in the west side of Farport. Across the Kellis in a slightly more ostentatious abode, live their sworn enemies: Clan SoaringWind. No one knows when or why the feud started. It has always been this way and- in true Serran style- so it will always be.
  
  Yet in recent years the feud seems to have gotten worse. Caravans lost, contracts canceled... And now Vakir's little sister has gone missing...
  
  Angry, fearful and desperate, Vakir did the only thing he knew- he hit the road. After several months of searching, the young man came upon a rider and her Kyrka. Astonished and a little afraid, a plan began to form in his mind. He didn't know much about Kyriders. But he knew they were powerful.
  
  And he needed power. His sister was all that mattered.