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 Miuzerra Merrow - Attempting to be an Espada

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Merrow Miuzerra

Posts : 28
Points : 8
Join date : 2010-10-28

PostSubject: Miuzerra Merrow - Attempting to be an Espada   Sat Nov 20, 2010 12:16 am


Name: Miuzerra, Merrow

Nickname(s): Kid, Brat, Satan Spawn, Butcher

Age: Approximately 350 years(With the assumption that this forum takes place in present day/turn of the millennia)

Visual Age: 12
Gender: Male

Rank Tercera Espada = Vasto Lorde

Sexual Orientation: Being a prepubescent child, as he is a late bloomer, his concept of 'orientation' is not well defined ... meaning he loves everyone in a non-explicit context.

Height: Approximately 132 cm(or 4.33 feet)

Weight: Approximately 34 kg(or 74.96 pounds)
Body Frame: Thin and small, perhaps bony?

Blood Type: AB, why do you care again?

Sound of Voice: Melodic and sweet, high in tone, like a innocent child, which he is anything but(innocent, that is). Very, very soothing and cheerful and upbeat.

Appearance: A smiling youth, with fair skin, mismatched eyes, and black spiked hair. Standing of relatively small stature, and also of relatively small form, he is anything but imposing. As a matter of fact, given his tendency to act much like he appears amongst his brethren, one would assume that he is as he appears: an innocent, young child conscripted into the madness of the Arrancar species. But, looks are deceiving, and this one is a pure psycho-maniacal homicidal sociopath(Despite the redundancy of this phrase, it is fairly accurate) rather than innocent. With a constant grin, shining eyes, and skin free from blemish, almost radiant in its purity … he is like the romantic depiction of a Cherub, despite only being such in form, given his youthful self and yet oddly diminutive size. But purity and innocence and kindness are not traits he possesses.

On to more descriptive features. He has complete heterochromia, stemming from an injury in his human life( with one eye stained crimson[right], the other hazel[left]), which spawns his mismatch eye color. There is an ever-constant smile, revealing serrated, shark-like teeth, always present for any reason even when he pouts. As mentioned he is of relatively short stature(mostly due to his physical/visual age) and of a small physique, implying that he is a non-combatant, but really it all adds to the facade of his 'harmless child act.'

His Hollow Mask Fragment is the remnants of the ‘helmet’ he had upon reaching Adjuchas stage: It covers his the right side of his forehead, and forms a sort of eyehole around that respective eye. The color of the mask matches his skin color well that if one were to look at a distance, it seems as though the mask was actually a deformity on his face. His Hollow hole is located a centimeter below the lower portion of his sternum, it is roughly 1.4 cm in radius.

His clothing is composed of the standard jacket, undershirt, hakama and boots, with no variation whatsoever except that its shrunken so it actually FITS. Intriguing to note is that he takes pride in the white uniform, and thus always rushes back to change it should it get dirtied, meaning he has multiple identical sets. The white jacket is always kept together, thus not exposing the shirt he wears underneath, his hakama are of the split variant therefore looking like baggy trousers than a giant dress. The inverted color footware are in fair condition, and like the rest of his clothing, fit rather well, with the hakama's ends tucked inside of them to prevent the excess fabric with impeding his movement.

Upon making it to the realm of Espadas, his tattoo would be located on his back, centered so as to be overlaid on his spinal column ... about part way down his back, past the shoulder blades.

Introvert/Extrovert: Extrovert to the MAX

Hobbies: Killing. Sleeping. Killing ... oh wait, that was already said. Ah ... BAH! Killing!

Likes and Dislikes:

Likes- Arrancar-kind(His own species, why would he not like them?); Corpses of Enemies(The sweetest meat and finest drink comes from the bodies of butchered foes, in his mind); Shinigami Cookies(Mostly cause he likes to bake them, and the combination of shinigami flesh and sugar is actually quite delectable); Goofing off(Why? Well, mentally speaking, he's quite insane and loves to just play around whether in-combat or not); Killing(Again, mentally speaking, he's insane. He is devoid of all mental inhibitions and has been trained to savor the hunt and kill of his foes)

Dislikes- Shinigami(The natural enemies of all arrancar and hollow, does he NEED a reason to despise them?); Peace/Order(It's just so DULL without some mayhem and killing!); Justice/Righteousness/Morality(What are morals? Pitiful human constructs, abandon them. What is right? Whatever one makes up their mind to be. What is Justice? That which is enforced by blind fools who push their beliefs onto others.); Fighting inside Las Noches(The sacred White Castle must remain forever free of blemish, for it is the home and haven of the arrancar within); Privarion Espada(How could beings who were once so powerful, let themselves be disgraced and fall from the ranks?)
Personality: Insanity would be a very fitting word to match to how he behaves, but only if you are a shinigami. If you are an arrancar, you realize that he is just … loyal, zealous in that aspect, and compassionate. When outside of the realms of battle, and in only the company of his fellow arrancar, he acts and behave much like in the manner expected of someone of his appearance and physical age: A child. Mischievous, but lovable, crafty yet childish. He displays profound love with all Arrancar, and develops a sibling relationship with those who are equal in age or power, and those considered older and/or stronger he forms an elder variation of said relationship, in which he respects them and would gladly tackle them three walls down the castle. Goofy, klutz-like, a complete and total mockery of the savagery that the Arrancar of Las Noches are known for … until a shinigami comes within eyesight or a battle initiates.

He is, when in battle, a sadist in the sense that he derives pleasure from the pain of his enemies. Whatever displays of camaraderie, kindness, or even just gentleness are thrown to the winds as his true nature, the killing and destructive instinct of all Hollows, takes a hold. He lives and thirsts for battle, and in that he seeks to appease his inner instincts by quenching the voracious want with copious amounts of the flesh and blood of his enemies. In short, while he is brutal and savage in battle, he is also a bit of a glutton, trying to devour his opponents all the while. This completes the spectrum, he is a child, yet he is a soldier. He acts and reveals his nature from the past, the lost childhood, now eternal in his life, but can come to grips to reality and become murderous, all the while appeasing the inner demon that is his true nature.

Intriguing note: Giving his childish self, he is also known to be very … very greedy. Coveting that which he does not have, and never satisfied with what he has.
Defining Characteristics: Once Left-handed, but now has Learned Ambidexterity(roughly equal skill of control of both appendages); Heterochromia; Omnipresent smile

Specialties: Baking ... shinigami cookies; Slinking about in Las Noches and popping out of nowhere given his remarkable small stature and experience from wandering about the castle many times.

Fighting type: (Mad/Insane) Power House: In exchange for brutal physical strength and other physical capabilities(Strength, Speed, Reaction Time, Sight, etc.) - a weakened Hierro that is easily torn, incapability of using Sonido properly and deftly, incapability of firing more than two Balas at time before waiting a post cooldown, incapability of firing a cero without a post charge and a two post cooldown, incapability of utilizing a Custom Cero without given 'power and ability'(Elite Status - Released Form)


A swirling mass, a torrent, a typhoon of soul is what composes his being. After all, given his ravenous nature, he has absorbed countless, all on a whim. But, like the others of his kind, there is a core, a center. A single soul from the very beginning constitutes ‘him,’ and is the source of his appearance and personality. That one soul has subjugated thousands, if not tens of thousands of souls inside of its being, and forcibly stolen all their wills. It has been alive for a considerably shorter time than some of it compatriots, but it is abundant with memories of the past.

-Humanity: Conception-

The origins of his existence depend on the shattered memories of that one soul, a human child, from years past. A child that would be what the world calls an ‘orphan.’ A little urchin that was what he was. A young boy left on the streets of some country in what would now be modern-day Germany in the past, life in shambles by conflict and disease. His birth, the start of his living existence, was unceremonious, with his father unknown and his mother soon dead. Fate conspired for his existence to be prolonged, in part to the remnants of family he still had. So the lowly origins of this being continued, progressing through the earliest stages of humankind.

At the end of his life, only a tender decade and two years after his birth, he was sentenced to death after he awoke the instinct of slaughter. Did he know any better? Well, not particularly. Actually, no, he didn’t know. No one had taught him any better, and since he saw people die all the time, he just assumed that what he dispensed with his bare and bony hands was just a natural and daily occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary! Brutality was the nature he lived in, and the gentleness of his soul that was meant to be characteristic of youth was abandoned for granite pragmatism and emptiness of compassion.

But, at times he would break from the stony shell of his, and display the most overwhelming of interest in things usually left unquestioned by others. His path was set, when that eternal inquisitive nature turned to a sight near the day of his death. Beasts of foul nature descended upon the dead, and feasted away merrily, all natural, all part of the cycle of life and death. These events, though seen as acts of demons outside of clear sight and thus immediately dispersed, did not escape his gaze. His young and unknowing mind had recorded the sight, and he would remember … remember.

~Black feathers strewn about, as the beasts descended, Crows, in this case. Their small eyes and pointed beaks were enough to draw repulsive reactions from all who looked at them, as they dipped their heads down to tear at the flesh. The blood was splattered all about, as the birds merely ate their fill.

Small eyes watched from a distance, multiple sets of them to be exact. A cluster of ragged children eyes the crows from afar, seeing the creatures of evil continue with their meal.

”Damned kids! Get over here!” a gruff voice called to them, their caretaker, or at least, someone who acted as an authority figure for some of them. Some being a large number of them, actually, as only a few of the rag-tag group remained to watch curiously. His mismatched eyes gazed all so intently … as the questions for the devouring of human flesh crossed his mind.

He was, for lack of a better word, tempted to try a taste of said flesh. It always baffled him, since a corpse or two was a daily sight, what the taste would be … and the constant pangs in his stomach only worsened that want of violation of a ‘taboo.’ But what was a human law to him? He was already excluded from what little legal system existed, seeing as he was a little wretched child with no immediate family whatsoever and in quite dire squalor. The laws and morals of society, it seemed, did not apply to him because he was an inferior thing. That was his perception from the start, after enough time of being tormented, assaulted, and mocked he had learnt that a rather large portion of the society he had been born into would not care if he dropped dead in the middle of the streets in broad daylight.

This exclusion of his existence made him wonder if he was bound to the same rules as everyone else, but really all this philosophical thought would be speculated on in the future, after the gift of hindsight was acquired. He was a child, and with the mind of child, at the verge of breaking the confines of his youth’s mental limitations, he wondered at the objects he always saw. He wondered about the corpses, about the dead. What made something dead? When it stopped moving? When it started rotting? He didn’t know what made it so, but he later learned that one fact that confirmed the death was if they could be eaten.

After all, he was … what was he? A scrounger or scavenger or waste-picker, in other words a person who makes his meal from the remains of those of others. Filth was omnipresent to him, and the decay of flesh was another always present thing given the shoddy condition of the area he lived in. So, being one who had relatively little, and seeing this as relatively abundant, with not one person rushing to claim it, except maybe to bury the cadaver, whom would only just rot later, he became curious about it becoming a steady food source. But, the fateful day that he partook of flesh, and set himself on a path of eternal damnation and carnage, happened to be the day he expired as a human being and was reborn.

That day, he recalls, was in the midst of summer, and he thinks fondly of it since it marked the beginning of his transformation into what he is now. That day, he was in some human state, some emotional level of … some varying kind. What was that emotion? Was it Fear? Or hunger? No, it was neither of those. But regardless of how he felt, the circumstances were quite simple; he just wanted to strike down the scores of others who had come at him. If memory served him well, he went to the nearest corpse, possibly famished or overwhelmed by curiosity, but others closer in age to him than the adults, but still not adults themselves, descended upon him. They knew right and wrong, but they were not used to savagery as he was. He proceeded to increase the number of corpses lying on the earth, not wanting his experimentation to be impeded. The other mortals dropped like flies and he emulated the beasts he had seen earlier in his life, taking with him, shortly before his death, the first taste of humanity, and that would never be his last.

His death came swift, for the enraged loved ones of his victims were harrowed by the killings, but all more horrified by the spectacle of this youth devouring, or attempting to do such, and desecrating the bodies. His head was lopped off in one fell swoop, but not before he had already had his first meal of human. And that wonderful sensation, the rigid hunks of flesh, with the bitter crimson tincture: A sweet meat, and a delectable fluid. Oh, how he longed for more …

-Soul: Transition-

But reality was harsh to him, as he became aware of his predicament. He was a spirit, and he was unaware that he could still interact (and thus attempt to devour) with the material realm. But the aftertaste of his last meal still lingered, driving him mad … he had discovered an abundant food source, and probably could have lived longer. He had found a meal far richer than anything else he had eaten before, and right when he was going to set himself upon the food, he was deprived of it, seemingly for all eternity. The maddening sensation of humiliation and anger only hastened the shattering of his chain of fate, which he hated noticed was even there on his chest.

-Hollow: Birth-

It did not take long for the Soul to corrupt, and rapidly transform into a new body. Within only mere hours of mourning for the lost chance, the bitter emotions turned to hate, and the agitation merely sped the process to the end. His body exploded in size, expanding outward to become a new mass, while he tried to inform the world of the living of the pain he felt during this transformation. He produced multiple limbs, tearing through the flesh of his sides to be created, and they would make it easier to grab and restrain his morsels, his teeth became jagged to slice through the tougher flesh, with multiple sets laid behind them to mince every part of the human he could fit into his mouth. Various skeletal protrusions expand from his mass; they were composed of a ceramic like material, layering atop the distorted and twisted body, coating it in a natural body armor that only enhanced the grotesque beast. This substance would also cover his face, adorning it with a mask of misshapen features. The whole procedure took merely seconds to complete, and when the pain subsided from his body … he no longer thought. His thoughts were suppressed with an overwhelming desire, the same desire that drove him to this state: The desire to consume.

He went day by day, mouth drenched with blood, extra arms holding pieces of the remains of his meals. To most people of the immediate area, a demon had arrived in their town. It would strike in the darkest of hours, grabbing and consuming anyone foolish enough to wander about the streets alone, while their screams punctuated the night air. Many others remained inside their own shelters, their dwellings … but sometimes, when he could not find walking meals, he smashed his way into these havens and devoured the inhabitants. He loved them all, young or old, man or woman, their flesh was wondrous, and the crimson juice was quenching, but only for a time. It mattered not who he ate, or even how many, so long as he had his chance to consume daily. Even other souls, complacent souls who were resisting the transformation into Hollow were rendered into ribbons of matter by his gaping jaws and clawed hands.

By morning, he rested a little, something perhaps a bit human of his self, but it was mostly since he found it much easier to strike at night, when most were unsuspecting. As days went on, and his killing sprees would thin down the population, he wandered off, in search of a more populated area, looking for greater quantities of flesh. It started with one a day, exponentially growing as his appetite grew accustomed to the meat, and eventually needing more to be satisfied.

But, his consumption spree ended nearly decades after his initial transformation. He had bloated somewhat from the ravenous habits of his, appearing more bulbous in shape from the tendency to swallow large mouthfuls of human flesh at a time. Where he was, he had not a clue, but there were a lot of people, and most of them lived in pitiable situations, usually homeless or in bare shelters that were subject to ruin at almost any given time. In addition to this abundance of human, there were also many Pluses in the area (though he never learnt to differentiate between a Plus and a normal human). So, the gleeful Hollow consumed haphazardly, not aware that the area he wandered towards (and had been drawing near ever since he started migrating) was Juureichi – A spiritually charged area, or a place where supernatural events and beings gathered often at. This place was one of the many that was under careful observation by Shinigami, and of course when a large number of humans died and their souls disappeared, they dispatched the local protector.

~A figure robed in black opposed him.

There he stood in all his chaotic glory, flesh dangled from the bladed edges of his teeth while blood leaked profusely from him, and not a single drop being his. His eyes, now appearing as distorted spheres from the eyeholes of the mask, gazed out as this curious being, robed in clothes of the empty night sky. A shriek resounded from his throat, as he thought his next meal was here … and it was far past feeding time for him! With his bulk and using his additional arms as leverage, he flung himself at this being in black, with every intent on swallowing the small ‘person’ with his wide jaws.

He crashed face first into the ground, and soon a pool of blood formed at his feet, while two sets of appendages crashed in an awkward wide arm-tackled, but blood spurted from them like geysers, as numerous cuts formed upon them. Gashes also appeared upon his body, from blows unseen, and the man in black had moved forward, it seemed … as fearful blank eyes gazed behind the beast’s shoulder.

The man in black was armed, it seemed. A sword in his right hand, stained with blood, his blood. Agony finally set itself in his mind, and his shriek of joy became a screech of suffering. He had never felt this sensation before, ever since he had transformed! The pain! Oh the pain! It was too much for him to bear! And he went smashing along through nearby buildings as pain-induced spasms sent his body lolling about. Until, desiring to escape this pain and the one responsible, he split the air in front of him and opened the Garganta to the world of his kind.

The splitting of the sky was something strange to him, but given how all of his higher cerebral functions were repressed in favor of his maddening instincts, he didn’t give it much thought. But the whirlpool of chaotic reishi seemed comforting, almost as though it beckoned him home. And without much a pause, he would dive into it, and emerge at the other side in Hueco Mundo.

-Hueco Mundo: Life-

It was a world … unusual to him. The world that was the home of his kind, but he had never seen it in his existence. He had spent maybe thirty or more years in the human world, feasting like a mad man on all that wonderful carnage, but now he had come ‘home’ in a sense. The abundance of reishi particles, the true purpose behind his mindless consumption of Pluses and numerous humans, the reason why he was lured to such a dangerous area in which Shinigami could assault him, filled him with the sense of fulfillment. After all those years of consumption, he was finally, but only temporarily, satisfied. The aching inside of him filled by simply breathing here, but his love of devouring would not fade as easily as the instinctual impulse to consume would.

For once, the eyes that he used to examine the other world finally focused more so than ever before, taking in the expanse of white ‘sand,’ the empty black sky, and the giant moon looming above. While his mind may have been driven by instinct, it was still intact and had been functioning up to now, and all those memories and the overwhelming euphoria he felt after each kill returned to him, but, much like the child he was when he was alive, he was also overcome with another insatiable aspect: curiosity. He wandered, lumbering about thanks to his deformed and swollen self, to try to see if there was anyone … anything else out there that might answer his questions, even if only just one out of the millions that were in his mind.

~How long had he wandered across these deserts, and … dunes, he believes that is what they are called? It was, quite frankly, pissing him off that there was virtually no life around here, he’d spent quite a number of days just lumbering away on short and peg legs … using his additional arms as support to even lift his body off the ground.

‘Maybe I should diet? It might make all this extra crap go away …’ went the half-mused thought in his mind, considering means of how to make this movement/transportation issue less worrisome. His thoughts were cast aside by what appeared to be an animalistic screech … a very familiar, squeal, that of a demon, much like him. During this trip across the dunes, he acknowledged that whatever he was and why he became such, he was definitely not a human being … he had heard others talk about demons being grotesque creatures, and how one could eventually become them, given the right circumstances. But then again, he could care less about it, since he didn’t mind it much …

Back to the issue at hand, three other Hollows were now engaging him, each considerable smaller than he was, but then again he was a walking meat bag with six arms. One looked like a giant Dragonfly(though he just identified it as a flying bug), another like an oversized scorpion and the third being … some … strange … frog-like thing.

The Dragonfly zipped straight at him, expecting a portly like him to be slow in movement in general. The poor thing was snatched at by the giant hands of his, two of his ‘right’ hands, one grabbing what would be the neck, the reaching down to a middle section. Apparently, this fellow was not all that much, as he found it easy to keep his grip on him. Then came the Frog, who like his caught comrade, attempted to strike first … with his tongue … actually, it was more like a chameleon’s tongue. One of his left hands reached out to meet it, gripped it … and this fellow, too, was apparently not a physical combatant, as his balance fell and he was yanked over from his original position by his target’s forceful hand. The six-armed demon merely shifted the Dragonfly a bit close to his left, and the heads of the two animal and insect creatures collided against each other, knocking them both out rather effectively.

”Tch! Worthless lot they turned out to be!” the remaining Scorpion snapped aloud, apparent disgust and contempt in his voice.

”Wait … you speak? the six-armed asked tentatively, a bit surprised, give how the three had wordlessly assaulted him, or two did and the third watched.

”Well no bloody hell, I speak! Where’d you come from, the Rukongai?” the bitter Scorpion snapped again, stinger rising up as golden eyes gazed from the head.

‘Maybe I can finally get some question answered?’

+ Bonds(?)

It took some time for him to learn the basics of his existence, given his lack of awareness of the Spiritual in the first place. But, it didn’t take long for him to understand what he was … a Hollow. This was Hueco Mundo, home of Hollows. He was the result of a Soul giving in to negative emotions, thus resulting in the rise of a Hollow. And a whole bunch of other rather intriguing things that plagued his mind a lot. The black-robed figure, whose appearance was permanently carved into his mind by the pain (although the wounds had healed considerably at this point) still remained an enigma, as these three claimed to have mostly remained in Hueco Mundo, and don’t recall any of their ventures in the Human world. Unlike himself, they sought immediate quenching of the emptiness through reishi, hence seeking out Hueco Mundo right off the bat. But, now that they were here, they had come to understand … other things. That Hollows were upon an eternal evolutionary path, that path being well-integrated into their nature, tied in with their destructive instincts of devouring.

Menos Grande, the next stage of Hollow Development, was what these three sought … and that they had banded together to try to take down stronger Hollows so as to continue their development (More accurately the Frog and Dragonfly were following the Scorpion out of fear that they would be consumed easily, seeing as he was superior to them in power). Names were not a freely given thing between the four, who referred to each other more on their animal representation, but in the case of the one who had handed two of them their behinds, they gave him the nickname ‘Ro’ from ‘Roku,’ supposedly Japanese for six, representing his arms.

Ro was not overly fond of the name, but seeing as how he never really was called anything except ‘filth’ and other derogatory nouns, he just accepted it without much complaint.

+ Understanding

A period of time, lasting for about another decade or two, in which the band of four and their misadventures are chronicled in his mind … and later written out, when he had the time.

But, it was just misfortune after misfortune. Misfortune that Huge Hollow packs tried to squash them little bugs (a comment that Ro made, which drew displeasure from both the Dragonfly and Scorpion, while the Frog nearly croaked at the sight of the oversized Hollows), that a large gathering of Hollows shortly erupted into an all-out battle-later-buffet-table, with each of the four having plenty of near-death experiences in the event. Of course, many other things happened, as is always the case given the time spent by this lot, but most of little importance, as it just turned into another meal for them to devour, slowly accumulating as much power as they could.

But during this time, one event of true significance occurred: Their discovery of the first stage of Menos Grande – The Gillian. Although their journey spanned in all directions for god knows how long in each direction, they were met with the most unusual of creatures, one they had never seen before …

~”Take cover!” Ro shouted aloud, as he dove out of the way of the giant looming shadow. The others scrambled as much as they could out of the way, fearing to be stricken by whatever was coming down on them, and of course their sparring mates high-tailed it as well, not wanting to stick around for the … giant … foot.

A foot of white slammed into ground, the blast of wind from it being placed down nearly knocked them all away, as they burrowed partially into the sand, while this being of enormous heights, seemed to traverse with no intent. It gave out a single despairing wail at random intervals, while taking tottering steps forward, swaying with each foot forward. Then, like a giant tree having been hacked at the bottom by a lumberjack, the thing tilted to its left, and fell from its full height with a loud crash into the sand, and most grains were blasted into the air by the impact.

”Geez! What the heck IS this thing?” one of his own companions asked aloud, his voice a mixture of awe and annoyance, most likely the most sensible member of their group, the Scorpion.

”You’ve never seen a Gillian before? … Well, then again, they don’t wander much across the desert anyway” one of the other party called aloud to the question posed, which elicited quizzical responses from the party of four, Ro included.

”Wait … … what’s a Gillian? inquired the six-armed Hollow, feeling the most retarded of his group for asking the pertinent question.

+ Resolution

A Gillian, a tower of souls, formed when a large collection of Hollows gathered and merged into one collective being. That mindless entity was the Gillian, as each soul within it would violently interact with each other, and in some situations, one soul would become dominant in the body, quelling all of its other roommates before reshaping the mass of the Gillian into their prior form. That was the next stage of Menos Grande, the Adjucha.

The three comrades were disheartened by the news, seeing as how they would have a hard time gathering up enough Hollows to attempt such a thing. And besides, power … it wasn’t something that drove them anymore. They were content with their existence, or so it was implied when Ro spoke with them.

He was never content. He was ever-hungry, and that appetite changed at times, but was always present. From human flesh, to human souls, to information, to Hollows, and now … power. The overwhelming desire to go to the edge of reason, merge into a collective of thousands of Hollows and overpower each Soul so as to become the dominant being, began to flood his mind! He had come this far, and there was no satisfaction to be gained if he remained as he was. But first, he had to deal with these sniveling cowards, who, after their ardent displays of desire, now demonstrated how limited their devotion to the cause was.

And so he, much like in same fit of fury during his human life, ended their existences. He reneged on the promise to fight with them, as they had failed on their promise to him to take him to very ends of Hollow power, the stage of Menos Grande. It was a swift blow by his hands, killing all three simultaneously, as he decapitated the lesser two, while reducing the former Scorpion into a gruesome splatter of shattered bone, mask, and flesh. Their existences would merge with his, as he consumed his prepared meal. He didn’t need them to achieve what he wanted, and rather than let them lead him astray from his goal … they would satisfy him for the time being.

-Menos Grande: Evolution-

Fate and circumstance were the cause for his progression. What lured him there, he is unsure to this day … but a mass group of Hollows had come together. Most were overwhelmed by several powerful entities, and thus piled atop each other as unconscious forms. A clever move by this lot of Hollows who wanted more power, gather up as many Hollows as necessary to create a huge gathering, necessary for the next stage of transformation.

With the beginnings of his constant leer, and his arms at the ready, he started the fight. A fight that would cause his jawbone to be shattered, and two of his arms painfully ripped from his body and reduced to mush. But, the result was magnificent! More unconscious beings to add atop the pile … all that’s left now was to merge with them. But, what was supposed to happen and how?

+Gillian: Rebirth

The sheer mass of the Hollows huddling together, and giving that they were all in a near-death state, gave rise to the natural event: the blending of all their forms to compose one being. It was truly a spectacle, in Ro’s eyes … but he couldn’t enjoy for long, as the odd sensation of ‘death’ crept upon him, much like when he had first taste of human. One by one they disintegrated at the core bonds, becoming nothing more than free-flying bodies of spiritual particles, that eventually remerging into one central figure … a hulking, giant Hollow that swayed from its height, left to right. The mask possessed a characteristic, elongated nose, but lacked eyeholes, and instead a wide grin, from side to side. And with its birthing wail, mournfully shrieked after coming to its new ‘senses’ and as the thousands of souls within clashed with each other.


How many years were lost? How many decades? Too many, says the Arrancar who recounts all this now. But since he was a Gillian, and his mind was not his, but rather at war with all of the other sentience inside of him, he couldn’t keep track of such a trivial thing as time!

As a combined entity, they all desired one thing: Fulfillment. And to achieve this state of ‘grace’ as they saw it, they had to consume more until their powers, in unison, increased … and they had to subjugate and quell all the others so that they could claim this body as their own. Years dragged on, as the Wide-mouthed Toothy-Grinning Fearless(WTF) Gillian went about consuming others of its kind to satiate the emptiness. And within, most souls were unfortunate. A vast majority of them had petty reasons for clinging onto to their Hollow selves, feeble human emotions. Envy and Jealousy, Hate and Wrath were the kinds of petty things they clung onto. But, they could only cling to one emotion, and that was all.

It took time, for them to be calmed and silenced by the truly wicked: Those who are insane, and admit they are such; those who are morally apathetic and refused to be fettered by a human condition. Outrageous beings that could probably be sent to straight into Hell for all sorts of reasons were the ones that dominated: Sinners and Killers, those who violated laws and taboos for whatever personal reason, and relished doing such.

But, each struggled for individuality out of fear of losing it, whereas he struggled in fear of not achieving his wish. His greed and his drive knew no bounds in this torrent of souls, and he fought and raged all for his existence, so that he could get what he wanted. After all, he was a brat, and a conniving one at that: What he wanted, he eventually got his hands on in the end.

+Adjucha: Another Side

~The breaking point had been achieved … not only had he squashed all futile resistance inside his body, and thus remained the master of the mass of consumed Hollows, but the size of the Gillian, giving how many others it had eaten at this point, was at staggering limits. The steps in took in its instinctual urge to proceed to hunt and kill other Hollows were slow and delayed steps. But, within the mind, darkness loomed once more in higher cerebral functions.

Until the wonderful day arrived, when in the midst of trying to consume a series of Giant(Huge) Hollows that it towered over thanks to its own bulk, it had a misstep, and came down from the skies to crash into the sand, much like the one the dominant being had seen year ago.

But, in the midst of its fall, cracks could be seen emerging upon the marble-white mask, slowly spreading from the ‘forehead’ and all about … and these cracks even spread into the body, the mass, the bulk of the Gillian. As its fall from grace continued, the entire body was adorned with spider web patterns of damage, until, moments before the fall’s end, the being shattered into a cloud of dust.

But from where the head of the beast once was, a silhouette emerged in the cover of remains, and down came crashing a bipedal creature, with two pairs of arms, a helmet-like mask … and a case of armor surrounding its true body that was made of the same substance as the mask, a bone-like compound.

Snarling issued from the mask and a sickly sweet voice, with a piercing tone range from it.

”SO! Who gets to die today?”


A shrill whoop and cry sounded from this being, more human and appearance and definitely not morbidly obese like before. It was one of joy, as he had gone further than a Gillian, as he noticed … and the overwhelming sense of confidence that surrounded him was a result of the surging power he felt within. Of course, curiosity got the better of him, as he wanted to know just what on Mundo he was now, but it took time to get the answers he needed.

Adjucha. That was the name of his stage of being. The Intermediary Great Hollow, the name could be interpreted as a symbol of great power, and one of great fear. Most Hollows seemed to avoid him, as noted when he had to pummel a weaker one into submission before getting it to answer his numerous questions. But at least, he got information and a free meal, as he proceeded on drenched in blood.

An Adjucha was a superior being in comparison to a Gillian … but Adjuchas had to continue eating Hollows to avoid regressing back into a Gillian, permanently. This was a most disconcerting fact for Ro, as he hadn’t expected regression to be possible. But then again, he was used to killing and consuming mass quantities of his own kind, so he soon accepted that truth.

However, he learnt of a beast far greater than his own state. Vasto Lordes. It was as though the gods were laughing at him when he learnt of their existence, a being whose level of power vastly outmatched that of his present state! The greedy child within him couldn’t bear the thought of not being one of the most powerful individuals in Hueco Mundo, even given the fact that he was already incredibly strong to have reached this far in his development. No, he wanted more … and he pursued that goal recklessly, wreaking havoc in his trail of devastation.

+Vasto Lorde: Ending?

It is unknown whether he achieved this state. If he did, he did it through endless years of pursuing and consuming other beings with great Spiritual Power. He brushed with Death’s cold embrace multiple times throughout this century of seeking out Vasto Lordes and the threshold of ‘ultimate’ power by Hollow standards. But, it seems that his memories of an Adjucha coincide with his induction into Las Noches: Meaning that if he DID become a Vasto, he was soon assaulted by an Espada and later agreed (perhaps while on the brink of consciousness) to become one of many Arrancar. But, due to the blunt injury dealt to his head during the encounter, he cannot recall if he reached the Vasto state … and that Espada is long dead, before he ever got an answer out of him.

-Arrancar: Never-ending Journey-

His induction, or really his ‘abduction’ into the ‘Torn Mask’ army of Las Noches was mostly an uneventful procedure. As a matter of fact, he slept through most of the ‘ceremony’ and whatnot due to being put in a combat-related coma(concussion), and his form taken after the mask of his was shattered very much resembles as it is now. He was, for lack of a better word, a child: ‘innocent’ and youthful in appearance. At this stage of his life, had existed for about two hundred years, and would spend the next century and a half as an Arrancar.

His first duty to the White Castle, his beloved home, was to serve as Fraccion to a Novena Espada, seeming to be a child arrancar with no usefulness(despite his long and bloody past of power and killing), and the Novena was a kindly figure. He may have represented loneliness, as he gave the boy his current name: Merrow Miuzerra, a combination of his old nickname ‘Ro’ and the last name of the Espada himself, effectively making him a guardian figure. And while Merrow spent those years as Fraccion, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander when he was bored … and he was very often bored. His hazy memories from the past were dug up, since he had them engraved there after emerging as an Adjucha. The sensation of killing, and the joy of consuming often flooded his mind. But, as he opened up the thoughts of the past, and he had all the time in the world, he reviewed his pitiful existence as a human being.

His form now was based upon the form he took then, with the exception of the more heavily distinguished eye colors, slightly longer hair, piece of mask on his face, and a small hole in his chest. But his mind … his mind was so different! It had been perverted by thoughts of wanton destruction, tainted by the influence of each individual soul he had consumed, and they all mingled with his, even if he had subjugated them to his will. Why was he so filled with thoughts of hate? Was it because that he thinks the world was cruel and unfair when he was alive? Rubbish. If it hadn’t had been like that, he wouldn’t be here now in this situation.

No. It was because his life wasn’t life like it was supposed to. He had the misfortune of being born in a dismal situation and because of that, he was deprived of a time in which he could let his mind be as free as he wanted it to be.

Hell, he had all the time in the world, now, and that was literally speaking. Why not let loose his childish side? That was, if he knew how to express it. Then came the books he found littered about in various rooms, the pranks, the sibling figures who took care of him (primarily by beating the living crap out of him when he screwed around too much), and years passed. They went on and on and on. He aged not a single bit, but his mind regressed a day or so for every week spent in this place. Until he became an utter child, squealing at the sight of the other Arrancar and talking to them excitedly while tackling them in a playful manner (only if he was sure they wouldn’t slice and dice him into many unrecognizable pieces). His reputation as a child, and his affectionate and compassionate nature soon became rampant rumors.

Most people let him be, as they figured that it was befitting his appearance, judging him to be a weakling with no battle potential. They ridiculed his Espada master for picking such a weak subordinate, but … those that decided to confront the Novena personally (usually random Numeros who wanted to have the honor of serving with an Espada, or were greedy to use their position as leverage to assassinate an Espada) ended up meeting him. And he loved to listen to them scream. For you see, his true self lay within the profession of killing, but he also developed a bit of sadism as well, enjoying the disgusted or pained and agonized looks of opponents. None of the opponents would be left alive, as his ‘master’ permitted him to cannibalize the flesh of the now-dead Arrancar.

There was ... one odd occurence in the past that he recalls with fondness: It was a recent event that took place shortly after his deadly reputation became known. An encounter with a wild azure haired and eyed Espada brought the most amusing of days to him. It started all so simply ... an angry arrancar coming to beat him to a pulp as they usually threatened to, but he was without words except expletives that Merrow had difficulty deciphering. And the next thing he knew, the right side of his head was partially embedded into the hallway, while his left side ached like crazy. According to the Novena, this fellow was the Segunda ... a unique individual, Merrow wanted to chop him up into itty-bitty pieces. Thus a clash was inevitable, as the greedy child usually got what he wanted, in this case a re-match. To this day, while he was sure that neither he nor his opponent gave it their all, their sparring match turned into the infamous incident known as 'La terrible destrucción por dos demonios de Las Noches' (or 'The Terrible Destruction by two Demons of Las Noches'). Much of the castle was left in shambles, with hallways filled with cracks and towers with artillery like damage dealt to it.

If there was anything to gain out of this mess, it was a possible life-long friendship and understanding of this azure-haired Espada, Souta Suzuki, due to both of them and a few others being worked like slaves to help rebuild a large portion of what they had destroyed.

After that, all was fine, and fine and dandy. He learnt more about the world, about Hollows. He learned how to direct all his fury at one species, the Shinigami. And with time, he became a truly disparate being in behavior, achieving his current mental state. Playful and mischievous amongst his loved ‘friends,’ ruthless and destructive against anyone he considered an enemy, be it Shinigami, Bount, Quincy, Human, Vizard or another Arrancar.

Then came some luck. His master died, killed by his own had to be more accurate, and he had a potential chance to take a seat. Of course, it was known at the time that he had a destructive amount of power, despite his childish exterior and mannerisms … but he never received that honor. No, he probably wasn’t considered since he killed his own master. Not by a surprise attack, but by frontal assault, even asking him if he could fight him in a fight to the death. But, after that killing, he rejoined the main group of Numeros, being infamous for his quirky behavior and destructive tendencies, as well as being capable to take down an Espada from an older generation (considerably weaker than the present generation, but still a feat in itself for most average Arrancar).

Now he waits, waiting for the Cero to perhaps one day choose him. To allow him to grace an empty seat of Espada, and become one of the many Blades that raged in combat for Las Noches and all of arrancar-kind. In the mean time, he has familiarized himself with the Espadas of this day, watching as they come and go month by month, getting laid off or killed and soon replaced. But still, he couldn't help but like a few of them, constantly gracing their presence with a tackle of doom.

Role-play Sample:

(Every italicized portion in the history is an example of my role-play style … and some parts of the history, most notably the Arrancar and later Menos portion take on the style of how I normally write for posts)

-39 years ago-

”Masterrrrrrr! Fight me!” the boy called out, with that constant sweet voice of his. If one were to disregard the words he spoke, and listened to the sound of his voice, they’d assume a very young and foolish child to be speaking. Actually, they wouldn’t be that far off, as the diminutive arrancar with bright mismatched eyes gazed at his ‘master,’ the Novena Espada.

”Ah … Merrow. I’m sorry, kiddo. Just not in the mood for sparring today, maybe some other time” the elder arrancar smiled at the boisterous request, not concerned the slightest bit at the seeming idiocy of this request.

‘… Merrow …’ the child repeated the name to himself. It had been over a century and he was called that name every single day in the years past, yet he still couldn’t adjust to it. His mind drifted slightly, as was his tendency to wander mentally at the most inappropriate of times.

----Flashback in a flashback, GASP!----

”You have a name, kiddo?” the Master, and his Lord inquired of him, voice a bit gruff and exhausted, most likely from having acquired a troublesome Fraccion. The boy shook his head, a little too soon in response, as he realized he had went by a name during his time as a Hollow.

The varying color orbs gazed at the, to his perspective, giant Espada, whose carved features implied a sense of annoyance by how he acted. That only made him more nervous, as he stammered out that nickname given to him by ‘friends’ in the past.


”Hn. Definitely aren’t a cheery kid are you, huh? … … Hmmmm.” the bemused Espada took a few paces about, pondering something. The boy wondered what on earth could cause the Espada to behave like this. From the perception he had, and his lack of interaction with virtually any living thing that was stronger than he was, he wondered if the Novena was thinking about how to kill him. Until the voice of his master called out the name that would be his for however long he would live.




”Merrow! Don’t space out on me now!” the voice called to him, the voice of his greatly respected master, and now greatest obstacle.

”Ah? Oh, sorry master. But … I’m afraid that you don’t get much a choice in this fight.” he grumbled aloud, rudely being brought back into the present. His left arm reached to hilt of the sword he kept by his side, a weapon that was truly not his, but he used it due to a deeper connection to it than most would assume. And the fact that the tricks he could pull of with it were more hilarious then people could expect.

His blade was drawn swiftly, and now the younger Miuzerra glared at his ‘master,’ his foster father. His face was no longer full of cheer, his sweet phrasing in the sound and tone of his voice had ended in his last statement, and now he stood here in the presence of the man he was most grateful for, blade drawn and with all intent on striking him down. His grim expression, a solemn smile in place of the mad grin, mad it clear that he was being selfish, but didn’t want to be.

He wanted to be an Espada, and easiest way was to open a spot in the ranks via killing a man he knew very well, and felt that he could defeat. But the pangs of human emotion coupled with his general behavior prevented him from wanting to go all-out, and thus his harsher nature was not turned upon his enemy. At least, not for the time being, as his eyes gazed at the darkening expression of the Novena.

Shock and disbelief, which then slowly morphed into anger upon his face. Anger at his ingratitude? At his arrogance? It mattered not, as the Novena soundlessly stood, a habit of his when enraged and wanting to beat someone into a bloody pulp. His drew his own blade, a two-handed blade that he easily hefted with a single hand. The silence of his master brought a the faint curls of his trademark smile, as he knew that he was going to be in for the fight of his life, here. Merrow Miuzerra had challenged the man responsible for his existence as an arrancar, and he had implied that it would be more than a duel for rank, that he would strike down his friend, mentor, and father without much a second thought when the clash would begin.

The two rushed at each other, blades at the ready, and soon those weapons clashed against –

He awoke with a start, memories from a distant past had floated in his mind. He lifted up his head from where it had rested and groaned, trying to rub his sore forehead, but only to rub against the mask fragment there.

’What was I doing?’ he inquired, mentally, while also cursing, again mentally, about how his mask fragment had to be on his forehead of all places. And then he noticed the utensil in his hand that vaguely looked like a pen … and the paper underneath it … and the scrawled writing in the most random code he ever created in his life while bored.

”Oh yeah. Just writing … stuff … down” he mumbled, while setting down said tool to yawn a bit. What had he been recording? Or did he even want to know? The arrancar’s head drooped a bit before landing against his arms that fold atop each other on the table.

’Think I’ll just nap some more’

Last edited by Merrow Miuzerra on Sat Nov 20, 2010 9:46 am; edited 5 times in total (Reason for editing : Some BBCode mashup cleaned out x 2; Error in mask description; Appearance was unsatisfactory)
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Father Anderson
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PostSubject: Re: Miuzerra Merrow - Attempting to be an Espada   Sat Nov 20, 2010 8:27 am

Permission for 3rd given to you by the Espada Leader.

Now the Modz/Adminz need to approve you and you can start RPing.
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PostSubject: Re: Miuzerra Merrow - Attempting to be an Espada   Sat Nov 20, 2010 10:08 am

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