Rhel Veyr

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Lore Dumps

Multiple Oc's Lores:
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Rhel Xaviel Veyr
(“Rell”-“ZAY-vee-el”-“Vair”)Alagan Age: 35 years old
Sundered Version: 0-20 years oldRace:
-Allgan Human(Original body)
-Rava //Viera (New Body)Appearance:-New Body:
Right half of his hair is blonde with his right eye blue, Other half is white with a red eye. (reflecting his real body). He has aetherial horns from the livestream mutating his body, one horn is shattered. He hair medium length hair that goes to his shoulders. He has two sets of ears due to the mutations from the livestream. Human and Viera ears, both pierced and gauged. His body has scars and lightning strike-like tattoos all over his body. Echo from the Livestreams' influence. They glow bright whenever he uses Aether.-Passed Body:
Early 30's(32), Small white beard patch on chin and mustache. He has silver white hair and crimson red eyes. Well built body frame but always wearing baggy or tight safety clothes. White hair that combs over to one side, pieces falling onto his face occasionally.Background:-Third Astral Era (5,000 years before current day Eorzea):Rhel was a pure blooded, red eyed, white haired Allagan scientist. (Midlander male base) He was head scientist in charge of soul transference. Clones being able to hold foreign souls, to bring loved ones back to life. Grief and loneliness drove him. His main project was to pull lives from the livestream, back into foreign cloned bodies. His experiments were nearly a success until their was a containment breech with a dangerous Chimera. An aetherial explosion sent his body and half of his soul to the livestream. The other half found a still born child in a sundered reflection, the Childs' soul one of his own sundered souls. Stealing the body for himself he was born a new. While the other half of his soul remanded in limbo, he made a deal with the soul of his this reflections body. If he could get his true body back, he'd let his reflections soul retain his original body.New Life on the fifth:As soon as Rhel gained conscious in this new life, he was able to connect with his other half of his soul in the livestream, as well as all other sundered versions of himself. Due to his soul having these connections he was able to identify others souls and memories from his other sundered lives. He refused any name given to him other then his original name Rhel Xavier Veyr.From ages 5-8; he already finished schooling at an adults level, earning him that title of "Young Prodigy". Everyone assumed he has some magical foresight, a born genius, when in reality he had the experience of multiple lives. Some situations even happening to this current version of him. He studied advanced knowledge to try to find a way to get his body back.From ages 9-14; He had already enlisted into the military. A lot of people gave him issues on his way to success. He out classed each and everyone of them, earning his place as highest General of the Empire. Only using his status to gain access to forbidden knowledge. His preferred fighting classes were Machinist, Sage, and Paladin.From ages 15-17; He had run into Ascians of this world. Emet Selch and Lahabrea. They recognized him immediately. Saw immediately what was wrong with him. They offered him a hand to restore the original world by rejoining the worlds. Having the memories of his life as an Ancient had him agreeing. After his memories restored the began helping with the rejoining of the 5th. His sundered self finds him through the void as a voidsent. They make a reaper pack and another one of his souls rejoins him. His void sent powers are used with his guns. His dual pistols shoot a hole into the void to travel to other reflections.During the Fifth Calamity:From ages to 18-20 (His physical age slowing, stunting); The Ascians Flooded the Fifth with Ice, rejoining it successful causing the Fifth Calamity. His heart was burdened greatly by the deaths of the people that raised him, as well as everyone he knew. It's weighed heavy on him even to current day. But in his naive youth, he told himself it was worth it to get his soul and body back. Once the Fifth world rejoined he went onto rejoining the Sixth with Water. After this rejoining he had acquired the memories of watching this shard, of themselves friends, dying horribly in front of them. He couldn't bare the grief, especially remembering what happened to those on the Second. He cut ties with the Ascians. Swearing to never join them again.Current Day:Stopped aging at the visual age of 24 years old. His body now seemingly immortal. For years he mourns the lost of his friends. He drinks himself to sleep with nightmares of their deaths. Knowing that the ascians are still out there however haunts him just as bad. He knows they won't just leave him be, but they also won't stop rejoining the worlds either. A hard choice that he chooses to turn a blind eye to. He just wants to get his original body back so he can pass on. Even if it's just to slowly grow old and go in his sleep. He's now searching reflections, staying out of sight of the ascians to pursue his own goals.

Damen Cromwell --* NEW *--
("DAY-min" "KROM-well")
Hyur age: 25 years old
Race:
-Midlander Human
Jobs:
Assasin Machinist (duel handguns)
Appearance:
He has short, neatly styled dark hair, shaved undercut, and sharp, well-defined facial features. One of the most eye-catching details is his heterochromatic eyes—one glowing blue and the other glowing red—giving him a supernatural or cyberpunk-like vibe. His expression is calm and slightly intense, as if he’s deep in thought or quietly observing something. He’s dressed in a fitted white button-up shirt with a black tie, paired with a harness-style strap system across his chest, suggesting a tactical or fashion-forward design. He wears black leather gloves, and his arms are covered in intricate tattoo sleeves, adding to his edgy, confident look.
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Background:
Damen Cromwell was born beneath the soot-choked skies of a lesser shard—a world dimmer than the Source, where light struggled to pierce the haze of industry and quiet decay. In that fractured reflection of reality, souls were thinner, their essence divided long ago during the The Sundering. Damen was one such fragment… but not an ordinary one.From birth, he bore a mark of incompleteness that set him apart: one eye burned crimson, the other glowed an electric blue. A mirror of another life he did not know—of Rhel Veyr, a Viera whose soul existed Stuck in the lifestream. Where Rhel carried centuries of experience in a body that no longer aged, Damen lived quickly, sharply—his 25 years burning with the intensity of a life unconsciously trying to reclaim something lost.
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Growing up:
Damen grew up in the underbelly of an industrial city-state where power belonged not to kings, but to syndicates. Law was a suggestion, and survival was earned. Orphans either starved—or learned to become useful.He became useful.Taken in by a shadow syndicate known as the Black Gauge, Damen was trained not as a soldier, but as a precision instrument. The gang specialized in quiet removals—political figures, rival leaders, and those whose existence disrupted the fragile balance of power. Unlike most machinists of the Source, whose art stemmed from Garlean magitek traditions, Damen’s weapons were… wrong. His dual pistols were not crafted in his shard. They were relics, scavenged or smuggled from dying reflections—worlds that had begun to collapse or fade. Each weapon carried unfamiliar designs, strange firing mechanisms, and aether signatures that didn’t belong. He refused to use any weapon originating from the Source or its rejoined shards. Whether instinct or something deeper, Damen avoided them with quiet certainty—as though some part of him knew they were not meant for him.Within the Black Gauge, Damen earned the title “Split Sight.”
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Damen Cromwell was born on a shard most would never name—a place too distant, too fractured to matter in the grand design of Final Fantasy XIV. It was not the Source, nor the Fifth, nor any reflection that had been rejoined. It was a world left behind—one that never recovered properly after the The Sundering. Its skies were perpetually dim, its aether thin and unstable, and its cities built not to thrive, but to endure slow collapse. People there did not speak of hope. They spoke of getting through the next day.Damen grew up in one of those cities—a sprawling industrial ruin where smokestacks choked the horizon and the streets were permanently stained with soot and runoff. There were no true governments, only shifting powers: merchant houses, militias, and gangs that carved the districts into territories like meat. Children without families didn’t last long unless they learned quickly how to be useful, and Damen learned faster than most. Not because he was strong, or clever, but because he didn’t react the way others did. Hunger didn’t make him panic. Violence didn’t make him freeze. He adapted in silence.By the time he was nine, he had already stopped expecting kindness. That was when the Black Gauge found him. They didn’t offer him a place or a future. They simply gave him a choice—work, or disappear. He understood what that meant. From that point on, his life narrowed into something simple and controlled. Eat when told. Sleep when allowed. Train until failure wasn’t possible. They didn’t raise him; they refined him, stripping away hesitation and anything that slowed him down. What remained was not a child growing into a man, but a tool becoming precise.His eyes made him memorable in a way that complicated everything. One blue, one red—something rare enough to draw attention in a place where attention got people killed. At first, the gang tried to hide it, covering his face, keeping him out of sight. But eventually they realized something more useful: people remembered fear more than details. They built a reputation around him, turned his appearance into a story that spread through whispers and rumor. A killer you could recognize, but never stop. It made their work easier. It made his life harder. Wherever he went, people stared too long or looked away too quickly, and either way, it reminded him he didn’t belong anywhere outside the role they gave him.His work as a machinist assassin came later, once his hands were steady enough and his instincts sharp enough to trust with something more complex than a blade. The pistols he uses aren’t made in his world. Nothing that refined could be. They’re relics brought in through quiet, illicit channels—salvaged from other reflections teetering on collapse. Damen doesn’t ask where they come from, and no one volunteers the truth. All he knows is that they function better than anything local, and that they feel strangely natural in his grip, as if they require no learning curve at all. He maintains them meticulously, not out of pride, but because failure isn’t something he’s allowed.At twenty-four, Damen is considered one of the Black Gauge’s most reliable assets. He completes contracts without question, without deviation, and without leaving loose ends. His methods are consistent: close distance, fire twice, confirm, leave. There is no flair to it, no excess. Efficiency has replaced personality in everything he does. Targets blur together over time—faces, names, reasons. They don’t matter. What matters is that the job is finished cleanly. That is the only measure of worth he’s ever been given, and the only one he understands.The tragedy of Damen’s life is not that he suffers visibly, or that he is consumed by guilt. It is that he feels almost nothing at all. Whatever part of him might have resisted, questioned, or broken under the weight of what he does was worn down years ago, not in a single moment, but gradually, until it was gone. He is aware of this absence. That awareness lingers quietly at the edges of his thoughts, surfacing in moments when the world slows down just enough for him to notice the silence inside himself. He knows something is missing. He just doesn’t know what it ever felt like to have it.He has considered leaving. The thought comes and goes, usually in the quiet hours between assignments when there is nothing to occupy his mind. But the idea never develops into a plan. There is nowhere for him to go, no identity waiting beyond the one he’s been shaped into. Outside the Black Gauge, he wouldn’t know how to exist. The structure that confines him is the same thing that defines him. Without it, he wouldn’t be free—he would be nothing.So he stays.He continues taking contracts, continues refining the only skill he has, continues moving through a life that feels less like living and more like maintaining momentum. There is no expectation of a meaningful end. No imagined future where things change. If anything, Damen understands, in a quiet and unspoken way, that his life will likely conclude the same way it has been lived—without ceremony, without recognition, and without anyone truly knowing who he was beyond the role he filled.
And perhaps the cruelest part is this:
He is not waiting for something better.
He simply doesn’t know that he should

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