reb-I-R-T-H: Urs

Shoots magical bullets of different elements and intensities! His fighting style is mid- to long-range. Urs is a trigger-happy pest and generally a very offensive fighter, but he's not particularly fast on his feet or good at aiming. He can, however, take a few good blows.

Brash, open, fearless and outgoing, Urs is a free spirit that dislikes most of all the feeling of being trapped and chained down to social standards. He tends to follow his heart and his feelings without much heed for the consequences of his actions, and it is this raw impulsive honesty that makes it easy for him to make friends. Contrary to his cheerful and personable demeanor, Urs is someone that thrives on chaos and isn't above causing it himself. He is volatile and unreliable, particularly regarding expectations set on him, and is willing to throw away his friendships for the simple sake of alleviating his massive distaste for order. He doesn't keep anything-- especially not people-- close to his heart, and so things like bending over backwards for others for forgiveness or stabbing them in the back has nothing to do with his conscience.

Anger, resistance, and disobedience are usually his first reactions when feeling like he doesn't have a choice. He'll do anything to be free again. Regardless of his unreliable nature, Urs has a boundless passion and dedication towards goals he has set for himself. The only problem is getting him to accept someone else's terms.

Urs doesn't act that much differently as a Mage than as a human. In fact, instead of taking the whole thing more seriously, he seems to take it all in as a game. When he defeats monsters, it doesn't matter. When people die, it doesn't matter. He believes that regardless of the outcome, whatever souls that could be lost may still be offered redemption like he was. Still, he doesn't particularly aim to lose and the whole Mage thing is not boring, which makes it one of his greatest motivators to perform well and appropriately to the tasks at hand. Whether alone or in a team, either way is fine with him.

Freedom
Anything new or out of the ordinary
Games
Fighting
People who are passionate about something
Alternative rock

Animals. They don't like him and he doesn't like them either.
Small spaces
Rule-sticklers
Dull people
Being forced to do something

It came as no surprise to him when he died, since he had expected to pass away before he turned 20. His manner of death, however, was entirely outside the scope of his imagination.

An only child raised in a noisy city, Urs grew up in an apartment that was small and quiet with a father who seemed miles away emotionally. His father, a policeman, was a strict disciplinarian who never acknowledged him for his successes and disciplined him harshly for his misbehavior. As a boy, Urs was an energetic and curious child that was good at making friends, who automatically grew anxious and withdrawn when the man he wanted so desperately to see love from came into his sight.

Both father and son maintained this precariously strained relationship as the years passed. Despite mountainous efforts to receive approval and affection from his father, Urs eventually grew to resent him as his efforts kept turning up in vain. More and more he fed his anger, until eventually his desire to impress his father turned into a desire to inflict pain on him. Urs grew combative, rebellious, and so obsessed in his goal to make his father regret what he's done that eventually he stopped putting any real effort into maintaining and creating relationships with other people. If his father couldn't love him, how could others? This in turn grew to an apathy towards his life and existence. It wasn't unfamiliar to him to find himself considering taking his own life just to spite his father.

On the day that he had died, he had finally won. His father had brought him home after posting his son's bail for a misdemeanor in vandalism. The ride back in the car was silent, unlike the usual screaming the two would exchange when Urs got into trouble. "What, you got nothing to say this time?" Urs spat. His shoulder's automatically came up as he steeled himself for the upcoming fight.

"I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Ursus."

What struck him most was not the words nor the tone of voice, which were spoken in that firm, matter-of-factly tone he usually used, but the look on his proud father's face as he stared ahead into the road. The years had been unkind to him, but he looked decades older than he actually was. The face he was wearing was no longer the strong and terrifying giant Urs had always seen him to be, but the face of a weary, lost old man.

The emptiness of his victory only made him feel more hollow inside. Even when his father went back into the apartment, Urs couldn't find the will to get out of the car. Anger soon followed. Soon, it was disgust. Lastly and most poignant of them all was regret and the feeling that he was beyond absolution to make things right between them. The feelings that rushed into him were so powerful that when he finally exited the car, he stumbled onto the ground.

At least, he thought it was the ground he landed on. The asphalt was ten shades darker than the night; almost pitch black. But when he tried to pick himself up, his hands and knees seemed welded to the ground. He couldn't move. One by one, the streetlamps around began to shut off, going down the street in neat little rows as the world progressively grew dimmer. The streets disappeared. The apartment disappeared. Eventually the car behind him disappeared and soon he couldn't even see the nose on his face. Soon, all he could do was listen as the world eventually grew muted. The last thing to enter his vision before his sight and hearing was swallowed up entirely by the darkness were two bloodshot eyes that erupted from the ground he was on.

For how long he was stuck in that deep dark hole-- unable to move, unable to speak or to hear, and feeling absolutely nothing but a frigid cold and overwhelming terror-- Urs didn't know. There was only one thing he was sure of, and that he was dead. He must have been dead. But soon something bright seemed to grow in the darkness, until Urs could finally make out a man clad in gold. The man floated towards him with such a preternatural elegance he must have been a divine being.

Urs's stomach did a flip when the man confirmed what he had suspected. "Your life was cut short," the man said. "But I will give you a choice."

He held out his hands and produced two silver objects: a key, and a pair of handcuffs. Police grade, Urs noticed when his eyes landed on the handcuffs. They were the same kind his father carried. "You may chose to live again. You may start anew as a human once more, free from the burdens of expectation," he said, urging forward a silver key. "Or you may choose to be a Mage, also free from the burdens of expectation. " He edged forward the pair of handcuffs. "For either choice you make, the people you knew will be no more. Which do you choose?"

Urs stared at the objects the man held out. He looked at the key, then towards the handcuffs, and he couldn't help but laugh in spite of himself. "Is this a joke?" Urs started, his voice hoarse and low. "Taking keys and handcuffs out from nowhere... What's the point? I don't want..."

His already soft voice trailed away when he saw the man responded only with an indomitable silence. The seriousness of the decision he was going to make finally began to sink into him. The choices had been laid out, and choosing neither option was not an option. With effort, he swallowed, though his mouth remained dry. He found himself trembling. It wasn't just fear that sank into him that moment, but a wild anticipation at the future ahead of him. Both results were same; he could never see his father again. The man told him that. But one choice offered him something new and interesting apart from the humdrum life he had already lived. His voice too weak to speak, Urs reached out with a shaky hand and took the handcuffs, his eyes burning with a new light and a small, crooked smile snaking across his face in spite of himself.

He constantly changes the earring on his left ear.
His nickname when he was alive is "Arse", which he embraces wholeheartedly.