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Raasheph Mantramana

Raasheph Mantramana

Posts : 2
Soul Currency : 0
Join date : 2013-08-27
Age : 24
Location : The-Technicolor-Pyramids.

Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Empty
PostSubject: Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana   Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Icon_minitimeTue Aug 27, 2013 5:15 pm

Arrancar Template

R a a s h e p h – M a n t r a m a n a

I savor life in ways of taste, one bite at a time. .

Arrancar Encyclopedia


Birth Name: Vassal-Number-Forty-Two.    
Hollow Aliases: Shark-Week.
Gender: Male.
Age: Seven-hundred-and-twenty-three-years-old.
Birth Date: During-The-Age-Of-Oppression. // Unknown.
Rank Status: Primera Espada
Cero Color: Not-Acknowledged.
Aspect of Death: Degeneration.
Hollow Hole Location: Right-Eye.

Raasheph is a man of many shark-like smiles, being as all smiles are not the same in appearance and can further give alliteration to his some-what irrational and unreasonable personae. A face of scars, a body of scars . . all given to him by the battles which he could not simply heal from; a body not durable enough to sustain the damage incurred from enemies of greater strength and prowess. He does not choose to hide any of these scars unless such is absolutely necessary; an order given to him by his superior so as to wear clothing that does not bring on the notions of indecency.
Though there is a lack of will towards wearing such drabs at all times, a mental constriction upon the pride of hiding his battle scars, he abides by the rules given to him. A dogma which says to wear clothing. .

If formality becomes a case, his attire is somewhat different from what he is seen wearing on the regular. Black, Orange, and white-- not a single change in his apparel unless the occasion surmounts to an over-abundance of white over black. Not alike to other arrancar, who take to going without an undershirt when wearing their mantle, Raasheph is one of the few who is actually seen with something covering his chest; as an order from his superior since he will not wear his sleeved shirt in a closed manner. This often irks him, but he attempts to drown out such trivialities through the constant destruction of his clothes; which are often replaced on the daily.

His sleeves each have cuffs so as to clip onto his chest for the constriction of his own arms if he does not feel like placing them into his pockets. In this case, his coat can often be seen as a strait-jacket; in both literal and physical means.


As those considered to be arrancar hold former remnants of themselves upon their body, Raasheph’s skeletal mask can be seen adorning both his neck and collarbone as somewhat of a massive jaw; composed of shark-teeth which seemed to layer three rows backwards to make contact with his skin. As is it were a large necklace, the Mask-Fragment wrapped along his neck entirely until coming to a point at his spine. Being that the serrated teeth followed the length of the mask, it would seem as if he had been sporting a oversized and corroded crown, well on in its years so as to appear brittle and worn down. At that point where the mask made contact with his spinal column, there was a shark fin that grew outwards at a pointed curvature. Along the sides of the fin were grooves that appeared to hold the same function as gills; save for them holding no current purpose as it was just the fragments of his mask.

With Raasheph as the Primera Espada, his number would be located above the eyebrow of the eye which was covered in both patch and hair alike. A small, tilted number //1// in a deep-black hue so as to contrast with the complexion of his skin once seen. As his hair was most usually in the way, having bangs which grew to dwarf the length of his cranium and a fraction of his neck, his number was usually concealed in a casual manner; being as many people did not move close enough to even shift the placement of his follicles. One could already infer that the eye patch gave some inference to why his hair was much longer on that side; being as that eye could no longer hold function--- however, that eye no longer existed and was instead replaced with a hole that could be seen through.

Raasheph is not a stable person, being held down only by the rules and regulations placed forth by his superior; whom he shows respect to on levels unknown to the eyes of many. His temptations often lead him to fall astray from the path of tranquility or permanence, in which he attempts to rile even the smallest of instances from others so as to find reason to fight; his rules not allowing for him to simply cause a ruckus towards another person without motive. A smile which primes the instigation of others that is easily caught like bait on a fishing line; Raasheph reels them in so as to gain access to a fight. . when possible—

His urges are not always given the freedom to run rampant, as he is often observed by his superiors or peers; trained so as to know the correct methods of bringing him off his psychological hype before its gradual acclimation towards chaos. In ways, Raasheph shows both malice and recognition to those few that can effectively sedate his hunger; as not many people can become a drug towards the torpor that is his internal madness and desire for further growth. The need to feed . . A want for more.

It had been these few things which brought forth the development of his personality in the first place; as a beast had no need for thought when instinct provided all the necessary tools. The limitations of his deprivation--- the woman who had brought all these feelings to the surface.

Raasheph holds a grudge deeper than any wound on his body towards the woman that is his superior; however, in retrospect, it is that same grudge which constructs the very feelings he has towards her now. Unable to defeat her in battle, a one-sided rivalry, caused for a psychological dwarfing of his own prowess. He had deemed her the alpha that he is to both defeat and protect; being as no other deserves the head of this woman more than he.
To have her beneath his feet, he would like nothing more in the world. . though he would not go to any means to get such an event being as his current achievements were of his own power. To continue to grow, there would be a time where his power would surmount even hers; but his methods of gaining such power are frowned upon--- such only causes for Raasheph to hate the woman who he cannot surpass even more than he does. Though he wishes to push past her, she is too powerful for him to do so; which brings forth sharp teeth sinking into his lips to further display his frustration.

Respect, admiration, contempt, spite . . feelings produced from the actions of his superior. He displays these feelings with his impossibly-honest demeanor during most occasions--- being as the notions of superiority follow only in that of strength greater than his own. Until the moment where fangs sink into the flesh of the woman whom he loathes, by his own jaw, he could only sit back and accept whatever commands were given; as rebellion was something that was done with the body and not the mind.


If seen from another view, the entity that was Raasheph could only be surmised as the epitome of pity, being as his temperament was not one taken kindly to others; therefore considering him somewhat of an outcast amongst those of his own kind. Raasheph could not bring himself to form bonds strong enough to place trust in others, as it was much easier to simply kill those with the power to protect so as to take it into one’s self and gradually undergo a growth which was stronger than the two combined.
His only true desire lie in battle, and as his only true battle-partner was one whom he could not beat, along with that individual never seeming to give him the time of day. . these feelings often developed into contempt for most everyone.  

Fighting Style

Combat Style Overview
//Megalodon | Gran Blanco//:

Innate Ability:
Shredding // Trituración
The gyration of the saw-like wheels reach levels to where they appear white; when under normal circumstances, they are as black as polished ebony. Picking up air, the revolutions of the bladed-wheels bring forth a swing composed of numerous lacerations; as the blade is moving so fast that it would seem as if one was stricken multiple times all at once. Focused upon one point, that area is shredded down, shaved inwards due to the consecutive assaults upon its surface.

If placed within a manner of mid-range, his kicks, though not connecting with the opponent, bring forth the air trapped within the spin of the wheels; placing forth an airborne shred towards the trajectory of the kick. Though not harness so as to hold form, like one would do when projecting a wave of condensed air which can cut like a blade, it mimics the motions of an out-of-control chainsaw; simply ripping through the air in an uncoordinated zigzag.

  • Level (3) [Secuelas Lv2] [Gemelos Sonido Lv2]
  • Level (2)
  • Level (3)
    Cero / Bala
  • Level (0)
  • Level (3)

3600/3600 points spent | 0 remaining

Once Upon A Time

His life before returning to the sands was one that resulted in traversing the sands; bare feet trudging across a drought that was felt in both body and mind. The soul was something he felt thrice removed a long time ago, being as those who had souls were ones deemed on a higher echelon. . it was those without them that had been given the choice of death or work before death. A swift finish or a gradual erosion of the body until there was no longer a use for such a husk.
His choice was one that left him, and others, without a tongue to call their own.

Unable to speak a language; you were more of an inanimate being than that of the stones which were moved daily. If you could not speak, you could not converse. If you were unable to converse, then you were unable to give an opinion. Without an opinion, you were not an individual. . If you were not an individual--- then what were you? A mass of living things, living for one goal and breathing for one purpose. .
His life was of mass of orders delivered to those without care.

Until the day that he attempted rebellion, the burden of life was as heavy as the cuffs which cut into his flesh day in and day out. It no longer pained him as both had left his body in a numb; so when the time was near--- he felt nothing in return. Even with his figure bound tightly to the stone which face upwards at the sun . . even as his body roasted under the heat of divine light above, his lips simply curved upwards in a smile that was larger than life. A grin unlike that of a human, one that came from a man without a soul, without a life, without opinion, without individuality . . a smile without humanity.
Of the few words that he recalled before his current predicament, his brain only retained the knowledge so as to give him a taste of what the human tongue was like.

Atop that plateau of scorching earth, the man without name simply cursed to his hearts delight.
Then there was a loss of sight, of sound, of taste, of smell . .
And as his sense of touch had been lost long before, his form was one that had died with a smile on its face.

The man passed on so as to look upon his former self and burst into laughter. . so he had a soul, then.
How hilarious!


His life as a soul did not last for very long, for the eyes of the starved did not dwindle too long on such a meal.
In all the entirety that was to be considered his life, the male had not once experienced what was to be called fear. Even as others died around him, even as they were maimed, murdered, or mistreated, not once had such a sensation come across him so as to tell him that his life was in danger. Within such a position, one had no need for instinct if all they had to do was simply follow instructions; and as he never truly felt alive before now, he had never felt something close to the endangerment of his life.

Running with such vigor, attempting to escape the beings which pursued him with a killing intent that could be felt, this had been the first time that he had ever felt truly alive; so respectively, this had been the first time that he had felt the fear of death. The sensation that equating to a desire to live. .

He had not been given that chance and once again--- his form had been consumed.
Once by light, second by darkness.

The screams and wails of madness consumed him and his feeble, outstretched hand. .

When he awoke a new being, he recalled nothing of what transpired before save for sensations--- sensations which mixed with desires of things he did not wish for.
One was death, another was fear, and the third was weakness. . to be unable to do anything was what would bring forth the fear that would lead to his death. As this creature, he did what was only natural; and as his instinct flared around him so as to burn away all doubts, his third life began with the feasting of any and all things around him. .
He would tear them apart, shred them into pieces, and devour what was left.


His growth was fast. .

In time, he had become a creature that was not known by name, but by the atmosphere he gave off to others. They would avoid him, attempting to run in hopes of evading the inevitable fate. Even those that considered gargantuan were dwarfed under the power and speed he placed forth so as to tear them apart. Bit by bit, he would cause those colossal monstrosities to bare their necks for his fangs to sink into. . and as he did so continuously; he eventually became one himself.
. . .

This time was considered the hardest, as there was one thing that he considered himself incapable of using. A technique which allowed for one to simply rid themselves of hindrances from any and all distances . . he would not use it. He would not say that it was something capable of being done.
The hollow would restrict his own capabilities so as to simply engage others such as himself in close combat and as he attempted to commit himself to his regular routine once more, time passed much faster as his hunts became slower and much more difficult. Time had not simply passed by, it was more like he had been knocked unconscious as it ran laps around him.
When the time had come and his evolution came forth, those feelings of fear that he brought onto others had become something of a tall tale.

J a w s:

The sensations he induced were something of a talent that he had to regain.
Now, he pushed through the land as if it were air--- turning earth into liquids as he tore through everything that was in his way. .


He loathed the woman. He loathed even the thought of her.
Acknowledging her was something that he could not do, but was something that he had to do--- for it was this woman that he thought of which brought such feelings to him; feelings that he had never felt before and wanted to get rid of . . but couldn’t. So long as this woman existed, the sensations which irradiated from his body would as well--- and with that being said, he chose to challenge her again. . and again.
And once more--- and so on and so forth.

She had stolen what was his--- what he had preyed upon before the final blow could be dealt so as to allow the consumption and instant-gratification. He had hunted one that was to be his feast and another had taken it away from him.
That ‘other’ had not even chosen to eat what was stolen and had instead allowed it salvation while preventing him from acquiring such a wasted meal.

During his initial attempt to regain what was his, the woman had commenced strife to the point where he could no longer continue; and instead of granting him the swift and noble death so as to be devoured like that of the natural order, she had spared his life as well. . she walked away while allowing him the sight of her unscathed back. He did nothing to injure the woman; which irked him to the point of madness. Even if unintentional, to step upon his pride so heavily. .
He had to have her neck. He desired her neck. He yearned for it--- begged for it, pleaded. . in the terms of war.

The battles which proceeded the initial were ones that only brought further growth to the male, to get accustom to the woman and predict what she would do next. To learn everything about the woman so as to end a fight with as much simplicity as it took to blink. A body which grew faster, more responsive to one person only. . he would move in to strike when the opportunity was as ripe and flavorful as could be.

And so the battles were endless until there was an instance where his injured figure lie on the ground with her only walking away--- a back which faced him once more to show the lack of wounds.

In his body, in his mind . . in his spirit--- he cursed the woman for bringing him such pain and torment. From a creature which had never spoke a word before then, his jaw placed motions so as to only bring forth the results of slander, blasphemy and damnation.
Within the deepest well that was his psyche, it would only begin to fill with the brimming hatred that was his state of mind. Mixed feelings placed within a cauldron that only grew hotter as the ingredients merged to create a flavor unknown by man. . to strain such a soup stock.
The taste was said to steal souls. .

. . .

His progression had ended at what was considered the highest echelon of power; having obtained a form similar to the woman he loathed so dearly. With this, his eyes gleamed with a flame that was unquenchable by even the most splendiferous of seas.  To be a man stuck within the hurricane that was the wrath of the sea-god himself, one could only pray for some sort of miracle to occur; coupled with the safe travels which would accompany their desire to remove all sensations of fear.

Fear was synonymous to the desire of surpassing what was considered undesirable; meaning that when one feared the loss of their own life, self-preservation became a desire that was not to be quenched by human hands alone.

. . .

And then there was something which was not human, nor did it see a reason for using its hands. Easily quenched, the lives of those who were caught astray within the land that was to be considered his ocean. Never was there a storm that could be seen, though one could feel as if doom was only but a batting-eyelash away. . and with this, they feared what would become of them.
Fear was synonymous to the desire of surpassing that fear--- but if one feared their own demise, how long would they stay vigilant?


His need for growth had stopped, placing him into a frenzy which only allotted for his shock towards a lack-of-growth. Surely, if he continued as he had done so before, he would attain a strength powerful enough to exceed even that of the woman. His activities soon brought the attention of that woman . . and they began a battle which ended no different as it had before. . or it appeared so for the moments that were transgressing the sands.

Then . . there was an expulsion of blood that brought forth nothing more than a shark-toothed grin.
A mass of teeth which spread from one ear to another. .

. . .

//Why is it that you never seem to learn?

No—that was an incorrect statement. It was not as if he had never learned anything, nor was it that he refused to recollect what was learned, but rather that he did not learn what he wished not to learn . . or more on a sense that he had not learned what was considered vital to the person with inquiry.

Through every trail, he rose as a failure on the track of the victor who had simply passed by. His fingers stretched out to grasp on the dust that was left for his own consumption, kicked into the air so as to drift for the purpose of draping his form and drying his eyes. Never had he tasted what it was like to reach this individual. . nor had any chances of pursuit appeared. Road-kill placed onto racing track was simply run over many times in succession during the overlaps which took place both around and atop their bodies.  With that in mind, how would it a cadaver ever hope to catch up in such a scenario--- let alone surpass what so far above it?

Miracles did not exist, hope was only an illusion, and the best answer was to give up.
A lesson given---

A lesson which was not learned. .

He would not be taught something that had not a single path to success, as what was the point in learning something that lead nowhere--- to be given teachings which developed not a single result? An instructor of such caliber passed out a study guide which held notes of despondence, able to be passed on to the surrounding students and classes so as they all had a stunt in growth. A sudden and complete halt; a lesson that gave limitation to what others called ‘the earth’.
The sky was no longer the limit, as earth had been given a ceiling.

His concentration had been placed on other things, a growth on levels which exceeded the meaning of //to transcend// as one did not simply rise in the echelon with leaps and bounds. One took grasp of the thin wall above with fingers of barb-like quality so as to never loose what was forced into the palm during such an outstretch of the hand. From one palm rose two of bountiful expanse--- then there was not a lifting of the body. . His arms had not flexed so as to rely on absurd amounts of upper body strength during escalation. Respectively, there was not a need for leg movements, such as jumping. . there was not a kick placed against the surface below him for assistance in terms of propulsion.

No--- His countenance did not allow for such things.
What he had learned was not something which compensated for a lack-off.

In forms of strain along the veins which expanded, as if giving space to the muscles that threatened to tear through his skin, there was an influx of knowledge that brought only a smile.
Learning from mistakes, learning from accomplishments, learning from goals, learning from failures, learning from others, learning from their flesh, learning from their power, learning from their souls--- their effort, their resolve. . and their worth. Simply being taught in terms of taste, a life was given meaning for the few seconds that his pallet beamed from the flavor.
Steadily, it cracked from pressure; then it all together crumbled as he simply watched himself construct another echelon.

. . .

From where blood was drawn, a face was painted white in surprise. Sketched into his mind, the perfect plan of execution.
Etched into his soul, the moment where his canvas bloomed.  .


From the time he spent in thought with mostly seconds spent in rage, frustration and other notions which were negative in nature, he had only spent these minutes turning hours into days; then the weeks turned to months as he feasted on the weak.
His aggression towards the living, inanimate and delusional brought forth a change which caused a pair of lips to spread in joy.
Then his story moved to chapters where he chose to draw the blade towards the shield made of edges which were sharp enough to cut.

. . .

It began with strife so as to end with satisfaction, his gratification were the levels he’d not reach.  For the first time of many battles, he felt truly alive and at peace with himself. . then there was a fist which placed his face deep into the sands of time. Then another and another, until finally it stopped and the silence spread around the land like ambiance. A phosphorescent hue marked the life twice lived to see another day.

He would kill this woman, yes--- but she’d never show her guard; for if she did it, then he’d learn until the coals had gown inflamed. Set ablaze, he would move in on a rage that would split her into portions for the skewer which would roast her like a sinner. A salem witch on trial of guilty accusations that could not be dropped, only stopped with her execution. . only then, would the most pure of sensations cause irradiation onto the reality of life.

. . .

She had forced him into a position without a refusal, nor rebuttal--- nor could he even attempt to make a word.
So he closed his lips, shut his mouth. . waited. His eyes shown with a light prone to shred through all the shrouds that adorn all her figures. . . he would cleans the darkness quickly.

Forced to live a life bestowed, he would simply do as he had been told. .
For one day, with her guard exposed and nothing to hold for a grip into life--- he would steal it with a grin shining bright.

Last edited by Raasheph Mantramana on Wed Aug 28, 2013 8:17 pm; edited 3 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana   Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Icon_minitimeTue Aug 27, 2013 7:08 pm

Come now, an awefully short History for an Elite yes? Please give it some more meat and content
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Raasheph Mantramana

Raasheph Mantramana

Posts : 2
Soul Currency : 0
Join date : 2013-08-27
Age : 24
Location : The-Technicolor-Pyramids.

Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Empty
PostSubject: Re: Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana   Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Icon_minitimeWed Aug 28, 2013 7:30 pm

How is this?
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PostSubject: Re: Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana   Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Icon_minitimeSat Aug 31, 2013 6:33 am

Specify an actual height please.

Quote :
Innate Ability:
Shredding // Trituración
The gyration of the saw-like wheels reach levels to where they appear white; when under normal circumstances, they are as black as polished ebony. Picking up air, the revolutions of the bladed-wheels bring forth a swing composed of numerous lacerations; as the blade is moving so fast that it would seem as if one was stricken multiple times all at once. Focused upon one point, that area is shredded down, shaved inwards due to the consecutive assaults upon its surface.

If placed within a manner of mid-range, his kicks, though not connecting with the opponent, bring forth the air trapped within the spin of the wheels; placing forth an airborne shred towards the trajectory of the kick. Though not harness so as to hold form, like one would do when projecting a wave of condensed air which can cut like a blade, it mimics the motions of an out-of-control chainsaw; simply ripping through the air in an uncoordinated zigzag.
Details, details. What level can it cut into, all that.

Um, interesting history. Everything else is fine.
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PostSubject: Re: Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana   Shark-Week//Raasheph Mantramana Icon_minitime

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