In battle, the four star Laurelle becomes something else entirely. Graceful movements, sharp claws, stinging whip... all covered in a slick layer of red. Losing control in battle has become what he is known for, the flower and blood berserker. He is a sight to behold upon his return to the city, oft trailing deep crimson blood through the streets. To see him on the streets of Artemisia in the early morning, barefoot and smiling, however, is a sharp juxtaposition. The lazy, genuine little smile is not the smile of a blood thirsty Laurelle. To see him there, out of battle, one might underestimate the man - but it is best not to do so.

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How long ago was it that he was born? The exact time escapes him, now. It has been too long. Nonetheless, Mikhail Pevunya was born to two artisan parents in Guildon, though they would not stay there for overly long. Misha was not very old when he won his first victory, a bloody and brutal battle of self defense that sparked his primary summon, a pair of bone claws that fit like a glove, made specifically for him. In order to avoid a scandal, the Pevunya family packed up and left. It was not an easy thing to do. Irina's flower shop had begun to gain traction, her artisan magic resulting in the most beautiful blooms that side of Isle Nike. Still, Misha was their only son. To ensure his happiness, they started their lives as traveling artisans.

The years blend together in his memory. So many years, now, it had been. So very many.

The victories came at a faster rate. Working as something of a mercenary, helping those in need, provided them easily enough. And yet... though Misha worked to protect those around him, often times he was reviled upon his successful return from battle. The bone claws and their vicious fighting style left him covered in scarlet, leaving a trail of bloody footprints from his battle. Frightened thank yous, hurried payments. And Misha, left alone, would return to the woods from whence he came.

Misha's life was a lonely one on his travels. He would move from place to place, lingering in the wilderness amongst bountiful blossoms and tall trees. And yet... there was an easy smile for those he came across in his travels, a listening ear for their worries and troubles. He'd have shared the last of his rations with anyone hungry enough to ask.

He came across Taras in Artemisia. By then he was a victorious four star, his services in high demand. The move to Artemisia had been necessary, but not desirable. His love for the wild places of Isle Nike had never diminished, and each morning as he set barefeet to rough pavement he missed those places more. And yet... it was that practical move that led him to Taras.

He played his lute softly in the square, illuminated by the pale light of the early morning. The rising sun cast rays about him that reminded Misha of an ethereal halo, and he was drawn in within a moment. He could feel his heart in his throat, a nervousness he hadn't felt since he had been a younger, much lower ranked Laurelle. It was the beginning of a whirlwind of happiness that would sweep Misha up, completely consume him.

Life with Taras was perfect. Misha couldn't have asked for anything more. He was in love with the man, and he knew it very early on. When he played his lute, he may as well have been playing the combatant's very heart strings. They were happy. Truly, genuinely happy. Taras made his blood rages barable. Gave him a purpose. If he could make it through the day and return to the love of his life, then... maybe everything would be okay. They would spend lazy mornings in the courtyard gardens, Taras with his head in Misha's lap while he read outloud from some obscure novel. It was those moments, the sofetest moments, that would stay with Misha. He would come to learn much and more of the love of his life - his early days in Nova Ethis, the way Aurelius Avenoir had convinced him to venture out and experience the world with tales of his own travels, how he had searched across Isle Nike for beauty to inspire his songs.

The happiness was not destined to last.

What Misha remembers to most is the blood. He had become so used to blood sprayed and splattered across his body, so used to trailing blood along the floors of their home as he returned from battle. And yet the heat of his lover's blood on his hands as he worked to apply pressure, to stem the flow... it was something else entirely. Misha would never know if it was the bleeding or the corruption of the void that had killed his dear, sweet Taras. In reality, it didn't matter. In those last few moments, Misha could not even consider revenge on the empty looking four star. He could only clutch at his dying lover, unable to hold back the tears that spilled over his cheeks, holding his hand tightly in his own, slick with his warm blood.

He tried everything to relieve the pain. Giving into his bloodrage and fighting. Drinking. Anything. And then... he remembered. The witch of the woods. They said she had the remedies for anything and everything concerning the ailments of the heart. Though she resisted, though she begged him not to, she sold him the herbs. And she would sell them to him again and again. When brewed into a tea or chewed on, they would dull the pain. The feelings. They would dull everything else, too, but so long as he could not feel his heartache, his grief...

Now Misha is but a shell of his former self, though it may not seem so upon the surface. The grief lies beneath everything, unaddressed, but the pain remains dulled by the herbs every present in his system. He does anything to distract from the gried, including battling and sleeping around - though he will only ever sleep with a Laurelle once, to prevent from attachments, or so he'll say(in reality, he has yet to let go of the dead man he still loves). He continues to fight, to protect Artemisia and those around him, but if one were to pay close attention to him in battle, it is clear there is something else there, just beneath the surface.

summon

The brutal bone claws are Misha's primary summon, meaning his main form of combat is a close one. The sharp claws rip and tear while his blossoming whip, summoned with plant magic, is used to pull enemies in close. The summons, paired with a plant magic, make Misha a daunting opponent in any fight. This is only made more so by his choice of fighting style - though Misha would argue there was very little choice with such claws as his first summon. In battle, Misha is prone to losing control, to fighting in a pure berserker mode. There is little thought to his fierce and brutal fighting style, ripping and tearing whatever comes close, and pulling in those who think they might have a chance at fleeing. More often than not he emerges bathed in the blood of his enemies, though it is not something Misha takes overly much pride in.

If one pays close attention to the four star Laurelle after battle, they may just notice an aura that doesn't entirely fit with the wild fighting style. Losing himself to the bloodrage is effective, yes, but losing control in such a manner does not sit well with him, even at his rank. It is... a necessary evil.