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Name of Questor: Malhyanth
Name of Dream Shinigami: Tawali Tsvgilisi
Why are you questing for this shinigami: He is my dream Shinigami and I was planning on him being the first one I got due to him being an awesome character! He would bring just that little bit more brightness to the RP, a down right fun loving guy, even though his past is a harsh and shocking reality that is carried out pretty much everyday.

They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you die. For those that manage to survive those crucial moments, brought back to the world of the living, they often say it isn’t true. Maybe it is due to the fact the Gods knew it wasn’t their time and allowed them to be free of those images, be free to get on with life once they were recovered. For me though… for me I saw everything... All of the badness, all of goodness, all of those little moments you forget with time. Sure, most of it was good; I won’t deny I was a goody-to-shoes when I was human, when I was alive, truly alive, but there are moments in everybody’s lives when they wish they could reverse time and rethink their actions... Of course, I can’t do that, even with my second chance in life... This is my story, my tale of human nature, human actions, and, probably the most important thing, the story of my death.

My name is Tawali Tsvgilisi, born and bred in a small town in the north of America. It was a quiet, family oriented town, where everyone knew their neighbours, all had a close relationship with each other, and there weren’t any fights or big disagreements. Sure there were some, but nothing overambitious in nature. My family consisted of three people, my mother, my father and myself. I was the only child my parents would ever be able to conceive, and so, they did everything in their power to give me the best possible chance in life. They saved up money from before I was even born to send me to college and university. They enrolled me in the best possible schools in the area, and they helped me aim high. I loved them for that, more then they could ever believe. They were always worried about me though. I was a small child, thin and pale, and that’s kind of been carried though with me pretty much all my life. Even now I’m relatively short, around 5’11, being thin built and pale skinned, even though my family lived in possibly one of the most sun beaten areas of the whole of America. My face, like my mother’s, hails more from my ancestry, the ancestry of Native Americans. My father came from Central America, and with him came my pale skin and boisterous behaviour when I was a child, my name sake ‘Tawali’ hailing from the Cherokee for ‘Punk’. It always amused me, as I wasn’t naughty as a boy, but I was pretty cheeky, and gave my parents quite a run for their money! I did behave when it came to classes, and my grades were high for someone from my town, many of the children more concerned with playing and lounging around then with studying.

We moved to a new city when I went to college, where my lessons took precedent over all else really. I studied hard, worked hard, relaxed a little with the few friends I had. I enjoyed the time I had there, and my parents did too I think. They made friends with the parents of a few of my friends, but they missed the socialness of our hometown, as did I at times. I witnessed bullying, teasing, dislike. Life was so much different there to my own little hometown, I was often the victim of the bullying. I never retaliated, I never even dreamt of it. I wouldn’t have known how to even if I did want to, so I kept to myself. Most of the time my bullies were annoyed because I did well in the tests and seemed to know all the answers they didn’t. Sure, it was odd to me that this was the only apparent reason for my bullies to enjoy their intimidation, but I soon started to learn that I was, in fact, more popular then I realised. I knew I wasn’t overly bad looking, in fact, my mother was avid that I was the most handsome boy there was, though I had always taken the compliments as a mother’s love, not at any more face value then that. My eyes were a deep blue green ocean, my hair, a carmine red mass, tamed into some semblance of a plait. I hated having it cut; I had grown rather attached to its long length. The fine red strands reached to just below the small of my back, and I plaited it to keep it under control. There was one, smaller braid that I made in front of my ear. In that braid, there was a collection of three feathers from a very brightly coloured bird that had flown around my hometown. The feathers started white at the base, then graduated to a bright green, then to a deep blue. They complimented my eyes quite nicely, so my mother taught me how to weave them into my hair. It seemed that people were either fascinated or really bothered by me. I didn’t care, wearing what I liked, namely my baggy blue jeans, checkered shirt and tan leather trench coat. Occasionally I wore my black fedora, though only when it was cool, and I matched the rest of my outfit to black and white as a result. I wore a small gold chain around my neck, with a small dream-catcher like pendant to it, made of gold and silver and three sapphire teardrops; it had been a gift from my grandmother. I also wore woven material bracelets that my mother made and sold. They were exceptional, and my own three were all blue, tan brown and red in colour, all with a different pattern on it. They all had meanings, ‘Ganodu’ meaning ‘Life’, ‘Kanati’ meaning ‘Hunter’ and ‘Inagehi’ meaning ‘Wild’. They meant the world to me, and I wore them all the time.

But life couldn’t remain as peaceful as I wanted it to. I’ll remember that day like it was just this morning. It is stuck in my memory, even here, in death’s grip. I had been walking home from a social with some friends, and I took a few wrong turns, winding up in some black place, where even I could feel the rotting hate for the world in general. There were people living on the streets here, the back allies, the ‘downtown’. I could feel the stalkers even before I saw them. They followed my wandering search for some sort of exit from the area I found myself in, until they finally attacked me, dragging me into a dark, cold alleyway. They all had hoods covering their faces, a black hole where evil laughter rang out. I was pinned to the wall by one of them, another searching my pockets and my bag, throwing books and notes around before finding my wallet and flat keys. They sneered, jeering me and laughing. I tried to take the items back, but got a couple of punches for my trouble. I begged them to return the items, but all I got in return was more beatings. A kick to my face made me scream in pain, and this seemed to egg them on, more kicks, punches, more pain. I could hardly breathe for cracked ribs and bruised lungs. One of them drew a knife, the shiny metallic surface of the blade mesmerizing me in its glinting sharpness. I knew then I wasn’t going to be leaving that alley. I groaned eyes wide, as the guy heaved me into a seated position, flicking the blade back and forth in front of my face. He smirked, a slither of light illuminating his lower face. I tried to writhe out of his grip, making him slam me back into the brick of the wall behind me, and he raised the blade, dipping the tip above my left eye. I gasped sharply, about to shout for help when another of the guys slapped his grimy hand over my mouth as his friend drew the blade down teasingly, leaving a searing pain over my face, the blade damaging skin and slicing my eye in a carefully plotted course. I screamed into the hand as my world turned dark. I heard a low chuckle. The deep plunge of pain that gripped my stomach in its cold, icy hand, claws stripping me of my decency as I screamed at him, cursed him, vowed revenge. The blade continued its cursed path from my stomach to my chest and stopped as a final, full weighted plunge of the blade. The hooded man took the blade from my body and ran his tongue along its silver length. A sneer. Words I shall never forget...

“Sweet. Shame we have to leave you like this. See you round pretty boy.”

I choked again, my retort lost in the blood. I managed to turn my head as they left, watching them. Tears sprang to my eyes. That was it then? That was it? No remorse, no secret confession? Just a joke? Tears ran down my cheeks, blood pumped from my wounds. I raised my hand from the ground, looking at the dark liquid that was pumping from me. My life force... My blood...

They say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you die. I tend to disagree. It doesn’t flash before you eyes when you die, it flashes before you when you are given your second chance, plagues you, making you act in ways that before, you never would have imagined. My name is Tawali Tsvgilisi. I was 23 years of age. I am Shinigami.