Quotation1 Pathetic prodigy and a bastard, thank God I'm handsome. Quotation2
Roran Robber

Roran Robber is a 2014-introduced and all-around character. He is the eldest son of The Master Thief, the main protagonist in the classic tale with the same name. In the destiny conflict Roran openly sides with the rebels, as he has no desire of following his uncle's footsteps as the sibling of the main character. Soft-spoken but sharp and enigmatic - Roran can be characterized as a closeted prodigy who seeks comfort in goodness.


Roran is a kind, intelligent, and impartial individual. The ultimate devil's advocate who enjoys intellectual and knowledge-gain persuits, prizing independence and voice. however, can be very argumentative, insensitive, easily distracted and stubborn. He has an developed mind that processes by intertwining kindness and monstrosity, giving him the ability to empathize with the people he pursues, even if he is often disturbed, even disgusted, by this ability — this further reaches out to how he suffers from overwhelming visions and nightmares, which is why he suffers from chronic insomnia.

He is a perfectionist, really-really kind of inhuman — very brilliant, very erratic and enigmatic. He’s truly a cold, sharp one, ascetic and enthroned prince, and he’s made himself what he is, by sheer strength of will. His aspiration is to be this creature of pure kindness and that’s why he’s attracted to his dreams and visions , and particularly to the way he views himself — the opposite of what he was supposed to be once. He does not particularly like to admit it, but the idea of losing control is one that fascinates controlled people such as himself more than anything. It is not that he is not fascinated by what he chooses to be, no, his desire to give in is purely a product of the unavoidable frustration that comes with existing the way he does; methodically ruining yourself to fix others. He sports a certain coolness, a cruel, mannered charm which was is modern in the least but has a strange cold glimpse of the ancient world : he is magnificent creature, such eyes, such hands, such looks; The epitome of raw intelligence and greed for knowledge, greed for kindness, greed for love. He owns a wonderful mind, his obsessions and ethics are wonderfully detailed study in survival, each chapter a part of his being. The most important thing to Roran though, had always been control over himself, the ability to be his restrain from any kind of villainy. This is the crucial thing. This is what it is to be him.

Destiny is too inconsequential for him to allocate any emotional energy towards hating it, but he definitely does not subscribe to it as a legitimate term because it's as baseless as the concept of fate and luck, in which he does not believe in. The universe is upsetting to him, the vastness of it, it's infinite nature is too much for him to fundamentally understand, and a lack of understanding will always make him feel uncomfortable. So, naturally destiny is a sort of intangible concept that nudges the realm of abstraction, that of which unravels him and makes him wary. Upon realizing that he would never be fully comfortable in the hands of the universe, as the universe unexpectedly not on his side, Roran openly sided with the rebels, hoping to pursue a career as an academic, of some sort.

And while he'd probably defend his abhorrence toward destiny with the crude remark that he's too intelligent to believe he was scheduled to do something he was clearly not created for since birth, it can all realistically be concluded that he's too frightened to relinquish the control of his life to a storybook. To him fairytales are so circular, so pointless; they lived the same slow cycles of joy and misery over and over, never learning. never benefiting from it. Every lesson in the universe had to be taught billions of times, and it never stuck.

Roran has practised at many things, Roran is good at many things, but there is something he cannot quite perfect; the intimidating urge to seek, to feel everything, to sense the world; his obsession to relive, to memorize history. He is not only good at it, but he longs for it, wants it, loves it in a way that nearly overwhelms him with gratitude. He's whole life is a form of anagapesis, the slow, burning process of falling in and out of love. It does not matter if it is an ideal of an actual person, when Roran loves, his entire existence is primarily focused on it. His sister and him had fought about it, once – he had said, with disgust, Stop saying privilege. Love isn’t privilege. Because Roran had always had love, had always been capable of love. Need is Roran's baseline, his resting pulse. Loving makes him stable and sure, and capable to continue, and it's perhaps the motive to his constant battle to make everyone around himself feel loved, and needed.

His mind is a extraordinarily odd puzzle of constantly merging constellations — He is himself; skipper of classes, man and boy, genius and mess. His overwhelmingly complex concept of life mixed with the lack of proper nurturing are what perhaps led him to drinking those unhealthy amounts of alcohol. Naturally, he is completely aware he is doing nothing but damage to his body and soul but being a self-destructive junkie he uses it as an excuse to merely keep existing with the constant war in his head.

It is very difficult for Roran to fall asleep at night due to his chronic insomnia, though it does not bother him at all. At night he comes alive; he'll lay down and read, drink, stare at the ceiling, stare at the wall and essentially dissociate for an extended period of time where he tries not to think about anything in particular and time fluids very oddly around him. Sometimes he'll get up and drive, falsely hoping to fall asleep. This is his favorite time watch people. There's nothing more interesting about someone wandering around at unholy hours of the night, because there's a high possibility they understand him. His mind abstractly constructs stories about people he's never met. He tries to remain inconspicuous at this time of night because any short of disturbance would disturb the quiet illusions his mind uses as a way to calm him down.  

The concept that sort of safety is very fragile to him as he’s never actually had something to call his own for an extended portion of his life, let alone had allowed it to offer him any kind of safety. Things are usually temporary , excuses to exist without actually living, and he has trained himself to believe that the most comfortable 'blanket' or object in his life that can provide him with safety his really the knowledge that he's looking for something. He feels safest being himself because he knows he has the capability to protect himself, to seek something, to act with intelligence. His obsession with ancient literature and language, and long dead kings and lords isn't coincidental, not at all. It's their cold, sharp ideas of perfection, the one's he aspires to meet, that make him so sure of himself. 


Angular and elegant, he is thin and tall, with toned arms and broad shoulders, nervous hands and a angelic, sharp face and a short, raven mop of the blackest hair you've ever seen. He looks he's been cut from marble, his face an overwhelmingly perfect study of angles; his over lifted cheekbones framing his face, a little hollow on the cheeks. When Light, reflects off onto Roran's chin and cheeks, it renders him otherworldly handsome and terrifying, a spitting image of his dead mother. His eyes are unnaturally blue - the color of the sea in the middle of a storm, almond shaped; rounder on the inside and sharper as they widen.

He has a small, straight nose, notably thinner in its upward section, curving slightly at it goes downwards. Upon it rests a sea of light freckles, almost transparent against his pale complexion. His freckles are the only thing he has inherited from his father, the only thing he shares with his sister. He is often disturbed by them, intimidated by the only thing that reminds him who he is supposed to be; a criminal, a lost role.

Roran has thick messy black eyebrows that arch dangerously, framing his face, ridiculously perfect teeth, thanks to a total of three years of braces and a small hint of magic and weirdly enough, his mother's plump lips; rough and usually bitten, on a he edge of bleeding. He usually wears a pair of glasses; big, old fashioned, with round steel rims, shattered and put together again, commonly covered with tape. He walks stiffly through the throngs of hippies an young fairytales and preppies and punks with the self-conscious formality of a very old king, surprising in one so large as he.

He's wardrobe is very limited but wonderful at the same time; beautiful white shirts with French cuffs; magnificent neckties; a wide collection of wool sweaters that stick to his skin; the eternal dark brown greatcoat that billows behind him as he walks and makes him look like a cross between a student prince and Jack the Ripper.

Relationships Edit


Unlike his sister, Roran spent his childhood years in his father's household in Russia. Born into wealthy family whose wealth was amassed by less than legal means, Roran's untamable soft heart and kind nature were spotted from a very early age and blamed on the fact that he had received the primal love and affection that all children are supposed to receive, earning a cruel disposition by his father and the responsibly for Sylvi's existence. Roran grew up in a setting where crime was normalized, so immersed in organized crime, Roran was groomed to take part in the crime system once he was of age, a concept that was abandoned when he started becoming extremely violent towards the members of his own family when it was mentioned.

Upon Sylvi's arrival, Roran started re-valuations the concept of family love. Servants called them little ghosts, because they were the smallest and the youngest, and because they haunted the chateau like mischievous spirits, darting in and out of rooms, hiding in cupboards to eavesdrop, sneaking into chambers to steal jewels and books. Their laughs echoed everywhere almost like a distant memory. The siblings had arrived within a year and a half from one another. Roran was short and skinny, wearing a smile to shame the sun. Sylvi was the one, and she knew it. It was because of the way the looked at her, like she was a saint, a savior, like they wanted to eat her alive. It was terrifying and comforting all at once. They looked like day and night; a copy of their mother, a copy of their father. Sylvi loved him and he loved her, and that was it.

When she was taken away, it was the first time he experienced unnaturally dark thoughts, genius plans and concepts that were terrifying to think of. He remembers it very vividly, the image planted in his brain does not seem to fade of; His hatred towards the ones who raided him, rose, and rose and so he did. Left alone and undeniably damaged Roran focused on his education and developed a burning passion for history, especially Latin and Ancient Greek ideas and profanities and dead languages. A linguistic prodigy, Roran was taken advantage of; his highly intelligent, both practical and street-wise wasted on brutal crime plans and researches. Roran left the chateau upon the death of his mother, and was sent away to live with his thief tutor for a year before attending Ever After High.




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  • Might Be A Sinner, Might be A Saint: Roran's way of thinking and actions are often difficult to characterize as either good or bad, which naturally causes a general confusion when it comes to his actual intentions.
  • Deadpan Snarker: Practically every other line out of his mouth.
  •  Non-Answer: Notorious for this; "Do you ever answer a question directly?" "Hard to say. Ah, there, I've done it again.". 
  • Loveable Rogue: At times, you really want to hate him with a burning passion but you can't, because he is a ray of sunshine deep inside. 
  • Cinnamon Roll: When he wants to he can be the sweetest, purest person in the entire universe. 
  • But He Sounds Handsome: When someone mentions that Roran isn't bad looking, he's compelled to put in that he's 'damnably handsome', mainly to annoy him. 
  • Black Sheep: Compared to the rest of the living Robber family, it's hard to see the resemblance. 
  • Problematic Genius: "I have a bit of a drinking problem."  
  • The Magnificent Bastard: Pretty self explanatory.
  • Sibling Ying-Yang: He is his sister's nemesis; the emotion to her apathy, the softness to her harshness.  
  • Born In The Wrong Century: Explained through his obsession with the harsh, Ancient Greek ideals. 

Parent's Story: The Master Thief Edit

A poor cottager had nothing to give his three sons, so he walked with them to a crossroad, where each son took a different road. The youngest went into a great woods, and a storm struck, so he sought shelter in a house. The old woman there warned him that it is a den of robbers, but he stayed, and when the robbers arrived, he persuaded them to take him on as a servant.

They set him to prove himself by stealing an ox that a man brought to market to sell. He took a shoe with a silver buckle and left it in the road. The man saw it and thought it would be good if only he had the other, and went on. The son took the shoe and ran through the countryside, to leave it in the road again. The man left his ox and went back to find the other, and the son drove the ox off.

The man went back to get the second ox to sell it, and the robbers told the son that if he stole that one as well, they would take him into the band. The son hanged himself up along the way, and when the man passed, ran on and hanged himself again, and then a third time, until the man was half-convinced that it was witchcraft and went back to see if the first two bodies were still hanging, and the son drove off his ox.

The man went for his third and last ox, and the robbers said that they would make him the band's leader if he stole it. The son made a sound like an ox bellowing in the woods, and the man, thinking it was his stolen oxen, ran off, leaving the third behind, and the son stole that one as well.

The robbers were not pleased with his leading the band, and so they all left him. The son drove the oxen out, so they returned to their owner, took all the treasure in the house, and returned to his father.

He decided to marry the daughter of a local squire and sent his father to ask for her hand, telling him to tell the squire that he was a Master Thief. The squire agreed, if the son could steal the roast from the spit on Sunday. The son caught three hares and released them near the squire's kitchen, and the people there, thinking it was one hare, went out to catch it, and the son got in and stole the roast.

The priest made fun of him, and when the Master Thief came to claim his reward, the squire asked him to prove his skill further, by playing some trick on the priest. The Master Thief dressed up as an angel and convinced the priest that he was come to take him to heaven. He dragged the priest over stones and thorns and threw him into the goose-house, telling him it was purgatory, and then stole all his treasure.

The squire was pleased, but still put off the Master Thief, telling him to steal twelve horses from his stable, with twelve grooms in their saddles. The Master Thief prepared and disguised himself as an old woman to take shelter in the stable, and when the night grew cold, drank brandy against it. The grooms demanded some, and he gave them a drugged drink, putting them to sleep, and stole the horses.

The squire put him off again, asking if he could steal a horse while he was riding it. The Master Thief said he could, and disguised himself as an old man with a cask of mead, and put his finger in the hole, in place of the tap. The squire rode up and asked him if he would look in the woods, to be sure that the Master Thief did not lurk there. The Master Thief said that he could not, because he had to keep the mead from spilling, and the squire took his place and lent him his horse to look.

The squire put him off again, asking if he could steal the sheet off his bed and his wife's shift. The Master Thief made up a dummy like a man and put it at the window, and the squire shot at it. The Master Thief let it drop. Fearing talk, the squire went to bury it, and the Master Thief, pretending to be the squire, got the sheet and the shift on the pretext they were needed to clean the blood up.

The squire is afraid of him and he lets him to marry his daughter.


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