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Carrying with him a constant, slight air of bitterness, as if he had just barely transitioned from an experienced realism over to light pessimism, Yarver does not really come across as someone with much of a sense of humour. He takes very much of the world seriously - but equally, even though he rarely laughs about jokes, he is almost never offended by people's antics.

Yarver's broad build is effectively hidden under his attire: Most of the time he's seen wearing a robe of tan or khaki colouring, plain but for darkened bands at the edge of his sleeves as well as at the collar, along with two broad lines patterned akin to celtic knots, one running from the bottom of the dark 'V' of his collar down to roughly the height of his lower chest, the other marking the left side of the robe down from height of his hip to the bottom edge, slightly askew to perfect placement, more visible from the front than the back.

His hair is long and a light grey that appears white - it's naturally devoid of pigmentation, but not due to his age. The very tips of his long, straight hair reach down to near the bottom of the small of his back. The light colour of his hair frames a slightly tanned face, from which two grey but lively eyes glint.

Beneath the robe he commonly wears a short-sleeved, light brown shirt and a darker brown simple jeans.

• Alizarin (Ursaring)
• Amaranth (Tauros)
• Carmine (Hitmonchan)
• Cerise (Primeape)
• Rust (Machamp)
• Scarlet (Kangaskhan)

Yarver can be considered a close friend of Jagdish Tsukinaka and would defend him with his life if circumstances demanded. To Yarver, his part in the gym circuit - and the adherance to the legendary Council's wishes - has almost religious or spiritual qualities.

Collected from Arsaga:

And in the doorway, with long white hair cascading down his shoulders, stands an entirely unfamiliar person, bushy but narrow brows furrowed, dark eyes latched onto Nikki in scrutiny. His grey top's sleeves are rolled up - his attire reminds of a robe more than anything else. He's silent, studying her contemplatively.

“Nikkita Desdemona Arsaga?” he asks, finally, grimacing slightly. His voice is not unpleasant, but there's a certain edge to it. The detailing on his robe seems tribal, and its lower half is made up of earthy colours. His skin is quite pale - and it looks like he has quite unnaturally long fingers, though it suits him.

“Please come with me,” the stranger says after a moment of gathering himself, sternly, straightening to his full height, which is quite formiddable in itself.

He slows his stride to a stop and peers at her, his shoulders sagging slightly, a hint of irritation flitting across his face, as though he were missing something - or someone - and wasn't used to proceeding all by himself. “Yarver Bakema. I'm here from Vale,” he remarks, simply, his fingers curling to fists, before shaking his head slightly and continuing to lead her through the passageways.

Mew, meanwhile, has phased out of existence somewhere behind Nikki. The path that Yarver is leading Nikki along seems considerably more complex than what Jagdish had led her through last time - but eventually, they reach an arena, where Yarver stops, right hand rested against the frame of its entrance, peering up at its ceiling contemplatively. “What name do you know him by?” he asks, quietly, wanting to say something else, but rather informing himself about the name in use before accidentally blabbing something he shouldn't. He seems rather nervous for someone of his stature - he doesn't look like anything ought to make him nervous.

“Suit yourself, girl, suit yourself,” he shrugs, simply, gesturing to the far end of the arena. His nervousness seems to have slowly converted into a bad mood - and despite a certain fragility in his demeanour, something about him suggests that one probably shouldn't mess with him.

Yarver sighs softly as she leaves for the far end of the arena, wrinkling his nose slightly in silent thought. He's quite distracted about Jagdish - he'd rarely seen the man quite so distressed… and it was irking him enough to completely ruin an otherwise frighteningly aloof exterior of his, wielded like a weapon in itself. He seems fairly human, which is a sharp contrast to what most people see in him when confronting him. He regards a pokéball of his own, rolling it in his right hand, scrutinising it.

It is then that a light hand sets down on Devi's shape. “You're looking for me,” a deep, calm voice states, making her swirl abruptly, though not out of shock, simply out of continuation of her rage - though the appearance of the gymleader, or rather, her eyes settling down upon him, is enough to begin to siphon her rage out of the room. She stands before him, taking in his tall shape and the strange attire, along with those long white hair, and a slightly bitter, yet welcoming smile.

“Yarver Bakema,” the man introduces, his voice pleasantly level, his smile persistant, even though his gaze remains fixed on Devi as though trying to hypnotise her into dropping her aggression - though it's more surprising that if that is what he is doing, it's working. “There's no need to raise a fuss. I apologise for being late. I was out of town.” Content with Devi's shoulders sagging slightly to denote a higher level of relaxation, he breaks the gaze and bows his head. “Come through,” he gestures along the central corridor. “Please,” he adds, as if in afterthought, even though his entire body was stating that pleasantry already.