REVIL

About Revil

Revil Rider is a cheeky character of embodiment & duality — part mischief, part message. With the two horns one in black while the other in white crowning its head, it walks (or runs) the fine line between light and dark, much like the eternal balance symbolised by the yin and yang. These horns aren't about evil — they represent edge, attitude, and equilibrium. It’s a character that embraces contradiction: playful yet fierce, rebellious yet self-aware.

Designed in bold, minimalist contrast — black silhouette with fiery red eyes and smile — the character exudes energy, confidence, and motion. The exhaust smoke trailing behind suggests heat, speed, and a refusal to stay still — a metaphor for stirring the pot, challenging the norm, and never backing down.

This isn’t just the spirit of life — it’s a symbol of provocation. A mascot of satire, irreverence, and truth-telling in disguise. It stands for those who see the world clearly but refuse to take it too seriously. A middle finger with a grin. A piss take — and proud of it.

Most of all the Revil is motorcycle themed his pose is in a high performance running man stance wearing black motorcycle leathers. The two exiting smoke clouds are from the exhaust pipe. Version 2 seen holding the Piss Take Bottle contains 100% pure ethanol for the embodied rev head on the go.

Revil was a name whispered in paddocks and pub corners, he was just a silhouette screaming down the Snaefell Mountain Course at 200 km/h in a borrowed leathersuit, riding a bike built from leftover parts and bad decisions.

Born in the wake of Joey Dunlop’s golden years, Revil grew up on stories of bravery that bordered on lunacy—racing through fog, rain, and death’s front yard.

In the early ‘90s, when the TT was tightening its grip on “professionalism,” Revil showed up like a piss-take on the whole thing. No sponsors. No speeches. No fanfare. Just a grimy café racer, a custom yellow Arai helmet with a cracked visor, and a habit of vanishing before scrutineering.

Some say he was banned for racing under six aliases in one week. Others say he never actually raced—he just appeared on the course mid-race, overtaking legends, then disappearing into the mist like some 2-stroke phantom.

Revil stood for the spirit of sabotage. He mocked the corporate polish, the brand endorsements, the showboating. Not because he didn’t respect the greats—but because he knew the road didn’t give a shit who you were.

“The road doesn’t care about your podium or your patch. It only respects the throttle.” — Revil, allegedly.