|I have posted already, and I got no intend to double post.|
|Well I got the all clear to post a character for the rp from Destania, so here goes o/ sorry if its a bit long. |
Power: Regeneration: Can reattach body parts
Halo Color: Transparent, as if the color was drained from it.
Appearance: Quince is a statue, albeit a well-painted statue, but a statue nonetheless. His fur is painted a stark white, his shirt a pale grey, and his pants a navy blue. His hair is made from a silk-like material, and is a deep crimson. His eyes are black, and despite the white painting around the pupils, still seem rather etched, and unnatural. Aside from his hair, only his shawl and gloves are not stone.
Backstory: In Theophanies, there is a graveyard, a sacred ground where families may bury their passed on loved ones. It is in this graveyard, known as Namesake, where a grieving man was forced to bury his most beloved wife, lost to sickness.
This man was a doctor, or rather, an apothecary, who delighted in creating many a potion and elixir for various purposes. Though rejected as an official medical professional, he was more than happy to offer his services to those without the money to seek official care.
For all of this, though, he could not stop the death of his beloved wife, who passed on in agony from an illness he knew nothing about. Failing his own skills, he brought her to other doctors, throwing away everything he owned in hopes of curing her. It was not to be.
Shortly after she became ill, she died, and he was left with not a penny to his name. He sold what remained of his elixirs to buy her a gravestone, and since he had helped cure the son of a local priest, her burial was free.
He decided that the gravestone would be of their late son, who had died on duty as a guard. Though he couldn’t bury his beloved in the same place, he was more than thankful that the priest allowed her to rest in Namesake. Once the statue was completed, he had it placed above her grave, where it stood –life sized- as a memorial to the two most important people in his life.
Every day he would visit her grave, and talk to her. Not about the weather, or current events, he would talk to her about their life together. Over the course of three years he recounted every moment they’d spent together, up until her death, in perfect detail.
For the longest time, he wondered how he was able to recount it all so clearly, until one day, during his silent prayers, he opened his eyes and saw a faint green light above him. His halo. He knew then, and understood just what he was doing, and what his power was; he could effortlessly control his memories.
It was then he found this out, and it was then his own tragedy would end. He was seen by a passing trooper on that day, and ordered to cease his power usage at gun-point. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to do this, and before he could explain, he rose to his feet and started over to the guard.
His life ended to the sound of a springer rifle, something he’d never heard until then, and something he would never hear again. Well, not him, per say.
In that moment of death, his power fluctuated, reacting in a flash of survival instincts. His memories left him the instant before the springer round pierced him, jumping out and searching for the nearest hold, living, or not.
It was in that moment that Quince was born, but it would not be until late in that night, after the soldier had gone, and the body taken, that he would move. In a tumble, Quince fell from his stand, cracking on the ground as his leg detached at the knee. He felt no pain, however, only confusion. His mind, or rather, his new conscious raced with memories that were not his own, flashes of sadness and joy, hatred and love. All things he didn’t understand, and all things that came to him in a flood of knowledge.
When at last the torrent ceased, he was left with a final question, one that eluded him, as blotches of the memories were blank. He did not know how he had become what he was, a statue. He remembered a flash of power, and then being shot, and after that, he woke up in the graveyard.
His mind went to his leg, and he took it up, examining the broken limb. Almost subconsciously he held it to the place where it had detached, and a halo coalesced over his head. It was clear, like a glass bottle drained of all of its contents, yet there was still an effect. The stone mended, came back together as if clay, and he before long he found himself standing.
With a sorrowful glance at the grave of who he thought was his wife, he left the graveyard. It was tough to blend in with society, but his paint never faded, and when he wore a shawl, he looked like any other keeper, albeit his footsteps were heavier, and his handshakes were stronger. It took some time to adapt to society, but he knew the customs and such, and before long, he was one of the crowd.
Almost done reading up on the rp, very interesting thus far!
Hm... how to fit you in......
|Well the group is going to the sewers, correct? I could have him be in there, if that worked. Or if it's more convenient to wait for another time or situation, that's fine too ^^|
|Welcome to the RP! Nice charrie to.|
When I imagine him, I imagine his hair being slicked back with gel. XD
|xD Well, it's all silk, so he usually likes to mess around with it, style it sometimes.|
|I'm still gunna think bout his hair being slicked back.|
|well than suave-statue it is \o/|
|Nice agreement we made.|
|Anyone else posting?|
|Waiting on you silv-Destania|
|Im good, waiting on you Destania.|
|Will start work on post soon. Last few days were a rush ony end ><|
|What about Mira? She asked a question a ways back.|
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