Post by speakeroftruths on Jan 29, 2020 14:23:03 GMT -8
Lucius Aurelius Fidelis
Resolve level: Temple Guard (Abomination), 1
-Appearance
Age: Late 20s
Sex: Male
Physical Description: Lucius is a towering 6'5", with back-length ash-grey hair tied in a tight ponytail and an almost well kept goatee of the same color. He has the lean and taught musculature of a poor soldier, but moves with some stiffness due to the many vivid burn scars that trace his body. All of his body hair has the color similarly bleached from it, and combined with the stress-drawn lines that define his face, he can easily be mistaken for being far older than he is. He speaks Italian and English with a whiskey-smoke voice, which does nothing to help his perceived age.
While in Abomination form, his veins light up as though his blood were glowing, and his hair starts blowing in some ethereal wind that doesn't extend past his body. His mouth is forced open, with a similar glow emanating from his throat, and his eyes roll back and shine as though lanterns were flickering behind his gaze. A trio of semi-solid wings form behind him, golden feathered with gold-pupiled eyes at the joints. They are not attached and move independently, buffeting with terrible force, but are not solid enough to fly with. His body emenates heat in this form, and a trickle of blood runs from his fingernails, gums, and tear ducts. This blood flows slowly but naturally on his body, evaporating into a crimson mist as it falls from his form and into the heat aura
Attire: Lucius wears common, casual clothes while not on a job. When armed for a fight, he wears an old, patched gambeson covered in burns and sweat stains, supplemented wit greaves, and bracers. He shields his head with a lobster-tailed helm, and carries a halberd. All of the armor is ornamented with brass, but the decorations are twisted and unrecognizable, as though melted under great heat. His weapon's head shows far more wear than the shaft, suggesting that it has been reseated numerous times
-Biography
Quirks:
+Reach: "Tall fucker with a long safe stick. 'Nuff said."
+Bull-Headed: "Stay out'a my head!."
-Not The Sharpest Blade In The Armory: "Your parents gave you schooling? In this economy?"
-Stiff: "You try moving quick with scars like this, let me know how it goes, hey?"
When in Abomination form, add the following quirks
+360 Vision: "NOTHING ESCAPES MY GAZE"
-Reckless Fervor: "THE RIGHTEOUS MAY KNOW NO RETREAT"
Backstory Synopsis: The sole survivor of a cathedral fire that claimed the lives of many, including a prominent bishop, Lucius was fired for failing to protect his charges. He has been drinking his way through the north, hoping to find a new career as a mercenary.
Full Backstory:
The poorly funded and often blasphemous study of the Abomination condition has yielded few and conflicting results over the years. Some claim that it is the result of foreign pathogens, a disease that warps the body and mind. Others believe it to be a physical mutation, a throw-back defensive adaptation to a more savage time. Some theories instead place the cause as a sort of predisposition to possession that opens one to a symbiotic, or possibly parasitic, relationship with an extraplanar entity. Indeed, all or none of these could be true, for the profane nature of many of these studies leaves little room for rigorous science, and it is entirely possible that the state of being widely called "Abomination" is not merely one affliction. Perhaps they are all wildly different cases, brought under one name by those who do not understand what they study.
The possession theory has always been of great interest to many parties, as it is the one with the biggest potential for exploitation. Mediums seeking the coin of their patrons want a vessel for the spirits of the dead, but are unwilling to resort to necromancy. Cultists, wishing for the dark blessings of their eldritch patrons, creating a monster to unleash upon the innocent. Or in the case of his Eminence Bishop Voll III, something new, something different. If the servants of the Dark could so easily usher in nightmares from other worlds, might not the servants of the Light do the same? There existed old, almost forgotten rituals, from a time when the ink of the Illuminatus was still wet upon the page, supplications to the Light to send a messenger, a champion. If a proper vessel were to be prepared, then Voll theorized that a new holy warrior might be created, a pious champion as out of legends, a blade of purity to drive back the forces of Darkness and ensure that the holy Empire was undefeatable.
At his command, such a vessel was crafted over the course of many years. A boy, whom the mystics predicted would grow into his potential within the church. He was anointed with sacred oils from birth, raised on the word of the Illuminatus, trained in the crusader's arts and the magic of the faith. A perfect warrior, a nigh-fanatical Templar of the first degree. Then, on the eve of his twenty-fifth year, he was brought before Voll, who looked upon the weapon that he had created and knew that the time was right. The ritual took place, and against all odds, the translations had been correct, the supplications sufficient. A rift between worlds was torn open, and from some strange plane beyond mortal understanding, a being of pure Light came forth. The bishop had succeeded in summoning an angel.
Which is, of course, where it all went to shit. Whatever force the Bishop had summoned was beyond human comprehension, and utterly offended that a lesser creature had torn it into the mortal plane to be enslaved to a prison of flesh. Without a vessel, however, the material plane was poison to it, and so it tossed aside the chosen one prepared for it and lashed out in suicidal wrath. Unable or unwilling to speak the tongues of mortals, it instead made its displeasure known with searing light and cleansing fire, channeling the heat of it's death throes throughout the building, burning flesh, wood, and stone all throughout the cathedral. All within were slain, the otherworldly being included, its fury consuming its very essence until naught was left but a faint ember of the outsider, rapidly dwindling in the hostile air. What was once a terrible and alien will was reduced to the instinct to survive, and so when a guard rushed to the scene drawn by the sounds of the disaster, it tore its way through the man's breastplate and burrowed its way into the core of his being, fusing itself with a native in order to preserve what was left of its life.
Lucius Aurelius Fidelis, the overworked and underpaid temple guard with the misfortune of being the one to come across the aftermath, knew none of this grand plan. He was, up until this event, a fairly decent employee of middling faith whose greatest ambition was to get through the work day with enough energy to have a few drinks with his mates at the tavern before hitting the hay. Indeed, when he had gotten up that morning, he could not have predicted that he was about to have a very, very bad day at work. Sucks to be him.
When Lucius pulled himself from the rubble of the cathedral, no trace remained of Voll's hubris or the events that had taken place. The evidence of his insane project had been wiped clean along with all of his followers, and as such the Church knew not what else to do but banish Lucius for failing to save his charges from the accidental fire that had no doubt consumed them. Confused, out of a job, and questioning his own recollection of events, Lucius has begun to make his way through the lands north of his home, working as a mercenary to keep coin in his pouch and food in his belly. Whenever he doubts what happened however, the vein-tracing burns remind him, as does the fact that the experience left something behind. A speck of elemental light, not strong enough to be self aware, weak enough to be protected from the darkness of the material world in its shell of meat, but when allowed to slip its mental confines, still capable of destructive fury, if on a much smaller scale than the experience that spawned it. As much as he would like to, his "companion" makes forgetting the past an impossible task. Not all is lost, however, as he has heard tell of a Hamlet to the north where all sorts of outcasts can find work, and maybe, just maybe, a cure for the horror he's been subjected to.
Misc. Notes: Can't get drunk and rarely gets sick due to burning light in his blood. Is so over this bullshit.
The eldritch being is constantly trying to seize control. Lucius maintains his dominance through force of will, takes abomination form by relaxing said will, and regains control by asserting it. May find it difficult to regain control while under effects that counteract the Bull Headed quirk, such as certain Afflictions. If unable to regain control, the being does not revert until the end of combat.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: Halberd,
Abomination form: burning halo, ethereal wing strikes
Armor: Destroyed armor, gambeson
Other gear: Personal wooden mug, steel cutlery set, wineskin, always has bread and cheese on his person somehow.
Strengths: Tall, Athletic, Decently skilled at arms,
Occasionally timeshares his body with a nascent eldritch/angelic being of horror and flame
Weaknesses: Nerves are a bit fried, no ranged capability to speak of, partially illiterate, never quite sure what's going on.
Resolve level: Temple Guard (Abomination), 1
-Appearance
Age: Late 20s
Sex: Male
Physical Description: Lucius is a towering 6'5", with back-length ash-grey hair tied in a tight ponytail and an almost well kept goatee of the same color. He has the lean and taught musculature of a poor soldier, but moves with some stiffness due to the many vivid burn scars that trace his body. All of his body hair has the color similarly bleached from it, and combined with the stress-drawn lines that define his face, he can easily be mistaken for being far older than he is. He speaks Italian and English with a whiskey-smoke voice, which does nothing to help his perceived age.
While in Abomination form, his veins light up as though his blood were glowing, and his hair starts blowing in some ethereal wind that doesn't extend past his body. His mouth is forced open, with a similar glow emanating from his throat, and his eyes roll back and shine as though lanterns were flickering behind his gaze. A trio of semi-solid wings form behind him, golden feathered with gold-pupiled eyes at the joints. They are not attached and move independently, buffeting with terrible force, but are not solid enough to fly with. His body emenates heat in this form, and a trickle of blood runs from his fingernails, gums, and tear ducts. This blood flows slowly but naturally on his body, evaporating into a crimson mist as it falls from his form and into the heat aura
Attire: Lucius wears common, casual clothes while not on a job. When armed for a fight, he wears an old, patched gambeson covered in burns and sweat stains, supplemented wit greaves, and bracers. He shields his head with a lobster-tailed helm, and carries a halberd. All of the armor is ornamented with brass, but the decorations are twisted and unrecognizable, as though melted under great heat. His weapon's head shows far more wear than the shaft, suggesting that it has been reseated numerous times
-Biography
Quirks:
+Reach: "Tall fucker with a long safe stick. 'Nuff said."
+Bull-Headed: "Stay out'a my head!."
-Not The Sharpest Blade In The Armory: "Your parents gave you schooling? In this economy?"
-Stiff: "You try moving quick with scars like this, let me know how it goes, hey?"
When in Abomination form, add the following quirks
+360 Vision: "NOTHING ESCAPES MY GAZE"
-Reckless Fervor: "THE RIGHTEOUS MAY KNOW NO RETREAT"
Backstory Synopsis: The sole survivor of a cathedral fire that claimed the lives of many, including a prominent bishop, Lucius was fired for failing to protect his charges. He has been drinking his way through the north, hoping to find a new career as a mercenary.
Full Backstory:
The poorly funded and often blasphemous study of the Abomination condition has yielded few and conflicting results over the years. Some claim that it is the result of foreign pathogens, a disease that warps the body and mind. Others believe it to be a physical mutation, a throw-back defensive adaptation to a more savage time. Some theories instead place the cause as a sort of predisposition to possession that opens one to a symbiotic, or possibly parasitic, relationship with an extraplanar entity. Indeed, all or none of these could be true, for the profane nature of many of these studies leaves little room for rigorous science, and it is entirely possible that the state of being widely called "Abomination" is not merely one affliction. Perhaps they are all wildly different cases, brought under one name by those who do not understand what they study.
The possession theory has always been of great interest to many parties, as it is the one with the biggest potential for exploitation. Mediums seeking the coin of their patrons want a vessel for the spirits of the dead, but are unwilling to resort to necromancy. Cultists, wishing for the dark blessings of their eldritch patrons, creating a monster to unleash upon the innocent. Or in the case of his Eminence Bishop Voll III, something new, something different. If the servants of the Dark could so easily usher in nightmares from other worlds, might not the servants of the Light do the same? There existed old, almost forgotten rituals, from a time when the ink of the Illuminatus was still wet upon the page, supplications to the Light to send a messenger, a champion. If a proper vessel were to be prepared, then Voll theorized that a new holy warrior might be created, a pious champion as out of legends, a blade of purity to drive back the forces of Darkness and ensure that the holy Empire was undefeatable.
At his command, such a vessel was crafted over the course of many years. A boy, whom the mystics predicted would grow into his potential within the church. He was anointed with sacred oils from birth, raised on the word of the Illuminatus, trained in the crusader's arts and the magic of the faith. A perfect warrior, a nigh-fanatical Templar of the first degree. Then, on the eve of his twenty-fifth year, he was brought before Voll, who looked upon the weapon that he had created and knew that the time was right. The ritual took place, and against all odds, the translations had been correct, the supplications sufficient. A rift between worlds was torn open, and from some strange plane beyond mortal understanding, a being of pure Light came forth. The bishop had succeeded in summoning an angel.
Which is, of course, where it all went to shit. Whatever force the Bishop had summoned was beyond human comprehension, and utterly offended that a lesser creature had torn it into the mortal plane to be enslaved to a prison of flesh. Without a vessel, however, the material plane was poison to it, and so it tossed aside the chosen one prepared for it and lashed out in suicidal wrath. Unable or unwilling to speak the tongues of mortals, it instead made its displeasure known with searing light and cleansing fire, channeling the heat of it's death throes throughout the building, burning flesh, wood, and stone all throughout the cathedral. All within were slain, the otherworldly being included, its fury consuming its very essence until naught was left but a faint ember of the outsider, rapidly dwindling in the hostile air. What was once a terrible and alien will was reduced to the instinct to survive, and so when a guard rushed to the scene drawn by the sounds of the disaster, it tore its way through the man's breastplate and burrowed its way into the core of his being, fusing itself with a native in order to preserve what was left of its life.
Lucius Aurelius Fidelis, the overworked and underpaid temple guard with the misfortune of being the one to come across the aftermath, knew none of this grand plan. He was, up until this event, a fairly decent employee of middling faith whose greatest ambition was to get through the work day with enough energy to have a few drinks with his mates at the tavern before hitting the hay. Indeed, when he had gotten up that morning, he could not have predicted that he was about to have a very, very bad day at work. Sucks to be him.
When Lucius pulled himself from the rubble of the cathedral, no trace remained of Voll's hubris or the events that had taken place. The evidence of his insane project had been wiped clean along with all of his followers, and as such the Church knew not what else to do but banish Lucius for failing to save his charges from the accidental fire that had no doubt consumed them. Confused, out of a job, and questioning his own recollection of events, Lucius has begun to make his way through the lands north of his home, working as a mercenary to keep coin in his pouch and food in his belly. Whenever he doubts what happened however, the vein-tracing burns remind him, as does the fact that the experience left something behind. A speck of elemental light, not strong enough to be self aware, weak enough to be protected from the darkness of the material world in its shell of meat, but when allowed to slip its mental confines, still capable of destructive fury, if on a much smaller scale than the experience that spawned it. As much as he would like to, his "companion" makes forgetting the past an impossible task. Not all is lost, however, as he has heard tell of a Hamlet to the north where all sorts of outcasts can find work, and maybe, just maybe, a cure for the horror he's been subjected to.
Misc. Notes: Can't get drunk and rarely gets sick due to burning light in his blood. Is so over this bullshit.
The eldritch being is constantly trying to seize control. Lucius maintains his dominance through force of will, takes abomination form by relaxing said will, and regains control by asserting it. May find it difficult to regain control while under effects that counteract the Bull Headed quirk, such as certain Afflictions. If unable to regain control, the being does not revert until the end of combat.
-Skills & Equipment
Weapons: Halberd,
Abomination form: burning halo, ethereal wing strikes
Armor: Destroyed armor, gambeson
Other gear: Personal wooden mug, steel cutlery set, wineskin, always has bread and cheese on his person somehow.
Strengths: Tall, Athletic, Decently skilled at arms,
Occasionally timeshares his body with a nascent eldritch/angelic being of horror and flame
Weaknesses: Nerves are a bit fried, no ranged capability to speak of, partially illiterate, never quite sure what's going on.
