Name: The Husk
Special Characteristics: The Husk has bone white hair, which might be abnormal to most individuals. Blackened eyes with a golden-ocher iris also lay on his face, to which the side of a long yet strangely sharply cut scar.
Personality: The Husk is a cold, decisive person, halfway insane due to the beating he had as a child. Some might call him a tad demented, and has been known to suffer hallucinations under extreme stress or exhaustion. He prefers to cut out chit chat and leave in the middle of a conversation if nothing is to gain, and sometimes he might get as frustrated as to start a brawl. Games are something of which the Husk does not take apart in, and being cheated in one is something he absolutely loathes. Though he doesn't like people in general, he has a bit of a soft spot for girls due to being a male, but killing in cold blood is not something beyond him.
Though he is still a teenager, albeit one of the latter forms of in terms of years, the Husk is very aggressive towards hostile, or even non-hostile, people. He has a lust for power that is clearly emulated throughout his actions, no tolerance for ignorance or straight up stupidity. Anger creeps up unto the Husk very suddenly, going from seemingly calm and passive aggressive to full blown asshole. This behavior can be linked to abuse of his parents.
During battle, the Husk will not flee in most situations, even if he becomes fearful. In fact, if he believes he might die or he feels defeated, the young man will try even harder to resist. After all, resistance is all what he was about. The Husk likes to flow against the mainstream, to do unexpected things and surprise people. This allows for random moments of good and kindness, but he quickly goes bored of that and is prone to go aggressive once again. This endless cycle is what the Husk lives for; Resistance, Kindness, and Aggression.
The Husk, though he has a detest for people and things in general, enjoys monetary possessions due to the fact that it gives him power over weak people. Gaining material possessions is an easy way to gain power without actually having any, in his eyes.
In general, the site of corpses pleases the Husk, tying into his fetish for Necrophilia. He feels that the more dead bodies in the area in general makes a place more comfortable, and he feels in-control.
The Husk enjoys, in his free time, to investigate and study dead bodies. It is to his pleasure that he might learn human characteristics and abnormal traits for him to mimic and such. To be frank, he also enjoys the smell.
If the area is seeped with Happiness or delight, the Husk feels off balance and disconnected with the scene. Brightness and joy usually make him feel slightly nauseous if no malicious intent is involved.
The sight, texture, and smell of cheese makes the Husk have a disgusting taste in his mouth. It's not as if dairy products in general displease him; cheese just makes him want to puke.
The representatives for hope makes the Husk feel like his goal is in reverse. It discourages the Husk to see the small people move about, because it means that it's even more people are being born and it makes it harder to turn the world into a wasteland.
The Husk doesn't like being ignored; it draws anger out of him. If he's being berrated or ignored, the Husk has been known to start a fight of sorts.
Motivations: The Husk is simply out for something of his namesake; to turn the entire world into a Husk. People in general just put a bad taste in his mouth, so he wishes to use acid and destruction to clean his teeth. He also wishes to gain allies that wish the same fate for the world as he does; he might actually allow the world to have a skin of it's former self, something live-able and perhaps luxurious for those who have climbed the corporate ladder.
The Husk stays away from large groups, there's too much stuff to worry about. He fears he would be mocked for being different, another reason he wears a hood.
-Becoming Emotional in Situations-
The Husk fears that he might show his emotions when talking to other people, something other than his cold & sour self. If he shows himself, he might be laughed at for being so twisted and sadistically.
When restrained, the Husk looses all of the power he had, if there was any. If he's restrained, he just wants to get out no matter the cost.
Weight: 160 lbs
Hair: White; Long
Eyes: Black, with Amber Irises
General Appearance: Standing rather tall at 5'11, his slim yet clearly defined build is usually covered up with a hooded cloak outlined with blue jagged lines, similar to the one on his face. Though the hood shadows the users face usually, it is easy to see the reflection of the white, sleek hair and the piercing yellows from underneath the darkness. A frown is usually adorned on his expression if one can reach past the murky darkness of the mask that the shadows cast. The Husk's cloak reaches far to his knees, which laced, jet-black military style boots that's meet his black pants. These pants also have blue jagged lines along them like his cloak does, as well.
Guild Tattoo: N/A
Magic: Transformation : Alternate Manipulation Tactic
Caster or Holder: Caster
Description: Allows the user to take in the shape of an object, plant, or person, be it a partial transformation or a complete transformation into an object, plant, or person. The user can also change the mass of there body build via partial transformation, increasing there muscle mass to that of a bodybuilder.
Strengths: The user has an almost limitless shape, if they spend enough MP. Be it for recon, personal gain, or psychological warfare, the user can also look like other people by shifting their bones and such. During battle, the user can use transform to gain limbs and attachments to enhance physical capabilities.
Weaknesses: The user is not only limited to what he/she can shapeshift into by what they have seen and studied, but it also takes on any properties and weaknesses to what that object has. Humans, however, are a bit harder to transform into due to many intricate details, so full Transformations are limited more-so than other Full Transformations. And, as a Transformer, the user must touch a person or study the object/plant/physical features that they want to assimilate.
History:Born into the Magi Family, The Dia-Ruct, Azmot was innately skilled with phenomenal powers. It was akin to his family, whom all had powers over Elementals; they were summoners of sorts. Except to the Family, Azmot was very special indeed. Not only was he born to heir the organization which made a majority of the Mafia, he was also the son of the Sonrefia Family, a freelance organization specializing in Mercenary Actions. You see, The Dia-Ruct and the Sonrefia Family had feuded over generations of battling, all towards who should be the one to rule the Supernatural Mafia. There history has proceeded 200 years, legendary events in history actually just attempts to attack one another. The Hindenburg: A Sonrefian attack on the ancient Dai-Ruct's trading director. But, over the course of the past five years, the two families have been unable to fight due to the expressed love of the 14th Generation Dia-Ruct boss and the 13th Generation Sonrefia Mistress. These were the parents of Azmot Tekanisho.
Raised in very well means, Azmot was always a trouble maker, destroying anything that he could break and refusing to accept any rules that his parents gave him. This constant rebellious attitude drove the family apart, giving Azmot free reign to cause whatever mayhem he wanted, though he was forced to take care of himself, for most cases unless it regarded payment, whereas his parents simply wavered it off as a "Family" expense. Since he had no real "Family" to speak of, besides his Butlers and Maids, he grew to a fear of people. When he started to attend school, the fear evolved and inversed towards a fear of being alone.
Around the age of 8, Azmot started to stand out among his peers. He was a good two inches taller than everyone, and he seemed to become less destructive as he got older. This did not allow him more time with his parents, but it did allow him to start his training over Magic. Due to his bloodline, he quickly caught up and surpassed those who started at the age of 5.
As he began to progress in power, he soon was asked to join Junior Guilds, the now teenager prompted to join as a low ranking member due to his rare form of transformation magic that he possessed. Unfortunately, due to his parents being protective (and abusive), he was never able to join a Guild. However, after the Guild invitations started showing up, Azmot's parents become extremely more abusive, sometimes breaking bones with their fits of anger and rage. Luckily, they still weren't around that much to do so.
He fell into a deep depression for an amount of time when he was around 15, his powers subconsciously slowly started morphing him to reflect his dark mood. When his parents finally took notice, which was almost a year later, they immediately threw out him out and severed his ties to the family. Unable to revert back to his normal form, Azmot now refers himself as "the Husk", and has become much more dark and emotional after this transformation. Though it is unsure if this is connected to his parental dys-relationship, it has a definite connection with his transformation. Now, he simply wants to bring the world to wrought.
RP Sample:A hooded man walked across the dark, moonlit streets of the now vacant Twilight Town. During the day, people flushed the streets with joy and curiosity, yet in the dark, things were on the other side of the proverbial coin; Shady characters would move in and out of the alleyways while they eyed you, who was a simple passerby. They're greedy, hungry, but most of all pathetic eyes were not only filled with a miserable sorrow, but a gluttonous thirst. You see, about 3 or so months earlier, this kind of activity was rare. No one roamed the midnight streets prowling for an object of obsession, nor did random acts of violence occur, usually leading to a murderer cleaning out the wallet of an innocent man.
This changed, though; this city was no longer a safe town for those who enjoyed midnight walks. This town was something heard in legends, fairy tales told to toddlers to keep them in check. This town was now apart of the modern day world; this town was a living nightmare. At night, this town was it's own hell, it's own separate entity. Azmot, as of others, could easily hear of the darkness this place held, the screaming fear it put into each and every one of it's citizens hearts. This place made the grown quiver and the young cry.
The young demon now heralded across this town, still hidden by his cloak, as he had 2 months ago when he arrived. Two to Three times a week, this man could be seen walking into the alley's, looking for these fabled men, who some claimed had become monsters. Every night that he journeyed, however, nothing was found. It was like they could smell the conviction on his breath, like they could tell he was here to reap what these men sowed. That was, however, until tonight.
A gust of late-night wind blew the cloak off of the figure's head, un-masking his face to reveal a young looking man, perhaps an older teenager. As of now, Azmot's age had reached 16, so his... finer qualities were expanded while puberty had started to come to a slow. His face was a bit more masculine than before, and his once squeamish-looking arms now seemed more defined.
He was of a good strength now, and his skin looked moderately healthy as well. His eyes swayed the same mocha brown as they had years ago, his hair was still a bit off center, but it didn't give him a boyish charm as he once had. He now had a "Manly Charm", as he put it, which used to make Mark, Alex, and Sophie laugh. He really missed the Three of them, but he realized that it was to painful to reminisce about old times. The Chamber.... It was to much to bear even thinking about it.
Lost in his thought, Azmot foolishly did not notice the man in the alleyway next to the road he was walking on start to slither towards him, not giving him enough time to take in all of his facial details. As soon as Azmot did notice him, the man ducked his head beneath a hood of his own.
Shit, Azmot thought, mentally reprimanding himself. Now he couldn't identify who was a part of this whole crisis. Still, he had to play his part one way or another.
"So man... You play ping pong?" The man asked in obvious code. Well, it was obvious to anyone who had intercepted a message between this particular group of people.
No, I actually prefer a nice game of Tennis. Azmot spoke in very articulate code, matching it word for word as he had practiced. After a long pause between the two men, the other one suddenly spoke, his voice a bit different than before. All of the desperation was now emulated between his words instead of his eyes, just waiting to see if he had hit the jackpot.
"Ok... Follow me." The hooded man kept low as they maneuvered an uncountable number of pathways between buildings and through strange doors. Finally, they arrived at a poorly-hidden cellar door near the whole that lead to the forest. With shaky hands, the man opened the door with a large creaking sound escaping into the air. As the two started to walk down into the darkness of the deep underground, Azmot realized that he was about to delve into one of the most dangerous world he had yet, the belly of a beast that rivaled the Devil himself. Azmot was about to enter the world of drugs and drug associates.
The pure Darkness of the well lit tunnel was aggravating. It was at-least 20 feet long, which prompted the two to make small talk. However, due to the un-comfortableness between the two, neither took the opportunity to speak. Steps passed in the dark silence, the tension between the two growing with each step. As they closed in on the door, the hooded man started to stumble on a jagged rock that was obstructed from the floor, and as he fell something slid out of his pocket. A dark, purple vial which glowed in the darkness was the object that ejected from his cloak's pocket, and it started to plummet towards the ground. With a quick motion, Azmot grabbed the vial and put it into his coat pocket, looking at the man reassuringly when he looked at Azmot.
He seemed to not know anything about the catch after his slight stumble, so they moved towards the door without a problem. A burly man of about 6 foot and 5 inches answered, recognizing the hooded man and allowing them to both enter. The scene was a bit incredible, actually, and Azmot was surprised at how elegant the place looked compared to the rocky tunnel he had just associated this crowd with. Marble, cleanly washed floor was made by what seemed to be experts. It was pearl white, the intricate grooves crafted with such a way that the floor seemed to make it wave, to move in a very subtle fashion. Over to the right of the mildly populated area, a row of dark vials were neatly aligned, very similar to the one he had grabbed earlier.
Though quizical, Azmot was aware that it was not wise to go and investigate before he was aware how this product was used. As if on cue, a well dressed man slid a large amount of munney across the table were the vials were, the man who seemed to be selling this product giving him a quart of a vial. Apparently, this dark liquid was extremely expensive, and that man who "lost" his full vial was going to be enraged. As soon as the man got it, he eagerly opened it and held the open side up to his neck. The liquid seemed to seep into his skin, and the suited man's eyes turned yellow. He took a big smile that didn't seem to fit the suited man, and he soon after moved towards a chair that had a television directly in-front of it.
With no other real option other than to ask the man what he was selling, which was an ignorant and very stupid question. It was obvious to Azmot what all of the recent crimes were linked to, what it was all related to, what the connection between the crimes and the desperate men. It was all about drugs. Pulling out a the full vial, Azmot popped it open and held it to his neck. With a fluid motion, he popped it back and took a full hit. The first thing he saw was black spots in his eyes. The next thing he saw was nothing. The last thing he saw was a hazy version of reality, distorted in every little way one could imagine. He was lost now, having to wait for someone to talk him down or for the effects to were off. The bottle smashed against he ground as he moved towards a chair, grabbing some Cheet-Ohs and looked in delight as he began an episode of "Dora the Explora".
Face Claim: Kallin Kessler (From yugioh I guess?)
Last edited by Announcer on Thu Jul 26, 2012 3:42 am; edited 3 times in total