Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2014 8:16:50 GMT -6
Lucretia Volkamenia
PLAYED BY -Ve-
PLAYED BY -Ve-
NICKNAME: The rose GENDER: Male (intersexed) AGE: 25 COUNTRY OF ORIGIN: Zhadrah OCCUPATION: Perfumer SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual |  a p p e a r a n c e _______________________________ Thick, pale locks frame an equally pale face. Refined, carefully applied makeup accentuates his eccentric quest for perfection, and his eccentricity in general. Elaborately woven coats are his preferred attire; he will even attempt to wear these during unbearably hot days until he cannot take it anymore. One to desire to stand above most despite a slender, 5’9” frame, his boots are heeled, solely to give him an extra inch or so in height. His gender, though questionable, is given as male to any with the audacity to ask. A large, golden, rose shaped poison ring sits upon the ring finger of his right hand. Aside from that, his fashion sense seems to change every single day. The faint scent of rose is always present around him. p e r s o n a l i t y _______________________________ To say that Volkamenia is sure of himself would be something of an understatement. Pompous, cold hearted and arrogant, he has earned quite the reputation around the upper echelon. Despite this, his silver tongue has allowed him to charm his way out of trouble more than once; A tactic picked up during his boyhood in the seedy corners of Nimnda. Although he prides himself on being cool, calm and collected, Volkamenia can become easily flustered when outmatched in an argument or conflict. One to hold a grudge for as long as it takes him to plot the demise of an enemy, he is calculating and won't directly engage someone in combat unless he is sure he outdo them... Though it is arguable whether this is survival instinct, or an aversion to denting his ego with a potential loss. In any case, his words are far mightier than his sword, and he would sooner manipulate someone into doing his own dirty work than back up many of his claims directly. Still, he is exceptionally polite, and appreciates civil conversation. Not one to form a true friendship (indeed, he may be incapable of this), he only allows himself to remain close to those people who he finds potentially useful. If he appears to warm to you, there's a very good chance he is intending to stab you in the back in due time, or poison you should you catch wind of his intent. The only thing to rival his ego is his ambition. REquired: 3 likes and 3 dislikes. one goal and one secret. more are allowed of course. LIKES:
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DISLIKES:
- the ugly
- the poor
- being cold/wet
- children
- Nimnda
GOALS & SECRETS:
- goal::: To become admired by all, as is the rose.
- secret::: Poisons people to gain their status or belongings
a b i l i t i e s / s k i l l s
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*gunning for a gift from Desecrent Vanity here::
strengths:
- *Chrysalis – Volkamenia is able to form a chrysalis-like womb around his body. Whilst inside, something of an ‘immaculate conception’ occurs; A new body forms and grows within the chrysalis, feeding off the former body as it liquefies. This entire cycle can take anywhere from a month to several depending on the state of Volkamenia’s vitality before renewal (the closer to death he is, the longer it will take for a new body to form). Aside from grave injuries, it is possible to provoke him into entombing himself by playing on his ego, pointing out blemishes, signs of aging or other flaws.
Although the chrysalis is durable, it is able to be destroyed or opened by moisture, and the reforming neonate inside is prone to danger should its womb be exposed to excessive force. Therefore, when employing this tactic, it is required for Volkamenia to seek out a safe, dry and protected place, or to employ someone trustworthy to guard him.
- *Silk Spinning – Silk is an amazingly strong and beautiful material. It is just Volkamenia’s luck that he is able to produce something akin to the glistening substance from his fingertips. Though most commonly used to make ridiculously gaudy attire for himself, the fine ‘silk’ is also potentially useful for creating a makeshift trip-wire or forming weapons on the fly such as rope whips. His favored weapon method is silken claws or “thorns” as he puts it. In complete contrast to this, the silk also has remarkable natural healing properties to it. A wound will heal quicker if wrapped in this silk.
However, his price comes into effect with each use. The source of the silk is his skeletal structure, after all. The silken fibers are very thin, but excessive use will weaken him considerably.
The silk is heat-resistant and incredibly durable, but does go all glooby and deteriorates if exposed to water.
Unfortunately it does not give him the ability to swing across buildings like spiderman.
- POISON – Not a gift, but more of a hobby. Inspired by the fragrance of flowers, a hobby of his is creating delicious smelling/tasting poisons. As such, he has quite an expansive knowledge of exotic plants and their various properties, as well as the talent to slip something deadly into someone’s drink as discreetly as possible.
weaknesses:
- Cold Water/Ice – Volkamenia hates getting wet outside of a comfortable warm bath. Rain, floods, the ocean; he hates them all. When his body temperature drops below a comfortable level, however, he is somehow reduced to a useless shivering pile until warm again. As such, he is unable to swim.
- His own ego – Volkamenia’s ego has two known switches; too high and too low. Overconfident to a fault, he tends to take any sort of defeat exceptionally poorly. He has been known to hibernate for several days after losing a simple card game.
- Reflections – If left to gaze upon himself for too long, poor Narcissus will fall into a trance… Disastrous results if the reflection happened to come from water.
- Weakened Structure – If he relies too much on weaving silk, Volkamenia will be more prone to bodily injury such as broken bones. The silk is woven from his internal structure; his bones and muscles. While this does get replenished over time, it can put him at a disadvantage during longer combat encounters.
h i s t o r y
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PAST
Typically, Volkamenia describes his early life as “unremarkable”. It is a subject he avoids recalling to such a degree that most of it has been blotted out like spilt ink, swept to the back of his mind and locked away. All except for one rather significant memory.
That of his very first love.
He remembered the events of that night as though it were yesterday. He had lain huddled upon the stained mattress as he was left, bathed in a spotlight of neon shining through the window’s years of grime. He could not recount his age at that time, but he had been young. Far too young.
Unable to sleep through the burning sensations left by his mistress' clients (as was common, given the child's sallow appearance), the absence of footsteps in the hall lured him out of the saferoom. The brothel was popular in this corner of the red-light district, so for the sounds of drunken commotion to die down so early was rare. With pure, childish curiosity he seldom was able to indulge, he peered into the dimly lit hallway. Once having served as a hotel, the hall now housed not guests, but others like him, children born under unwanted circumstances to mothers unable to feed another mouth.
It was there in an open room across the way that he laid eyes upon the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life. Resting in a crystal vase rested a flower. Curved swirling petals crowned its head, each one an even deeper red than his mistress’s lips. Even more alluring than this, however, the stem itself seemed to be clawed. The child was mesmerized. Reason left him in that moment, after all, this room belonged to his mistress. Entering uninvited was forbidden. But Unsure of whether or not it was part of some dying dream, he had reached out to touch it, only managing to take note of the sting of a thorn and the shrill scolding of the mistress before the world went black with the crack of a whip.
Since then, he has been unable to forget the beauty of the rose, forever haunted by its flawless shape. Yes, he had been punished for merely touching it, but his desire only grew. He wanted the rose… He wanted to hold it… He wanted to stroke it… He wanted to kiss it…
Love? No. He wanted to be that rose. Protected and admired.
Sometime after the rose seeded itself deep in his heart, Volkamenia found himself sold off to a rich, rotund merchant. Although a life of servitude was what he seemed to be destined for, a small, persistent voice had begun to sing in his ear.
“A flower does not belong in the wastelands…”
Contempt began to bloom, quickly overshadowing the weak, subservient boy of the past. The merchant was no doubt surprised as those thin, pale arms plunged the absurdly ornate knife into his chest… It, like the boy, was meant to be purely ornamental.
The pooling blood was red, just as red as his rose.
As Volkamenia matured, the voice became the man, and the man became the rose. Beauty and aestheticism was put above all else. Through his gift of the gab and the contacts sustained throughout his ‘inherited’ business, the rose worked his way up the vine, eventually gaining notoriety through brewing and distributing a variety of exotic (and overpriced) fragrances, each one apparently imbued with some sort of property to improve the wearer’s life. The exorbitant prices more than made up for the cost of importing so many flowers.
Any and all who decided to get in the way of his progress, through rumor or violence, were quickly and silently disposed of; Some died unexpectedly in their sleep, others vomited until their stomachs turned inside out and the acid burned holes in their throat. Those who got too close to the rose... Well, who knew what happened to them? Volkamenia certainly wasn’t telling.
VANITY
His untimely death occurred one fateful night whilst descending the foot of the mountain with a bounty of herbs. These did not bloom often, and so were well worth the risk of navigating razor edged rocks for profit. He had done so the year prior, and the sales made on the fragrance produced from the ground petals had been astonishing. Unfortunately, he did not have the luck of a clear sky at sunset to guide him, and so suddenly found himself halfway down the edge he was navigating, unceremoniously sprawled across a bed of rock. Luckily, most of it was rather flat, with the exception of the thick, jagged edge protruding through his torn stomach.
Were it not for what happened next, Volkamenia would have assumed this to be proof of karma. Punishment for failing to retain any innocence. Punishment for dabbling in the art of poisons. Par the course for those born in Nimnda… Everyone there seemed to meet a violent end one way or another. Perhaps he even would have accepted his fate and gone quietly, thankful that he had never been double crossed and stabbed in his sleep. But his death was not to be. Not yet. For just as he whispered for help, something appeared to oblige…
It called itself “Vanity”. A name he knew well. It brought him another chance, for a price.
But what would be taken from him? Very little meant more to this material soul than the beauty of the rose, and now that he had become the very object of his desire, what more was there to tear away as payment?
The pathetic man loved only himself, and so that was what would be slowly taken away.
Of course, this seemed a small price to pay at the time. He desired to save himself, his lover, the only one in the world he could trust. The Rose pledged his soul and closed his eyes as a cool, calming sensation of comfort began to wind around his body. Silken strands wove around his limbs and stitched the hole caused by his recklessness. High atop the safety of the treacherous mountainside, he lay suspended in the silken fibres created from his own structure. Bandages of bone, fiber of ligaments, strings of muscle.
When he finally descended from the mountain almost two months later, no questions were asked. His inherited goons knew better than to pry. Not that they didn’t wonder…
NOW
Currently, his sights and ambitions are set on the rest of the world. He would become both as loved and as feared as the flower which inspired him, through any means possible. He also knows that purple is the best colour.
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THIS CHARACTER IS REPRESENTED BY
-A picture wot I drew-
-A picture wot I drew-