EverAfter

by **The Lost** September 7th 2012, 1:39 am

Real Name: Leonard Percival Faust
Renegade Name: EverAfter
Title: Dead Man Walking; The Pale
Alignment: Neutral
Age: Lived till nineteen. Stayed dead for two years. Lived again for three more years after rebirth. So twenty two would be the total years of life he's lived, though it'd be twenty five if you count the two he spent dead. There was also a large span of time in which he was banished from the plane of existence, where his body and soul lay dormant. Though you can't really count those years as having been lived.
Gender: Male
Race: Living Undead
Hair: Black
Eyes: Blue
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 192 Pounds

Costume Description/Image: He generally wears full plate armor magically forged from dark black obsidian. The armor was for a dark champion, and it looks like it was made for a dark champion. It is adorned with many sharp looking corners and edges to give an intimidating feel. The helmet has a faceplate, with two eye holes. The brow plate is extends forward to help give that intimidating feel, and also protect the eyes. A ragged dark black cloak is strewn from the shoulder plates. Its edges are frayed and worn. A matching shield and sword made from the same magically augmented obsidian are usually seen on him. The sword at his hip, and the shield at his back. The magic has made the obsidian effect as armor and weaponry, but they are otherwise mundane equipment. The armor is adorned with many stylish chains.

Personality: He had just barely managed to escape the thrall of his master. His fractured mind is slowly beginning to put itself together. As a result, he is almost childlike. At first he was even more so unaware, as he lacked certain basic instincts. Even a child will cry when hurt, or pull their hand away from the searing heat of flame. He was a mindless drone, and puppet to his master when he was first restored. Now he can once again think for himself, but he has to many basic concepts.

He is often filled with wonder and awe, and is very curious about his surroundings. He can easily be overwhelmed and over stimulated, and is often at a loss for what to do. He doesn't fully understand the concepts of good and evil to the point where he cannot choose one or the other. If he commits an act of evil or an act of good it would have been prompted by the slightest whim... or creative suggestion. He is very much a black slate, naive and easily manipulated. The shield has bullet marks on it. The armor has many bullet holes.

History: Leonard Percival Faust lost all memories of his past life. He even forgot language and his own name. He may one day regain his lost memories, or they may be forever lost. Regardless, the series of events that made up his life do exist. He was born to a family with title and wealth. He live a life of luxury, and rarely went wanting for material possessions. His greatest worries were about maintaining his family's image and status.

As a child he was always particularly enamored by fairy tales and legends. These tall tales of great figures and terrible creatures always had him entranced. He dreamed of becoming a great man one day. However as he entered adulthood, he felt his dreams slowly become crushed by the inevitable weight of reality and the responsibilities that life burdens us with. In the end he died an unremarkable death after living an unremarkable life after accepting his fate and resigning himself to an unfulfilled life. Though he secretly held onto his dreams of grandeur, right to his dying day. He died at 19 from illness. It was not so uncommon at the time, though his family still mourned him just the same.

His body was laid to rest in his family's crypt. There his body wasn't exposed to too much fresh air, and decomposed slowly. Until it came a time, when another would have use for this decaying form. This woman did not care for Leonard. Anyone would do, and he was not the only one she choose. A body, preferably male, one that was young. A body that would be strong, after being restored of course. This woman was a necromancer. She used her dark magics to bring the dead back to life, but not all the way. Just partially, and usually just long enough to do her bidding before being discarded. However, this necromancer had come to this crypt for a specific purpose. She had wanted a champion. A dark knight to cut down her foes, and stand between her and those who would want her slain, which was many considering her dark practice.

She tried the dark ritual upon many corpses, but only met failure, until finally she came to Leonard. Her magics found his unfulfilled desires and lingering attachment to this world and exploited them. Her dark influence borrowed the power of his wandering soul to restore his body better than it ever was. Strong enough to full fill her agendas, but his mind was left barren and lost. It was merely a slave to the witch, a tool for her twisted ambitions. It spent two years under her charge, obediently carrying out her will.

Sometimes she'd charge it with simple tasks, like carry this, or move that. Other times she would tell it to do wretched things, like kill this, or maim that. It'd do it all without question or hesitation, but it'd sometimes feel a great tightness in its chest. A nagging feeling tugging at what remained of its fragile psyche.

One day, it all came to an end. It heard the sounds of shouting, crying, and screams filled with both anger and sorrow. It could not comprehend these concepts, but it could feel the anger and sorrow and began to recall them. As if he knew them quite well. It was just on the tip of his tongue, though he didn't quite know what that feeling was at the time. It did not much matter though, for its master called for it. She willed it to do battle, and with his cold steel he made the screams silent.

The children who had stumbled upon the witch's dark rituals were dead. Murdered by his hand. he looked down to their unmoving bodies, his blue eyes peering out at them from the holes in his helmet. He tilted his head to see them better, to know them. He wanted to understand why his heart felt so heavy. What that feeling he felt was. Why he felt.

He looked to the one who called herself his master as she went back to her dark ritual, using the bodies of the children's parents. He wandered towards her. He wondered why he had to feel this way because of her orders.

She turned to notice his approach. "It should not move on its own accord," she thought as she gave him an order to stop. He did not. Again she willed him to stop. He grabbed her by the shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. Eyes like his. A nose, too. A mouth, just like his own, but different still. He recognized that this was a face, even though he didn't have the words for what he was looking at, he still recognized them. He looked deeply at her. Her face changed, he did not understand why but it made him draw back. He wondered what he was looking at, and again why his felt these feelings. That distinct arch of the brow. The loud shouts. The way she pounded her fist against his chest plate. He didn't understand any of it, but he could feel her anger. He felt the anger, but didn't understand it. What he didn't understand frightened him. He hated what frightened him. He pushed it away.

More shouting as she fell. She stood up quickly. More noise from her mouth.

"You dare betray your master, corpse! I have no tolerance for this insolence. I have no need for a tool that does not obey! Begone with you! Begone from this plane of existence and any other!" He didn't understand what the noise meant, but he didn't like it. Her dark magics surrounded him. It took him and ripped him from his world. Simply killing him was no fitting end to an undead champion. She tried to give him the most permanent death she could muster. She did this in the fear that he would come back to haunt her. When using the dead for your practice, one tends to be wary that one or two ravaged souls might begin to hold a grudge. Then there was darkness, and silence, and nothing else.

There in the void of nothingness, he stayed for a time that was very long, or was it very short. It was one or the other, or neither. Finally, a light in the darkness. Brighter than he had ever seen, though amongst the absolute darkness even a candle light would have seemed bright. A loud thunderous roar shook announced the appearance of the light. It drew him in, and he could not resist it. It overwhelmed him and just when it felt like he could take no more, he found himself on solid ground once more.

He was lying face down on the cold, hard, rough floor. He had to struggle to push self up. As his hearing returned, he found himself assaulted with a chorus noises he didn't understand. Voices, too many to count, all bleeding together into one low roar. Large horseless carriages, made of metal whirred by. They made noises, calling out to one another and the people around. Bells and whistles, and other noises popped off. Birds, scavengers, cooed as they landed around his fallen form.

He began to push himself up off the ground. There he stood a stranger in a new land, with his fractured mind just beginning to slowly put itself together.

Powers: The Pale is a man who had died but who was restored to life by another. All of his powers come from this rebirth. His body was made strong so he could crush her enemies. His body was made sturdy so he could serve her until she decided she had no use for him. To that end, an additional gift was given to him. His body was given the incredible ability to restore itself from injure, just as it had been at his rebirth. The draw back of his rebirth, is that he was meant to be a slave. As such, a mind and will of his own was deemed unnecessary. He has had to restore his mind by his own power, and is only just now slowly beginning to rebuild his mind. As such, he has all these great talents, and yet doesn't know how to use them.

Power Grid:

STR: 6
SPD: 1
END: 6
INT: 1
EP: 6
FS: 2

Power Grid colours: Gray and White

Character Image/Description: The Pale is a tall, well built man. As his name would suggest, he is very pale. Several parts of his body were carefully stitched back together before he was restored, and those original stitching remain almost like a part of his new body. These can be seen in certain parts of his body. Most notably, his face and several lines of stitching, like an old rag doll. His hair is dark black and is allowed to grow out. Its usually messy and unorganized. His eyes are a bright light blue. His facial structure is that of a young man. His jaw is slightly square, and his eyes a bit sunken.

Roleplay Sample: Loud noises. Fast movements. There was nothing for so long, and now all of this. The Pale could do little but stare in wonder and awe. He stood there taking it all in, absorbing it. Others were staring too now. A freak was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, who had seemed to appear out of no where.

They shouted to him, said other things, laughed at his expense, and other threw coins at his feet. He didn't understand any of it, but he didn't exactly hate it. He stood there, trying desperately to understand these people. They were people though, just like him. He recognized this, and suddenly he didn't feel so lost. He didn't feel so lonely anymore.

If he was smiling, the faceplate of his helm hid this.

Lights. Lights unlike he had ever seen before. Blue and red. They danced around and around as they approached. He didn't know the words, but they were different from anything he had ever seen even after dying and being reborn, even after being banished to the void, and some how escaping into this strange new land, he had never seen anything so wonderful. He took a step closer, and didn't notice the people quickly disperse.

"Hands in the air!" he did not notice the man who stepped out from under the lights. He was entranced by them.

"Stop! Don't come any closer!" Another man, dressed the same as the first called out. They both pointed, but Pale only cared for the dancing lights and stepped closer to them. The last light had brought him here to this strange place filled with so much. What wonders would these strange new lights show?

"He's one of those freaks!"

"We don't know that..."

"You heard the report! He probably came from that rift..."

"He hasn't done anything yet."

"He's gonna kill us!"

They quickly exchanged noises from their mouths, but they weren't as interesting as the lights.

"I'm warning you buddy... Take one step closer and-"

He took one step closer.

A loud thunderous roar. Pain. Yes this is pain. The pale clutched his side as he crumbled to his knees. A hole in one of the plates on his body. More pain. He looked up to the lights. Why?

"Stay down! Don't move!" more noise like before the pain. The pale remembered shouts like these. Angry. Scared. He stood up. The roar again. The impact forced him back, but remained standing. The roar. Again. Shouting. The roar. Again. Many times. More shouting. Anger. The roaring. Fear. Pain, pain, more pain. He fell.

Moisture. A liquid. Blood. This was blood. This was his blood. It was spilling out onto the floor. He didn't like this. He didn't like being on the ground. He tried to stand. He made it to his knees. The shouting. The shouting would be followed by the roar. The roar would be followed by pain.

Pain. He had decided. He didn't like pain.

He didn't want anymore.

But how could he the pain? He remembered. Almost by instinct, learned from memories he had forgotten until now. It had been something he had done many times before. He reached back and pulled his shield from his back and raised it up. More roars. His wounds were already beginning to close, pushing out any bullets that had found their way in. He crouched there, with his shield held up high. But he still felt the pain. The shield, he raised it. It wasn't enough.

One of the men was gone. He returned with a stick. It went boom. More pain. Pale was on the ground again.

What could he do? What could he do? He didn't know. He couldn't find the answer. He felt tension well up inside him. What could he do?