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#Post#: 4110--------------------------------------------------
Antiqua Hastings
By: Antiqua Hastings Date: June 5, 2018, 11:55 pm
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[table]
[tr]
[td]Name:[/td]
[td]Antiqua Hastings[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Nickname(s):[/td]
[td]Hastings[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Gender:[/td]
[td]Male(?)[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Age:[/td]
[td]? (Dormant for an estimated 1200-1500 years)[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Species:[/td]
[td]Monster from the Mirror[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Height:[/td]
[td]6'4" / 1.95M[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Scent:[/td]
[td]Dust, Ancient Brass[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Magic/Power:[/td]
[td][list]
[li]Reflective occupation/transport[/li]
[li](limited) Shapechange[/li]
[/list][/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Soul Trait:[/td]
[td]Kindness[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Occupation:[/td]
[td]n/a[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Residence:[/td]
[td][To be decided][/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Speech Color:[/td]
[td][to be decided][/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Description:[/td]
[td]With no original form to call his own, his newfound
'default' body (as inflicted upon him) is of a disturbingly thin
humanoid creature resembling an eyeless fanged skeleton. White
tapering chitin covers his body and caps his fingers with
unmistakable 'claw' appendages. More then many others, his
appearance bears the inherent menace of a classical 'monster'
within human literature and folklore.
[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]About:[/td]
[td]
[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Miscellaneous:[/td]
[td]
[/td]
[/tr]
[tr]
[td]Brief Biography:[/td]
[td]Coming to realize his existence in the early years of the
human and monster war, floating alone in a clouded and formless
realm, he watched the material world. A silent observer behind
the glassy veil of humanity and monster-kind's window panes,
mirrors, and polished metal. It was through these windows that
Antiqua would learn about the world; Language, physical form,
emotion, and other social machinations of the outside people.
Although a monster himself, it would be ironic that a human
would be the one to teach him kindness.
With the advent of physical form Hastings began to learn how to
venture into the world that, until now, had only been a distant
and untouchable dream.
However, once he had taken his first steps into the world, he
was overwhelmed. The ground beneath his feet, the wind blowing
briskly against his skin, he could feel the wonderlust of
discovery coursing through him as he began to wander the streets
of the human world. A choice that would haunt him, as he had not
yet learned to take a true shape beyond a waveringly
featureless, gaunt, and pale humanoid form in mimicry of
humanity, something truly monstrous in the eyes of onlookers.
Although he bore them no ill will, like a child he was eager to
mingle with the unknown. But from the villagers he learned of
fear and malice, feeling their distrust of him as if they were
his own emotions long before he was grabbed and taken to the
town square. Quickly set in the stalks and pelted with rancid
vegetables and other more damaging objects to serve as a warning
to any other monsters that might attempt to infiltrate them.
Yet among the stream of obscenities and hatred he felt within
the crowd of observers, he could sense a single mote of
sympathy. Shame even, as he scanned the gawking masses to rest
his own eyes on a young girl. It pained her to watch the weak
creature in such a state, returning after dark to meet the
strange visitor. She had stolen the key, removing the locks and
freeing him in the night, apologizing for the fear of the adults
before running home.
With nowhere else to go, and without time to express his thanks,
he followed the girl to her home. Although he dared not enter
her home, he did not leave it for some time. Returning to his
own home through the reflection in a nearby window pane to
contemplate and recover from the ordeal, but the act was never
forgotten.
Days became weeks, weeks became months, and months stretched
into years as Hastings began a new quest. Although he felt a
kinship with monster-kind, he could not ignore the boundary
crossing kindness of the girl who had saved him and began to
express it to those who needed it. Be they human or monster.
Learning to take the form of what onlookers would wish to see to
mingle among each race, he guided the lost and discarded to safe
havens in the wake of battles between the two sides and aiding
both, offering soft council to those he needed an unjudging
shoulder to cry upon, leaving gifts of food or other necessities
for the misplaced of the war. He was not naive enough to believe
his efforts would end the conflict, but he could at least
alleviate some of the universal suffering that only escalated
with time. All the while he would return to the home of the girl
that showed him his first act of kindness. Acting as perhaps a
guardian angel for the child who had grown into a young women
under his unseen care. Indeed, he felt obliged to repay her act
in some way of his own, but he could feel the responsibility he
felt for her beginning to subtly but surely become something...
new.
He could not escape the growing sense of venerable attachment,
try as he might to return to his altruistic wanderings, he was
drawn to return to her side more with every passing day that he
spent abroad. He regretted at this time his choice to keep his
presence hidden from her, and would not dare reveal himself now
and chance her becoming accused of collusion and harboring of
one of the enemy. He could feel the same soul of kindness that
had helped him still within her, it had been tempered with the
pain of age. She had lost a brother to the war, and her
remaining parent (a descendant of the towns founder and now
chief landowner) was falling victim to to their failing health
and was now devoted to the protection and care of her own. And
as much as it pained him to admit, the significant other whom
had begun to court her was able to do a much better job of her
and her father's care then he could hope. And so it was that he
once more ventured out into the world to bring the aid he was no
longer needed to provide beyond the scope of the village. It was
however while he was bringing this aid to beyond that he
discovered a terrible revelation. He had encountered several
poisoned soldiers bearing an uncanny resemblance to the symptoms
and progression of the illness wracking the body of his distant
loves father. The poison was meant to be substituted for
medicine, a medicine that his beloved's courtier had been
administering to her father.
In a fit of frantic and appalled revelation he raced across the
land to return to the place he had come to know as his second
home, but for all his prayers of haste; he had arrived on the
eve of the poisoned father's funeral.
With a guilt heavy heart he watched, hidden in plain sight as
the murdered man was lowered into the earth. Saying a few words
to the mans credit, he left for the place he called home where
he would have his final revelation. It was that night that the
women he had guarded for the bulk of his devoted existence took
ill. A sickness identical to that of her father.
He had not had time to confront the obscene excuse for human
life who poisoned the old man. But upon hearing the words of the
visiting doctor, the guilt he had harbored since his arrival
began to seethe. Changing, remolding, and polluting itself into
a hatred that visibly seethed beneath his malleable body. Once
an observer, Hastings left the haven of his mirror to make his
presence felt. He had little doubt to suspect that the girl's
betrothed was now poisoning her as well. He would confront him,
tell him that he was being watched, praying it would be enough
to shatter his nerve and force his exit from their lives. But
cornering the vermin as he was preparing the next dose of
'medicine', was too much. For whatever reason he had done these
things, to inherit the land, uncover some family treasure, or
simply for the pleasure of the deed, Hastings hatred churned
itself into a righteous fury, twisting his body into an avatar
of his own anger, mingled with the 'monster' that the man saw
him for. For what few seconds the man had left to see.
With a rattling and inhuman bellow of untempered rage he tore
into the man, spreading him across the floor and walls in a
spectacle of red and screaming that would have churned the
stomach of any who set foot in the house on that night. All it
frightened however, was an angel. A scream in a voice that he
had come to know over many long years rose up from behind him.
By the time he came to his senses, turning his gore and viscera
spattered visage to face the source of the sound, he had only
begun to realize the magnitude of his mistake. In mortal terror
and anguish, was the women whom he had sworn to protect in
payment for her kindness.
A fine way to return her kindness, murdering her own love
-however undeserving as he was- on the night of her father's
funeral. It was not only the perception of him that made him
retain his horrible form from that day on, but his own. In that
moment, he had become a truer monster then he could have
dreamed. Let alone who had killed not only a man, but the
remaining kindness in one he had held so dearly to his own, now
broken, heart.
Crushing guilt now weighing upon his chitinous shoulders, The
kindest thing he could do for her now, was to disappear.
Bounding through one of the fragile windows he had once
occupied, he vanished into the night with fading weep of the
women he had wronged as his only guide.
With his ability to shape-shift forever damaged, he could not
continue his quest of aid, and still in mourning for his
actions, he found refuge in slumber. It was little comfort to
him that he could still return to his mirror domain, but it was
in this domain he remained, undisturbed and somberly content.
Years stretched into decades. Decades stretched into centuries.
Centuries stretched into millenniums.
And there he slept, as the war raged and ended. His mirror
withstanding the ages until the present day, hanging in one of
the Underground's obscure collections until the recent age...
[/td]
[/tr]
[/table]
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