Oscar Hawkwind
Posted: Tue Dec 13, 2011 7:10 am
First Name: Oscar
Last Name: Hawkwind
Appearance: Dark brown skin, a long scar over his chest, small ones over his face. Missing the tip from his left ring finger. Burn wounds over his right bicep. Muscular tone, slightly fat in the stomach area.
Race: Human
Age: 23
Height: 5'7
Weight: 185
Eyes: Brown
Hair:Shaggy, Dark Brown
Facial Hair Style: Goatee
Personality Profile: Oscar attempts to "break ice" through crude dark humor, and generally just ends up insulting who ever he speaks to. Oscar has never been one for etiquette, and it shows as his blatant disregard for others is apparent through his mannerisms.
General Health: ..uh, Average, I suppose? Not perfectly healthy, not sick. Slightly muscular.
Deity: Shar (Skeptic believer)
Initial Alignment: Lawful Evil
Profession: Sword for Hire
Base Class & Proposed Development: Fighter, leading into Blackguard, Warrior of Darkness, and Divine Champion. The prestiges are to show his further devotion into the encompassing darkness of Shar. He is, at first, an unsure believer of her might, but takes pride in the power later on that she can potentially grant him.
Habits/Hobbies: Oscar isn't the most literate man around, but that does not stop him from trying. He likes to write in a journal, in a very poor incomprehensible writing that only he understands. He has a poor habit of showing some nervousness / becoming scared when alone, especially in the darkness (in the first steps of his progression), and has a fear of being around women. Finally, he prefers to carve small sculptures out of wood into a unknown female.
Languages: Common.
Weapon of Choice: Scimitar
Background: Born in Calimshan, in the city of Almraiven, Oscar grew up in the streets as a street urchin. He could be considered the "slow kid", as he wasn't efficient at stealing food, pick pocketing, or other trades that other urchins used to survive. But Oscar was big. No matter how sly or quick the other kids thought they were, Oscar could beat them down, and take what they had. It was survival of the fittest, and Oscar was one of the most fit urchins around.
At the age of thirteen, however, Oscar met fate one night. He bumped into a higher class female on accident, and promptly went along his way without showing any care that his dirt had messed up her dress. This female wasn't the type to ignore such ignorance of behavior, and had her spouse grab poor Oscar off the streets, and dragged him into their home.
When inside, Oscar was thrown into the basement, and beaten until he couldn't move, and fell into darkness. For three days, he was trapped in this abyss. The strange thing about this basement was that there was nothing down there. Not one living thing but Oscar himself, nor was there any inanimate objects. The second day, though, it seemed as if the shadows were speaking to him. Craving for him to fall into the ultimate darkness, to die here, perish. However, it almost seemed that there was also a feminine voice, cooing him, coaxing him in the shadows, as if watching over him. He took small comfort in it, as he simply thought it was him going insane.
Starving, a light finally appeared after the period, completely burning his sight. At the top of the stairs was a shilouete of a woman, glaring harshly, sneering, a face that one would be hard to forget, one that seemed inhuman. She walked quietly down the stairs, and wearing the same face, sat before Oscar. Speaking coldly, she questioned the boy. "Do you wish to live?" Oscar nodded quickly. The woman thought, her face now a picture of confusion as if to buy a loaf of bread or a bag of wheat, an internal dialogue in herself with some opposing force. She shrugged softly, then spoke again after what seemed an hour, "Repeat after me... Love is a lie. Only hate endures..." With a small, weak voice, Oscar said it. The female glared harshly, and cuffed him on the ear. "With confidence, boy. I have no time for weak minded trash," she calmly stated, with an eye that instilled the deepest fear into Oscar. Oscar said the line, with a bit more confidence, a bit more clarity. "Again." He did it again. "Again." Once more. "Again..."
For years, Oscar was living under the care of the female, who would be known as Mistress. Nothing more, nothing less. In his time under her, he had noticed multiple spouses coming and going, and more often than not, never returning. Oscar found out the reason soon enough; Mistress was killing the men in her attic. It was purely coincidental, again. He was early returning to the household a few months after his bringing into the house, and noticed that the stairs leading up to the attic were down. Curious to find out why Mistress was up there, he went up, and stumbled upon her in the middle of her sacrificial ritual. She noticed him at the base of the stairs, and beckoned him to come near. The man she was currently planning to sacrifice was attached to the wall by cuffs, shirtless, and sweating profusely. When Oscar approached, he finally heard sound. The man was screaming, raging at the top of his lungs, many profanities, terrible words, were shouted. With a simple snap of her fingers, the man silenced, and his eyes went wide with fear.
"Oscar, it is time." She whispered softly. She withdrew a dagger at her hip, and handed it to him. "You see that man? You remember him, don't you?" She spoke quietly again, slowly circling Oscar, doing something she had never done; caressing him gently, as if enticing him, provoking him. Oscar nodded, as it was the man who brought him to this hell hole. "Aw, of course you do... He's the man who caused you all that suffering a few months ago. Don't you want to repay him the favor?" She chuckled softly into Oscar's ear. Oscar thought of the aching pain, and the weeks it took him recover. He nodded once, and walked to the man chained to the wall. The man shook with fear, knowing that this kid in front of him would be his end. With no provocation from Mistress, Oscar stated with a dull look in his eyes, "Love is a lie. Only hate endures." Oscar stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, ending his life immediately. Once again, Oscar heard a feminine voice from the shadows, as if applauding his first murder.
As time went on, Oscar participated in more murders, unsure why he was doing it. He only knew that the feminine voice of the shadows was pleasing, but that Mistress was terrifying, more terrifying than the pleasure from the voice. He often pondered when he would be on the wall next, watching as Mistress plunged the dagger into his chest. He was still scared of the dark nights, the emptiness as well, ever since those nights in the basements. He tried to sleep with lights on, but Mistress denied him of that, even abusing him for days after he did it one night.
Finally, Oscar found escape. He couldn't live with the fear of being stabbed on the wall like all those other men. He woke up in the middle of the night, and heard the feminine voice clearly this time, pristine. "Yes." It was as if the voice knew his desires, and approved. With a calm walk to Mistress' room, he opened the door, and found her there lying asleep on her bed. Content, at peace. He moved himself on top of her, placed his hands on her neck, and began to strangle her. As soon as the pressure began, Mistress reacted immediately. Her eyes flickered awake, and she snapped her fingers. Oscar felt himself twinge in fear, knowing what that could do, but instead, no magic occurred. Nothing rushed to save her life, and Mistress's eyes widened in shock, in pure disbelief of her sudden abandonment of her clerical duties. The life faded from her eyes after a time, and Oscar let go of her. He was still terrified, scared. He felt as if the shadows were trying to cuddle with him again, and he couldn't approve of it. He screamed in terror, and fled from the house, fled from Almraiven. He didn't know it, but he was headed North. That's all that mattered at that point. To leave. Get away from the shadows, the woman who had held fear in his life for so long.
Two years after this event, Oscar was twenty two years old, and working for a caravan that patrolled around Calimshan. He worked on his sword fighting, particularly fond of the scimitar, working it with ease. When he slept, he slept nearby a campfire, and alone. None on the caravan knew of his history, nor did they really pry. It wasn't their business, and as long as he protected their goods, all was well. For the last time he had heard the voice, it was cryptic, foreboding. She simply whispered, "North." And was gone. The simple phrase haunted Oscar, and it was clawing at him to find out what was further North, even further than Calimshan. Waterdeep? Baulder's Gate? Neverwinter? All cities that were a distance away. But he had to know. Oscar simply left the caravan one night, stealing a horse, riding hard, to one direction: North.
Goals:
Discover why he is sent North.
Attempt to discard his belief of Shar, or embrace it.
Find the few people he did talk to on the caravan in the north.
Overcome his fear of women. (No I'm not going to ERP or anything like that. It's just something he needs to finally get over.)
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
I haven't come up with anything.
Few things I'd like to add.
If this is "special snowflake" or anything of the sort, please point it out. I love criticism, and I would like to have some. The potential "Snowflake" part I'm speaking of is the few spoken words of Shar, and the few caresses of shadow from Shar to Oscar. If it's too much, I'll cut that part off.
Secondly, the abrupt loss of power in Mistress was due to her torturing men in some of her rituals, instead of plainly killing them. It is also to be noted that she took much more pleasure doing that than stabbing them. This causes a misguidance of her belief, as "Torture" falls under Loviatar.
Third, Yes, Oscar does not have a "Secret" yet, and that is something I'm going to delve into in game. Hence the "Skeptic Believer" by Deity.
Last Name: Hawkwind
Appearance: Dark brown skin, a long scar over his chest, small ones over his face. Missing the tip from his left ring finger. Burn wounds over his right bicep. Muscular tone, slightly fat in the stomach area.
Race: Human
Age: 23
Height: 5'7
Weight: 185
Eyes: Brown
Hair:Shaggy, Dark Brown
Facial Hair Style: Goatee
Personality Profile: Oscar attempts to "break ice" through crude dark humor, and generally just ends up insulting who ever he speaks to. Oscar has never been one for etiquette, and it shows as his blatant disregard for others is apparent through his mannerisms.
General Health: ..uh, Average, I suppose? Not perfectly healthy, not sick. Slightly muscular.
Deity: Shar (Skeptic believer)
Initial Alignment: Lawful Evil
Profession: Sword for Hire
Base Class & Proposed Development: Fighter, leading into Blackguard, Warrior of Darkness, and Divine Champion. The prestiges are to show his further devotion into the encompassing darkness of Shar. He is, at first, an unsure believer of her might, but takes pride in the power later on that she can potentially grant him.
Habits/Hobbies: Oscar isn't the most literate man around, but that does not stop him from trying. He likes to write in a journal, in a very poor incomprehensible writing that only he understands. He has a poor habit of showing some nervousness / becoming scared when alone, especially in the darkness (in the first steps of his progression), and has a fear of being around women. Finally, he prefers to carve small sculptures out of wood into a unknown female.
Languages: Common.
Weapon of Choice: Scimitar
Background: Born in Calimshan, in the city of Almraiven, Oscar grew up in the streets as a street urchin. He could be considered the "slow kid", as he wasn't efficient at stealing food, pick pocketing, or other trades that other urchins used to survive. But Oscar was big. No matter how sly or quick the other kids thought they were, Oscar could beat them down, and take what they had. It was survival of the fittest, and Oscar was one of the most fit urchins around.
At the age of thirteen, however, Oscar met fate one night. He bumped into a higher class female on accident, and promptly went along his way without showing any care that his dirt had messed up her dress. This female wasn't the type to ignore such ignorance of behavior, and had her spouse grab poor Oscar off the streets, and dragged him into their home.
When inside, Oscar was thrown into the basement, and beaten until he couldn't move, and fell into darkness. For three days, he was trapped in this abyss. The strange thing about this basement was that there was nothing down there. Not one living thing but Oscar himself, nor was there any inanimate objects. The second day, though, it seemed as if the shadows were speaking to him. Craving for him to fall into the ultimate darkness, to die here, perish. However, it almost seemed that there was also a feminine voice, cooing him, coaxing him in the shadows, as if watching over him. He took small comfort in it, as he simply thought it was him going insane.
Starving, a light finally appeared after the period, completely burning his sight. At the top of the stairs was a shilouete of a woman, glaring harshly, sneering, a face that one would be hard to forget, one that seemed inhuman. She walked quietly down the stairs, and wearing the same face, sat before Oscar. Speaking coldly, she questioned the boy. "Do you wish to live?" Oscar nodded quickly. The woman thought, her face now a picture of confusion as if to buy a loaf of bread or a bag of wheat, an internal dialogue in herself with some opposing force. She shrugged softly, then spoke again after what seemed an hour, "Repeat after me... Love is a lie. Only hate endures..." With a small, weak voice, Oscar said it. The female glared harshly, and cuffed him on the ear. "With confidence, boy. I have no time for weak minded trash," she calmly stated, with an eye that instilled the deepest fear into Oscar. Oscar said the line, with a bit more confidence, a bit more clarity. "Again." He did it again. "Again." Once more. "Again..."
For years, Oscar was living under the care of the female, who would be known as Mistress. Nothing more, nothing less. In his time under her, he had noticed multiple spouses coming and going, and more often than not, never returning. Oscar found out the reason soon enough; Mistress was killing the men in her attic. It was purely coincidental, again. He was early returning to the household a few months after his bringing into the house, and noticed that the stairs leading up to the attic were down. Curious to find out why Mistress was up there, he went up, and stumbled upon her in the middle of her sacrificial ritual. She noticed him at the base of the stairs, and beckoned him to come near. The man she was currently planning to sacrifice was attached to the wall by cuffs, shirtless, and sweating profusely. When Oscar approached, he finally heard sound. The man was screaming, raging at the top of his lungs, many profanities, terrible words, were shouted. With a simple snap of her fingers, the man silenced, and his eyes went wide with fear.
"Oscar, it is time." She whispered softly. She withdrew a dagger at her hip, and handed it to him. "You see that man? You remember him, don't you?" She spoke quietly again, slowly circling Oscar, doing something she had never done; caressing him gently, as if enticing him, provoking him. Oscar nodded, as it was the man who brought him to this hell hole. "Aw, of course you do... He's the man who caused you all that suffering a few months ago. Don't you want to repay him the favor?" She chuckled softly into Oscar's ear. Oscar thought of the aching pain, and the weeks it took him recover. He nodded once, and walked to the man chained to the wall. The man shook with fear, knowing that this kid in front of him would be his end. With no provocation from Mistress, Oscar stated with a dull look in his eyes, "Love is a lie. Only hate endures." Oscar stabbed him repeatedly in the chest, ending his life immediately. Once again, Oscar heard a feminine voice from the shadows, as if applauding his first murder.
As time went on, Oscar participated in more murders, unsure why he was doing it. He only knew that the feminine voice of the shadows was pleasing, but that Mistress was terrifying, more terrifying than the pleasure from the voice. He often pondered when he would be on the wall next, watching as Mistress plunged the dagger into his chest. He was still scared of the dark nights, the emptiness as well, ever since those nights in the basements. He tried to sleep with lights on, but Mistress denied him of that, even abusing him for days after he did it one night.
Finally, Oscar found escape. He couldn't live with the fear of being stabbed on the wall like all those other men. He woke up in the middle of the night, and heard the feminine voice clearly this time, pristine. "Yes." It was as if the voice knew his desires, and approved. With a calm walk to Mistress' room, he opened the door, and found her there lying asleep on her bed. Content, at peace. He moved himself on top of her, placed his hands on her neck, and began to strangle her. As soon as the pressure began, Mistress reacted immediately. Her eyes flickered awake, and she snapped her fingers. Oscar felt himself twinge in fear, knowing what that could do, but instead, no magic occurred. Nothing rushed to save her life, and Mistress's eyes widened in shock, in pure disbelief of her sudden abandonment of her clerical duties. The life faded from her eyes after a time, and Oscar let go of her. He was still terrified, scared. He felt as if the shadows were trying to cuddle with him again, and he couldn't approve of it. He screamed in terror, and fled from the house, fled from Almraiven. He didn't know it, but he was headed North. That's all that mattered at that point. To leave. Get away from the shadows, the woman who had held fear in his life for so long.
Two years after this event, Oscar was twenty two years old, and working for a caravan that patrolled around Calimshan. He worked on his sword fighting, particularly fond of the scimitar, working it with ease. When he slept, he slept nearby a campfire, and alone. None on the caravan knew of his history, nor did they really pry. It wasn't their business, and as long as he protected their goods, all was well. For the last time he had heard the voice, it was cryptic, foreboding. She simply whispered, "North." And was gone. The simple phrase haunted Oscar, and it was clawing at him to find out what was further North, even further than Calimshan. Waterdeep? Baulder's Gate? Neverwinter? All cities that were a distance away. But he had to know. Oscar simply left the caravan one night, stealing a horse, riding hard, to one direction: North.
Goals:
Discover why he is sent North.
Attempt to discard his belief of Shar, or embrace it.
Find the few people he did talk to on the caravan in the north.
Overcome his fear of women. (No I'm not going to ERP or anything like that. It's just something he needs to finally get over.)
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
I haven't come up with anything.
Few things I'd like to add.
If this is "special snowflake" or anything of the sort, please point it out. I love criticism, and I would like to have some. The potential "Snowflake" part I'm speaking of is the few spoken words of Shar, and the few caresses of shadow from Shar to Oscar. If it's too much, I'll cut that part off.
Secondly, the abrupt loss of power in Mistress was due to her torturing men in some of her rituals, instead of plainly killing them. It is also to be noted that she took much more pleasure doing that than stabbing them. This causes a misguidance of her belief, as "Torture" falls under Loviatar.
Third, Yes, Oscar does not have a "Secret" yet, and that is something I'm going to delve into in game. Hence the "Skeptic Believer" by Deity.