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Vincent
Day Court Citizen
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Age:

12 [Year 492 Summer]

Gender:

Male

Pronouns:

He/Him/His

Orientation:

Heterosexual

Breed:

Thoroughbred

Height:

17 hh

Health:

5

Attack:

15

Experience:

11
Offline

Last Visit:

07-18-2019, 07:29 AM

Joined:

11-12-2018
Signos: 525 (Donate)
Total Posts: 4 (Find All Posts)
Total Threads: 1 (Find All Threads)

i'm paying for my sins.


He has a face that only a mother could love, what with a few key components having gone missing. Who needs skin, anyway? There’s plenty of muscle and bone to hold things in place. Besides, he still has his teeth even if they are crooked and mangled like thorns on a very unpleasant-looking rose bush. What more could you ask for? Oh sure, it is not the only part of his body that has misplaced its flesh. That and the dilapidated muscle tone throughout his well-worn carcass could be said to cause his uneven, almost stalking gait. Despite all evidence to the contrary (including his pungent odor), there isn’t a sign of rot throughout him. Even a fool would know that this is evidence of passive magic, but no scholar could fathom a single reason that any god would bestow it upon him.

Aside from his jet black mangled silhouette, he has plenty of peculiar features that all can be attributed to whatever grotesque event made him the way he is. His obsidian mane is short with a wiry texture and his tail, unmistakably unicorn, doesn’t have hair at all. His mangled ears have very little range of motion, which hampers his hearing a bit. Most would foolishly assume then he was also blind, what with his eyes silver throughout. They don’t have the appearance of moving about, but Vince will assure you that he has a predator’s vision even in the night. The ones his mother bore him with were torn out in one unfortunate incident or another, so his mercury coated gaze is but another undeserving gift from the Gods.

don't fret, precious.


Positive:
fearless
energetic
social
joyful
articulate
humorous


Negative:
lazy
narcissistic
violent
self-depreciating
dishonorable
deceitful
gullible


Vince is just as precious as you might imagine by looking at him.

A callous brute with thick skin and skull. His self-healing passive magic gives him a false sense of indestructibility, which often prompts impulsive and reckless behavior. It is a life without consequence Even when there are no rules in warring, Vincent will find a way to fight unfair. He doesn’t do so as much with brute strength—for it is obvious from his appearance that that commodity is in short supply—but he does so with lies and tricks. And he is surprisingly violent for someone who often can’t hold his own. But then, you knew that just when you took a look at him, didn’t you?

As with most cowards his stature, he doesn’t have the pride to be embarrassed that in a fair fight he would not emerge the victor. In fact, he goes to great lengths to avoid fights he does not believe he will win as Vince only takes care of Vince, in all things. If there is not a benefit to be reaped, you would do well not to ask it of the brute. His violence is playful, fits of giggling seizing him when play calls for it. And no matter the outcome to any fight or folly, Vincent is sure to maintain his sense of superiority over others. He's not easy to humble. He is at the universe’s center, as much in practice as in belief. He does as he pleases, flouting rules that bear minimal repercussions and testing the limits of higher penalty laws. Obedience is bought, not expected and not earned.

But that is not to say he isn’t a social boy. Oh no, Vince is quite the riot at any social gather. Vince’s speech is coarse and often inappropriate. He is offensive and vulgar, exercising no restraint in the presence of strangers. He isn’t above childish banter and even enjoys it from time to time. Mockery is choice expression for Vince and if he happens to tickle himself, even in a heated argument, the conversation is sure to pause for his laughter. He is not education in manners. Others regard him as dirty and uncultured, a fact Vince himself could not dispute. The beast will never tell the same story twice as to why he looks the way he does. It is unclear if he once ever told the real one, for God’s honest truth could fall from where his lips once were and not a soul would believe it. He is as trustworthy as he is handsome, and half as clever. There is no shortage of things for him to say. Mostly he just enjoys the sound of his own sweet lies and adultered humor. There is nothing that Vincent will take seriously. His laughter is a staple of his own existence and any who know him recognize it by the cold chill it sends down their spines.

cour 1.


Vincent was not always so…dashing. In fact, there was a day in his decrepit life where you would not recognize him at all. Tall and lean, flesh perfectly streamlined with an obsidian coat that rippled over fine-tuned muscles—he wasn’t half bad. Vince was built like his sire who drug stone that could not be moved by magic out from the quarries. He did this from twilight to twilight during which time young Vince, plagued with boredom and lacking any kind of supervision, always found ways to keep himself entertained. He spent this time in the dredges, where his loose lips often started quarrels that he managed not having to fight in himself. He kept his wits about him back then, playing pathetic souls for fools by convincing them to believe inconvincible things.

He catered to this aspect of himself, so much that it became a skill, more or less, and one that would one day bring him under the contract of a mare they called Mother Salvadora. For generations, her family had offered very unique services to noble men and women who had a great many things to lose and an abundance of enemies who wouldn’t mind seeing them do so. Oh, how she liked to use peculiar terms like “insurance” and “security”, but he knew exactly what her craft was and did not care one bit so long as he shared in the profits.

Vincent racketeered for much of this contract, favoring the violence of it over more noble crimes of extortion and blackmail. But funny thing about family businesses, especially those that lacked legitimacy: One little fool stirring the pot and the whole business goes under. So it was not entirely strange to him when Sal requested ‘services’ against her own brother, Santuario, who enjoyed ruffling her feathers by making it no secret that he desired her share of the wealth. And Vince, less loyal than intrigued, was happy to oblige her.

She had always insisted on ‘clean’ kills when it came to that, but he argued that he had never been in the habit of leaving corpses that could be recognized. Besides, the bonded she possessed—vultures, which always peered down at them always from the balustrades of her estate—were always happy to double-check his handy work.

Only, funnier thing about family businesses: when they all pretty well own the same pie Vince, being Vince, was quite willing to turn tables for the man who offered him the bigger slice. It just so happened that this was Santu (albeit in a moment before his skull would have been crushed). Shame Vincent was not a more clever man, because he returned to Sal as cooly and casually as one might stroll in to a meadow on a beautiful spring day and discussed with her his successes unaware that she was a step ahead of him as always.

He had only seen her magic at work a time or two. She did not like to dirty her own hands for someone who did a fair share of commanding others to do the same. After mere moments, he felt an immense pressure overtake him and suddenly his legs grew weak. His face contorted with confusion as they gave beneath him and he collapsed on to the floor in a heap.

“Not poison, She assured him. "just a little paralysis to pass the time” She gestured to the vultures, who shuffled their talons along the railings with excitement. Their usually solemn, watchful eyes were wild with desire. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they would be glad to double-check my handy-work.” She cooed those familiar words back at him, made twice as menacing by her sweet, sultry tone. With that, she stepped over him. Vince writhed, willing his jaws to snap around her delicate legs as she passed but they would not obey. He only twitched and grunted. “That was a very foolish choice, Vincent.” She murmured. “Do give my brother my regards when I send him to burn in Hell with you myself.” Even as she murdered him, she was as lovely as ever with her hips swaying gently with each delicate step. He remembered thinking how much he desired her even as she walked away and a black cloud of filthy feathers descended upon him. He no more heard the vulture’s battle cries before his flesh began tearing. The took first his eyes and then undressed the flesh from his face. There was no dullness of feeling, no fading of pain, and if he could have he would have surely shrieked. And when he could not take the pain a moment longer, he escaped in to darkness that he knew he would never return from.
cour 2.

Well, except that he did.

Only Vincent himself would ever know why the Gods salvaged his pathetic soul by imparting on him the passive magic that either saved him from death or brought him back from the brink of it. His eyes were the only thing to be restored, and as a cruel joke they are but liquid mercury in color and give off a useless appearance. The rest of him was simply suspended in decay, neither healing nor rotting. The purpose of his existence is a safely kept secret. His lips, er, where they used to be never do tell the real story although they do an awful lot of talking. What he might be willing to divulge, under the right circumstances, is what happened thereafter. Novus was his place of rebirth, where the Gods drug his corpse and left him on the northern sands for the vultures to circle him endlessly.

cour 3.

ACT IV: god whispers on the wind Vincent participates in the SWP Relic Hunt
well, reckon, play the foolInformation Pending

Active & Parvus Magic





Passive Magic

If it is by mere pity that the Gods have instilled the passive magic that keeps his putrid carcass from rotting in to gangrene by which maggots feast, then they have surely wasted their love. There is no creature more undeserving of life, and yet here we are alive and mostly well. The passive magic, after having restored some minor organs such as his eyes, does nothing more than suspend his decay now. It is not immortality, although the beast surely covets eternal life and would sell what flesh the vultures did not claim in order to obtain it.



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Played by:

Apothic (PM Player)

DeviantArt:

none    //   

Discord:

Apothic#3165

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