[quote=@liferusher]
<Snipped quote by AtomicNut>

Gomenasai! T-T

you write a good backstory in 3 days T-T
[/quote]

Who rushes the liferusher?

On a side note, I was just poking to see if you peeps had not dropped interest. But since you want a good backstory, here's one.
[hider= Teh Tale of Ghoul X]
Ghoul X was thrown in the streets after a bizarre incident with two emus, marmite and an industrial woodchipper led to the deaths of 2 CCG investigators, a ghoul and a poodle. Poor dog. X never really understood why that stupid fluffy thing was even there, but he felt dark, icy claws strangling his heart as the poor creature breathe his last. Oh, and his father was also dead too. It was a bother, really.

So, young X spent his youth in whenever young destitute ghouls wandered to. Not the cemetery. The streets of the assorted wards. He... struggled to survive, for a lack of a better term. Let's just say he sucked at surviving, and would have kicked the bucket if the old man hadn't found him. He found also new friends, too! And they also talked back. They were fellow (somewhat inedible) ghouls. Young X was overjoyed, since he could cuddle up under the blankets of many other people and pretend they were his daddy. Well, until he hit the age when it all started to sound creepy, anyway.

When the old man died, X felt hunger. Then he felt sadness, and regret for eating the last arm out of the fridge. He in fact indulged in binge eating to drown his sorrows, and for that reason, he soon wasted a ton of food and scampered off his merry way. Into the streets once more. But this time, he could actually kick groins rather than shins, a strategy he used to great effect when hunting. He... could get by now. And then he manifested his ghoul claw.

Those walls weren't red to begin with. But it was good. It felt good. And he found his vocation as painter. Except he actually tried painting with real oil colours rather than guts. That sort of stuff was actually rather... smelly after a bit. Not to mention he became voiceless trying to tell fellow ghouls not to lick his famed blood paintings, too. Eight years passed, and he's become a good painter nowadays. His people faces no look any longer like elongated potatoes, and actually he's paid and praised for it.

However, he still remembers the good old times with the fellow ghouls and the old man.

Also that last one arm. Cause it was yummy. But anyway, he resolved to help because, yannow, he isn't a complete jerk. He just plays with his food a little.

[/hider]