𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯
Name: His original name long since abandoned and forgotten, he simply goes by the letters branded on his chest. According to him, they spell the name he currently uses, Forever.
Title: The (Ragnarov Fleet Legislative Council) Spokesman
Influence: 5 - Global. Not only does Forever possess enough magical aptitude to fight off most of his opponents, he also is in the lead of the council, technically speaking. He cannot vote for himself, but all decisions are put to fruition through him.
Group: The Ragnarov Fleet
Description:
- Height: Approximately 237cm
- Weight: Depends on the amount of sand on him, fluctuating from ~240kg to ~280kg
- Age: Unknown
- Race/Species: Demisphinx (Bipedal sphinx with a more bestial appearance)
Forever's appearance would at first hint one towards a feral creature. The slightest coat of fur covers his dark brown skin, his face is dog like with its muzzle and teeth, a luxurious golden lion-like mane flowing from the base of it in all directions. This mane also releases sand into his environment when the hairs rub against each other, as long as the sand does not get stuck within the mane itself that is. Which it often does. His body is wide as a barn door, packed with muscle. At the ends of his arms are hands that sport four fingers topped with sharply curved claws made for rending flesh, lacking a thumb. His feet have four toes just as well, with similarly unretractable claws. The shape of them is peculiar from the more common sphinx: Instead of paw like, these appear as if somebody took human feet and prolonged them. He is often seen wearing slippers and a half-toga that does not cover his upper body, leaving the source of his name visible the times his mane is not in the way. Across his wide chest, seven letters are branded in difficult to recognise script, spelling out the word "𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯".
As for his personality, Forever is most commonly seen "wearing a mask", acting as something that he is not. The spokesman that sits behind the table is not the man one would meet when calling upon him on a private call or meeting him in his quarters for whatever reason. At work, forever does his best to keep his aggressive and, frankly, quite manipulative side down, to do what the man who sits in the spokesman's chair is supposed to do. Due to the respect the council holds for the spokesman, he has yet to fail this restraining of his self. On his 'free time' he lives quite a secluded life, caring mostly about furthering the power of the Fleet. The spokesman works himself to the bone to realise the goal that originally sent him to the fleet. To know power, conquer and rule.
Abilities, Talents, Traits, Powers: Unlike most in the fleet, Forever is a user of traditional magic. This causes some problems with the machinery, but nothing they could not manage.
- ( 3 ) Supernatural body -- Forever is much stronger and somewhat tougher than your average human.
- ( 4 ) Sand generation -- Forever's mane is capable of generating magical sand out of nowhere, to the degree of the production never shutting off. At full capacity, he could coat a hallway with a thin layer with just a shake of his head, but on the usual resting capability, one should be able to follow him based on the trail of sand grains. The sand itself, while magically created, is just that. Sand.
- ( 5 ) Sand manipulation -- And this is where it gets dirty. Forever is capable of commanding sand, both naturally occurring and that falling off of his mane. From building structures to creating weapons of it, he can compress the material to be hard as steel as long as it is in contact with him, directly or other particles he has influence over. This control wanes over distance and even in a grand desert if one maintains a safety gap of one hundred kilometres, Forever should be unable to harm one with this ability.
- ( 5 ) The prison of the exile -- The final trick Forever has up his sleeve. If an opponent proves to be too manoeuvrable to be claimed victory over, Forever may trap himself and every living creature within thirty metres into an alternative reality, consisting of a barren sandy desert that extends fifty kilometres in every direction from the point they arrive in, ending in a barrier limit to prevent people and the sand falling into the void beyond. There is naught but sand, scorching sun, Forever and those brought with him here. The plane ceases existing once Forever is content with the results or incapacitated, but the drawback is heavy. The spokesman will lose access to all of his abilities but the sand generation, which will still operate on a minimal level. Last time this occurred, he was blocked off for a decade.
Items: Nothing especially noteworthy, barring his perfectly ordinary clothes. The Fleet armoury is in his disposal if he feels like it, but with how technological everything there is, they are too prone to break for his tastes.
Background: Much like what would be expected of someone of the Demisphinxes, Forever originates from the lands of Egytania (see Shilukki for the earlier appearance of said realm). Back in those days he carried a different name, but after the exile by the Sphinx council for reasons he can no longer remember that one lost its purpose. There was no use to carry the name that only held the bitter regret of the past. Instead, he chose the word branded onto his chest, the duration of his punishment to be what he would be known as from now on. For in the end, it would not be his punishment, but the length of his rule over the fearful. That was how he envisioned it.
He spent centuries locked away within stone, far from his home, delivered there via the magic of those whose art was more refined than his. In there, he had nothing but time to think. To plan. And when a mysterious grey mass that would turn out to be a nanobot swarm from the Harvester finally dug him out, he squinted his eyes and climbed out, avoiding being devoured thanks to his magical nature alone. And so he met up with Ragnarov Fleet.
It took him a fair amount of time, but with somebody of his wit and sheer power, it did not take long from the new people to recognise him as a worthy leader and elect him their leader. Or so he had thought anyway. As it turns out, the spokesman does not carry the power, but uses the power. Close enough, he bitterly accepted. Yet every victory of the Fleet was a victory for him, every resource collected one that would strengthen the troops that followed his and the council's word. He would begin his dominion here, and one day when they would return to the place he once called home, now but a distant memory... that day, the inferior council would see just what they had unleashed upon the world.
