Ferrocerium

Something Beyond The Abyss, a Lovecraftian Horror RP.

Kenneth McEwan

Name: Coinneach Mac Eòghainn / Kenneth McEwan

Sex: Male

Occupation: Pawn shop owner (former), fence (former-ish?), fixer, Order operative (unwilling)

Height: 5'7"

Weight: 160 lbs

Appearance:

Portrait

Eldritch Encounters: He "obtained" a book titled "On My Travels To Yuggoth", written by an unknown author. Made the terrible mistake of reading it.

Traits:
- Tainted eldritch knowledge: Kenneth has been "granted" knowledge of the distant, alien world of Yuggoth (a world which, in a hundred years, would be known to astronomers as Pluto). He's mostly buried it, because thinking about it for too long makes his brain hurt.
- Alcoholic: it's his way of escaping the above. Being at least modestly drunk helps him beat back the knowledge of Yuggoth and its strange inhabitants. The longer he's sober and left alone with his thoughts, the more that bubbles to the surface.
- Criminal connections: all of Kenneth's business took place in the isles, but that doesn't mean he's totally blind in continental Europe. Maybe he doesn't have connections, but given some time, he can find out what rocks he has to look under to find a city's upstanding criminal elements.
- The abyss stares back: sometimes, knowledge is a two-way street. The more Kenneth uncovers about Yuggoth, the more that Yuggoth might learn about him...
- Sleep is for the weak: ever since he read "On My Travels To Yuggoth", Kenneth finds himself in that strange place in his dreams. The experience is so vivid that he's never sure if he's actually asleep or not. He does his best to go as long as he can without sleeping to avoid it.

Equipment:
- One (1) flintlock pistol
- One (1) blackjack
- One (1) pocket Bible (prob. stolen)
- One (1) rosary, amber beads on brass chain (def. stolen)
- One (1) copy of "On My Travels To Yuggoth", the only known copy, seared into his brain like a woodburning

Order: Yes, but he's not happy about it.

Background:
- Pawn shop owner, fence, and all-around black market dealer centered in Glasgow
- One day, he obtained a book titled "On My Travels To Yuggoth", which had been stolen from the home of a prominent would-be wizard and cult leader.
- He read it and that was an awful, awful mistake.
- While Kenneth was still reeling from the knowledge branded into his mind (an unpleasant experience), the cult attacked his pawn shop to get the book back, because when you're a member of the Brotherhood Of Distant Shores, you don't 'pay' for things.
- And then, in swoops the Bouclier Dans Les Tenebres to save the day. They'd been watching the Brotherhood, and took advantage of their attack on the pawn shop to take a whack at them. The Brotherhood took some losses and escaped, and Kenneth was pulled out of his burning shop, babbling in tongues not native to our sweet Mother Earth. Thankfully, the book didn't escape the fires.
- The Order operatives took Kenneth in, recognizing the knowledge he had, and decided that it made him a potentially valuable asset to the Order. He was given a choice, but since the choice was "join us or we'll shoot you in the gorram head", it wasn't much of one.

Personality: Before the book, Kenneth was a friendly, jovial man, the sort of guy that nobody could find a reason to hate. It was part of what made him a good fence; everybody KNEW he was involved in shady dealings, but he was just such a nice guy that nobody could fault him for it.

That was before that damned book. Now, Kenneth is a dark and bitter shell of his former self. He's lost his home, his place of business, his entire life, and now he's the semi-unwilling agent of the Order, fighting against the very things that he turned to drink to avoid.

Still, sometimes that old Kenneth will rise to the surface, like the sun peeking out from behind a stormcloud.

Tear the World Down

@Sierra I'm really sorry, but I think I'm going to have to bow out. I don't think I'd be able to match the quality (or quantity, jeez) of writing made by the others in this RP.

Tear the World Down

Awright, I've posted Matty's sheet. I ended up making some minor changes for readability, and I swapped out the "Daydream" ability for terrain manipulation. And now I'm considering taking out the out-of-body experience ability because that all may be too much.

Tear the World Down

MATTY

{{ MALE || 15, prolly }}

APPEARANCE

What Matty looks like depends on how close you are to him. From a distance, and if he's standing still, he might look like a pile of dirty, tattered rags. His 'wardrobe' is made up of more layers of clothing than he can count, all of it well-worn and stolen from unattended laundry lines and sleeping drunks with little care for how well it actually fits Matty's tiny frame. It serves as both protection from the elements and a bizarre sort of urban camouflage.

Closer up, it's easier to see the dirty human boy inside all the rags. Matty would be small for his age even if he wasn't malnourished, and his green eyes look particularly large and bright sticking out of his dirty, pale, gaunt face.

Any attempt to get any closer to Matty would cause the child to scamper away, vanishing into the alleyways of Dawnguard that he knows better than anything else.

BIOGRAPHY

Matty's story is short and sad. Once upon a time, he had parents, probably. He never knew them, personally, and probably wouldn't have cared for them if he had. They died, and Matty was left alone, and that's how things have been ever since. Story over.

But, to expand just a little: Matty grew up hard and fast in Dawnguard, the capital city of the Vahkranite Imperium, that gilded bastion of order and power in the big reeking shitball that was the Third Age. Or so say the lucky, uninformed fucks who never had to actually live there.

No matter what grand speeches the king makes about 'spreading peace' or whatever the hell else he's smoking, at the end of the day a city is just a whole bunch of people trying to get by. And in Dawnguard, where all the vaunted wealth and plenty of the Vahkranite flows from the king to his fat coterie of nobles and his massive, bloated armies, it takes a lot to 'get by'.

Matty is part of that population of unmentionables that always lurks just out of sight. The forgotten and forsaken. Former soldiers missing their arms, legs, and wits. Unlucky whores, scratching at rashes that never go away. Addled drunks and addicts, wandering in search of just one more fix, just one. And then there's people like Matty: the orphans, the urchins, the street rats. Orphaned by any one of a dozen wars, or plagues, or just pure bad luck, they're the ones that scrabble hopelessly at the scraps and leftovers, struggling to survive because they don't know how to do anything else.

It's the only life that Matty's ever known, and he's never thought of anything else. Except recently. Recently he's pretty sure he's gone crazy, because there's a man living in his head. And that man is probably more than a few cards short of a full deck, too. Goes on and on about him being the heir to the Shadow Legions or some shite, and that he has to "tear the world down" or something like that. But that's probably normal for crazy head-voices; Matty's met plenty of crazies in his time, and ain't none of them ever had a voice in their head that was just plain friendly. What's up with that, yeah?

SKILLS

-- Survivor

Matty has fended for himself since the time he could walk, and what he lacks in proper education, he makes up for in street smarts that have been sharpened to a razor's edge. He can scamper freely through the tangled alleys and backstreets of Dawnguard, and given a few days in any city, he'll show a remarkable ability to pick up on the local geography, lingo, and unspoken rules. Nobody sees him when he doesn't want to be seen (which is basically all the time) and nobody can catch him when he doesn't want to be caught (which is exactly all the time).

-- Street Rat

The second reason that Matty has managed to survive for so damn long on his own is that he has absolutely nothing resembling pride, honor, or shame. He has quick little hands, adept at picking pockets or snatching fruit from inattentive stall owners. He never rises above anything more than petty crime; he's made it so far by being nothing more than a temporary annoyance. The scale of his crimes make it so that permanently stopping him would be more effort than it's actually worth, so Matty can slip by without being noticed too much. But his abject shamelessness is most apparent in the case that Matty is ever forced into an actual fight. In a rumble, Matty's first and only goal isn't to kill or maim his opponent: all he needs to do is create an opening to escape, and he'll do whatever he needs to in order to get that opportunity. No soft spot is off limits, no trick is too dirty, and the best way to win is to get out alive. By that definition, Matty's never lost a fight.

WEAPONS

-- Matty's "Sword"

Technically - very technically - Matty's weapon of choice is a sword. To be more honest, it's half a sword, and it's probably old enough that, if it was human, it would always be complaining about its joints and grumbling about how irritating kids these days are. Matty found it in a trash heap when he was eleven or so, and it had that perfect mix of 'useful' and 'valueless' that led to him keeping it instead of selling it for scrap metal. What remains of the blade is the size of a generous dagger, and the hilt - meant for a blade much longer - makes it handle a bit awkwardly, but Matty has gotten very good at using it. He keeps it as sharp as he can, but he's afraid that it's nearing the end of its life.

KING ARMSAEL, THE ABSOLUTE

{{ MALE }}

King Armsael, at the height of his power

TOTEM

Once upon a time, the totem that carries Armsael's soul was a beautiful sword, the masterpiece of one of the greatest craftsmen of the First Age. It was the sword that he carried at his hip as his thrall armies marched on the Nexus, their every step, every breath taken at his command. Time has... it hasn't been kind.

PERSONALITY

In the First Age, Armsael's deeds earned him titles and renown in equal measure. He was King Armsael the Absolute. Armsael, the Crown Thief. The Pretender. The Usurper. The Thrall-King. In the final battle of the First Age, when the Shadow Legion marched on the Nexus, the largest army on the field flew Armsael's banner and sang his praises, even as they killed and died in droves.

In the Third Age, Armsael is mostly called "Arms, the man who lives in my head an' complains a lot".

Humiliating? Oh, yes. Very.

Compared to his brothers and sisters in the Shadow Legion, Armsael has drawn the shortest possible straw in terms of vessels: a simple street rat, without a thought in his head that isn't focused on where his next meal is coming from. A boy swaddled in rags, using his once-beautiful sword to cut purse-strings. Once, the stupid brat caught a rat and ate it, raw. He was sick for a week, and Armsael laughed the whole time.

Does Armsael hate Matty? Oh, he loathes the boy. But would he take a different vessel, given the chance?

No, probably not.

Truth be told, he sees his partnership with Matty as a challenge to overcome. A wild horse that only needs a capable rider to break him in. On his own, Matty would be content to spend the rest of his short life scrabbling in the dirt, and after his death, not even the rats would remember him after picking his corpse clean. But with Armsael - King of Kings, Dominatus, He-Whose-Thoughts-Bend-Others-To-His-Will (it sounds much better in the Northmen tongue, but humans can't pronounce it without coughing) - at his side, directing him and guiding him, he could be so much more.

Kings will bow at his passing. Lords will grovel at his feet. Peasants will worship him as a god.

And if Matty proves too difficult to control, well... Perhaps Armsael will have to take a more proactive hand in matters.

SKILLS

-- Domination

Other Legionnaires might have the ability to bend lesser people to their will, but it was Armsael that was the undisputed master of the art. He could use the aether to mold thoughts like a potter molds clay, shaping them as he sees fit. Using simple brute force, he could turn a man into a puppet, but he preferred a more subtle approach. Twisting a man's mind until he would follow Armsael's orders not because of magic, but because he truly believed that he wanted to. This was how Armsael made himself a king in the First Age, in the height of his power: he convinced an entire country that he was their beloved, unquestioned ruler. And they believed it.

-- I Dream Of Distant Shores

Armsael could separate his mind from his body, casting his thoughts far afield while his mortal shape slept. Unshackled from his body, Armsael's mind could travel unnoticed and as fast as the aetheric winds would carry him, but the absolute king was always cautious of traveling too far from his own body. While he was immaterial, he might still be harmed by aethercraft, although no mage would be able to notice him if they didn't know what to look for. These days, he can take Matty out of his body, but the boy is the one in control, with Armsael along for the ride.

-- King of Land, Sky, and Sea

Armsael's aetheric talents were not confined to his mastery over his thralls; he was adept at manipulating the elements of earth, air, and water, as if the world around him obeyed his commands as easily as the people he ruled. Sadly, he could never grasp fire, which he blames on the element's impermanent nature.

Tear the World Down

Moving this from the interest check to the proper OOC as requested. Expanded upon, picture-ified, and awaiting merciless critique.

Matty an' Armsael

MATTY

{{ MALE || 15-ish? }}

APPEARANCE

What Matty looks like depends on how close you are to him. From a distance, and if he's standing still, he might look like a pile of dirty, tattered rags. His 'wardrobe' is made up of more layers of clothing than he can count, all of it well-worn and stolen from unattended laundry lines and sleeping drunks with little care for how well it actually fits Matty's tiny frame. It serves as both protection from the elements and a bizarre sort of urban camouflage.

Closer up, it's easier to see the dirty human boy inside all the rags. Matty would be small for his age even if he wasn't malnourished, and his green eyes look particularly large and bright sticking out of his dirty, pale, gaunt face.

Any attempt to get any closer to Matty would cause the child to scamper away, vanishing into the alleyways of Dawnguard that he knows better than anything else.

BIOGRAPHY

Matty's story is short and sad. Once upon a time, he had parents, probably. He never knew them, personally, and probably wouldn't have cared for them if he had. They died, and Matty was left alone, and that's how things have been ever since. Story over.

But, to expand just a little: Matty grew up hard and fast in Dawnguard, the capital city of the Vahkranite Imperium, that gilded bastion of order and power in the big reeking shitball that was the Third Age. At least, the only people that actually think that are the lucky fucks who never had to live there.

No matter what grand speeches the king makes about 'spreading peace' or whatever the hell else he's smoking, at the end of the day a city is just a whole bunch of people trying to get by. And in Dawnguard, where all the vaunted wealth and plenty of the Vahkranite flows from the king to his fat coterie of nobles and his massive, bloated armies, it takes a lot to 'get by'.

Matty is part of that population of unmentionables that always lurks just out of sight. The forgotten and forsaken. Former soldiers missing their arms, legs, and wits. Unlucky whores, scratching at rashes that never go away. Addled drunks and addicts, wandering in search of just one more fix, just one. And then there's people like Matty: the orphans, the urchins, the street rats. Orphaned by any one of a dozen wars, or plagues, or just pure bad luck, they're the ones that scrabble hopelessly at the scraps and leftovers, struggling to survive because they don't know how to do anything else.

It's the only life that Matty's ever known, and he's never thought of anything else. Except recently. Recently he's pretty sure he's gone crazy, because there's a man living in his head. And that man is probably more than a few cards short of a full deck, too. Goes on and on about him being the heir to the Shadow Legions or some shite, and that he has to "tear the world down" or something like that. But that's probably normal for crazy head-voices; Matty's met plenty of crazies in his time, and ain't none of them ever had a voice in their head that was just plain friendly. What's up with that, yeah?

SKILLS

-- Survivor

Matty has fended for himself since the time he could walk, and what he lacks in proper education, he makes up for in street smarts that have been sharpened to a razor's edge. He can scamper freely through the tangled alleys and backstreets of Dawnguard, and given a few days in any city, he'll show a remarkable ability to pick up on the local geography, lingo, and unspoken rules. Nobody sees him when he doesn't want to be seen (which is basically all the time) and nobody can catch him when he doesn't want to be caught (which is exactly all the time).

-- Street Rat

The second reason that Matty has managed to survive for so damn long on his own is that he has absolutely nothing resembling pride, honor, or shame. He has quick little hands, adept at picking pockets or snatching fruit from inattentive stall owners. He never rises above anything more than petty crime; he's made it so far by being nothing more than a temporary annoyance. The scale of his crimes make it so that permanently stopping him would be more effort than it's actually worth, so Matty can slip by without being noticed too much. But his abject shamelessness can mostly be viewed if the boy is ever forced into an actual fight. In a rumble, Matty's first and only goal isn't to kill or maim his opponent: all he needs to do is create an opening to escape, and he'll do whatever he needs to in order to get that opportunity. No soft spot is off limits, no trick is too dirty, and the best way to win is to get out alive. By that definition, Matty's never lost a fight.

WEAPONS

-- Matty's "Sword"

Technically - very technically - Matty's weapon of choice is a sword. To be more honest, it's half a sword, and it's probably old enough that, if it was human, it would always be complaining about its joints and complaining about how irritating kids these days are. Matty found it in a trash heap when he was eleven or so, and it had that perfect mix of 'useful' and 'valueless' that led to him keeping it instead of selling it for scrap metal. The blade is the size of a generous dagger, and the hilt - meant for a blade much longer - makes it handle a bit awkwardly, but Matty has gotten very good at using it. He keeps it as sharp as he can, but he's afraid that it's nearing the end of its life.

KING ARMSAEL, THE ABSOLUTE

{{ MALE }}

King Armsael, at the height of his power

TOTEM

Once upon a time, the totem that carries Armsael's soul was a beautiful sword, the masterpiece of one of the greatest craftsmen of the First Age. It was the sword that he carried at his hip as his thrall armies marched on the Nexus, their every step, every breath taken at his command. Time has... it hasn't been kind.

PERSONALITY

In the First Age, Armsael's deeds earned him titles and renown in equal measure. He was King Armsael the Absolute. Armsael, the Crown Thief. The Pretender. The Usurper. The Thrall-King. In the final battle of the First Age, when the Shadow Legion marched on the Nexus, the largest army on the field flew Armsael's banner and sang his praises, even as they killed and died in droves.

In the Third Age, Armsael is mostly called "Arms, the man who lives in my head an' complains a lot".

Humiliating? Oh, yes. Very.

Compared to his brothers and sisters in the Shadow Legion, Armsael has drawn the shortest possible straw in terms of vessels: a simple street rat, without a thought in his head that isn't focused on where his next meal is coming from. A boy swaddled in rags, using his once-beautiful sword to cut purse-strings. Once, the stupid brat caught a rat and ate it, raw. He was sick for a week, and Armsael laughed the whole time.

Does Armsael hate Matty? Oh, he loathes the boy. But would he take a different vessel, given the chance?

No, probably not.

Truth be told, he sees his partnership with Matty as a challenge to overcome. A wild horse that only needs a capable rider to break him in. On his own, Matty would be content to spend the rest of his short life scrabbling in the dirt, and after his death, not even the rats would remember him after picking his corpse clean. But with Armsael - King of Kings, Dominatus, He-Whose-Thoughts-Bend-Others-To-His-Will (it sounds much better in the Northmen tongue, but humans can't pronounce it without coughing) - at his side, directing him and guiding him, he could be so much more.

Kings will bow at his passing. Lords will grovel at his feet. Peasants will worship him as a god.

And if Matty proves too difficult to control, well... Perhaps Armsael will have to take a more proactive hand in matters.

SKILLS

-- Domination

Other Legionnaires might have the ability to bend lesser people to their will, but it was Armsael that was the undisputed master of the art. He could use the aether to mold thoughts like a potter molds clay, shaping them as he sees fit. Using simple brute force, he could turn a man into a puppet, but he preferred a more subtle approach. Twisting a man's mind until he would follow Armsael's orders not because of magic, but because he truly believed that he wanted to. This was how Armsael made himself a king in the First Age, in the height of his power: he convinced an entire country that he was their beloved, unquestioned ruler. And they believed it.

-- Daydreams

As Armsael's power grew, he learned how to give solid shapes to the figments of his imagination. Nowadays, that ability is linked more to Matty's mind than it is to his own. Matty doesn't have an extremely powerful imagination.

-- I Dream Of Distant Shores

Armsael could separate his mind from his body, casting his thoughts far afield while his mortal shape slept. Unshackled from his body, Armsael's mind could travel unnoticed and as fast as he wished, but the absolute king was always cautious of traveling too far from his own body. While he was immaterial, he might still be harmed by aethercraft, although no mage would be able to notice him if they didn't know what to look for. These days, he can take Matty out of his body, but the boy is the one in control, with Armsael along for the ride.

Tear the World Down - Dark Fantasy Done Differently

Okay, I've whipped up a quick proof-of-concept sheet. This is by no means complete, but I'll leave it here for input, critique, and further expansion in the coming days.

Matty an' Armsael

MATTY

{{ MALE || 15-ish? }}

APPEARANCE

What Matty looks like depends on how close you are to him. From a distance, and if he's standing still, he might look like a pile of dirty, tattered rags. His 'wardrobe' is made up of more layers of clothing than he can count, all of it well-worn and stolen from unattended laundry lines and sleeping drunks with little care for how well it actually fits Matty's tiny frame. It serves as both protection from the elements and a bizarre sort of urban camouflage.

Closer up, it's easier to see the dirty human boy inside all the rags. Matty would be small for his age even if he wasn't malnourished, and his green eyes look particularly large and bright sticking out of his dirty, pale, gaunt face.

Any attempt to get any closer to Matty would cause the child to scamper away, vanishing into the alleyways of Dawnguard that he knows better than anything else.

BIOGRAPHY

Matty's story is short and sad. Once upon a time, he had parents, probably. He never knew them, personally, and probably wouldn't have cared for them if he had. They died, and Matty was left alone, and that's how things have been ever since. Story over.

But, to expand just a little: Matty grew up hard and fast in Dawnguard, the capital city of the Vahkranite Imperium, that gilded bastion of order and power in the big reeking shitball that was the Third Age. At least, the only people that actually think that are the lucky fucks who never had to live there.

No matter what grand speeches the king makes about 'spreading peace' or whatever the hell else he's smoking, at the end of the day a city is just a whole bunch of people trying to get by. And in Dawnguard, where all the vaunted wealth and plenty of the Vahkranite flows from the king to his fat coterie of nobles and his massive, bloated armies, it takes a lot to 'get by'.

Matty is part of that population of unmentionables that always lurks just out of sight. The forgotten and forsaken. Former soldiers missing their arms, legs, and wits. Unlucky whores, scratching at rashes that never go away. Addled drunks and addicts, wandering in search of just one more fix, just one. And then there's people like Matty: the orphans, the urchins, the street rats. Orphaned by any one of a dozen wars, or plagues, or just pure bad luck, they're the ones that scrabble hopelessly at the scraps and leftovers, struggling to survive because they don't know how to do anything else.

It's the only life that Matty's ever known, and he's never thought of anything else. Except recently. Recently he's pretty sure he's gone crazy, because there's a man living in his head. And that man is probably more than a few cards short of a full deck, too. Goes on and on about him being the heir to the Shadow Legions or some shite, and that he has to "tear the world down" or something like that. But that's probably normal for crazy head-voices; Matty's met plenty of crazies in his time, and ain't none of them ever had a voice in their head that was just plain friendly. What's up with that, yeah?

SKILLS

-- Survivor

Matty has fended for himself since the time he could walk, and what he lacks in proper education, he makes up for in street smarts that have been sharpened to a razor's edge. He can scamper freely through the tangled alleys and backstreets of Dawnguard, and given a few days in any city, he'll show a remarkable ability to pick up on the local geography, lingo, and unspoken rules. Nobody sees him when he doesn't want to be seen (which is basically all the time) and nobody can catch him when he doesn't want to be caught (which is exactly all the time).

-- Street Rat

The second reason that Matty has managed to survive for so damn long on his own is that he has absolutely nothing resembling pride, honor, or shame. He has quick little hands, adept at picking pockets or snatching fruit from inattentive stall owners. He never rises above anything more than petty crime; he's made it so far by being nothing more than a temporary annoyance. The scale of his crimes make it so that permanently stopping him would be more effort than it's actually worth, so Matty can slip by without being noticed too much. But his abject shamelessness can mostly be viewed if the boy is ever forced into an actual fight. In a rumble, Matty's first and only goal isn't to kill or maim his opponent: all he needs to do is create an opening to escape, and he'll do whatever he needs to in order to get that opportunity. No soft spot is off limits, no trick is too dirty, and the best way to win is to get out alive. By that definition, Matty's never lost a fight.

WEAPONS

-- Matty's "Sword"

Technically - very technically - Matty's weapon of choice is a sword. To be more honest, it's half a sword, and it's probably old enough that, if it was human, it would always be complaining about its joints and complaining about how irritating kids these days are. Matty found it in a trash heap when he was eleven or so, and it had that perfect mix of 'useful' and 'valueless' that led to him keeping it instead of selling it for scrap metal. The blade is the size of a generous dagger, and the hilt - meant for a blade much longer - makes it handle a bit awkwardly, but Matty has gotten very good at using it. He keeps it as sharp as he can, but he's afraid that it's nearing the end of its life.

OTHER

-- Bonus Item

List any other relevant attributes or items here.

KING ARMSAEL, THE ABSOLUTE

{{ MALE }}

TOTEM

Once upon a time, the totem that carries Armsael's soul was a beautiful sword, the masterpiece of one of the greatest craftsmen of the First Age. It was the sword that he carried at his hip as his thrall armies marched on the Nexus, their every step, every breath taken at his command. Time has... it hasn't been kind.

PERSONALITY

Compared to his brothers and sisters in the Shadow Legion, Armsael has definitively drawn the shortest possible straw in terms of vessels: a simple street rat, without a thought in his head that isn't focused on where his next meal is coming from. Swaddled in rags. Using his once-beautiful sword to cut purse-strings. The boy ate a rat once. Didn't even cook it. He was sick for a week, and Armsael laughed the whole time.

{TO BE EXPANDED}

SKILLS

-- Domination

Other Legionnaires might have the ability to bend lesser people to their will, but it was Armsael that was the undisputed master of the art. He could use the aether to mold thoughts like a potter molds clay, shaping them as he sees fit. Using simple brute force, he could turn a man into a puppet, but he preferred a more subtle approach. Twisting a man's mind until he would follow Armsael's orders not because of magic, but because he truly believed that he wanted to. This was how Armsael made himself a king in the First Age, in the height of his power: he convinced an entire country that he was their beloved, unquestioned ruler. And they believed it.

-- Daydreams

As Armsael's power grew, he learned how to give solid shapes to the figments of his imagination. Nowadays, that ability is linked more to Matty's mind than it is to his own. Matty doesn't have an extremely powerful imagination.

-- I Dream Of Distant Shores

Armsael could separate his mind from his body, casting his thoughts far afield while his mortal shape slept. Unshackled from his body, Armsael's mind could travel unnoticed and as fast as he wished, but the absolute king was always cautious of traveling too far from his own body. While he was immaterial, he might still be harmed by aethercraft, although no mage would be able to notice him if they didn't know what to look for. These days, he can take Matty out of his body, but the boy is the one in control, with Armsael along for the ride.

OTHER

-- Random Tidbit

List any other relevant attributes or items here.

Something Beyond The Abyss, a Lovecraftian Horror RP.

This looks interesting. Just off the top of my head, my first idea for a character would be a black market dealer who made the terrible mistake of trying to fence an original copy of the Necronomicon, with footnotes in the margins that made his eyes hurt.

Tear the World Down - Dark Fantasy Done Differently

Ooh, this looks really interesting. I'll try to draft up a character sheet in the next few days.

ＴＥＲＲＡ

This definitely looks interesting. Sort of reminds me of Gamma World. Not sure what sort of character I'd play, but I'm leaning more towards a green or an elf. I'll decide once I have more info.

Codex Auriferum: Game of Fate (alchemy-focused setting)

We're all looking forward to it!