MrStitches

Stitches cache of characters!

Tiamat, The Corpse Keeper.

No one where besides where rested the mounds of his dead reanimated companions he would ever claim to home. The hem sharing the bounty of their dried blood and ash dragging behind the thin figure which it was left draped around, doom to forever tail the demented creature which was easily mistook for human. Day after day Tiamat would take candles from tombstones, crypts and, catacombs only to reignite the dying flames again and again in another place maggots feast on the carcasses of human bodies. Along the walls of stone the reaper's shadow was always seen and he, Tiamat would follow. Regardless of time or place hours from when bodies met the earth, ravens claimed warriors or the unfortunate ran afoul of beast something dragged the sweet gleam of his longing hollow desire to memories embedded into objects with meaning. Like treasure swords with worn hilts and amulets all littered a single cavern floor as did specific bodies saved from time's restless onslaught were staked to the walls. The cold stone singing as cold winds ripped across the foundry within. The song itself nothing more the sad moans from the souls departed from their own memorabilia.

[Listed information below if the piece above didn't give you a overall idea of the character.

Name: Tiamat
Habitat:ruins or any place where people die often.
Personality basics: sadistic when in presence of small animals. Normally a nostalgic sweet with the tendency to exclaim the obvious.
Visually:A long dirty robe which is much to big. Soft raw copper green eyes while thin but not inevitably ill looking.

Immortal Fantasy

Immortal Fantasy

Hopelessly Reclusive:Fantasy

Subgenres which may or may not be present as the role-play goes on:Gore|Romance

For characters I only have a soft preference of what I don't want your character to be.

Anything that by obvious terms not live normally amongst human society but does. If it doesn't then simply don't magically appear in town.
Vampires are a no no, werewolves depend on what you view as one and last but not least NO demons. Seriously medieval times more stuff was blamed on spirits or entities with specific names apon what they did or where they existed.
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The crowds of men toiling in dirt with their brash yells in hopes of better lives through conquest and killing. Arrogant, selfish newborn race doomed to continuous death as their bodies decayed while they still drew breath. Roles of kings and knights because non could ever truly have purpose unless told or given. All these things inspired a malice so thick the shell in result was as if the void itself provided countless tendrils to pull the still beating concoction of flesh men claimed to be hearts out of their carcass as reward. Consuming any sense of humanity was the taint nestled deep in his own skin was awareness. Years passed and it changed from the gold view to what the sprites claimed to be the curse of acknowledging the position which a creature existed at. The curse of isolation, separating and changing a single individual in hopes of altering the race.

Some were heros others unholy vessels while cared for neither. If humanity was doomed to constantly die why care for them after surpassing them? Why drowned when you could easily just drop the rock into the depths of a sea which a bottom doesn't exist? Of course mortal questions still came to mind after time passed, after he received a gift from a creature that was born before time was even an aspect tied to Life and Death. The core of his heart long replaced by the beat of ebony flesh. Never would he die but never would care to change fates keeping the very essence of his himself and possibilities to the confines of his choices. Never would care for petty wars over words or the question of a beggar broken pleading for coin.

His name? Sovereign, the word in the future of mankind which ment in several different tongues the end. Truth be told he was at the end and the beginning but the beginning he would never see on his own. His eyes drew crystal clear images from parted realms but yet passing secrets god so cunningly hid amongst memory. That which tends to lie as time, man's illusion may pass. No one else looks to the sun in fear of being late to another's home. Nothing else counts the days before the harsh winds return. Those were things which also inspired his hatred for his old kin but nothing made him more fumed then being amongst them.

His face cold, noble while holding eyes a soft ivory. The hair on his head as if cleaned by holy springs since the day of birth shined a pale blonde. To the eyes non of this was seen as hood draped a shadow down past the soft flesh of his lips. Every step took him through the crowds of which as said before toiled amongst dirt but never did he touch anyone until a bulky man happened to carry his cocky a tad far out of his wife's legs. As to the man's misfortune the first person he happened to shove was Sovereign. The gruff hand running against the fabric of his cloak leaving for him turn instantly. The drunkard with no sense would keep the poisoned attitude and to no surprise to Sovereign the ass pulled back his hood.

"Yer, quite brave to face meh. Your obviously some sorta Elf see'n how your face holds that bita of fancy to it." Elf? Sputtered into Sovereign's mind for a moment before subconsciously the decision was made to made the man's life. Under the broken light of overcast the man seemed to fall on his own. The shirt split along the stomach as blood first seeped from the wound. What followed lead for mothers to cover the eyes of children with soft "Oh, Murder!" From the surrounding people. The organ which ironically spilled out first was the stomach, slapping against the dirt with a soft squelch as the intestine poured forth in suit allow the contents have digested expand on meeting the earth. Bread, abit of meat and, a bit of sweet roll in mush rested against strings of flesh from the wound which effectively bled the man.

As that all happened the murder, sovereign seemed to have disappeared. Reality was that he walked away but the slum bound rats were far to superstitious to even consider anything but sorcery. Indeed the man was sliced open by unnatural forces but by no means did Sovereign part from the scene, from the market by magic. As he did go his feet followed in pattern along the town walls. Mortar and stone seemed so strong for men but in mind to any creature with appetite like a dragon or wyrm the wall was nothing but a pile of stone waiting to fall. Of course that wasn't what was taking place currently. No something quite simple happened. Sovereign had left the pig sty of men heading into the woods north of the rugged stone mass.

The wind yet licking him as he never returned his hood to cover his face again in shadow. Young greenery yet covered everywhere around him as the temperament forest coaxed some comfort into the steel bound hate which drew. Birds in the distance only getting close after hours passed since he had last started the walk and there he found himself at dusk born without his attention but still beautiful as the lights above danced along a black canvas silently wielding an image that forged itself against the mind in allure. It was even enough for him to let someone approach or rather something? In any case he obviously didn't know.

(If for some reason you have no idea for a character after reading all that, then think what if and add a scenario which something that isn't human would subconsciously come across him but not directly meet him so at present they are curious or something.)