Sorry I haven't posted yet guys, I've been swamped with finals and moving out of the dorms. I'll have a post up by the end of the night!
shivershiver Member
Supreme Chancellor Skelly
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- Old Guild Username: Shivershiver
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Jesus guys
I didn't know I was so popular in the IC
Hey, giant snake women are usually the life of the party, you didn't know that when you made your cs?
Whew, finally got a post up! I'm really torn between making my character kind of campy and light-hearted or touching on the more serious tones. This is the dilemma you face when you watch Night of the Living Dead and Return of the Living Dead back-to-back. Ah well! Either way, great posts all around guys! Looking forward to this RP.
EDIT:
Ooh, and just a heads-up (heh, see what I did there?) @Shilly it is your character's disembodied head I have Werner find at the end of my post.
EDIT:
Ooh, and just a heads-up (heh, see what I did there?) @Shilly it is your character's disembodied head I have Werner find at the end of my post.
Diehlstadt’s only graveyard sat in complete silence under the rising new moon, engulfing the world in darkness. Not a single shadow was cast over the graves from the rows of tombstones, dating back to Diehlstadt’s founding in the late 18th century. Entering the cemetery through the iron wrought gates, visitors were greeted by tall oak trees, their orange and brown leaves now scattered over the dying grass. The new headstones sat at the front, polished and clean, looming over rectangles of loose soil, while the old ones lingered at the top of the hill. One particular tombstone, a small granite grassmarker, read:
The stillness of the night was broken by a roar in the distance; not that of a beast, as common as it was now in these parts, but from a machine. A pair of lights burned through the night fog, travelling with a sense of urgency; it had been a long journey, and now, so close to the end, they rushed forward in a frantic blitz. Yet, right when the lights reached the heavy gates of the graveyard, they faded into darkness, and the screaming machine fell silent. They were replaced by another muffled scream, however, under six feet of dirt beneath the grave marker of Werner Kelist.
The first sensation, and really the only one, Werner first gained was smell. The sweet stench of rotting wood, mildew, and wet soil filled his nostrils, a nauseating combination. His mind was foggy, like awakening from a deep sleep. What the hell happened? was his first thought in over thirty years. It didn’t take long for him to remember. The flash of headlights. Squealing tires. Turning over and over and over. He’d just been in a car accident. Werner tried to open his eyes, but they offered heavy resistance; it felt like they were glued shut, Using every muscle in his face, they finally peeled open, but the view remained the same; black. Here Werner began to panic. The car must have been buried into the dirt when he landed. He reached out to grasp the familiar feeling of a leather steering wheel, glass, something, but was only met with a dull thump as his arms extended just half a foot in front of him; wet wood. Heavy breaths escaped Werner’s nose, and let out a moan, his voice hoarse and throat dry. He tried to open his mouth to cry for help, but it wouldn’t open. It had been sutured shut in the embalming process.
Werner fell into a full panic, lashing out his arms and legs in any direction to break free from his confined space, fists pounding against the top of his cheap pine coffin, letting sprinkles of dirt fall in. After a few minutes of this, the young man finally calmed down, though still breathing heavily. Slowly, his battered hands felt around his cage, and he finally came to terms with his situation. Buried. Buried alive. Upon this realization, he tried his best to slow his ragged breaths to conserve the oxygen in the coffin. There couldn’t be much left. He frantically searched around for anything that could be of use, and found a pair of keys in his pants pockets; his dad left them in his coffin, a sort of parting gift. He used the rusty key to cut the sutures in his mouth, allowing him to breathe freely. He then promptly screamed.
When he was content with his screaming, Werner quickly ripped off his suit jacket, which proved to be easy; the back on both his shirt and pants were cut vertically down the middle so the mortician could better dress the corpse. He tied the dry rotted jacket around his head, forming a sort of bag, so he could dig out of his grave and not breathe in dirt. That was the theory, anyway. Since Werner didn’t have the leg room to kick his way out of the coffin, he tucked the two keys between his fingers, wrapped it in some cloth, and began punching away at the top of his coffin, hoping his hands wouldn't become too mangled. Surprisingly, he felt no pain; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his body that dulled the sensation. Dirt began to fall freely into the coffin, and Werner acted quickly. He tore the wood apart, making an opening wide enough for his shoulders, and as the wet soil poured in, he transferred it to the bottom of his coffin. Once there was enough space, he began his ascent, thinking of nothing but the surface. Werner did not grow tired, nor did he feel out of breath, despite the lack of air. He simply put one hand in front of the other and pressed upwards in a blind rush.
The freshly mowed grass below Werner’s grassmarker started to tremble, and soon a bloodied hand burst from the grave like a geyser of flesh. Soon, a body followed, stripped of almost all rotten clothing from the brutal climb. Werner Kleist was born into the world a second time. He let out a final scream before falling onto the freshly turned over soil. It was more comfortable than any bed he’d ever lain on. Werner remained at his grave for almost an hour more, trying to collect his thoughts, but they felt out of reach, like a piece of fruit one branch too high. He tried to remember his parents, the accident, or his girlfriend, but not even their names came to mind. If he just looked beside his own tombstone, he would see two more flanking it, both with the last name Kleist. But Werner could think only of the burning hunger rapidly growing inside him. It wasn’t a feeling of depletion, but a primal, driving force, forcing him off the ground. In a haze, he stalked through the graveyard, searching, but he did not know what his body yearned for in this unfamiliar state. Once Werner felt something brush against his bare leg, however, he instinctively knew what to do. His bloodied hands grabbed the creature tightly and brought it to eye level. A scroungy stray black cat, now hissing and yowling with its ears pulled back, its slanted yellow eyes staring back at him. Werner didn’t have much further time to analyze it before he brought it to his mouth.
There wasn’t much left of the cat when Werner finished feeding, just a pile of fur and bones joined with sinew and bits of flesh. He finally returned to his normal state of consciousness, though he didn’t like what he saw. Werner’s ragged black suit was coated in dirt and sticky blood, and where his ashen grey skin showed he saw scarred flesh. The hands he used to punch through a pine box were broken and battered, but failed to bleed, and Werner still felt no pain. His lethargic gaze turned to the brutalized remains of the cat, and and quickly turned away. This was a bad dream. A hallucination. He would wake up in an upturned car and walk away from the wreckage untouched. Only he didn’t. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, each time they opened he stood in the middle of the graveyard.
A pair of golden lights emerged in the distance, at the entrance to the cemetery. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Werner stumbled towards them, a sensation of deja vu flooding over him. The engine roared to life, sending chills down his spine. He knew that sound. It was one of the last sounds Werner could remember. The roar of a 1974 De Tomaso Pantera’s rear mounted 5.8 liter Ford 351 Cleveland V8. It all came back to Werner, crashing upon him like waves. Adrien. Car lights. Metal crunching. The cold mortuary slab. Coffin nails, ashes to ashes, and sobbing parents. And the car, this car that plummeted off a cliff, now sat before him in mint condition like an eager puppy wanting to play. “Nope. No. Fuck you, no,” Werner rasped, his voice gravelly from disuse. He walked away from the car down the road into town, dirt falling off him with each step. He’d just come back to life somehow, and he wasn’t about to enter the very same thing that got him killed in the first place. No, Werner needed to find someone who could tell him what the hell happened to him, and only one person came to mind. Abioya. The two didn’t see eye-to-eye very often, but his girlfriend’s grandfather was familiar with… Reanimation.
As the sun rose over the horizon, Werner was just about into town when he looked back to the graveyard. In truth, he wasn’t ready to part with the car. Sure, it killed him, but right now it was the only thing he had from before his burial. Well, it actually belonged to some rich man from the hotel he was working at, but that wasn’t important. Oddly enough, the car wasn’t parked at the graveyard anymore, but trailing only a few meters behind Werner, coasting along. “Alright, alright! But I’m not getting in.” He heard the radio tune up, followed by music. Now life is short and it's filled with stuff. So let me know baby when you've had enough. Oh do the dead, turn blue. "The Cramps? Really? Not cool." The radio fell silent. Diehlstadt felt… Different. Alien. The new buildings looked old and broken down, and the old buildings were gone completely, replaced with new ones. The town wasn’t very active at the moment. Empty streets, no foot traffic, only Werner walking down the sidewalk with the red car following shortly behind. Well, he was alone until a white blur rolled down the opposite side. Oh man, please don’t let it be another cat… I couldn't look it in the face. Werner crossed the street and looked around, hearing a voice grumbling. “Hello? Anyone there?” he called out, feeling rather silly. That is, until he saw a disembodied head cloaked in blonde hair sitting next to a couple of trash cans, and he screamed almost as loudly as he did upon escaping his grave.
In Loving Memory Of
Werner F. Kleist
1962-1985
Werner F. Kleist
1962-1985
The stillness of the night was broken by a roar in the distance; not that of a beast, as common as it was now in these parts, but from a machine. A pair of lights burned through the night fog, travelling with a sense of urgency; it had been a long journey, and now, so close to the end, they rushed forward in a frantic blitz. Yet, right when the lights reached the heavy gates of the graveyard, they faded into darkness, and the screaming machine fell silent. They were replaced by another muffled scream, however, under six feet of dirt beneath the grave marker of Werner Kelist.
The first sensation, and really the only one, Werner first gained was smell. The sweet stench of rotting wood, mildew, and wet soil filled his nostrils, a nauseating combination. His mind was foggy, like awakening from a deep sleep. What the hell happened? was his first thought in over thirty years. It didn’t take long for him to remember. The flash of headlights. Squealing tires. Turning over and over and over. He’d just been in a car accident. Werner tried to open his eyes, but they offered heavy resistance; it felt like they were glued shut, Using every muscle in his face, they finally peeled open, but the view remained the same; black. Here Werner began to panic. The car must have been buried into the dirt when he landed. He reached out to grasp the familiar feeling of a leather steering wheel, glass, something, but was only met with a dull thump as his arms extended just half a foot in front of him; wet wood. Heavy breaths escaped Werner’s nose, and let out a moan, his voice hoarse and throat dry. He tried to open his mouth to cry for help, but it wouldn’t open. It had been sutured shut in the embalming process.
Werner fell into a full panic, lashing out his arms and legs in any direction to break free from his confined space, fists pounding against the top of his cheap pine coffin, letting sprinkles of dirt fall in. After a few minutes of this, the young man finally calmed down, though still breathing heavily. Slowly, his battered hands felt around his cage, and he finally came to terms with his situation. Buried. Buried alive. Upon this realization, he tried his best to slow his ragged breaths to conserve the oxygen in the coffin. There couldn’t be much left. He frantically searched around for anything that could be of use, and found a pair of keys in his pants pockets; his dad left them in his coffin, a sort of parting gift. He used the rusty key to cut the sutures in his mouth, allowing him to breathe freely. He then promptly screamed.
When he was content with his screaming, Werner quickly ripped off his suit jacket, which proved to be easy; the back on both his shirt and pants were cut vertically down the middle so the mortician could better dress the corpse. He tied the dry rotted jacket around his head, forming a sort of bag, so he could dig out of his grave and not breathe in dirt. That was the theory, anyway. Since Werner didn’t have the leg room to kick his way out of the coffin, he tucked the two keys between his fingers, wrapped it in some cloth, and began punching away at the top of his coffin, hoping his hands wouldn't become too mangled. Surprisingly, he felt no pain; perhaps it was the adrenaline coursing through his body that dulled the sensation. Dirt began to fall freely into the coffin, and Werner acted quickly. He tore the wood apart, making an opening wide enough for his shoulders, and as the wet soil poured in, he transferred it to the bottom of his coffin. Once there was enough space, he began his ascent, thinking of nothing but the surface. Werner did not grow tired, nor did he feel out of breath, despite the lack of air. He simply put one hand in front of the other and pressed upwards in a blind rush.
The freshly mowed grass below Werner’s grassmarker started to tremble, and soon a bloodied hand burst from the grave like a geyser of flesh. Soon, a body followed, stripped of almost all rotten clothing from the brutal climb. Werner Kleist was born into the world a second time. He let out a final scream before falling onto the freshly turned over soil. It was more comfortable than any bed he’d ever lain on. Werner remained at his grave for almost an hour more, trying to collect his thoughts, but they felt out of reach, like a piece of fruit one branch too high. He tried to remember his parents, the accident, or his girlfriend, but not even their names came to mind. If he just looked beside his own tombstone, he would see two more flanking it, both with the last name Kleist. But Werner could think only of the burning hunger rapidly growing inside him. It wasn’t a feeling of depletion, but a primal, driving force, forcing him off the ground. In a haze, he stalked through the graveyard, searching, but he did not know what his body yearned for in this unfamiliar state. Once Werner felt something brush against his bare leg, however, he instinctively knew what to do. His bloodied hands grabbed the creature tightly and brought it to eye level. A scroungy stray black cat, now hissing and yowling with its ears pulled back, its slanted yellow eyes staring back at him. Werner didn’t have much further time to analyze it before he brought it to his mouth.
There wasn’t much left of the cat when Werner finished feeding, just a pile of fur and bones joined with sinew and bits of flesh. He finally returned to his normal state of consciousness, though he didn’t like what he saw. Werner’s ragged black suit was coated in dirt and sticky blood, and where his ashen grey skin showed he saw scarred flesh. The hands he used to punch through a pine box were broken and battered, but failed to bleed, and Werner still felt no pain. His lethargic gaze turned to the brutalized remains of the cat, and and quickly turned away. This was a bad dream. A hallucination. He would wake up in an upturned car and walk away from the wreckage untouched. Only he didn’t. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, each time they opened he stood in the middle of the graveyard.
A pair of golden lights emerged in the distance, at the entrance to the cemetery. Like a moth drawn to a flame, Werner stumbled towards them, a sensation of deja vu flooding over him. The engine roared to life, sending chills down his spine. He knew that sound. It was one of the last sounds Werner could remember. The roar of a 1974 De Tomaso Pantera’s rear mounted 5.8 liter Ford 351 Cleveland V8. It all came back to Werner, crashing upon him like waves. Adrien. Car lights. Metal crunching. The cold mortuary slab. Coffin nails, ashes to ashes, and sobbing parents. And the car, this car that plummeted off a cliff, now sat before him in mint condition like an eager puppy wanting to play. “Nope. No. Fuck you, no,” Werner rasped, his voice gravelly from disuse. He walked away from the car down the road into town, dirt falling off him with each step. He’d just come back to life somehow, and he wasn’t about to enter the very same thing that got him killed in the first place. No, Werner needed to find someone who could tell him what the hell happened to him, and only one person came to mind. Abioya. The two didn’t see eye-to-eye very often, but his girlfriend’s grandfather was familiar with… Reanimation.
As the sun rose over the horizon, Werner was just about into town when he looked back to the graveyard. In truth, he wasn’t ready to part with the car. Sure, it killed him, but right now it was the only thing he had from before his burial. Well, it actually belonged to some rich man from the hotel he was working at, but that wasn’t important. Oddly enough, the car wasn’t parked at the graveyard anymore, but trailing only a few meters behind Werner, coasting along. “Alright, alright! But I’m not getting in.” He heard the radio tune up, followed by music. Now life is short and it's filled with stuff. So let me know baby when you've had enough. Oh do the dead, turn blue. "The Cramps? Really? Not cool." The radio fell silent. Diehlstadt felt… Different. Alien. The new buildings looked old and broken down, and the old buildings were gone completely, replaced with new ones. The town wasn’t very active at the moment. Empty streets, no foot traffic, only Werner walking down the sidewalk with the red car following shortly behind. Well, he was alone until a white blur rolled down the opposite side. Oh man, please don’t let it be another cat… I couldn't look it in the face. Werner crossed the street and looked around, hearing a voice grumbling. “Hello? Anyone there?” he called out, feeling rather silly. That is, until he saw a disembodied head cloaked in blonde hair sitting next to a couple of trash cans, and he screamed almost as loudly as he did upon escaping his grave.
<Snipped quote by shivershiver>
Oddly the thing you quoted is technically on topic even.
Hahaha, you know you're in an interesting RP when linking videos of spiders doped up on LSD is relevant!
Well, here. This is what I mean.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mW21cpxIA4I
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sHzdsFiBbFc Related
I'm glad to see this OOC is so active! In my experience, RPs that try and restrict the chat to on-topic only material tend to die out very quickly. But gawddaumn, this is a lot of reading.
@shivershiver
Not a big deal, the only thing is a sentient car...I'll ask that you alter it away from actual sentience, maybe to have him be able to control it from a distance *farther distance, harder to maintain* if only because a sentient defending car seems out there *which I know is a weird thing to say in THIS RP*
Other than that, AND THE FACT THAT WE HAVE ANOTHER UNEMPLOYED CHARACTER YOU ARE ALL A HOMELESS BLIGHT UPON THIS TOWN, I love it, and the fact that you took a very modern twist to it. Accepted with the car change.
Hey, don't be so judging! It's hard enough to get a job in this economy, especially after you just dug yourself out of your own grave :P On a serious note, I do plan on Werner getting a job very soon, probably as a mechanic!
I toned down the sentience of the car to more haunted level as opposed to a "Christine" car that wants to murder you. I think I actually might like it more this way!
I think Masilalt would be super interested in Werner, he's such a neat character.
Thank you! Actually, our characters might go together pretty well together, with their history of African Voodoo (willing or unwiling). After Werner gets out of his grave, could we have our characters meet up? Masilalt could explain to him why he's not dead anymore!
Whew, character is up! Let me know if there's anything I need to change, the cs is probably a little rough.
EDIT:
Oops, Sorry Spawnling!
EDIT:
Oops, Sorry Spawnling!
Name: Werner Kleist
Age: 23 (True age 53)
Gender: Male
Race: Voodoo Zombie
Voodoo zombies are drastically different than those in recent popular fiction, especially in Werner’s case. Voodoo zombies are resurrected by bokors, vodoun sorcerers, through a lengthy ritual before the deceased’s corpse. Their soul is returned to the body, and in exchange for this, they are forced to serve the bokor who breathed life into them. Once the priest frees them of their service, by either dying or releasing them, the zombie is free to do as they wish, though they still have an instinctive protective nature of the bokor and their kin.
Werner’s body doesn’t function like that of the living. He doesn’t age or decay, thanks to the spell warding off all natural effects. He can recover from almost any wound, but he heals twice as slow as a human, and doesn't need to breathe; on top of this, Werner’s body cannot detect pain, so he is very prone to injury. Because the spell holds his body together, if a limb is amputated, it retains full functionality and can return to the rest of Werner. As a zombie, he does not tire, so his stamina is endless, but his strength remains the same, and he can build no more muscle mass.
One strange mishap separates Werner from any normal voodoo zombie, however. When Werner died in a car crash, a fraction of his soul embedded itself into the car he was driving. When the bokor attempted to bring him back from death, he returned all but this bit of his soul to Werner’s corpse, but it was not enough to revive him. Instead, Werner’s body was kept in a sort of stasis, waiting for the day that his soul would reunite and become whole again.
His car, a 1974 De Tomaso Pantera, is possessed by a splinter of Werner’s soul. It is slightly sentient, a sort of extension of Werner, like an arm or a leg. He can control the car to some extent when he isn't in it, though not nearly as proficient as a driver could. The Pantera might turn on the radio occasionally to find a fitting song for the occasion, or turn itself off at times, but this is the extent of its intelligence. Werner is bound to the vehicle; the further he is separated it, the less human he becomes, behaving more “zombie-like”, and he also loses more control over the car. It is only behind the wheel when Werner is most like his old self, before the accident. As for his appetite, it is rather stereotypical of zombies. Raw flesh provides the most nutrients for a zombie, and this is what Werner needs; anything else, his body will reject. However, this flesh can be from anything, be it human or animal. Like being separated from his car, going without flesh causes Werner to lose his mind and wander like a zombie until he feeds.
Appearance:
Werner stands at 6’0 and weighs in at 170 lbs, with broad shoulders and lean muscle. His hands are rough and callused from hockey, and his right pinkie finger is missing from the first knuckle up, leaving a rounded stump. His skin is a mess of scars, a few from before the accident, but mostly from his car crash. His entire back is coated in burn scars from when the car caught fire. Werner’s arms, legs, and chest are covered with scars as well, from road rash, compound fractures, and smaller glass cuts. His scalp, too, has a few small slashes from where he was ejected through the windscreen. Werner’s eyes, previously a dark brown, now glow an eerie neon red.
Job: Unemployed
Personality: (Note: Personality is from before Werner’s resurrection) Werner is a carefree, friendly guy. He’s willing to make friends with anyone, from all walks of life, and doesn’t discriminate much. Anyone who knows Werner would say that he is a very passionate individual. He loves hockey, to the point where he is almost more comfortable on ice than with solid ground beneath his feet. In a similar fashion, Werner prefers looking up and seeing the undercarriage of a car than a clear blue sky, or the dim light of an architect lamp as he pours over schematics for a new transmission.
Werner isn’t the greatest at concealing his emotions, but he hasn’t ever had much of a need to. He is as honest as they come, perhaps a little too much, and couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. His moral compass is spot on; he doesn’t drink, smoke, take advantage of women, or break the law (save for speeding every once in a while). Werner doesn’t have much of a taste for violence either, aside from a couple brawls on the ice.
Background: Werner was born in Diehlstadt to a pair of working class citizens, a mechanic and a waitress, in a time when the supernatural didn’t roam freely around the town. Werner’s parents raised him with love, and supported him in any endeavor he wished. The young boy had a particular interest, like his father, in cars, both driving and working on them. As soon as he could hold a wrench, Werner was in the garage with his dad. On top of this, he was involved in several sports, but hockey was the one he loved. It soon became apparent that Werner wouldn’t be satisfied with just working as a mechanic, however, as he sought to not only repair cars, but make them.
After high school, Werner was accepted to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in mechanical engineering, with a full ride playing hockey. He left his hometown for college, and was overwhelmed with the new opportunities and strange people. It was here that Werner met a girl, Adrien, who was also from Diehlstadt. The two quickly fell in love, much to the chagrin of Adrien’s grandparents, who raised their granddaughter; they were a black Haitian family, and were very wary of whites. Against her parent’s wishes, they continued to see one another. After four years, the two graduated, and while Adrien returned home to her family, Werner stayed at MIT to further his education, working part time as a valet boy in a lavish hotel.
On October 8th, 1985, Werner was working the night shift in the hotel when the hotel manager called him to his office. Werner’s father was on the phone, and told his son that Adrien had fallen ill. The doctor wasn’t sure what it was, but he suspected meningitis. Werner dashed down to the parking lot and grabbed the next car in line to be parked, a red 1974 De Tomaso Pantera. He peeled out of the parking lot, heading directly for Diehlstadt. He was almost home when, one a winding mountain road, a drunk driver heading the opposite direction slammed into him as he rounded a corner. The sports car was sent flying down the rocky mountainside, and Werner was ejected from the burning car at bottom of the cliff. Both Werner and the Pantera were mangled beyond recognition.
Adrien recovered from her illness just in time for Werner’s funeral, and he was buried just outside of Diehlstadt. Adrien’s grandfather, Abioya, had never liked Werner, but seeing his granddaughter weep over his graveside, he knew it was time to put aside his petty grudge. Abioya’s grandfather had been a voodoo priest when they lived in Haiti, and he watched the man perform several resurrections. In the middle of the night, with a new moon overhead, Abioya crept into the graveyard and performed the dark ritual which he hoped would bring his granddaughter's suffering to an end. As the sun broke over the horizon, Abioya knew he failed. It was a foolish idea, to bring the dead back to life. In truth, it was not Abioya’s fault; most of Werner’s spirit returned to his body, stuck in limbo, but a fragment bound itself to the ruined car in which he died. After many years, everyone moved on. The wreck of the Pantera, however, did not. The fraction of Werner’s soul in the car slowly mended the vehicle as it sat in storage, driven by an insatiable urge to become whole once more.
After thirty years, the red Pantera finally found its way to the graveyard just outside of Diehlstadt.
Age: 23 (True age 53)
Gender: Male
Race: Voodoo Zombie
Voodoo zombies are drastically different than those in recent popular fiction, especially in Werner’s case. Voodoo zombies are resurrected by bokors, vodoun sorcerers, through a lengthy ritual before the deceased’s corpse. Their soul is returned to the body, and in exchange for this, they are forced to serve the bokor who breathed life into them. Once the priest frees them of their service, by either dying or releasing them, the zombie is free to do as they wish, though they still have an instinctive protective nature of the bokor and their kin.
Werner’s body doesn’t function like that of the living. He doesn’t age or decay, thanks to the spell warding off all natural effects. He can recover from almost any wound, but he heals twice as slow as a human, and doesn't need to breathe; on top of this, Werner’s body cannot detect pain, so he is very prone to injury. Because the spell holds his body together, if a limb is amputated, it retains full functionality and can return to the rest of Werner. As a zombie, he does not tire, so his stamina is endless, but his strength remains the same, and he can build no more muscle mass.
One strange mishap separates Werner from any normal voodoo zombie, however. When Werner died in a car crash, a fraction of his soul embedded itself into the car he was driving. When the bokor attempted to bring him back from death, he returned all but this bit of his soul to Werner’s corpse, but it was not enough to revive him. Instead, Werner’s body was kept in a sort of stasis, waiting for the day that his soul would reunite and become whole again.
His car, a 1974 De Tomaso Pantera, is possessed by a splinter of Werner’s soul. It is slightly sentient, a sort of extension of Werner, like an arm or a leg. He can control the car to some extent when he isn't in it, though not nearly as proficient as a driver could. The Pantera might turn on the radio occasionally to find a fitting song for the occasion, or turn itself off at times, but this is the extent of its intelligence. Werner is bound to the vehicle; the further he is separated it, the less human he becomes, behaving more “zombie-like”, and he also loses more control over the car. It is only behind the wheel when Werner is most like his old self, before the accident. As for his appetite, it is rather stereotypical of zombies. Raw flesh provides the most nutrients for a zombie, and this is what Werner needs; anything else, his body will reject. However, this flesh can be from anything, be it human or animal. Like being separated from his car, going without flesh causes Werner to lose his mind and wander like a zombie until he feeds.
Appearance:
Werner stands at 6’0 and weighs in at 170 lbs, with broad shoulders and lean muscle. His hands are rough and callused from hockey, and his right pinkie finger is missing from the first knuckle up, leaving a rounded stump. His skin is a mess of scars, a few from before the accident, but mostly from his car crash. His entire back is coated in burn scars from when the car caught fire. Werner’s arms, legs, and chest are covered with scars as well, from road rash, compound fractures, and smaller glass cuts. His scalp, too, has a few small slashes from where he was ejected through the windscreen. Werner’s eyes, previously a dark brown, now glow an eerie neon red.
Job: Unemployed
Personality: (Note: Personality is from before Werner’s resurrection) Werner is a carefree, friendly guy. He’s willing to make friends with anyone, from all walks of life, and doesn’t discriminate much. Anyone who knows Werner would say that he is a very passionate individual. He loves hockey, to the point where he is almost more comfortable on ice than with solid ground beneath his feet. In a similar fashion, Werner prefers looking up and seeing the undercarriage of a car than a clear blue sky, or the dim light of an architect lamp as he pours over schematics for a new transmission.
Werner isn’t the greatest at concealing his emotions, but he hasn’t ever had much of a need to. He is as honest as they come, perhaps a little too much, and couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. His moral compass is spot on; he doesn’t drink, smoke, take advantage of women, or break the law (save for speeding every once in a while). Werner doesn’t have much of a taste for violence either, aside from a couple brawls on the ice.
Background: Werner was born in Diehlstadt to a pair of working class citizens, a mechanic and a waitress, in a time when the supernatural didn’t roam freely around the town. Werner’s parents raised him with love, and supported him in any endeavor he wished. The young boy had a particular interest, like his father, in cars, both driving and working on them. As soon as he could hold a wrench, Werner was in the garage with his dad. On top of this, he was involved in several sports, but hockey was the one he loved. It soon became apparent that Werner wouldn’t be satisfied with just working as a mechanic, however, as he sought to not only repair cars, but make them.
After high school, Werner was accepted to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in mechanical engineering, with a full ride playing hockey. He left his hometown for college, and was overwhelmed with the new opportunities and strange people. It was here that Werner met a girl, Adrien, who was also from Diehlstadt. The two quickly fell in love, much to the chagrin of Adrien’s grandparents, who raised their granddaughter; they were a black Haitian family, and were very wary of whites. Against her parent’s wishes, they continued to see one another. After four years, the two graduated, and while Adrien returned home to her family, Werner stayed at MIT to further his education, working part time as a valet boy in a lavish hotel.
On October 8th, 1985, Werner was working the night shift in the hotel when the hotel manager called him to his office. Werner’s father was on the phone, and told his son that Adrien had fallen ill. The doctor wasn’t sure what it was, but he suspected meningitis. Werner dashed down to the parking lot and grabbed the next car in line to be parked, a red 1974 De Tomaso Pantera. He peeled out of the parking lot, heading directly for Diehlstadt. He was almost home when, one a winding mountain road, a drunk driver heading the opposite direction slammed into him as he rounded a corner. The sports car was sent flying down the rocky mountainside, and Werner was ejected from the burning car at bottom of the cliff. Both Werner and the Pantera were mangled beyond recognition.
Adrien recovered from her illness just in time for Werner’s funeral, and he was buried just outside of Diehlstadt. Adrien’s grandfather, Abioya, had never liked Werner, but seeing his granddaughter weep over his graveside, he knew it was time to put aside his petty grudge. Abioya’s grandfather had been a voodoo priest when they lived in Haiti, and he watched the man perform several resurrections. In the middle of the night, with a new moon overhead, Abioya crept into the graveyard and performed the dark ritual which he hoped would bring his granddaughter's suffering to an end. As the sun broke over the horizon, Abioya knew he failed. It was a foolish idea, to bring the dead back to life. In truth, it was not Abioya’s fault; most of Werner’s spirit returned to his body, stuck in limbo, but a fragment bound itself to the ruined car in which he died. After many years, everyone moved on. The wreck of the Pantera, however, did not. The fraction of Werner’s soul in the car slowly mended the vehicle as it sat in storage, driven by an insatiable urge to become whole once more.
After thirty years, the red Pantera finally found its way to the graveyard just outside of Diehlstadt.
@Shilly
Oh god, why do I have so much in common with you, now you're a Tekken player...
<Snipped quote by shivershiver>
Oh thank god! Yes, we are.
Woohoo! I'll try and make a cs right now. Who needs to study for final exams anyway?
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