[Character Sheet] the Owl

[HisLordship]

The Basics
Name: I never ask to be called by a name for my true name is never given. I am given names as ‘the Owl’, “the Bird That Makes You Afraid”, “Nanabush’s Herald”, “He who flies by Night”, “Nox” and other titles, of them given to the archetype I represent. I have no common name, no personal nomen a friend would call me. I have no friends, eliminating such a need. I am merely an idea given flesh. Back in the Grove I was been dubbed “Lordship” by the Peace Pine; this affectionately patronizing title originated from my goodly speech and since has come to take on several other meanings.

Age: Neither as young nor as old as you may think. For how many minutes has the sun burned? How long since light and shadow were divided? How many years since the first bird sang? How long before the butterfly emerges from the chrysalis? How long before you die? Do not measure that which is not meant for minds to know

Apparent Age: Who can say based on appearance? Very few are skilled in dating the age of birds. I look aged, a gnarled hardwood of a being that has seen many seasons. From this appearance, I must act the role.

http://www.thornvalley.com/gallery/studio/nicodemus/DSC00782

http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/6146121/?qo=1&q=owl+nimh&qh=boost%3Apopular+age_sigma%3A24h+age_scale%3A5

http://www.jcamberlyn.com/cs/owl.jpg

http://www.friendsofsherwoodisland.org/Photos/Hand/BoP/AJH-short-eared-owl.jpg

http://www.library.fau.edu/depts/spc/images/owlking.gif

http://images.epilogue.net/users/cosmo/TheOwlKing.jpg


Gender: Male, mostly. Being so abstract as I am, the line between Anima and Animus occasionally blurs. I can be more attuned with a feminine instinct than some would care to admit. Should some uninvited ornithologist examine my privates, though, such finding would clearly denote the organs of a male.

Height: Variable to the observer – o subjective creature that I be! – but in most incarnations almost two feet from my head’s crown to my tail’s plumes. A Great Owl's size, one should think. An old bird that is tall enough to stare eye-to-eye with small children, yet short enough to ride on a traveller’s shoulder unimpeded by low-lying branches.

Weight: I can perch on an adult human’s shoulder without causing much burden, unless, of course, the situation calls for a burden. I am as light as a shadow, as heavy a thundershower, as airy as an evening zephyr, as burdensome as a downcast mood.

Eye Color: This varies on mood, both mine and my observers. Carnal gold dappled with blood red flecks, ideally – shows a healthy respect for fearful intelligence. But an observer sees whatever they need to see. Never forget, though – if eyes are windows to the soul, then what is seen is nothing like any soul ever defined before.

Hair Color: Hair? For plebeian mammals! I am whatever is needed to be seen. My plumage defines divinity when compared to that mammalian scraggly fluff – shades of dark brown old dead leaves on my back; a belly of ash and clay; cobwebbed strands of ethereal things weaving like faeries dancers around my form..

Physique: Owls are rather corpulent birds, are they not? Many could say my belly has many a good meal lined; many could say that beneath pompous feathers lean and emaciated muscles knot. Only I know for certain, and I will not tell. Note well that fleshy appearances belie a composition of a certain lean, sinewy idea wrapping itself throughout my body. I am composed of some supernatural element and some undefined quantum event. From these limbs there lies considerable strength, borne of another’s will to live. I have rare need to use it – an icy plan of insurance has bought me such kindness – but it is not exceeding the kingdoms of the real if I carry a grown human in flight, albeit under difficult strain.

Race: I am an owl in appearance, diet and habits. But I am no Owl. Consider me an idea, a crazed though leaping forth from another’s mind in a moment of planar instability. Ideas cannot be killed, for their souls live in the hearts of men. I am a trick of qantum and the creative spirit, a schema, a personal archetype loosened from a bone cage called a skull. Purpose and environment gave me form, ancestry gave me intent.


Language: Common, Psychotopian (It took some been difficult learning, but I have considerable grasp upon it.) , rusty Infernal, Celestial, Dragon and Fae (During my time in the among the Evil Council, tongues of otherworld beings and stranger things were learned, however imperfectly. The joys of being in a library when one’s labours are done!), poor Arabic and Mandarin, followed by some Romance languages (Just because one hears a an alien tongue does not mean that it is completely incomprehensible. Given enough time, unconscious processes slowly decipher it, pulling from it form and meaning. It is imperfect, but the mind that engendered me did overheard and pondered on these things. He never did decipher them, but as I became manifest they slowly trickled through.) Save the Arabic, Mandarin, and Dragon, I can read the above, too, however imperfectly

Religious affiliation: Religion? Such a great cause for me to laugh! What, shall an invisible man dwelling in the clouds save me in the moment of my greatest need? Chant pretty verses to convince a sadistic octogenarian in ditch-water robes that I intend to dedicate my existence self to a monster represented by a blue rag doll? Pah! The universe has no concern for the weak or frightened; why should anyone expect it to? Experience has been an excellent teacher to me, not a kind one. I have known so-called gods, conversed with them on matters of great importance, but I would not prostrate myself before them. In the end, only one person has the will and means to aid me: my self. No faith. Only me.

Homeland: I came to be through an extraplanar collision in the bastardy between worlds. My birthplace is the churning froth that lingers between worlds.Not that I would ever dare claim allegiance to whatever horrors swill through that quantum mire. The Grove, perhaps in some form, has a home-like sense to me. Certain bone forests of foggy pine hearken to me, but ultimately they are long gone.

Home/Location in Psychotopia: I was once a vagabond with no place of permanent residence. As of late, though, given a need for a stable place of storage and shelter, a certain commercial venue of mine begins to suit me. Luxuriously gothic, it pleases my elegant tastes well enough.

I also have certain hovels dotted about the Black Forest and Evergreen Glade region, but these are merely shelters from a passing storm, nothing so concrete as the fetter of a mortgage.

Heraldic Symbol/Colors: What heraldry did Adam bear in the garden? What flags did fly over his nation-state? Like he of The First Story, I have no family to call. I am the first of my kind, and such bear no family name or heritage I would be able to share.

Companions/Friends: ] I am known to some powers throughout this place, the way a photosynthetic cell knows the nuclear furnace of sun’s core. Friends? Nothing so intimate. I attend meetings of the Evil Council, flirted with the Guardians’ conventions, forged contracts with the Corporation and discussed rhetoric with the Flock. I could not claim friendships as such. Certain respect, however, does seem to flourish. But friends?
Mice, I suppose, are my closest companions. One is always most intimate with one’s dinner.

Skills

Studies: I am read of much of history through the great libraries of Psychotopia and the data banks of the Evil Council. My aforementioned linguistic talent, my studies of the sciences, my broad general knowledge of literary and religious works, my capacity for diplomacy – all stem back from these studies.

Apprenticeships: I created myself alone; no other is responsible for my greatness.

Natural Abilities: Ah, such a list awaits thee, reader! I am a though given matter, which appears as when observers ought to see, given the situation and collective moods. While not overt shape-shifting, no two witnesses will see the same creature the exact same way, though certain general details will remain the same.

My state of being also renders me difficult to kill, given that physical trauma can make no lasting impact on immaterial things. I may be injured, yes - I may bleed, I may howl in pain. But no harm cannot come to that which is not true matter. Blood evaporates, feathers crumble to infinitesimal dust, severed limbs fade as though forgotten and re-appear, unmarred. Starvation and thirst will not kill me so long as another unknown heart beats. I have at times considered taking on the name of Koschei.

I can also remember thoughts that are not my own. A trickle-down effect if you will – fluid seeping along a faint metaphorical umbilicus that links me to the unconscious of whatever mind I escaped from.

I am remembered as an Owl – a schema fitting the role that I fulfil. As such, I am nocturnal, fly noiselessly, hunt to eat, and cough up pellets once my eating has finished. Unfortunately, I have poor peripheral vision and no sense of smell, but these are hardly of concern.


Occupation(s): Officially, I peddle strange wares out of the shop district. Unofficially…. I am a tinker, a tailor, a soldier, a spy. A pacific mercenary which can serve various tasks to benefit employers….as well as myself.
Financial Status: Once there was a time when I welcomed poverty as freedom from the real. Now I acknowledge wealth as that which it is: power given material form. While not fabulously rich, I have more than enough to meet my means and goals.

Family
Mother: The planar stuff between worlds, that quantum brine.
Father: A certain mind, falling through this voice in unintentional coitus, colliding with the verdant world of the Grove.
Brothers/Sisters: Such a union has never happened again between these two. I am forever unique.
Half/Step/Adopted Siblings: None
Spouse: None
Children:None


Possessions ((Please also provide a link to your character's inventory in addition to completing this section.)
Although I own these items, I seldom carry them on my person. Most of which are too heady or clumsy for one lone bird to carry, therefore it is my prerogative to keep such items in my abode.

Clothing: My feathers are garb enough.
Jewelry: Some odd gems come my way from time to time, and out of curiosity I have sculpted a few
Weapons: A demonic bow I whittled once still hangs in my private spaces
Armor:
Magical Items/Artifacts (and their powers): Charms of Holloweyes (see profile), Glass Orb (scrying glass for various mystical purposes)
Currency: , with some Cornelius Life for Evil Council bribes
Tools/Utensils: An hourglass, Black Forest Warp Portal, Hydro Blaster 2X (Among my store merchandise), Goron Wrist Console (Among my store merchandise)
Books/Scrolls: (Title & Author - If a spell book, then please include spell listing) Food: Some cakes and biscuits have come my way…
Medicinal Items/Herbs:
Are any of your possessions sentient? N

Character Depth (Please answer these questions in character, or with a brief story from your character's past. Do not quote and answer the questions directly as I want to see a paragraph (or more) written by your character describing themselves.)
What kind of person are you?
What is your personality and nature?
How do you perceive and respond to situations?
How well do you relate with other people?
What have your life experiences been?
What is most important to you?
Who is important to you?
What motivates you to action?
Why would you join others in an adventure?
What do you hope to achieve?
What are your goals?
What means will you use?

What is this life, if full of care – we have no time to stand and stare.

Many seek to know what I am. Even I have failed at wholly grasping that. But you paid a fair fee, and so will hear this story of what constitutes me.

I am ambitious. I seek knowledge. I seek power. I will not longer be suppressed. To be forgotten, a buried memory in another’s mind, if as great a hell as any brimstone conflagration. To be wounded emotionally through the crime of closeness of heart must not be committed while I am at the stern of my bird-shaped vessel! . I must not let my truth be known, the weaknesses borne of unpleasant reality. I must live as a mask.

I try to make sense of the world, to bring it to order. Every cause and effect neatly timed to suit my needs. Reality is sprawling chaos, I must be the editor that re-writes the frantic words scrawled on the canvas of the world into sensible scripture.I must know things, so that I can be aware of all that comes my way. Preparedness is a worthy trait, is it not?

When I am slighted, I abate frenzied anger, freezing ire like a contagion, it, save it to ripen like special wine ripening wine to be opened for only the most special celebrations. Why squander resources like a drunkard when I can sparingly mete out such delicious rewards like a connoisseur.

What is my objective? What do I have at my disposal? How do I employ this to assure me a positive outcome? What pieces do I have – what keys, which monies, what allies, what foes – what can I play and sacrifice and manoeuvre to ensure that I strive. These are the things I constantly ask myself when faced with the challenge of being..

I am solitary by no design of my own. Owls are not pack-animals, are they? I have lived alone for my existence, rarely forging alliances to better my position. I have no friends. This is my choice. Any sentient individual, like all living things, is only motivated towards what is best for itself. To feebly limp into those things men call friendships would only result in betrayal in the end; I am sure of it. Why, then, must I open myself up for unnecessary suffering?
Me. That is all I can safely say I value. Just like everything else in creation, I live for myself. The philosophers Thomas Hobbes, Herbert Spencer, Jean-Paul Sartre, Freidrich Nietzsche and Adam Smith share the same belief that all beings desire their own self-gratification. Who am I to deny such great thinkers who neatly sum up my own existence as best as any construct of mine own tongue?

I have yet to accomplish great things. Perfection. Order. A world that makes complete sense. These await, forms of the future, to be sculpted from the clay of the present. My tools are at my eternal aid. Knowledge. Power. I wish to have anything I choose to pursue. None will dispense of me, for I will be so integral so vital, that no force would ever dare bury me again.

I am not worthless! That I promise!

I will be needed. That I promise.

Pets (please fill this section out separately for each pet/pet group)
Names: The Mice
Species: Mince Mice
Coloration: The brown of Psychotopian Mince-Mice
Clothing: none
Armor: None
Skills: Excellent listeners, dexterous chewers of various materials, industrious harvesters,
Sentient: Yes
What is this pet's level of intelligence? Shy parrot.
Can it communicate with characters other than your own? Only if they can speak to animals.
How does it communicate? Sub-audible vocalizations, audible squeaks
How did you meet? Hunting through the forest in full harvest moonlight makes one philosophical. Seeing things under that immense death-pearl, so frightfully laid clear, make one pensive on the inevitabilities of the world. Such was the mindset I held whilst entrapping a certain plump mouse in my talons. So warm, so frantic. Those tiny black eyes, wet pools of terror, touched me strangely. One day the Great Scythe-Bearer would come to me this very way, with fletched arrows or a keen blade or greying spindly limbs. I swallowed my hunger, and released the thing. Petrified, it stared back at me with the astonishment of disbelief. I uttered a blessing, and bode it well, taking uneasily to my roost to meditate on my hunger.

I yielded to hunger again, but the hunt’s thrill waned in me, with little black eyes looking back from the pellet entrails. Conflicted learn and stringy thoughts collected in my gizzard and belly, morose visions glazed my pupils like cataracts. Some of the best began to slip away; those which demonstrated the most cunning or haste in fruitless fugitive runs earned the gift of life. I dared to speak to them on some occasions, their hurried, nervous replies filling me more and more with unbelieving wonder. Camps of my survivors grew and with them a sense of salvation, as if I were some unknowable but beneficent god which spared them for a great deed. I am not fool enough to claim godhood – those I know who hold the title would not stand such hubris – but in truth I believe the situation is reversed. Out on that night, under a deathly wan globe, some god came upon me and granted me salvation from its unknowable talons and unthinkable beak. That night, I found hope in a mouse’s eyes and an empty gullet.

If these pets are members of an Army, how many individuals strong is your army? These mice are not capable of counting much beyond ten, and I have not been arrogant enough to quantify those who have granted me an uneasy peace. I estimate their numbers to range from three to five hundred, over the past few years.

Do the officers of your army have any special powers over and above the average members? Some of the more curious mice have come to frank if humble speaking terms with me, and have some sort of prestige among their kind. They are ordinary mice, however, for all other purposes.

Where is this army housed? The mince mice are scattered all over Psychotopia, and have no centralized place of residence. They linger wherever they dwell. However,they can network well enough, spreading information from fellow to fellow. A messenger service, if you will.





Examples from the Past

Corporate Development
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=3644&highlight=#3644
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=3644&highlight=#3644
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=3522&highlight=#3522
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=2909&highlight=#2909


Purge of Sin
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=25821&highlight=#25821
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=26022&highlight=#26022
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=26184&highlight=#26184
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=26821&highlight=#26821
http://www.blackstardojo.org/viewtopic.php?p=28467&highlight=#28467