Overview
Name: Silent Isopel
Species: Undead Human
Age: 11
Height: Four foot, five inches
Weight: 64 lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Scintillating
Skin: Pale white, or rotting
Occupation: N/A
Place of Birth: Dread Marshes
Affiliation: N/A
Home: N/A, formerly of the Dread Marshes
Appearance
A small, frail child, Isopel stands at a diminutive height of four foot, six inches. Their skin is either sickly pale, or rotting away, exposing decay beneath their flesh. Isopel wears covering clothes, as much as possible, to bundle up and hide their ugly appearance from the rest of the world. They seem to keep a permanent stoic face, trying to prevent themselves from showing any emotion.
Skills and Abilities
Isopel has no mundane skills of note. Their true power comes from the ritual that has changed them, fundamentally. When they were resurrected by their parents' successful ritual, two lives were exchanged for one, and the power of a magical artefact was used to assist in the ritual. It is because of this, that Isopel is an augur of black magic, bursting at the seams.
Isopel is not capable of appropriately controlling this power, and can merely direct it at will. It is generally manifested as a corrosive, corrupting force that eats away at living and mundane things. Isopel is immune to this power, though they rarely use it, and when they do, it is in such a shoddy and unskilled way that they do not use this fact with any real merit.
Personality
Isopel is fearful and paranoid. They are generally prone to reacting with fear and panic, to anything that's even slightly threatening. When no threat is present, they are far more curious and inquisitive, and will typically attempt to prod and poke at things, disassembling them and attempting to see how they work. They're generally friendly enough if, again, they can get past their fear, though their inability to speak or hear makes communication greatly difficult.
Biography & Lore
Isopel's mother and father were not proficient in much aside from farming, tailoring, and basic maintenance of their abode. They were illiterate, and unskilled, and pacifistic - not by choice, but by lack of opportunity. Their only child, Isopel, was a miracle, for their mother was thought to be infertile. Isopel was not gifted in athleticism, they were not a savant or a prodigy, though they possessed a brilliant curiosity, and an intuitive mind.
But Isopel was born deaf. Something their mother and father were not prepared for.
What Isopel's mother and father lacked in ability, they made up for in boundless care and obtuse thinking that, while generally useless, assisted when they came to try and find a way for Isopel to speak. They made a new form of communication. A strange series of hand symbols, strung together, to form a proto-language. They did not have enough time in the day to give Isopel a truly deep understanding of language, but in quiet hours and time they could spare, they gave Isopel what they could, and Isopel learnt, and they grew to communicate their questions about the world, and their state in life, and their parents grew to love their endless curiosity.
When the child was struck sick, Isopel's mother tended to them for as long as they could. And when they died of their illness, Isopel's mother proposed something extreme. They would do everything in their power to bring back their only child.
It took them a while. A year. Maybe two. They hunted for powers to defy death. But they were ignorant, and didn't know any better. The laws of magic escaped them, and they found and traded and called in what limited favours they had. They staked their home, their livelihood, and pushed themselves until one day, perhaps by chance or fate, they had a tiny relic, an amulet no bigger than a coin in the palms of their hands. An amulet that was said to be from the Noxomarchy, and a strange man who gave them instructions on how to use it.
They did not hesitate.
In pale, baleful starlight, they dug up Isopel's half-rotten corpse. With maggots still devouring their only child, they dragged them into the darkness of their home, and prepared the ritual. It was deceptively simple. Candles and wax arranged in a circle, eggs and blood scattered about the area. The amulet placed on one of Isopel's eyes, and a coin placed on the empty socket. They chanted the words perfectly, they performed the rites impeccably. The strange one who guided them watched from afar, and yet was closer than they thought. The ritual was perfect.
They thought that they had failed, but they had succeeded.
When Isopel's eyes opened, they were filled with the pale, baleful light of the stars. They sat up, in an empty room, the amulet falling into their lap. Two corpses lay, screams dying on their lips. The centre of the room looked like it smelled rancid, but they tried to inhale, and their lungs seemed to fill, or felt as they did, but they couldn't smell anything. Isopel crawled towards the corpses - and it was mother and father.
Isopel let out a gasp, in surprise, and spewing from their mouth was a vile, corrosive substance that blighted everything it touched.
Isopel pushed back, staring at their hands. Their hands were frail, white - and there were - there were insects within them! Eating them! They fled quickly, though, as if even their flesh was repulsive to them now. Rising to their feet, Isopel gripped at the amulet and pushed it into a pocket. They clenched their fist around it. It was sharp and cool, colder than ice on a gelid winter's morning, but it felt comforting to hold it.
Carefully, and with great intent, Isopel slowly began to leave the building, too shocked and dumbfounded to mourn or panic.
That would come soon, after the denial.
References
(link your roleplays here when you start writing)
Name: Silent Isopel
Species: Undead Human
Age: 11
Height: Four foot, five inches
Weight: 64 lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Scintillating
Skin: Pale white, or rotting
Occupation: N/A
Place of Birth: Dread Marshes
Affiliation: N/A
Home: N/A, formerly of the Dread Marshes
Appearance
A small, frail child, Isopel stands at a diminutive height of four foot, six inches. Their skin is either sickly pale, or rotting away, exposing decay beneath their flesh. Isopel wears covering clothes, as much as possible, to bundle up and hide their ugly appearance from the rest of the world. They seem to keep a permanent stoic face, trying to prevent themselves from showing any emotion.
Skills and Abilities
Isopel has no mundane skills of note. Their true power comes from the ritual that has changed them, fundamentally. When they were resurrected by their parents' successful ritual, two lives were exchanged for one, and the power of a magical artefact was used to assist in the ritual. It is because of this, that Isopel is an augur of black magic, bursting at the seams.
Isopel is not capable of appropriately controlling this power, and can merely direct it at will. It is generally manifested as a corrosive, corrupting force that eats away at living and mundane things. Isopel is immune to this power, though they rarely use it, and when they do, it is in such a shoddy and unskilled way that they do not use this fact with any real merit.
Personality
Isopel is fearful and paranoid. They are generally prone to reacting with fear and panic, to anything that's even slightly threatening. When no threat is present, they are far more curious and inquisitive, and will typically attempt to prod and poke at things, disassembling them and attempting to see how they work. They're generally friendly enough if, again, they can get past their fear, though their inability to speak or hear makes communication greatly difficult.
Biography & Lore
Isopel's mother and father were not proficient in much aside from farming, tailoring, and basic maintenance of their abode. They were illiterate, and unskilled, and pacifistic - not by choice, but by lack of opportunity. Their only child, Isopel, was a miracle, for their mother was thought to be infertile. Isopel was not gifted in athleticism, they were not a savant or a prodigy, though they possessed a brilliant curiosity, and an intuitive mind.
But Isopel was born deaf. Something their mother and father were not prepared for.
What Isopel's mother and father lacked in ability, they made up for in boundless care and obtuse thinking that, while generally useless, assisted when they came to try and find a way for Isopel to speak. They made a new form of communication. A strange series of hand symbols, strung together, to form a proto-language. They did not have enough time in the day to give Isopel a truly deep understanding of language, but in quiet hours and time they could spare, they gave Isopel what they could, and Isopel learnt, and they grew to communicate their questions about the world, and their state in life, and their parents grew to love their endless curiosity.
When the child was struck sick, Isopel's mother tended to them for as long as they could. And when they died of their illness, Isopel's mother proposed something extreme. They would do everything in their power to bring back their only child.
It took them a while. A year. Maybe two. They hunted for powers to defy death. But they were ignorant, and didn't know any better. The laws of magic escaped them, and they found and traded and called in what limited favours they had. They staked their home, their livelihood, and pushed themselves until one day, perhaps by chance or fate, they had a tiny relic, an amulet no bigger than a coin in the palms of their hands. An amulet that was said to be from the Noxomarchy, and a strange man who gave them instructions on how to use it.
They did not hesitate.
In pale, baleful starlight, they dug up Isopel's half-rotten corpse. With maggots still devouring their only child, they dragged them into the darkness of their home, and prepared the ritual. It was deceptively simple. Candles and wax arranged in a circle, eggs and blood scattered about the area. The amulet placed on one of Isopel's eyes, and a coin placed on the empty socket. They chanted the words perfectly, they performed the rites impeccably. The strange one who guided them watched from afar, and yet was closer than they thought. The ritual was perfect.
They thought that they had failed, but they had succeeded.
When Isopel's eyes opened, they were filled with the pale, baleful light of the stars. They sat up, in an empty room, the amulet falling into their lap. Two corpses lay, screams dying on their lips. The centre of the room looked like it smelled rancid, but they tried to inhale, and their lungs seemed to fill, or felt as they did, but they couldn't smell anything. Isopel crawled towards the corpses - and it was mother and father.
Isopel let out a gasp, in surprise, and spewing from their mouth was a vile, corrosive substance that blighted everything it touched.
Isopel pushed back, staring at their hands. Their hands were frail, white - and there were - there were insects within them! Eating them! They fled quickly, though, as if even their flesh was repulsive to them now. Rising to their feet, Isopel gripped at the amulet and pushed it into a pocket. They clenched their fist around it. It was sharp and cool, colder than ice on a gelid winter's morning, but it felt comforting to hold it.
Carefully, and with great intent, Isopel slowly began to leave the building, too shocked and dumbfounded to mourn or panic.
That would come soon, after the denial.
References
(link your roleplays here when you start writing)