[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/pw7kKtp.png[/img][h1]Otis Tan Arillo[/h1][sub]5'6 | 97 lbs | Male | 16 y/o | Strigidae Beastkin[/sub]
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGNCMcVnUuM]⚒[/url][/center]
[b]Alignment:[/b] Neutral Evil
[b]Personality[/b][indent]Otis is intense and obsessive, finding beauty in details and specifics. To others, the open-minded skeptic may be insufferable in the way that his questions sound like interrogations, in that he refuses to accept anything until he has exhaustively, personally, investigated it, but at the same time, there is something admirable about just how open-minded he is. He loves the Truth, find beauty even as his previous understanding of the world is crushed underfoot. To him, it doesn't matter what shape it ultimately takes: a myriad of beliefs are rooted in a single truth, and Otis wishes to reach the thread that is spun from the nebulous wool of mortal perceptions.

Open-minded as he is though, there are still things that he has no tolerance for. He's a perfectionist, and a perfectionist who wishes for processes that are [i]always[/i] correct at that. Intuition and instinct, to Otis, is only guessing, and guessing brings forth unpredictability that can otherwise be controlled for. And if there’s one thing that he doesn’t like, it’s the inconsistency where there shouldn’t be any. If someone promises something, he expects them to fulfill their promise. If someone has done something once, he expects them to be able to do it again. That harshness is doubled onto himself. Though failure is alright, Otis does not ever want to let that stand. He’s not insane. He’s just stubborn and prideful, a child beneath that veneer of maturity.[/indent]

[b]Backstory[/b][indent][i]Upon the descendants may an unfinished sentence be fulfilled.[/i]

A rebellion extinguished was not a rebellion exterminated. When the Clockwork Queen's fist rose away from the carnage she had dealt, that had not been the end of her wrath. Those who survived, those who had surrendered and pleaded for mercy, were brought then to serve their sentences, imprisoned for their folly, then conscripted to the frontlines of a war that none could survive. Of the thousands sent off as flesh to feed the Seedspawn tide, none survived, leaving their sentences unfulfilled.

So, naturally, the burden of their great crime would fall upon their children. Mercy was not to be offered, not to the weakest, most helpless of the rebel lot. Treachery persisted within blood. The boot of the brass tyrant cared not for nurture, only nature.

And so, it was only when he was ten years old that the sentence of his great grandfather finally ended and Otis Tan Arillo was afforded the opportunity to step outside the five meter by ten meter cell that had been his world for the entirety of his conscious existence. The sun scalded him. The earth scratched him. The wind kissed him. The moon graced him. The World greeted him. And it was beautiful, enough to smother the legacy of hatred he had for that undying ruler, enough to silence the decade of propaganda that spoke to her infallible nature. He grasped it as easily as he grasped a leaf: the planet was born before Queen Everember, and would last longer than she. There, just five meters away from the prison that housed so many like him, the amber-eyed youth laughed and left it all behind.

But his footprints remained.

Given the freedom to learn, Otis became voracious in the pursuit of knowledge. He questioned all that he encountered, going so far as to voice his doubts with regards to the creation of the world itself. Humanity in its entirety did not peer into the notes of the Sacred Record, after all. Only a select few had that privilege, and there was no true way to tell who actually created the Sacred Tower. And even if one did create an ever-lasting tower...that, in and of itself, was still far and beyond what the planet itself was. Kazaar was no god, not in the sense of omnipotence. It was simply a creature like any other, a con artist that possessed power to back up their lies. What birthed this being? From whence did the Light come? Questions dogged Otis's dreams, an inquisition that at once charmed and harangued his professors.

His efforts were real though. Enough so that when High Bishop Verne gave [i]his[/i] answer to the rising chaos that came with the fluctuation of leylines, the fading of essence, those who knew the child born in a prison, the child possessed the purity and flexibility to delve into the minutiae of Castalia's existence, responded by sending him to Wingram Academy.

The world didn't need heroes.

The world needed the Truth.

Otis, however?

What he needed was an experiment, one the size of a city.[/indent]
[b]Magic:[/b] Arcane
[b]Prime Essence:[/b] Seeker
[b]Ethos:[/b] [i]"Show me wonders of this world."[/i][indent]
The Seeker, reversed, becomes a workshop that grants Otis a place where all he needs will be within arm's reach.

Upon invoking his Ethos, Otis manifests a doorway that leads into a starry pocket dimension that appears near-limitless in size. Marble flooring manifests over the feet of those who enter, and a litany of tools swirl around him, always within arms reach. In this space, the Strigidae is able to create any substance he desires, before using any number of tools to process and transform those substances. Twisted inventions and perfect weapons are craft by his callused hands beneath the infinite cosmos, theory realized or proven false with no cost to 'reality'. Indeed, within this space, all is illusory: beyond the 'cost' of summoning this dimension-breaching door to begin with, nothing that Otis creates is real.

Until he gives that creation the Maker's Mark.

Once he does, an amount of essence proportional to the 'value' of the object is consumed, solidifying the 'concreteness' of the object, and from that point on, when Otis manifests the door to his Workshop, he can summon that object. It is limited, of course, in the amount of time that such objects can remain summoned, but at the same time, it is [i]perfect[/i] too. After all, anything that can be brought out through the door can be replicated in reality. What Otis possesses, what his Ethos grants, is a dimension where prototypes can be made with no cost, where inventors that craft without worry of funds.

Curiously enough, a tertiary function of the Strigidae's Ethos is that once Otis enters his Workshop and closes the door, he can exit, reemerging from any door he has encountered in his life. Granted, that too comes with a cost of essence, but theoretically, he could cross to the other side of the world, so long as there's a standing door there.
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[b]Miscellaneous Skills[/b][indent]
[i]Strigidae Physiology[/i]
[sub]Rooted in genetics, Otis can see well in the dark, turn his head all the way around, and possesses a relatively light skeletal structure, giving him the sort of natural agility and acrobatic skill that heavier races could only dream of.[/sub]

[i]Universal Craftsman[/i]
[sub]Did such talent come before or after he discovered his Ethos? Regardless, Otis possesses a fair amount of skill in any common craft, though he's particularly skilled at weaving and tinkering. His clothes and tools are both handmade, after all.[/sub]

[i]Marksmanship[/i]
[sub]He's a good shot. It comes with having steady hands and an unflinching gaze. In a world so dangerous as this, it's foolish to not possess some method of self-defense. Even if it's often a lethal method.[/sub]

[i]Huge Dork[/i]
[sub]What can be said? He loves learning, and he learned to learn fast.[/sub][/indent]
[b]Inventory[/b][indent]
A beautifully crafted break action revolver with a polished mahogany grip. When it breaks open, there’s the distinct ring of a sounding crystal.

A thick, but breathable coat embellished with the red-and-brown patterns of the Arillo family, patterns uncovered through visits to the parts of archives that a young child born of rebel's blood ought not to be. While it offers some protection against bludgeoning blows, its main function is the many pockets that Otis had sewn into it afterwards, offering plenty of different places to put his various knick-knacks. Of particular note is a tin box that contains all his most useful tools, as well as a half dozen hard candies to give him that necessary sugar rush.
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