[color=ed1c24][h1][b][i]T R A V I S  H O A N[/i][/b][/h1][/color]

[hider= Travis Hoan][color=#CFB53B][b][/b][/color]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/0n6Jw0v.png[/img]

[color=ed1c24][h1]T R A V I S  H O A N[/h1][/color][hr][/center]
[color=ed1c24][h3]Patient Profile:[/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][i][center]"I woke up in this place, surrounded by people I don't know, and with no memory of how I got here. Do you really think I'd be here if I knew what to do?"[/center][/i][/indent]

[color=ed1c24][b]Name:[/b][/color] [i]Travis Christopher Matthew Hoan.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Gender:[/b][/color] [i]Male.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Age:[/b][/color] [i]20 years old.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Classification:[/b][/color] [i]Human, naturally.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Physical Description:[/b][/color] [i]Travis is often described as “a brick wall”. He doesn’t speak, he’s taller than most of the other patients, and his conversational skills are especially wall-like. His stature is that of roughly six feet and five inches, a mesomorphic frame with lean muscle. His hair is blond in colour, messed in the front with a subtle fade to the base of his neck. Double crowned, a troublesome spike of hair always sticking at the back left. His blue eyes, along with his whole face, show no expression most of the time. The only expression he does show is one of displeasure, more akin to disgust. His wardrobe is of muted tones, nothing really holding an express colour or silhouette. [/i]

[color=ed1c24][h3]Psychological Profile:::[/h3][/color][hr]
[center][b]Stoic | Uncaring | Disconnected | Whispy | Dry| Unwavering[/b][/center]

[color=ed1c24][b]Patient Observations:::[/b][/color] [i]According to the reports of clinicians and other staff within the house, Hoan isn’t much of a threat, requiring that he is kept severely medicated. He often paces the halls in these states he finds himself in, wandering around but never interacting, as if he can’t see the people around him. 

Reports of Hoan, when his medication has run out or become ineffective, differ from the norm. When unsedated, Hoan has intense, panic-inducing mental intrusions. These make him very paranoid, but he claims when unsedated he is completely lucid. He is convinced that the paranoid invasions in his head are completely sane. He has attempted an escape from the house seven times since his stay. He claims that the tests they do to him unlock ancient cryptic thoughts, of which he claims is what induces his erratic and anti-social behaviour.[/i]  

[color=ed1c24][b]Deepest Desire:::[/b][/color] [b]Run.[/b]
[i]There is something evil within. Something dark. Something that nothing good could come of. Hoan wants nought other than an escape from the house. No care for those around him, no care for staff, he just wants to run. Whatever it is, whatever those tests do to him, he hates. So he must flee. Every time he’d been unsuccessful, and they have him too sedated to even be able to try again most days. These slight moments of complete lucidness, he clings to them as hard as he can.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Quest:::[/b][/color] [i]The quest Hoan follows and his desire are one in the same. His immediate desire is to escape and rejoin the world. While his desire is more about escaping the clutches of ancient darkness, his quest is simple. Get as far away from the High John’s House of Saints as humanly possible. The exact other end of the globe. Whatever plagues him, it only plagued him in here, not when he was outside. Or what he can remember of that at least…
[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Virtue:::[/b][/color] [b]Unbreakable.[/b]
[i]Hoan possesses an immense fighting spirit. His vigour at the idea of escaping the house even after his seventh failure unwavering. He doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants, and he won’t give in to any sort of suggestion unless heavily drugged.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Vice:::[/b][/color] [b]Apathetic Sado-Masochism[/b]
[i]Travis Hoan cannot, for whatever reason, empathise with another human being. He is completely numb to the strife or happiness of another. The only way he really can empathise with someone is through pain, and so the pain of others is interesting to him. Inflicting pain, as well as receiving it, are a release of dopamine. He cannot care for another, and cannot understand someone unless through suffering.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Likes:::[/b][/color] 

[list]
[*] Wandering around.
[*] Planning an escape.
[*] Tapping on his bedframe.
[*] Tuesday's in the cafeteria.
[*] Some of the staff.
[/list]

[color=ed1c24][b]Dislikes:::[/b][/color] 

[list]
[*] The Tests.
[*] The images, [i]those damn images...[/i]
[*] Most of the higher clearance clinicians.
[*] The crow that pecks at his window.
[*] His medication.
[/list]

[color=ed1c24][b]Oddities:::[/b][/color] [i]Travis is meticulous about his morning routine. He holds a range of toiletries, facial scrubs, and herbal face masks. Along with that, an intense callisthenics workout that keeps him in shape. He is impressively strong because of this routine, and can sometimes overpower staff members. Even when severely drugged, he will attempt to still carry out this process, despite usually being unsuccessful.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][h3]Background Information:::[/h3][/color][hr]
[indent][i] “My family, friends, none of their faces are in my mind anymore. I can't see them...”[/i][/indent]

[color=ed1c24][b]Wisps of Memory:::[/b][/color] [i]Travis was born in a graveyard.

His mother was widowed by his father, who had died during his deployment in the middle of Afghanistan, leaving the boy with less than stellar father figures all of his life. The circumstances of his birth are odd. His mother, despite being still two months away from her due date, suddenly began to give birth in the middle of her late husbands funeral ceremony. Luckily, one of his father's close relatives was a midwife, and the baby was safely delivered before the ambulance arrived on the scene. As he was premature, he was a sickly baby, but this didn't stop him inheriting his fathers build and height.

His childhood was messy. With his father dead, his mother and her extended family were the only ones who could look after him. His mother had to take a second job, leaving him with his grandparents. They weren't especially strict, his grandparents were flawed, but nice in their own way. They had expressed some worry over Travis however. He'd often find himself disconnected from conversations, where a small child would be inquisitive Travis simply wasn't. There was one particular incident when he was seven years old, in which Travis had somehow hunted down and crushed a mouse to death, and he told his grandmother afterwards. The boy was almost unaffected by his actions, numb to the crimson on his light-up sneakers.

This naturally landed him with a seat in a councillors chair. He was diagnosed with ASPD, prescribed intensive psychotherapy, in the hopes the little boy could be fixed. He got out of that program after a few years, and continued on with his life. He suppressed his thoughts, tried to fake emotions to fit in, and lived life behind the mask that the medicinal system had provided for him. This continued throughout his early tens all the way to his sixteenth. Or at least, he tried to continue being normal. Weird things started happening the more he grew. He'd occasionally disappear from his bed, dogs would bark at him without any aggression from him, among many other strange happenings. 

His mother had remarried by this time, and the man she had now married was abusive. Not physically, but emotionally. He'd constantly berate and break down those around him, forming a complex in the mind of Travis. He worried if everything he did was ever going to be good enough, or if maybe the gaslighting was actually correct all along. Either way he got out of there as quick as he could, got into a good college, and made his own way in the world. Or at least, that was the plan.

It was only about six months ago. From what Hoan can remember, him and a girlfriend where arguing. As he's so apathetic, she was very upset and he couldn't care, and that escalated. She began breaking things, throwing objects, and eventually knocked Hoan unconscious. The next thing he knew he'd woken up in a hospital bed. He'd left his mother, his girlfriend, and his entire life behind. [/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]In the House of High John:::[/b][/color] 
[i]Before properly sedated, Travis was constantly trying to make a run for it. He went through three attempts within the first two weeks, making it very clear that he did not want to stay within those walls. He has since been placed on a large dosage of Droperidol in order to sedate him and stop him from escaping. He attempted a further four attempts regardless of this sedation, sometimes actively missing doses. Due to this, the staff expect that he will probably try to escape again at some point, and so they try to do everything in their power to stop him from doing that. Regardless, Travis still fights onward.

Travis is disconnected from the other patients further. He'd rather be exercising in his room than sitting in a room with a few chairs and a bunch of whackjobs. He tends to keep others distant. The others don't matter to him. Having any sort of special relationship with the people here is pointless, he has people he needs to see, and he needs to run away from this place as fast as he can, nothing to tie him down.[/i]

[color=ed1c24][b]Fragments and Connections:::[/b][/color][i] His mother. Hoan needs to see his mother. He hasn't seen her in what feels like an eternity, and her face is starting to ever so slowly slip from his mind, becoming a blur. He needs the face of his mother back with him, as well as all the others that he's lost. While others may not be tied to the mortal world, Travis Hoan certainly is.[/i] 

[/hider]
[hr]
[color=662d91][h1][b][i]L E  M A Î T R E[/i][/b][/h1][/color]
[hider= Le Maître]
[center] [img]https://i.imgur.com/wGbGyxK.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][color=662d91][h3][[[DOOMSAYER::: L E  M A Î T R E]]][/h3][/color][/center]

[color=662d91][b]Doomsayer Title:::[/b][/color] 
[i]Le Maître,[/i] The Dread Overseer


[color=662d91][b]Description:::[/b][/color] 
[i]When one sees the dread overseer, they might look them past, mistaking them for your typical dead from certain distances. His almost grey skin would be attributed to this, although upon further inspection one would see this is not the case. His eyes are wrapped in shredded cloth, withered away with sand and dirt, but his forehead exposed. In the centre of which sits a third eye, shut for the moment, and in a perpendicular direction. When imposing his will this eye opens, black veins pulsing in his forehead, and similar for the blinkers resided on the inside of his palms. His hair mirrors that of his counterpart, similar in style, length and colour. His dress sense, however, is more elaborate. Dressed in an old tattered 19th-century suit, two buttons were undone with a ruffle shirt to boot. His feet a bare, their surfaces black and skin ashen. When Le Maître is sighted, he is often seen muttering, or usually staring up into the horizon. Words hardly ever leave his lips. However, the bigger the crowd around him, the more erratic and violent he will become.[/i]

[color=662d91][b]Doomsayer Paragon:::[/b][/color]
[i]If the Mesmer is representative of balance, and the Undergod order, then The Dread Overseer is chaos. His nature is not to keep all things dramatically balanced or for a union of souls to fight in a just and righteous war. His is a power of chaos, of trickery, of [i]curruption[/i]. Black smoke and purple fire consuming things around him with avatars of smoke rising from them, a dark wash of clouds as he passes, and the whispers that resonate from his person without so much as a twitch of his lips. This influence, accompanied by many "tools" he possesses, is used to beat his opponents into submission. That's the only way it can be unleashed. For him to feel any sort of tranquillity, violence must occur beforehand. Otherwise, the knocking won't stop. He cares not for factions or morality. He wishes an end to his own suffering, not anyone else's. Selfish in desire.[/i]

[color=662d91][b]Doomsayer Prophecy:::[/b][/color] 

[i]The key to the end is within The Dread Overseer, as he saw flashes it himself. Awaking in a ruin, he reached a vantage point, and that's when he saw it. An eye, exactly like his own, opened within the sky. It showed him it. Flashes of it. The blaze of purple fire and rot that he would leave, himself at the centre, the heart of the land of the dead. Draining it, expelling the energy and ending all. All pain of the dead, and more importantly the knocking in his head. He'd be left, in the tranquillity of the ash. 
[/i]
[color=662d91][b]A Legend:::[/b][/color] 
[i]Dread Overseer was a name granted to him, but not one that he ever remembers receiving. The dead call him Le Maître, calling him [i]The Master[/i] due to his old (and very french looking according to some of the dead) fashion sense. He tends not to disturb the dead, unless provoked, as they are not really worth the hassle of killing and are rather harmless anyway. Demons and Devils however? They saw him as a challenge. He readily comes to challenge them, as it becomes a point of catharsis for him. Both being hit and finally dominating his opponent, The Dread Overseer had thoroughly exerted his need. 

Those who care enough to speculate on him find that his origin appears in an old dusty ruin, as he often finds himself in any way. The exact circumstances of if he was born, or simply came to be, is still lacking knowledge. For all the dead know, Le Maître is nothing to fear, just a being that passes them and sometimes drops in for supplies. He tends not to hang around long, and large groups make him erratic.[/i]

[color=662d91][b]A Sighting:::[/b][/color] 

[i]Walking the ashen planes of the land of the dead, The Dread Overseer is known to murmur to himself. He's often not seen moving his mouth, but it is clear that this noise surrounds him. He wondered right through the streets of a town, the wind around him dropping still. The dead watched, hidden by windows and curtains, but he paid them no mind. He had come there looking for something to do, he had grown bored. Not long after he found his opposition. A fight with a devil followed, and it was met with force from both sides. Visions of smoke appeared from purple blazes, consuming the devil and choking him with the hot ash before he could even react. All eyes flexing, spasming and shaking, he gripped the devil's throat and before the dead knew it-[/i]

[b][i]SNAP![/i][/b]

[i]The devil was done. And the brutality sent waves through the dead present. As if nothing had happened, Le Maître simply ashed the corpse away, not really wanting to leave any bother for the dead. He was from then on continuously hunted, devils come forth, wanting to avenge one after another. Some lived, running away and causing him to blaze everything around him out of frustration, and some died. The ones that died simply were replaced, over and over again. Once they successfully were able to form a unit to surround them, rumour has it he created a blaze so large the avatar of smoke he created was large enough to completely seer a devil to death if they got too close to it. Evidence for it is a stretch of almost half a mile of scorched earth, of which is a common clue that Le Maître had passed. After all, his footprints do burn into the groun[/i]d.

[color=#CFB53B][b]𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽:::[/b][/color]

[b][i]Travis Hoan,
Le Maître,
All is the same.[/i][/b]

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[hider= Interactions Table]
[table=bordered][row][cell][color=#CFB53B][b]Character name[/b][/color][/cell] [cell][i][color=#CFB53B][b]Relationship[/b][/color][/i][/cell][/row]

[row][cell][Name of other character][/cell][cell][i][Write out your character's opinion and relationship with the character in question.][/i][/cell][/row]
[/table][/hider]