STATUS:
Starting to think I'm the sort who gets tired of people and pushes them away without meaning to. That's no way to treat others. Gotta stay positive.
3 yrs ago
Current
Starting to think I'm the sort who gets tired of people and pushes them away without meaning to. That's no way to treat others. Gotta stay positive.
3
likes
3 yrs ago
Placed on quarantine for the next two weeks thanks to a family member popping positive for COVID. Well, thank you for the vacation!
1
like
4 yrs ago
Playing: Dissidia FFOO, Red Dead Online, and Among Us. So little time to* accomplish anything!
Knoll generally appears as a mild individual, preferring the company of books and stories to people. An escapist at heart, with an overactive imagination, he loves delving into a fantasy novel and losing himself amidst the plots therein. His free time is often spent reading or writing short stories of his own.
âGotta get this done first, Nix.â
In spite of this affection, Knoll tries to be a responsible individual. If heâs not head-deep in a story he can be found taking up chores around the Flower Shop. A life spent on the streets doing odd jobs and frequently performing less-than-legal work to survive has given him a sort of pride in the shared living space he has now. Darn him if it isnât going to be a fine place to live. Clean, spiffy, and well-represented. In regards to the job, Knoll can be a strongly task-driven hunter with a single-minded focus on the objective; regardless of the prerogative, the job will be done with less thought about the larger picture, barring emotional interference.
âPleasure to meet you, proper.â
Polite when meeting new people, those who know him will find a much more casual sort beneath. Lonesome by nature, but friendly overall, Knoll enjoys prodding his friends for reactions or to try and get a laugh. Self-deprecating remarks are common, but so are the playful barbs towards others. While he enjoys testing others and their defenses, thereâs a deep-seated sense of respect where he draws the line. Those he feels ingratiated towards will have his loyalty as well as admiration.
âDidn't mean to turn on you. [...] I'm twitchy about touch.â
Stemming from his fatherâs heavy-handed rearing, Knoll is predisposed to avoiding sudden touches from other people. Taps, pats, hugs and most other contact can make him flinch initially, but continued familiarity lessens how uptight he can be about it. Itâs something he sees as an issue and strives to get over.
âYouâre a wolf chasing sheep. Weâre the shepherdâs dogs.â
While a compassionate soul, Knollâs lived a life of fighting. Whether it be in an underground fighting ring or against a supernatural subject, combat is where he comes to life. Itâs about the only time he feels free of social bindings and mental blocks, able to take out his pent up aggression and be the brutal combatant he is. For a hunter, violence is part and parcel with the job, making it probably the biggest aspect that he looks forward to, aside from the paycheck. If asked about it in more polite company or a relaxed setting, Knoll tends to deflect it with stuff along the lines of protecting innocents. Itâs not untrue, itâs just peripheral to the focus.
Height 5'11"
Weight 198lbs
Notable Features -Occasional bouts of bright light emissions, particularly through veins, eyes, and about the torso. -Eyes have a constant glow, like low-burning embers. -Natural body temperature stays around 102â°F. -Curses by fire and things related to it, originally used as a way to get over cussing under his father's roof (eg. "fire/flame" instead of fuck). -Flinches noticeably under unexpected or unwanted physical contact. -Known by his alias among mundies.
Hair Red
Eyes -Blue, naturally -Yellow-orange, when the flame within is stoked
Voice Gruff, guttural. Picks up breathy traits when raised. Primarily speaks with North American accent, with some Irish vernacular and the occasional slip into an Irish accent.
Appearance Red hair slicked back. Broad, somewhat toned build, fitting for one used to hard labor. Light, freckled skin with the texture near to being leather. Clothing preference leans toward a dark undershirt, black T-shirt, leaf-green jacket over work jeans and brown work boots. Keeps a pair of black leather gloves with him for labor and combat. Wears a leather cord on his neck ending in a badb catha made of pewter.
Knoll has some scars dotting his body, accumulated over his short career. Most notable are the scratches on his left cheek and eyebrow. On his torso, there remains the puncture scar left from his father's dagger, followed by four thin, criss-crossing scratches on his right abdomen, and a half-inch gouge mark on his right shoulder blade.
Languages -English - because it's just that common. -Irish/Gaelic - sounds best with a bottle in-hand.
Biography
Being born to a couple of Irish immigrants came with some perks. The first being that their natural language is quite charming in its way, the second is the accent. Third is their way of handling the drink. Well, maybe that came to Knoll naturally. Another perk, perhaps more due to their superstitions, was Knoll's knowledge of Gaelic lore.
His father was a preacher and a grave digger for a backwater town in the middle of the boonies. In his off-time, he ran a communal farm with local men and women that helped supply the small town's food market and brought in some extra cash that he often put towards the church. Though a superstitious man, he was a god-fearing one that had plenty of stock in Catholicism. Had a habit of putting back the alcohol led to a dangerous reputation among townsfolk when he got to a dark place. The role he played to the people however, earned him enough respect to keep his privacy.
His mother was a quiet woman, lacking in both presence and power. She lived a life of being held to the standards of the preacher's wife, upholding ideas both religious and virtuous. Behind the curtain, she took the brunt of her husband's rage for reasons instilled in her upbringing. It was not a happy life, but she lived it with a silent vigilance. In her own way, she was admired by others for the solidarity she presented herself with.
Knoll was raised up simultaneously fearing and admiring his father, whom he sometimes believed to be some kind of holy warrior who kept demons at bay, and other times believed had a demon inside himself. During those times, his mother was the closest thing he had to a hero. When she could, she put herself between the two whenever she thought her son risked being on the receiving end of his father's beatings.
Outside of school, Knoll spent much of his life working the farm, studying Gaelic lore, reading books, or even out and about among the woods and graves with a small group of friends. As he grew, he began to care less for the church and stayed out more with his friends. And, as friends do as they age, gradually they took up one bad habit or another together.
In his father's words, Knoll was beginning to live a sinful life. The response was, as you'd expect, one fierce beating after the old man had enough drink in him. The youth wasn't able to put up much of a fight in the process. Given time to heal in the weeks after, Knoll packed a bag and, with his mother's quiet blessing, left home and the town to pursue a different life.
A decade passed wherein Knoll lived, letting his own demons out. He spent it working, drinking, and fighting one day to the next. No consistent job held him in one place for the longest period of time, but there was always one way or another to make cash without legitimate employment. Enough to get him to tomorrow and possibly another place to set himself up.
Somewhere along the way, he met one interesting character that introduced him to the world as it really was; fey, monsters, half-breeds, humanoids, magic and more. He took it in stride at the time, with slow realizations coming as time went on. Selective knowledge of Gaelic mythology had helped him pick out creatures that derived from it, and opened the doors to seeing more of the world than he ever thought logically possible, beyond even his Gaelic roots. As time went on, he began to wonder if there was more to his hometown than he thought at the time. What if his father had had his own reasons for being what he was?
It would be another year before Knoll made his way out that way, taking with him skeptical theories and a deeply-hidden wish that perhaps his old man wasn't quite the monster Knoll remembered.
With few roads actually going that direction, Knoll's hitchhiking would only get him so far. So it was with a somewhat eager heart that he exited one last truck and wished its driver farewell and thanks that he made his way into the forest surrounding the town. At least this way, he'd be able to see the world that lay hidden under the old town with his own eyes.
Nightfall settled as he ventured inward. With hours past, he'd spotted some supernatural creatures, but refrained from making contact with any. The last time he'd lived in this area, they'd never made to talk to people that he was aware of, why change that now? But in the dark there was a particular figure that seemed to approach him almost directly, if only from afar. A nightly mist had settled among the trees and obscured his way, leaving it difficult to navigate.
Knoll's eyes found a light in the distance. Yellow-orange, like that of fire, contrasted sharply against the fog. He called out to the light source, though it gave no response. Assuming it must've been a campfire, he made for it. Though he crossed the land and shrubbery and forest floor to it, it came no closer to the man. Perhaps there was something more to it. A flame in the distance, guiding a lone traveler? Gaelic lore spoke of this one.
Stingy Jack and his jack-o'-lantern of infernal embers. Will-o'-the-wisp. Knoll called out to the wisp, telling it he wouldn't be fooled. The wisp remained quiet, though Knoll believed he made out a small shiver of its form. Perhaps that was as much response as he would get. The mist thickened, and Knoll's only sense of direction came from the flame in the distance. His only options would be to follow the light or not. In his stubbornness, Knoll chose to sit on the ground. He refused to be led astray while this fog blocked his way, and to follow the wisp could be dangerous. What else could he have done?
Hours passed. Knoll, tired and hungry, laid out his bed roll and ate his rations while he daydreamed, eyes never leaving the curious flame. It flickered in the distance where it lingered, he somewhat imagined it to be watching him too. A sort of stalemate ensued, or so he believed. Hard to determine when you have a creature you didn't understand in a tie.
Boredom settling in, Knoll began to talk towards it. It never responded, but he questioned it and spoke at length. He talked about his travels and the people he met, even talking of the creatures seen and sometimes fought. Did the wisp know how hard a human-looking troll could punch? Knoll had learned the hard way when one stepped into a fighting ring with him. Cost him a good pay out that day, too. Did it know of the fairies that lived out in the forest? Were they their own community? Had the wisp traveled far, or stayed here its entire life? Knoll told it about his life, not start to finish, but why he'd wanted to leave, and why he was coming home now with little bits in-between. A one-sided conversation, for sure. But it kept him from losing his mind amidst the fog.
More time passed this way, between questions and conversational points, though Knoll remained the only one talking. The mist endured for however long it was that he spoke to it, until finally he decided to sleep. Whatever happened, would finally happen. Whatever the wisp did to him, it would have its chance.
Knoll awoke later on, having slept peacefully, in the forest. No mist, in a familiar portion of the forest that didn't quite match where he had been. No sign of the flame lingered in the distance, nor did he observe any other creatures around. He gathered his bedroll and garbage and headed towards the town, following old once-thought-forgotten memories of his way home.
Entering the town from a familiar edge was much the same as he remembered. The farm had grown, the church bell gleamed, the graveyard behind it had more plots than Knoll remembered. Among the gravestones, a familiar face wiped sweat from its brow, shovel in hand, dirt piling next to him, a head of hair with far more gray than red; Knoll's father. He called down to the old man, an excited grin on his face.
The presence of the creatures in the forest gave him hope that his dad was definitely a warrior of sorts who protected people from the dangerous ones that might live among them. Like that wisp. The reunion was gleeful, if awkward. Son and father returned to the old home, where Knoll met his mother again. She looked less like a wilted flower than he recalled, maybe there had been something that changed between them in the years before.
Days that followed were happy. Catching up with old friends, getting to know them all again, learning of events that transpired in his absence was all a thrill. He shared his experiences in turn, talking of his travels and what he'd gotten to experience. Pointedly, he left out much of his day-to-day activities. Certain things just didn't make for good table talk.
Then a night came in which son and father went out to the pub together. They drank their fill, laughing loudly and having a grand time. Old Warren could hold his drink better than his boy, they said. Knoll proved them wrong and slammed their expectations. Questions were thrown his way, and in his drunken fun, he told tall tales of his life. Tales that did include some things he probably shouldn't have spoken of. Fairies, trolls, goblins, and more. Even the wisp in the forest on the way in. He tried to make it sound grand and interesting, the way one of his books would tell it.
Even pubs close after a while, though. Knoll and his old man stumbled back to their home, the elder grumbling under his breath in what sounded like frustration. The young man dismissed it as drunken rambles and just nodded his head along. As they made it into the house, Knoll got his dad into his old recliner and took a seat on the couch, still happily abuzz and drifting to sleep in moments.
Something seemed out of place. A creak of wooden planks. A heavy breath. Angry voice that raised to a roar. Eyelids parted just in time to see his father standing over him. Fist raised, coming down to meet Knoll's face. He took it in the cheek, shook his head as wakefulness started to come to him.
Knoll caught the next swing with his forearm and raised his leg to push the old man off, missing, he had to block another swing by his father. He raised his leg again, this time bringing it down to shift his weight forward. Knoll rose, shoving the old man back with his shoulder and trying to get his stance. Still drunk, however, he stumbled uselessly. More flashes of fists as he took more punches, one to the jaw and another to the eye socket. More came after. Followed by yet more.
Between each contact, he barely heard his father's words. Something about "them", the "monsters", "shouldn't talk about'em." The meaning was lost between each blow. Knoll couldn't understand. It only took a few hits before he lost his footing and fell to the floor. He remembered blood and pain, remembered being almost blind in his left eye. Flashes of the floor showered in droplets of blood. His father had walked off. Distantly, he could hear voices, an exchange between father and mother. Father won, as he always did. Knoll tried to get up on his arms. Legs wouldn't work.
Heavy footfalls. He couldn't turn to see. Up on one arm, had to move. Didn't get the chance.
A kick to his gut made him curl and roll. On his back again, he saw his old man bending down over him, a glittering knife in hand. A muttering of the word "monster" right before the tip sank into his heart. Pain beyond pain that he knew flared like fire inside of him, before a degree of numbness started to take over the area. Was that shock? Knoll raised his arms, weak though they were. He grabbed the hilt in one, tried to swing at his father's face with the other.
It didn't do anything. Old Warren gave the knife a sharp twist to finish his work. Again, Knoll felt that pain before it numbed again. He didn't scream this time, just flinched beneath it before letting go of his last breath. The last thing he felt was something rising in his throat as a dark fog covered his eyes.
Was that the end of his life? Was that how death came for people? A numbing sensation before ones' body became like lead? Did it take away everyone's vision like it had his at the end? Did it take away their strength and rage, as he felt his go?
"What?" The voice asked. "Hee hee, you want to have some fun then!" Who was it talking to? The light was coming into focus. A yellow-orange orb emanating a light not unlike a flame hovered over his face. The voice had come from elsewhere, not this thing.
"Well, not much time. Say goodbye to him, child." A face, one of pure shadow that seemed so simultaneously distinct yet unknowable, peered over Knoll's eyes. It seemed to examine the young man, weigh him behind that face. "Maybe not. That was you, I heard a second ago. Yes, too much shit. Too much wrong with you. They'd never have you up there, same as they never had me."
The flame remained hovering over Knoll's body. It made no sound, but seemed to catch the figure's attention, as the shadowed man looked up to it. "Think so, do you?" He asked it. Another moment passed before the man looked down at Knoll again.
"You seem to have garnered this little one's interest. Says they want to go with you. However, they can't leave forest themselves. Shame, isn't it? A child who is unable to explore the world. You can do sympathy right?"
The light above him was giving something off, an impulse, an impression. Something about excitement? Did it depend on his answer? But, he couldn't take it anywhere. He'd be dead. This had been the end of his last trip. I can't go anywhere.
"From this little thing?" He seemed to chuckle at Knoll's wound. "My lad, stop acting the maggot. I'll offer you a deal. What would you say? Take my little wisp out to see the world. Let the child live a life, and you'll have yours."
And I'd be alive if I accept? Then yes. Yes! My life doesn't need to end here! I'll take the wisp anywhere! Just bring me back!
"Then so be it. As part of this arrangement, I give you some of my curse. Have these coals in you. Let them imbue you with their flame. Life will burn anew, until the flame dies with you. I don't know where your soul goes, but know it goes with you. Walk the earth, together."
The words echoed, the wisp seemed to have taken a cue from it. Its glow dimmed, the core of deep black embers lowered itself to his wound, where the knife no longer seemed to be. Bit by bit, the embers fed their way into the open flesh. Warmth and pain alike arose inside of Knoll.
Black fog vanished, his vision returned, his father had just lifted the knife. In his chest, Knoll felt a burning sensation like none he'd ever felt. He screamed and cried, curling into a ball as his father screamed obscenities in the room.
A sensation of heat and awareness burned Knoll to wakefulness. He got to his feet with some stumbling involved, the sensation growing more and more as the seconds ticked forward. His father, his attacker, abuser, murderer leered at him with silver knife in hand. Behind eyes that glowed with their own radiance, he saw fear in the man. Didn't know what he was seeing? Fair. Knoll didn't know what he was feeling, just that it was better than dying.
He charged. All signs of intoxication had faded in lieu of this heat. With a more focused movement than he had any right to, his hand wrapped around his father's wrist and twisted. A disgusting snap followed as the knife fell from his grasp. Knoll swung a fist out and met his father's cheek. It had felt so fragile in the moment of contact...the sound it had given was that of bone shattering.
Old Warren was on the ground, unconscious, seared flesh on his concave cheek where he was struck. His wrist was twisted at a bad angle and burned from Knoll's grip. Painful groans came from his throat. Knoll stepped forward, hand outstretched to his father, but his mother arrived first. She placed her body over his, getting between them, just like she had in his childhood.
Mixed emotions began to rise in Knoll's throat. There was no relief, no joy, no elation among them. He roared something animalistic at the man on the floor. Whatever sound came out carried with it pain; from being killed by his father, from his mother still standing beside him, and from the extreme heat that burned within. It felt monstrous. He felt monstrous.
He ran from a home that wasn't a home for the second time in his life.
The rest of that day is a blur in his memory, as are the next few that happened after. Knoll still remembers his meeting with that figure with the will-o'-the-wisp. After coming to his senses, some ways down a road, he came to the conclusion it must've been Stingy Jack. Jack had been a figure from folklore who, in one way or another, had gotten the better of the Devil on more than one occasion. On the day he truly died, Jack hadn't been able to enter Heaven nor Hell, and the Devil gave him embers from Hell to help light his way as he walked Earth for eternity. Those embers had become the foundation for jack-o'-lanterns and will-o'-the-wisps. The man Knoll met in that space, between life and death, had referred to the embers of the wisp as one of his children. Folklore didn't have all the answers, but it provided clues as to what he was dealing with. Maybe.
For now, he couldn't deny that there was a heat in his chest where the knife had stabbed him. There was a wound that hadn't closed up all the way even days later. It caused him pain, but the wisp within let him know to just keep going. It would heal over time. While the being within didn't speak to him in any words, it had thoughts of its own that Knoll identified separately from his. It was an odd sensation.
Part of his pact with "Jack" meant bringing this wisp of his around to see the world. Which absolutely meant that getting the hell out of town had been good for him in more ways than one. He'd need to scrounge up money, get far away from town. Maybe a new identity if things called for it. There was a lot of living left to do, and this wisp was new to it all. For now, they'd start by enjoying a nice, long bus ride East.
Host of an Eternal Flame aka "Phoenix/Nix" - The wisp within Knoll has merged with him on a biological and spiritual level. Though they retain their individual wills, Knoll is able to receive impressions and thoughts from the wisp, which has a personality all its own. As a result of this symbiotic relationship, all powers that Knoll possess stem from his fiery little companion.
Believed to have formed from "Stingy Jack's" essence as he walked through the forest who-knows-how-long-ago, in truth, Phoenix is a fire elemental. It has lived its entire existence bound to the forest surrounding Knoll's hometown. Hearing of Knoll's travels ignited within it a sense of curiosity, and was drawn to remain near him during his time there. In his dying moments, it refused to let Knoll die, having deemed him a friend. In the space betwixt life and death, it used his warmth to keep Knoll alive until "Jack" officiated their pact. Post-merge, Nix is a steadfast little companion that shares the risk of entering combat with Knoll every day of its life, as well as enduring all the living between those moments.
Nix is somewhat childlike in the thoughts it gives. While patient enough to find pleasure in relaxing day-to-day activities, it is incredibly excitable and tugs on Knoll's emotions to higher heights when he gets more active; it enflames his passions, but finds it hard to distinguish between them. Whenever its presence causes surges of emotions, Knoll's eyes and skin react accordingly; flaring up with orange-red light and raising his body heat.
It has shown the ability to understand much of humans and their ilk, but certain limitations remain. Nix is incapable of speech, but makes its thoughts and feelings known to Knoll through emotional impressions, physical sensations, and the occasional image coming to mind.
It enjoys sensations brought by Knoll's interactions with the world both mental and physical. When its partner reads, for example, Nix easily becomes invested in the stories and becomes engrossed in the characters with its natural curiosity. What Knoll tastes, so does Nix (and it's picked up a couple favorites of its own).
Powers *"Jack's" Seal/Pactbound - Due to the nature of their bond, Nix and Knoll are entwined deeply with one another with "Jack's" power adding an extra layer of security from removing one from the other. Should it ever happen, however, Knoll would die quick and painfully from his heart wound, whereas Nix's coals would eventually lose their flames and crumble without a new link to a person or place to sustain it.
*Ignition Factor - Nix brings with it power birthed of pure fire, and it delights in getting to use it through Knoll. At the start of battle, Nix willingly "ignites", providing extra physical attributes to Knoll and improving his mental faculties. As combat wears on, adrenaline and rage fill Knoll's heart, with Nix gradually increasing what it can provide, goaded by its partner's body and will. All the while, the partner's body heat will gradually rise to fiery proportions. After use, Knoll needs to cool down or find a way to disperse the thermal energy. Also burns any intoxicants out of his system and can be used to attain a wakeful, alert state. While Ignition Factor is active, Knoll gives off an aura of harmless embers that increase in intensity as heat builds.
*Heat Deficit - Mismanagement of heat (ie. Expending too much too rapidly) can place Knoll in a state of heat deficiency, wherein Nix struggles to maintain Ignition. During this state, Knoll is cold to the touch, prone to shivers and can't properly coordinate his body's movement. Given a few minutes, it will wear off as heat generates, but more quickly goes away as Knoll takes action that boosts his heart rate.
*Thermal Dynamics - Under Ignition Factor, Nix can trade some of its heat to gradually close Knoll's injuries. While it lowers Knoll's overall combat effectiveness until he can regain the heat, it's an effective method of healing that helps to reduce excess build up in long fights and allows Knoll to cool down. Using it for lost limbs can rush the process, but takes so much heat that it's not a reliable method of recovery in a fight. If no injuries have been taken, Thermal Dynamics can't take effect.
*Fireborne Endowment - Gathering heat under Ignition Factor allows Knoll to imbue fire into his weaponry, heating edged weapons to intense degrees or changing the bullets of firearms to have a pyrotechnic effect.
*Exhaust - Allows Knoll to dispense built up heat in the form of gradual heat radiation or flame from his body, allowing him to serve as a source of warmth for others, or project flames from any portion of his body. Concentrated blasts of fire made using Exhaust allow Knoll to maneuver or propel himself.
*Elemental's Host - Nix's bonding with a human vessel brings with it a number of benefits. Knoll is largely immune to most diseases, has an incredibly high kindling point, can regrow lost body parts (given about a week), and never quite feels cold unless submerged in a cold substance or out in very low temperatures.
Fighting Style A man with a big sword and a pistol whose powers make him stronger under duress, Knoll knows the frontline is the best place to be for him and makes sure to meet aggressors head-on. With Ignition Factor boosting his physical abilities, his broadsword becomes usable one-handed and his swing speed increases drastically as time goes on. Able to close most wounds and being capable of surviving most attacks can make one dangerously self-destructive in a fight. Knoll isn't above letting himself take a hit in order to deliver one, with Nix helping to dull the pain. What we have thus is a berserker with a chaotic drive to cause harm while occasionally healing his own.
Before Ignition Factor really revs up, however, Knoll has to use his sword two-handed. While he's learned to carry the momentum from one swing to the next, going on the offensive makes it difficult for him to guard properly early on due to the weapon's sheer weight.
Knoll tries to keep enemy attention on himself and off of his allies, and uses his pistol primarily to catch foes' attention or provide a little suppressive fire.
Combat Abilities -As combat drags on, strength and speed continue to increase. -Informally trained in how to use a big sword. -Limited self-heals. -Experienced unarmed combatant, using a mix of punches and grapples to subdue or harm foes. -All attacks, armed and unarmed, have the potential to deal incendiary damage
Daily Skills -Cooks -Warms -Toasts -Also keeps a clean apartment and does dishes.
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Equipment -Old cheap flip phone, cuz even broke people need to stay in contact. -Three magazines of .22LR, each carrying 16 rounds. -Motorcycle. A reliable old vehicle Knoll managed to purchase and restore to functional condition. The design is reminiscent of a 1950 Vincent Black Shadow, but a closer look reveals it to be a frankensteined knock-off. Seat sits one comfortably, two only if the passenger is brave. Preferred method of travel for a literal hot mess.
Weapons Tempered Maeve: A reliable broadsword used by Knoll. With targets as big as these, sometimes you need something with as much weight as you have! The Tempered Maeve was forged with magic in mind, and its materials are highly sympathetic to its effects, allowing Knoll to easily imbue this sword with less heat than he would have to otherwise. Obtained from a mysterious wizard, who was clearly quite well-off, for the payment of a particular job.
Tolus TX-22: A handgun chambered in .22LR. Widely considered to be subpar in dealing with humans, even worse against creatures more durable. Knoll uses it primarily due to the cheap cost of its ammunition and ease of maintenance. When imbued with Hellish Endowment, the bullets fly faster, burn hotter, and tend to shatter on impact, providing impromptu hollow-points.
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Likes -An ice-cold drink -A good fantasy novel -Outdoor walks or drives at night -Occasional incense burning -Occasional hand throwing -Writing short stories -Feeling cold (as it's nice to not be warm all the time)
Dislikes -Physical abuse -Unexpected close contact -Unexpected loud noises -Being the center of attention (tends to feel awkward with more sets of eyes on him) -Unwanted attention
Fears -Becoming physically abusive -Dying, due to the uncertain nature of his soul -Being disliked by others -Drinking too much
Aspirations/Bucket List -Good job (check) -Have a family (unlikely) -Write something publishable -Meet "Stingy Jack" again -Die peacefully (not happening)
Quotes "This is my choice."
"Burn you!"
"The infernal coals keeping me alive would like to order a burrito, no sour cream or tomatoes."
"Coffee, please. Lots of cream, lots of sugar.'
"You want me in front; a wisp to light your way."
"If you're lost in the dark, just look for my flame."
"I swing a sword, and the world makes sense! I burn my fears away so you don't have to."
Personality At rest, Knoll appears lackadaisical or apathetic; filling his time with reading novels or writing, if not maintaining his equipment and daydreaming all the while, or pondering questions he may never get the chance to ask. Without outside stimuli, he's the sort to drift and zone out into one fantastical idea or another. His posture is often slouched, with a tired expression.
When active, he's a chatterbox with a somewhat foul mouth and a dark sense of humor that tries to get others to laugh or banter with him. At heart, a warm and caring individual, Knoll revels in the presence of people he trusts, enjoying just being near them in either state. However, he flinches when people get too close and is quick to ready his stance when an unexpected loud noise happens.
A man of passion, capable of great shows of anger and affection alike. Holds his personal freedom as his highest priority and is quick to remind others of his choices. Similarly, he holds nothing personal against others should they make their own decisions.
Height 5'11"
Weight 178lbs
Notable Features -Occasional bouts of bright light emissions, particularly through veins, eyes, and about the torso. -Eyes have a constant glow, like low-burning embers. -Is always warm to the touch. -Tends to emit visible smoke in colder temperatures. -Curses by fire and things related to it, originally used as a way to get over cussing under his father's roof (eg. "fire/flame" instead of fuck).
Hair Red
Eyes -Blue, naturally -Yellow-orange, when the flame within is stoked
Voice Gruff, guttural. Picks up breathy traits when raised. Primarily lacks an accent by North American standards, but occasionally slips into an Irish one.
Appearance Red hair pulled back in a short tail. Broad, somewhat toned build, fitting for one used to hard labor. Light, freckled skin with the texture near to being leather. Clothing preference leans toward a dark undershirt, black T-shirt, leaf-green jacket over work jeans and brown work boots. Keeps a pair of black leather gloves with him for labor and combat. Wears a leather cord on his neck ending in a badb catha made of pewter.
Languages -English - because it's just that common. -Irish/Gaelic - sounds best with a bottle in-hand.
Biography
Being born to a couple of Irish immigrants came with some perks. The first being that their natural language is quite charming in its way, the second is the accent. Third is their way of handling the drink. Well, maybe that came to Knoll naturally. Another perk, perhaps more due to their superstitions, was Knoll's knowledge of Gaelic lore.
His father was a preacher and a grave digger for a backwater town in the middle of the boonies. In his off-time, he ran a communal farm with local men and women that helped supply the small town's food market and brought in some extra cash that he often put towards the church. Though a superstitious man, he was a god-fearing one that had plenty of stock in Catholicism. Had a habit of putting back the alcohol led to a dangerous reputation among townsfolk when he got to a dark place. The role he played to the people however, earned him enough respect to keep his privacy.
His mother was a quiet woman, lacking in both presence and power. She lived a life of being held to the standards of the preacher's wife, upholding ideas both religious and virtuous. Behind the curtain, she took the brunt of her husband's rage for reasons instilled in her upbringing. It was not a happy life, but she lived it with a silent vigilance. In her own way, she was admired by others for the solidarity she presented herself with.
Knoll was raised up simultaneously fearing and admiring his father, whom he sometimes believed to be some kind of holy warrior who kept demons at bay, and other times believed had a demon inside himself. During those times, his mother was the closest thing he had to a hero. When she could, she put herself between the two whenever she thought her son risked being on the receiving end of his father's beatings.
Outside of school, Knoll spent much of his life working the farm, studying Gaelic lore, reading books, or even out and about among the woods and graves with a small group of friends. As he grew, he began to care less for the church and stayed out more with his friends. And, as friends do as they age, gradually they took up one bad habit or another together.
In his father's words, Knoll was beginning to live a sinful life. The response was, as you'd expect, one fierce beating after the old man had enough drink in him. The youth wasn't able to put up much of a fight in the process. Given time to heal in the weeks after, Knoll packed a bag and, with his mother's quiet blessing, left home and the town to pursue a different life.
Over a decade passed wherein Knoll lived, letting his own demons out. He spent it working, drinking, and fighting one day to the next. No consistent job held him in one place for the longest period of time, but there was always one way or another to make cash without legitimate employment. Enough to get him to tomorrow and possibly another place to set himself up.
Somewhere along the way, he met one interesting character that introduced him to the world as it really was; fey, monsters, half-breeds, humanoids, magic and more. He took it in stride at the time, with slow realizations coming as time went on. Selective knowledge of Gaelic mythology had helped him pick out creatures that derived from it, and opened the doors to seeing more of the world than he ever thought logically possible. As time went on, he began to wonder if there was more to his hometown than he thought at the time. What if his father had had his own reasons for being what he was?
It would be another year before Knoll made his way out that way, taking with him skeptical theories and a deeply-hidden wish that perhaps his old man wasn't quite the monster Knoll remembered.
With few roads actually going that direction, Knoll's hitchhiking would only get him so far. So it was with a somewhat eager heart that he exited one last truck and wished its driver farewell and thanks that he made his way into the forest surrounding the town. At least this way, he'd be able to see the world that lay hidden under the old town with his own eyes.
Nightfall settled as he ventured inward. With hours past, he'd spotted some supernatural creatures, but refrained from making contact with any. The last time he'd lived in this area, they'd never made to talk to people that he was aware of, why change that now? But in the dark there was a particular figure that seemed to approach him almost directly, if only from afar. A nightly mist had settled among the trees and obscured his way, leaving it difficult to navigate.
Knoll's eyes found a light in the distance. Yellow-orange, like that of fire, contrasted sharply against the fog. He called out to the light source, though it gave no response. Assuming it must've been a campfire, he made for it. Though he crossed the land and shrubbery and forest floor to it, it came no closer to the man. Perhaps there was something more to it. A flame in the distance, guiding a lone traveler? Gaelic lore spoke of this one.
Stingy Jack and his jack-o'-lantern of infernal embers. Will-o'-the-wisp. Knoll called out to the wisp, telling it he wouldn't be fooled. The wisp remained quiet, though Knoll believed he made out a small shiver of its form. Perhaps that was as much response as he would get. The mist thickened, and Knoll's only sense of direction came from the flame in the distance. His only options would be to follow the light or not. In his stubbornness, Knoll chose to sit on the ground. He refused to be led astray while this fog blocked his way, and to follow the wisp could be dangerous. What else could he have done?
Hours passed. Knoll, tired and hungry, laid out his bed roll and ate his rations while he daydreamed, eyes never leaving the curious flame. It flickered in the distance where it lingered, he somewhat imagined it to be watching him too. A sort of stalemate ensued, or so he believed. Hard to determine when you have a creature you didn't understand in a tie.
Boredom settling in, Knoll began to talk towards it. It never responded, but he questioned it and spoke at length. He talked about his travels and the people he met, even talking of the creatures seen and sometimes fought. Did the wisp know how hard a human-looking troll could punch? Knoll had learned the hard way when one stepped into a fighting ring with him. Cost him a good pay out that day, too. Did it know of the fairies that lived out in the forest? Were they their own community? Had the wisp traveled far, or stayed here its entire life? Knoll told it about his life, not start to finish, but why he'd wanted to leave, and why he was coming home now with little bits in-between. A one-sided conversation, for sure. But it kept him from losing his mind amidst the fog.
More time passed this way, between questions and conversational points, though Knoll remained the only one talking. The mist endured for however long it was that he spoke to it, until finally he decided to sleep. Whatever happened, would finally happen. Whatever the wisp did to him, it would have its chance.
Knoll awoke later on, having slept peacefully, in the forest. No mist, in a familiar portion of the forest that didn't quite match where he had been. No sign of the flame lingered in the distance, nor did he observe any other creatures around. He gathered his bedroll and garbage and headed towards the town, following old once-thought-forgotten memories of his way home.
Entering the town from a familiar edge was much the same as he remembered. The farm had grown, the church bell gleamed, the graveyard behind it had more plots than Knoll remembered. Among the gravestones, a familiar face wiped sweat from its brow, shovel in hand, dirt piling next to him, a head of hair with far more gray than red; Knoll's father. He called down to the old man, an excited grin on his face.
The presence of the creatures in the forest gave him hope that his dad was definitely a warrior of sorts who protected people from the dangerous ones that might live among them. Like that wisp. The reunion was gleeful, if awkward. Son and father returned to the old home, where Knoll met his mother again. She looked less like a wilted flower than he recalled, maybe there had been something that changed between them in the years before.
Days that followed were happy. Catching up with old friends, getting to know them all again, learning of events that transpired in his absence was all a thrill. He shared his experiences in turn, talking of his travels and what he'd gotten to experience. Pointedly, he left out much of his day-to-day activities. Certain things just didn't make for good table talk.
Then a night came in which son and father went out to the pub together. They drank their fill, laughing loudly and having a grand time. Old Warren could hold his drink better than his boy, they said. Knoll proved them wrong and slammed their expectations. Questions were thrown his way, and in his drunken fun, he told tall tales of his life. Tales that did include some things he probably shouldn't have spoken of. Fairies, trolls, goblins, and more. Even the wisp in the forest on the way in. He tried to make it sound grand and interesting, the way one of his books would tell it.
Even pubs close after a while, though. Knoll and his old man stumbled back to their home, the elder grumbling under his breath in what sounded like frustration. The young man dismissed it as drunken rambles and just nodded his head along. As they made it into the house, Knoll got his man into his old recliner and took a seat on the couch, still happily abuzz and near to passing out.
Something seemed out of place. A creak of wooden planks. A heavy breath. Angry voice that raised to a roar. Eyelids parted just in time to see his father standing over him. Fist raised, coming down to meet Knoll's face. He took it in the cheek, shook his head as wakefulness started to come to him.
Caught the next swing with his forearm and raised his leg to push the old man off, missed and had to block another swing by his father. He raised his leg again, this time bringing it down to shift his weight forward. Knoll rose, shoving the old man back with his shoulder and trying to get his stance. Still drunk, however, he stumbled uselessly. More flashes of fists as he took more punches, one to the jaw and another to the eye socket. More came after. Followed by yet more.
Between each contact, he barely heard his father's words. Something about "them", the "monsters", "shouldn't talk about'em." The meaning was lost between each blow. Knoll couldn't understand.
He remembered blood and pain. Being almost blind in his left eye. Flashes of the floor having droplets of blood. His father had walked off. Distantly, he could hear voices, an exchange between father and mother. Father won, as he always did. Knoll tried to get up on his arms. Legs wouldn't work.
Heavy footfalls. Couldn't turn to see. Up on one arm, had to move. Didn't get the chance.
A kick to his gut made him curl and roll. On his back again, he saw his old man bending down over him, a glittering knife in hand. A muttering of the word "monster" right before the tip sank into his breast. Pain beyond pain that he knew. Couldn't move. Blood rose. Choking. Black fog rolled over his vision.
Was that the end of his life? Was that how death came for people? A feeling of numbness slowly took him from the spot in his chest where the knife pierced.
A question. One Knoll understood, mostly. The light above him was giving something off, an impulse, an impression. Something about excitement? Did it depend on his answer? But, he couldn't take it anywhere. He'd be dead.
The man understood. And, Knoll would be alive if he accepted? Then yes. Yes! My life doesn't need to end here! I'll take the wisp anywhere! Just bring me back!
The words echoed, the wisp seemed to have taken a cue from it. Its glow dimmed, the core of deep black embers lowered itself to his wound, where the knife no longer seemed to be. Bit by bit, the embers fed their way into the open flesh. Warmth and pain alike arose inside of Knoll.
Black fog vanished, his vision returned, his father had just lifted the knife. In his chest, Knoll felt a burning sensation like none he'd ever felt. He screamed and cried, curling into a ball as his father screamed obscenities in the room.
A sensation of heat and awareness burned Knoll to wakefulness. He got to his feet with some stumbling involved, the sensation growing more and more as the seconds ticked forward. His father, his attacker, abuser, murderer leered at him with silver knife in hand. Behind eyes that glowed with their own radiance, he saw fear in the man. Didn't know what he was seeing? Fair. Knoll didn't know what he was feeling, just that it was better than dying.
He charged. All signs of intoxication had faded in lieu of this heat. With a more focused movement than he had any right to, his hand wrapped around his father's wrist and twisted. A disgusting snap followed as the knife fell from his grasp. Knoll swung a fist out and met his father's cheek. It had felt so fragile in the moment of contact...the sound it had given was that of bone shattering.
Old Warren was on the ground, unconscious, seared flesh on his concave cheek where he was struck. His wrist was twisted at a bad angle and burned from Knoll's grip. Painful groans came from his throat. Knoll stepped forward, hand outstretched to his father, but his mother arrived first. She placed her body over his, getting between them, just like she had in his childhood.
Mixed emotions began to rise in Knoll's throat. There was no relief, no joy, no elation among them. He roared something animalistic at the man on the floor. Whatever sound came out carried with it pain; from being killed by his father, from his mother still standing beside him, and from the extreme heat that burned within. It felt monstrous. He felt monstrous.
He ran from a home that wasn't a home for the second time in his life.
The rest of that day is a blur in his memory, as are the next few that happened after. Knoll still remembers his meeting with that figure with the will-o'-the-wisp. After coming to his senses, some ways down a road, he came to the conclusion it must've been Stingy Jack. Jack had been a figure from folklore who, in one way or another, had gotten the better of the Devil on more than one occasion. On the day he truly died, Jack hadn't been able to enter Heaven nor Hell, and the Devil gave him embers from Hell to help light his way as he walked Earth for eternity. Those embers had become the foundation for jack-o'-lanterns and will-o'-the-wisps. The man Knoll met in that space, between life and death, had referred to the embers of the wisp as one of his children. Folklore didn't have all the answers, but it provided clues as to what he was dealing with. Maybe.
For now, he couldn't deny that there was a heat in his chest where the knife had stabbed him. There was a wound that hadn't closed up all the way even days later. It caused him pain, but the wisp within let him know to just keep going. It would heal over time. While the being within didn't speak to him in any words, it had thoughts of its own that Knoll identified separately from his. It was an odd sensation.
Part of his pact with "Jack" meant bringing this wisp of his around to see the world. Which absolutely meant that getting the hell out of town had been good for him in more ways than one. He'd need to scrounge up money, get far away from town. Maybe a new identity if things called for it. There was a lot of living left to do, and this wisp was new to it all. For now, they'd start by enjoying a nice, long bus ride West.
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Host of an Infernal Flame aka "Phoenix/Nix"- The wisp within Knoll has merged with him on a biological and spiritual level. Though they retain their individual wills, Knoll is able to receive impressions and thoughts from the wisp, which has a personality all its own. As a result of this symbiotic relationship, all powers that Knoll possess stem from his fiery little companion.
Having formed from "Stingy Jack's" essence as he walked through the forest who-knows-how-long-ago, it has lived its entire existence bound to the forest surrounding Knoll's hometown. Hearing of Knoll's travels ignited within it a sense of curiosity, and was drawn to remain near him during his time there. In his dying moments, it refused to let Knoll die, having deemed him a friend. In the space betwixt life and death, it used its own warmth to keep Knoll alive until "Jack" officiated their pact. Post-merge, Nix is a steadfast little companion that shares the risk of entering combat with Knoll every day of its life, as well as enduring all the living between those moments.
Nix is somewhat childlike in the thoughts it gives. Occasionally, it urges Knoll to perform a prank or say something unusual for its own enjoyment, regardless of how it makes its partner look. While patient enough to find pleasure in relaxing day-to-day activities, it is incredibly excitable and tugs on Knoll's emotions to higher heights when he gets more active; it enflames his passions, but finds it hard to distinguish between them. Whenever its presence causes surges of emotions, Knoll's eyes and skin react accordingly; flaring up with orange-red light and raising his body heat to very high proportions.
It enjoys sensations brought by Knoll's interactions with the world both mental and physical. When its partner reads, for example, Nix easily becomes invested in the stories and becoming engrossed in the characters with its natural curiosity. What Knoll tastes, so does Nix, and it has discovered that it loves pizza with lotsa veggies!
Powers
*"Jack's" Seal/Pactbound - Due to the nature of their bond, Nix and Knoll are entwined deeply with one another with "Jack's" power adding an extra layer of security from removing one from the other. Should it ever happen, however, Knoll would die quick and painfully from his heart wound, whereas Nix's coals would eventually lose their flames and crumble without a new link to a person or place to sustain it.
*Ignition Factor - Nix brings with it power birthed directly from Hell, and it delights in getting to use it through Knoll. At the start of battle, Nix willingly "ignites", providing extra physical attributes to Knoll and improving his mental faculties. As combat wears on, adrenaline and rage fill Knoll's heart, with Nix gradually increasing what it can provide, goaded by its partner's body and will. All the while, the partner's body heat will gradually rise to fiery proportions. After use, Knoll needs to cool down or find a way to disperse the thermal energy.
*Thermal Dynamics - Under Ignition Factor, Nix can trade some of its heat to gradually close Knoll's injuries. While it lowers Knoll's overall combat effectiveness until he can regain the heat, it's an effective method of healing that helps to reduce excess build up in long fights and allows Knoll to cool down. If no injuries have been taken, Thermal Dynamics can't take effect.
*Hellborne Endowment - Gathering heat under Ignition allows Knoll to imbue fire into his weaponry, heating edged weapons to intense degrees or changing the bullets of firearms to have a pyrotechnic effect.
Topic may say full, but we're accepting new faces and characters right now. The RP's taking place on discord, though character submissions are still done through here. There's very little to catch up on. Feel free to leave a message if you're interested!
@Blackmist16 GM has yet to change it, but we're currently open to potentially new faces.
I can tell you the game's taking place on discord with a nice little crew. There's not a whole lot to catch up on, so we're rather open to taking in new peeps.
Claribel, Vander thought to himself, what possessed you to be so bold as to venture here? Poor girl, this was foolishness. The man's eyes looked up to the mansion with a stern gaze that did not betray the fear welling in his chest. He was good at that; façades of solidarity were the one thing he may have been better at than his leatherwork. Though his left hand kept to the knife hilt at his hip, it could easily come off as simply being ready to draw it at a moment's notice. That seemed more courageous than this cowardice.
They'd arrived, boots clicking against the marble floor as he stepped inside behind Sohn and his dog. Into the mouth of danger. Vander's fingers trembled somewhat, but a small breath of air steadied him. He turned about, scanning the room at large, what little of it was truly visible from the oil lamp's light, that is. No furniture, but a stairwell and a door that led beyond the foyer. For a place empty of all human habitation as long as Vander could remember, he believed it surprising that the mansion's interior remained as grand as it was. Faded gold was gold, still. A red carpet was majestic, though made those who stood upon it seem needlessly self-important. And this marble...Hardwood may have decayed by this point. For all of Sohn's tappings, I believe walking here should pose no threat.
Initial curiosity sated, he looked to his companions. Sohn came from a good family, hard workers all of them, a good trait to impress on a child. Vander was sure the young man could be resourceful. Eliel, excitable and curious, with exceptional hearing, Vander had been told. It would be a boon here, where anything may lead them to Claribel. Magnus, however, wasn't so familiar. He didn't know the gnome quite so well, having already begun to recede from people by the time the little man had begun living in Grainville. A merchant of sorts, but not one Vander had worked with. The young woman, he had no inkling of. She had seemed so distant that today may have been his first time meeting her.
The shepherd called for Claribel. Wise choice. No need to go deeper if she would only respond. Vander gave Eliel a gentle nudge to get the youth's attention and pointed to his ear to indicate the boy should listen for any sounds that replied to Sohn's call, just in case.
Through the archway ahead, the faded light caught the man's attention. From here, he could not discern whether it was caused by reflection from the lantern, or something else. With a few cautious steps toward the archway, Vander brought out his notepad and scribbled light ahead, unknown source before putting it away again and gripping his knife handle again.
No, he was not so superstitious to think it came from some sort of spirit or monster, but in a place like this? Who knew what to expect.
Not gonna lie, it sounds and seems cool. The shop just makes it better. Makes me wish I'd bought the games to play when I had the chance. May I reserve a spot, for the near future?
Appearance: Standing at 5'11", lightly tanned leathery skin, and broad-shouldered. Vander's general appearance is that of an experienced workman with the build to match. His clothing consists of wool-woven breeches and shirt under a leather overcoat with sturdy boots.
Personality: Quiet and skeptical in nature, with a habit of being soft-spoken unless others can grab his attention. Highly task-oriented. While openly quite focused and stoic, Vander has never been a fighter and is quite cowardly unless properly motivated. While never a parent himself, he carries a soft spot for younger individuals and makes a habit of watching over others.
History: Born to a family of long-standing leather workers and traders, Vander has worked the shop all his life. He's familiar with most families in Grainville and has happily done business with them. As a result, he's known a lot of the villagers and has even helped babysit or raise some in his life.
As his parents have grown older, and the business now firmly on his shoulders, Vander's lonesome and quiet manner have made him something of a hermit. Though people know him and he them, he hardly reaches out. The quality of his work, though exceptional, appears to be his only worry these days. Yet when the mayor called for help searching the abandoned mansion for his granddaughter, Vander volunteered without question.
Skills: Knife Handling - being a leatherworker brings with it familiarity with small sharp objects, including the fine ways to slice a pelt and cut designs. Embroidery - part and parcel when leatherworking. Part of the business requires sewing patterns or even attaching leather to other objects, primarily through needlework. Leather Familiarity - Every pelt has unique traits that make it identifiable as an origin of what creature it came from, be it sheep, deer, hog, cow, or even human (not that he would know of human, exactly).
Other: -Keeps a pencil and a notepad on him at all times, allowing him to keep record of events and note traits to be recalled later. The notepad itself has pages covered in sketches and half-written poetry.
Appearance: Standing at 5'11", lightly tanned leathery skin, and broad-shouldered. Vander's general appearance is that of an experienced workman with the build to match. His clothing consists of wool-woven breeches and shirt under a leather overcoat with sturdy boots.
Personality: Quiet and skeptical in nature, with a habit of being soft-spoken unless others can grab his attention. Highly task-oriented. While openly quite focused and stoic, Vander has never been a fighter and is quite cowardly unless properly motivated. While never a parent himself, he carries a soft spot for younger individuals and makes a habit of watching over others.
History: Born to a family of long-standing leather workers and traders, Vander has worked the shop all his life. He's familiar with most families in Grainville and has happily done business with them. As a result, he's known a lot of the villagers and has even helped babysit or raise some in his life.
As his parents have grown older, and the business now firmly on his shoulders, Vander's lonesome and quiet manner have made him something of a hermit. Though people know him and he them, he hardly reaches out. The quality of his work, though exceptional, appears to be his only worry these days. Yet when the mayor called for help searching the abandoned mansion for his granddaughter, Vander volunteered without question.
Skills: Knife Handling - being a leatherworker brings with it familiarity with small sharp objects, including the fine ways to slice a pelt and cut designs. Embroidery - part and parcel when leatherworking. Part of the business requires sewing patterns or even attaching leather to other objects, primarily through needlework. Leather Familiarity - Every pelt has unique traits that make it identifiable as an origin of what creature it came from, be it sheep, deer, hog, cow, or even human (not that he would know of human, exactly).
Other: -Keeps a pencil and a notepad on him at all times, allowing him to keep record of events and note traits to be recalled later. The notepad itself has pages covered in sketches and half-written poetry.
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