Lost-Lorcan: New Character
Cross posted with
inunitywefall ...
This is the new character for Lost, to replace Jack Sprat. I would *really* love feedback and ties, as I'm going way out on a limb as far as what I have roleplayed before with this type of PC. If you'd like a tie, let me know.
Wiki is: http://changeling.cam-wiki.org/Lorcan_Blackwood
“You can not hide from me, little one.”
Cold. I hate the cold so very, very much. Cold that covers your body like the slick of oil you get from not bathing for a few weeks, it’s almost tangible but not quite. You can see the light, feel it’s warmth but not reach it. Forever cold. She’s looking at me, her eyes boring in to my soul and laying my mind bare. More than just knowing she’s there, I can feel her. I can feel her intent, her desire. I know what she wants so well that it twists and twines about my own desire until it’s so very, very hard to tell the difference.
“Again, little one. Lift your blade and prepare.”
Looking across the slanted room, I see her standing there, held up by the tendrils of shadow. Purest ivory, darkest onyx and deepest crimson. She’s pale - much like I suspect I am - from the lack of light in this place. She may have been beautiful once, but you would not know it to look at her. Dressed in only a ratty shift, her once-immaculate black hair lies matted and tangled at her shoulders. Deep gashes line her face and neck, slashes in her skin on her shoulders, arms and legs. She can hardly stand now, weakened as she is.
“Again, little one.” My Keeper’s voice has become agitated, resounding and reverberating off of the walls. “Lift your blade and demonstrate what you have learned. I shall not tell you again.”
My wrist trembles as it turns, the sword held upright with the tip aimed at the suspended young woman. Pressure mounts at the small of my back… an encouraging push towards the target. My legs move of their own accord, following the patterns I have been learning for millennia. Half step with the right, follow with the left, keep to the balls of your feet, never lose balance… she calls it a dance. I call it torture.
“Now!”
Her command fills my being, her thoughts pushing my mind from my skull. I lance forward, dropping in to a full lunge, my form perfect. The rapier stabs in to the woman’s flesh just below her navel and her eyes shoot open. Her mouth wrenches wide with a scream of pain, instantly smothered as shadow pours in to her mouth.
“Petulant whore, I did not say you could speak.”
Our eyes meet as my senses return, and in her gaze I know her pain. Her eyes, accusing and reproachful, speak volumes of my betrayal. ‘Why?’, she asks in that look. I have no answer. The tendrils release her wrists and she stumbles forward, her head hanging limp. I dive forward, taking her in my arms as she shivers away her death. In my mind I know that death will not come for her here, but in my heart all I know is that I have killed my own sister for no better reason than I was told to.
“Come away, my fierce little one. You two may play further tomorrow.” I can see her flowing towards the door, a black silhouette against the shadows. The tears run slide down my cheeks as I drop the woman to the floor, following my Keeper diligently.
-----------------------
“Memento Mori, my love.”
The water is cold on her skin, pebbling her flesh and making her breath mist in the air. Her feet and hands have begun to tingle, the last rush of feeling before true numbness sets in, but she doesn’t care… because he is smiling. The room is like something out of a fairy tale - a door at either wall, with an impossibly delicate bridge connecting the two. Below the bridge is a massive pool where the floor should be, tiled in what looks like mother of pearl.
He stands on the bridge above her, looking down at her with that perfect smile. She hopes she is pretty enough, feeling suddenly self-conscious under that steady blue gaze. She thinks back to the days spent in the gym, the hours in the salon, and quietly prays that it’s enough to please him.
“What’s that?” She asks. It sounds pretty enough.
He doesn’t so much sit as he flows, his booted feet dangling off of the bridge a few feet above her head. “It’s Latin, Jessica.” His voice is rich, genuine. “It means that we must never forget our own mortality. We must remember that we will die, and endeavor to live each day as best we can.”
She lets out a silly little giggle and puts her lower lip between her teeth, doing her best to seem coy. “If we’re going to live our best, Lauren, shouldn’t you be in this pool with me?” It’s awfully cold now. Her stomach is protesting the temperature, cramping slightly and releasing in turn… but she doesn’t notice.
“Soon, my love, soon.” His eyes bother her for some reason. He smiles and says the right things, but the smiles never touch his eyes.
“Are you sad, Lauren?”
“Sad?” He laughs, his warm voice echoing off the walls and the water. “Jessica, my darling, I haven’t been sad in years.” He slides on to one hip and extends an arm down, his hand offered to her.
“It isn’t depression you see, my love. It is hunger.”
-----------------------
There you have it - an idea of where I’m hoping to take the character. Lorcan is designed to represent an aspect of Spring that I’d really like to see more of: selfish desire. I’ve seen lots of the happy, progressive elements of the Court get played, but that’s only part of Spring in my opinion. I’ve always that the happy, playful puppy love of Spring is balanced by the torrid, forbidden affair.
My plan right now is to have the character taken some time in the early nineties, with his escape maybe three or four years ago. I’m open for Arcadian ties and post-escape ties especially, with pre-durance stuff welcome, but I won’t be going for many. I’ve seen a few too many, ‘We just so happened to be best friends in school, then we just so happened to both get taken to Faerie, and we just so happened to escape!’ for my personal taste.
I’m really open for anything. The character himself is going to be perverse, selfish, manipulative, arrogant, charming, seductive and completely chivalrous. A very, very hard part of the character to portray is no doubt going to be that chivalry. Thanks to his durance, the PC has his clarity tied to a medieval sense of courtesy and behavior.
Thoughts on what might fit? The PC will be dictated by the ties on this one, so I’m open to ideas.
inunitywefall ...
This is the new character for Lost, to replace Jack Sprat. I would *really* love feedback and ties, as I'm going way out on a limb as far as what I have roleplayed before with this type of PC. If you'd like a tie, let me know.
Wiki is: http://changeling.cam-wiki.org/Lorcan_Blackwood
“You can not hide from me, little one.”
Cold. I hate the cold so very, very much. Cold that covers your body like the slick of oil you get from not bathing for a few weeks, it’s almost tangible but not quite. You can see the light, feel it’s warmth but not reach it. Forever cold. She’s looking at me, her eyes boring in to my soul and laying my mind bare. More than just knowing she’s there, I can feel her. I can feel her intent, her desire. I know what she wants so well that it twists and twines about my own desire until it’s so very, very hard to tell the difference.
“Again, little one. Lift your blade and prepare.”
Looking across the slanted room, I see her standing there, held up by the tendrils of shadow. Purest ivory, darkest onyx and deepest crimson. She’s pale - much like I suspect I am - from the lack of light in this place. She may have been beautiful once, but you would not know it to look at her. Dressed in only a ratty shift, her once-immaculate black hair lies matted and tangled at her shoulders. Deep gashes line her face and neck, slashes in her skin on her shoulders, arms and legs. She can hardly stand now, weakened as she is.
“Again, little one.” My Keeper’s voice has become agitated, resounding and reverberating off of the walls. “Lift your blade and demonstrate what you have learned. I shall not tell you again.”
My wrist trembles as it turns, the sword held upright with the tip aimed at the suspended young woman. Pressure mounts at the small of my back… an encouraging push towards the target. My legs move of their own accord, following the patterns I have been learning for millennia. Half step with the right, follow with the left, keep to the balls of your feet, never lose balance… she calls it a dance. I call it torture.
“Now!”
Her command fills my being, her thoughts pushing my mind from my skull. I lance forward, dropping in to a full lunge, my form perfect. The rapier stabs in to the woman’s flesh just below her navel and her eyes shoot open. Her mouth wrenches wide with a scream of pain, instantly smothered as shadow pours in to her mouth.
“Petulant whore, I did not say you could speak.”
Our eyes meet as my senses return, and in her gaze I know her pain. Her eyes, accusing and reproachful, speak volumes of my betrayal. ‘Why?’, she asks in that look. I have no answer. The tendrils release her wrists and she stumbles forward, her head hanging limp. I dive forward, taking her in my arms as she shivers away her death. In my mind I know that death will not come for her here, but in my heart all I know is that I have killed my own sister for no better reason than I was told to.
“Come away, my fierce little one. You two may play further tomorrow.” I can see her flowing towards the door, a black silhouette against the shadows. The tears run slide down my cheeks as I drop the woman to the floor, following my Keeper diligently.
-----------------------
“Memento Mori, my love.”
The water is cold on her skin, pebbling her flesh and making her breath mist in the air. Her feet and hands have begun to tingle, the last rush of feeling before true numbness sets in, but she doesn’t care… because he is smiling. The room is like something out of a fairy tale - a door at either wall, with an impossibly delicate bridge connecting the two. Below the bridge is a massive pool where the floor should be, tiled in what looks like mother of pearl.
He stands on the bridge above her, looking down at her with that perfect smile. She hopes she is pretty enough, feeling suddenly self-conscious under that steady blue gaze. She thinks back to the days spent in the gym, the hours in the salon, and quietly prays that it’s enough to please him.
“What’s that?” She asks. It sounds pretty enough.
He doesn’t so much sit as he flows, his booted feet dangling off of the bridge a few feet above her head. “It’s Latin, Jessica.” His voice is rich, genuine. “It means that we must never forget our own mortality. We must remember that we will die, and endeavor to live each day as best we can.”
She lets out a silly little giggle and puts her lower lip between her teeth, doing her best to seem coy. “If we’re going to live our best, Lauren, shouldn’t you be in this pool with me?” It’s awfully cold now. Her stomach is protesting the temperature, cramping slightly and releasing in turn… but she doesn’t notice.
“Soon, my love, soon.” His eyes bother her for some reason. He smiles and says the right things, but the smiles never touch his eyes.
“Are you sad, Lauren?”
“Sad?” He laughs, his warm voice echoing off the walls and the water. “Jessica, my darling, I haven’t been sad in years.” He slides on to one hip and extends an arm down, his hand offered to her.
“It isn’t depression you see, my love. It is hunger.”
-----------------------
There you have it - an idea of where I’m hoping to take the character. Lorcan is designed to represent an aspect of Spring that I’d really like to see more of: selfish desire. I’ve seen lots of the happy, progressive elements of the Court get played, but that’s only part of Spring in my opinion. I’ve always that the happy, playful puppy love of Spring is balanced by the torrid, forbidden affair.
My plan right now is to have the character taken some time in the early nineties, with his escape maybe three or four years ago. I’m open for Arcadian ties and post-escape ties especially, with pre-durance stuff welcome, but I won’t be going for many. I’ve seen a few too many, ‘We just so happened to be best friends in school, then we just so happened to both get taken to Faerie, and we just so happened to escape!’ for my personal taste.
I’m really open for anything. The character himself is going to be perverse, selfish, manipulative, arrogant, charming, seductive and completely chivalrous. A very, very hard part of the character to portray is no doubt going to be that chivalry. Thanks to his durance, the PC has his clarity tied to a medieval sense of courtesy and behavior.
Thoughts on what might fit? The PC will be dictated by the ties on this one, so I’m open to ideas.