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Author Topic: Moiran Crede  (Read 810 times)

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Offline GoblinFae

Moiran Crede
« on: February 28, 2018, 06:42:10 pm »
__________________QUICK STATS
Name Moiran Crede
Alias
Age Mid-Late 30s; Lost track
DOB May 18th
Gender Male?
Species Human
Ethnicity Thanati; From Yvrei
Height 5'9" 5'6"
Occupation Candidate; Unintentional Barista?
Residence An abandoned Teinari supply shack in The Wastes
Voice Claim Charlize Theron as Monkey and Charlize Theron as Aeon Flux and Monkey (Minus 0:46-1:16)

Playlist: Warning May Contain Explicit or Mature Lyrics and Themes

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description

Moiran has a rather gaunt and underfed build with an underlying wiry strength. He has deep maroon hair that is kept in dreadlocks and usually tied or pinned out of his face as best as he can manage. They reach to mid-back when tied back and down to his tailbone when let loose. Moiran’s face is oval-shaped with a long, narrow nose. His eyes are a pale teal set in dark grey scelera that stand out strikingly against his dark cocoa-coloured skin.

While once a handsome man, he is now a tired and weathered one. His bright eyes are sunken in and feature deep circles under them that tell of many watchful nights void of sleep. He is heavily scarred and his dark skin is mottled with pale patches of skin due to vitiligo. His right arm is missing from the elbow but has been replaced with a detachable, simple robotic arm that is made of salvaged parts. It is the highest functioning piece of technology that Moiran owes and took years to acquire. A lot of work goes into maintaining it too. Moiran is also missing his left leg from the hip down and his right leg from below the knee. The left leg has a rudimentary peg leg to stand on and the right has a piece of pliable, curved metal strapped to a stiff leather “sock” to allow him to walk. His gait is understandably unwieldy and the reason that his home is outfitted with ropes across the entire ceiling to help keep him balanced or allow him to stand after sitting.

Additional scars include a pair of lines that run across the bridge of his nose and onto both cheeks, a jagged, pink circle on his left cheek from a nasty bite that got infected along with several other bite marks and claw marks on his neck and shoulders. There are also several very obvious yet small circular scars above and below both his lips from having had his mouth sewn shut once. Moiran’s chest has been viciously mutilated at some point as his skin is just one massive, textured, angry-red scar. There is also a thick keloid scar that runs from between his collarbones all the way down to his navel. His back is further littered with countless scars from being shot and clawed from a variety of peoples and beasties. His adventures in the Wastes have not been kind to his body.

Clothing tends to be whatever he can manage to scrap together though he does have a pair of goggles that usually rest atop his head. He has an industrial piercing in his right ear as well as several love and helix piercings in both ears. A few of these are missing though having gotten caught or been ripped out at various stages. Moiran also has a small and faded skull and crossbones tattooed on the back of his neck with a bow on its head and heart-shaped eye orbitals. He always keeps his shotgun and makeshift knives close at hand.

Personality

SHOTGUN HOSPITALITY
Wary and perhaps a tad jumpy, you can expect a shotgun pointed in your face for surprising Moiran unexpectedly. He comes across as cold and brusque on a good day. Strangers are watched with care and even those that he has gotten to know are still kept at arm’s length. Business is business and personal is NONE of your damn business.

UNDERCURRENTS KILL
In line with this, Moiran is also always lowkey afraid of being rooted out by the wrong sort. While he keeps his tension and fears beneath the surface it is always there and one of the main reasons he shies away from people. He has secrets he keeps buried deep that he knows if were found out would make his life a living a hell. Predators always prey upon the weakest members of the herd and there is no doubt that Moiran isn’t the strongest person around. Add to that his origins and it’s best to keep the truth out of sight and out of mind.

HEROES ONLY DIE
Once a bright soul always desiring to help, Moiran has learned just how dangerous trust in others can be. He does his best to remain neutral and uninvolved in the conflicts of others. While not cruel and still willing to offer what aid he can, Moiran is not going to go out of his way to help you especially if it means diving into a mess to do it. Every man for himself because good guys never win and heroes always die.

DON’T TREAD ON ME
There is nothing that Moiran hates more than feeling caged in or chained down. He abandoned a “good” life for this hard one all over the concept of perceived freedoms and independence. Moiran will fight tooth and nail to keep his life his own and from being another man’s dog. He would rather die than submit and that stubbornness has accounted for its fair share of his physical traumas and ailments.

ONE MAN’S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN’S TREASURE
Moiran is massive packrat. He keeps everything and has it organized systematically should he ever need it. He does his best not to keep junk when space is limited but everything has some bartering potential or use at some point. He knows quite well the moment you get rid of something is the moment you need it most. Buried among the scraps though is a dirty rag with faded red stripes folded carefully and wrapped around something Moiran has never shown anyone before.

Things
  • Only can sleep 2-3 hours at a time and very lightly at that. Has gotten used to living off these power naps for long, long stretches of time.
  • Still suffers phantom pains for missing limbs. It comes and goes but there can be weeks where it is nonstop agony.
  • Has been almost killed in a variety of ways including but not limited to shot, stabbed, poisoned, eviscerated, electrocuted (THANKS YAVUL) and burned by acid. Somehow still “standing.”
  • Loves and misses oranges and orange juice. Has yet to successfully grow them or find viable seeds. Likely would cry if given an orange to eat though.
  • Collects drinking mugs and gets incredibly pissed off when someone breaks one.
  • Partially deaf in left ear so will often subtly turn or cock head to the side to hear better.
  • While a neutral party in the Wastes, still really fucking hates raiders and will go out of way to avoid them or being noticed by them.

Magic/Abilities

Telepathy: Moiran is a very, very strong telepath that was being groomed to become an Inquisitor. Aside from being very able to read and communicate with other minds, Moiran was also able to do more. He could access another person’s mind and paralyze them in place for a period of time provided that he was within range. He could also manipulate some brain functions, to the point of potentially causing the body to go into a coma from the duress to the system as the body fought to keep itself alive.

While still capable of doing all this, Moiran chooses to keep a very tight lid on his abilities. The last thing he needs is raiders or some other group deciding he would be useful or dangerous and either kidnapping or killing him. He has kept to this point so steadfastly that it has nearly cost him his life on more than one occasion just to keep his secret.

Agrokinesis: His secondary and less developed but more used gift is the ability to manipulate plant life. Moiran can make plants grow. He has been able to minorly mutate the DNA of plant-life in the Wastes so that they will take to the soil and bear fruit. Others he has been able to grow as a form of defense for his home with extra thorns or the penchant to throw spikes at unwary passerbys.

Moiran is however limited in what he can do. He cannot grow something from nothing. He requires plants and seeds. Sterile plants as are quite common in the Wastes also prove to be almost useless though he has been able to manipulate certain types into germinating. His plants also can only survive so long before even with his best efforts they fail to continue to produce new seeds. He is very careful with how and what he does with his plants as not only are they a source of food for him but a means to barter and survive.

Relationships

Family: Believe him long gone or dead and have since moved on. Moiran tries not to think about them. He was not very close to his mother, his father was abusive, and his little sister Schuylar was still very small when he left and likely has forgotten him.
 
Joanna: Massive, mutated monitor lizard that he raised from a hatchling and is a glutton for eggssssssss. She (he named it Joanna but he's not sure if it's a girl or a boy) serves as both a protector and a form of transportation. Joanna prowls their territory, helping to keep nasty critters out and raiders from getting too close. She also helps keep Moiran on his feet or on the move as needed should danger be nearby. She’s black with yellow speckling and approximately the size of a horse. Her bite is excruciatingly painful and highly poisonous. Just ask Moiran, he’s been bitten enough to know.

Nathaniel Toombs: A godsend of the wastes that has saved Moiran’s life more than once. In turn, Moiran keeps him well stocked in whatever plant-based medical ingredients they both can get their hands on. They have a working relationship and Moiran tries not to stick around long.

History

Born in Yvrei, Moiran was the firstborn child of saltminers. At a young age he ran away from home and changed his last name to escape his father’s increasingly abusive tendencies and his complaints at having another girl to feed now that Moiran had a baby sister in the house. He bounced from place to place, sleeping on couches and working in shops as he found work. Life was not great but the freedom of independence made him happy. Life was of his own making and each day was his own to choose as he grew older.

He was fifteen when he was picked up for Candidacy as a strong telepath during a routine health check for work. He hated it. Never once did he voice it aloud or think it too firmly but Moiran absolutely despised Candidacy, despised the idea of becoming a Pilot and chained to an existence that was no longer free in his mind. He missed his freedom to go where he wanted when he wanted. He missed having a space he had worked hard to earn and call his own.

Moiran hated it but also felt there was no choice but to obey. Even if there was a quiet niggling at the back of his mind, he applied himself thoroughly to his studies. He learned all that he could. He did all that they asked of him and in time he excelled and advanced. Each test passed though was like a knife being dug deeper and deeper into his ribs. People chalked it up to anxiety as he grew more and more restless. They assured him it would pass when he graduated. Honestly he would never know if they were right.

As a Stage 5 Candidate, Moiran was made to shadow another an Inquistor Pilot. After several missions out over the course of two years, it was believed that Moiran was ready enough to venture into the Wasteland on a slightly larger scale inspection for information regarding the disappearance of a Pilot. It was not supposed to be anything more than a routine deal.

Expecting things to go to plan is always an invitation for the worst to happen though. Things quickly got out of hand in no time. They were set upon by a group of raiders that were retreating from a nest of lizard-like beings whose nest they had deserved. In the confusion and disarray of fire, Moiran ended up getting separated from the Pilot and dragon both. One of the lizard beasts cut him off as he fought to return to the pair. It latched onto him like a chew toy, shaking and tearing at him as it chewed on his arm. He was dragged off to presumably be eaten in piece away from the other hungry and fighting beings.

Moiran fired several shots into its tough hide but it still did not go down easy. A shot through the eye though is what finally did it, causing the beast to drop him as it screeched and retreated. Heaving and panting himself, he assessed the damage and vomited at the sight of his mangled arm. He tore at his sleeve to see how the veins beneath his skin were turning black and bulging with the creature’s poisoning quickly working its way up through his system. He had one choice: lose the arm or lose his life. Moiran is still alive today so you can figure out his choice.

Still suffering from shock he stumbled to his feet and made to try and return to the dying sounds of fighting in the distance when a long buried thought flashed before his eyes. What if he didn't go back? What if he turned around and walked in the other direction? Maybe he’d live. Most likely he’d die but what if he lived? A mangled arm left behind and a mass of blood told a colorful story of what likely happened. Perhaps they would just assume Moiran had been eaten and died? It was worth it. A few hours alive and free were better than living as a dragon’s dog for thousands upon thousands more.

He wandered into the wastes and for better or worse, was never the same since.

Stage 1: 15-15.5
Stage 2: 15.5-16
Stage 3: 16-17
Stage 4: 17-19
Stage 5: 19-21 - MIA; PRESUMED DEAD

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