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| Professor Ozymandias Crow; Everyone Dies Alone. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 31 2009, 01:47 AM (351 Views) | |
| Ozymandias Crow | Mar 31 2009, 01:47 AM Post #1 |
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Name: Ozymandias Crow (Professor) Race/Specie/Ethnicity/Bloodline/Beinghood: Indeterminate. Probably White/American, but for various reasons, it is rather harder to guage exactly than you'd think. Age/DOB: 47, born sometime in the late 1800's. Gender: Male Home Planet: Earth, circa early 1900's Languages: Speaks various contemporary languages from the period, specifically those in use across the middle-east, and the mountainous regions of tibet and mongolia. Speaks, reads and writes fluently in various 'dead' languages including Latin and Ancient Egyptian, amongst many others. He also claims to speak the language of several strange creatures from the depths of space, along with a decent grasp of the accompanying forms of script. These sound rather like made-up gobbledegook when performed, admittedly. Height: 5'7" Weight/Shape: 110lbs, scrawny and slightly underweight. Hair/Scales/Plumage/Dangly Parts: A short mop of fluffy and completely white hair. Eyes or other important sensory apparati:Two Eyes. Almost always hidden beneath a pair of goggles with small round smoked-glass lenses. Skin: Pale and lined. Other Important Features: Professor Crow's eyes do not appear to be human. They are goat-like eyes, lime green and purple in colour and almost seem too large for their sockets. Physical Description: Mr Crow is not a healthy, solidly built fellow. He is lean and wiry at best, and frankly more than a little underweight. His skin is pale and heavily lined, his hair pure white. He is not quite so old as he may first look, however, having gone pre-maturely white at some point of his residence in Egypt. He wears a pair of smoked-glass goggles at all times to hide his unusual, inhuman eyes. If pressed, he alternately claim to have once had grey or green eyes, but seems quite settled on the fact that he once had brown hair. He usually wears the same, travel-worn outfit consisting of a long and once finely tailored brown trenchcoat and a pair of dark brown leather trousers. Beneath the rarely-buckled coat, he usually wears a dark, nodescript shirt and a deep maroon waistcoat, with a pocket-watch tucked into one of the many pockets. His shoes are very soft leather, almost slippers, with well-worn leather soles. No tie. Often he will also wear several thick belts, with various odd tools and nicknacks attatched, including the strange book that he almost always has on his person, which clips to the belt quite securely. Crow always carries a pair of thin black woolen gloves, either stuffed in a pocket of his trenchcoat or tucked into his belt. Personality: Professor 'Ozymandias Crow', as he insists he is called, is not a stable man. His trials and tribulations have not served to calm an already unbalanced mind, but probably the majority of the damage was done in his younger days, which he dedicated in part to studying the Occult. Over the course of twenty years or so, Crow threw away a promising literary career as an expert on middle-eastern culture and ancient history in favour of chasing up every rumoured cult or newly unearthed tomb mentioned to him. He is intensely driven when an urge strikes him, and quite morally stunted. He has spent large portions of his life alongside people with no civilised compunctions and people whos grip on reality had long since collapsed. A little of both no doubt rubbed off early. Ozymandias Crow is essentially a cheerful, outgoing sort. Perhaps a little much so. At times, he practially overflows with energy and new ideas, seeming almost invincible in his self-confidence and totally lacking in inhibitions. (Though such episodes do come and go, though it is worth noting that he does not necessarily seem to suffer from any similarly pronounced periods of depression.) He has over the years, along with his inhibitions, also lost many of the compunctions and taboos that are considered so necessary for normal life. He claims to have killed several men and one or two 'things' that cannot truly be described as men, as well. Furthermore, his continuing arcane researches are of, to say the least, an occaisionally unsavoury nature. Aside from his slightly sinister manner at times, the Professor appears to be essentially harmless. His only consistent goal in life appears to be continuing his pursuit of Arcane knowledges and the power that delving into the Occult mysteries provides. Psychosis; Over the duration of his adult life, the man known as 'Professor Ozymandias Crow' has seen things that man was not meant to see, learnt things best left unlearnt, and apparently travelled to one or two completely alien worlds somehow, and all of this before waking up on the Vesmir. He has, unsuprising to say, picked up a couple of quirks. A quick read over his case-notes from his stay at the Arkham Sanitarium would reveal the following major traits - Panzoism - A kind of fearlessness of spirit, derived largely from the subject considering events, no matter how fantastical, entirely rational or even hum-drum. Not so much in the sense of hallucinating rational, unthreatening objects in the place of otherworldly horrors or cosmic oddities, rather in the sense of seeing nothing inherantly threatening about even the most tentacled of horrors. On a basic level, the fear-response generated by the existence of such creatures is lacking, as they simply do not threaten his world-view. "Yes yes, there's no need to fret so. It's only a...well, some manner of tentacle-beast. It's only interested in forced procreation, and I have no womb, so it really isn't going to be interested in me, now, Is it?" Pavor nocturnus - The Professor suffers from night-terrors. His sleep is often disturbed by extended periods of partial-waking, during which he screams rather a lot, actually. As a result, he usually starts his day with a hot-lemon drink, on account of his throat can be rather sore after a particularly bad night. He also appears to have a growing Phobia of heights. However, he will admit freely that he never used to, up until a visit to a newly-discovered mezo-american temple complex. He cannot, however, remember anything that happened on that journey, nor for six months following. It is possible that the Professor has amnesia relating to that period of time. If that is infact the case, it's quite possible that such memory-loss has happened before. It is quite possible that his interest in sorcery and the occult in general are actually, far from being merely the cause of his mental imbalances, actually the result of an existing mania. Interests/Likes/Dislikes: Ozymandias Crow's over-riding obsession is the Occult. He has dedicated his life to all things arcane and esoteric. He also is a firm believer in the health benefits of Tabacco use, and used smoke Camel cigarettes till supply...became a problem. The Professor also possesses an ornate Egyptian Hookah, which he will happily use to smoke tobacco, or indeed anything else that can safely be smoked (Or that might safely be smoked). The Professor is an expert in several card-games which use the Tarot instead of a regular deck, with the Major Arcana either functioning as trumps or wild-cards, or any number of odd variations. He cheats. Abilties, Powers, Skills, Weaknesses: Ozymandias Crow, for all his quirks and foibles, has not wasted his time whilst studying the Occult. He is ferociously powerful sorcerer, and given the time and resources can acheive quite stupifyingly difficult things. He has, on at least one occaision, managed to propel himself across the galaxy (In order to return from a largely dead Alien world he had been brought to against his will). Admittedly, his was upon his return to Earth promptly locked up in the Arkham Sanitorium for his own safety. Alchemy, Necromancy, Levitation, Portal-magic (Both for the use of summoning otherworldly things and for purposes of personal transportation) and any number of other disciplines are his to command, though many such things take significant time to perform. Simple tricks of light and energy, wardings, banishments and similar minor applications are much quicker to acheive, even 'on the fly'. In addition, his otherworldly eyes allow him to see things that a normal human would not be able to see. The science of it all is beyond Professor Crow's understanding, but can be roughly surmised as follows - Firstly, they allow him to see beyond the normal spectral range available to humans. Both into the ultra-violet and the infra-red. In simple terms, he has more colours to deal with than a normal person, and can see elements and patterns of colour that simply do not exist for the normal man. He can also see, amongst other things, heat, radiation (as in, waves and patterns of background radiation), the air itself (hard to describe, but he could, if he understood the visual information he was getting, guage the relative air-pressure visually. He can't though, because his mind is completely overwhelmed by all this, and he doesn't know it's possible anyway.) He can also see in more dimensions than strictly speaking exist. Which, needless to say, can be pretty damn disorienting. It does not allow him to see around corners, or in time, but rather in dimensions and directions which for most other people simply do not exist. Most noteably, whenever he stands between two large rhombus-shaped objects set at a certain angle, he gets a sensation much like being in a hall of mirrors, loses his sense of balance, and develops a severe migraine. He is otherwise a relatively normal human being, with all the accompanying weaknesses and vulnerabilities, such as being shot, stabbed, punched or poked with particular viciousness. Though he is relatively fit, and agile in his way, he is not a sturdy man to say the least. Home: Earth, circa the Early Twentieth Century. Items: Amongst the Professor's belongings are the following noteworthy items; A Large Book, a strange, partially metallic glove, or similar contraption, and a small leather travelling bag with any number of perculiar substances inside, as well as several simple pieces of alchemical aparatus. The Book is bound in thick, grey-green leather, sturdily clasped with bronze, and usually hanging from a sturdy iron chain at Professor Crow's hip. If prompted, he will forcefully proclaim that the book is, though without will or intallect of it's own, still inherantly dangerous. Only he can be trusted with it, and more specifically, he can only trust it when it is within arms-reach. It contains seemingly endless pages of almost indecipherable script and glyphs, none in any language or alphabet known to earth, alongside unpleasant and equally indecipherable diagrams. The glove-like aperatus clasps about his wrist and slips over the thumb first and third fingers, more or less. Whilst wearing it, the Professor appears to be able to manipulate objects three or four meters away, though apparently with no more strength than were he to do so by hand. In addition, such manipulation appears to be tricky to say the least, and essentially he has greatly reduced dexterity whilst manipulating objects this way. Though he uses the Glove rarely, he keeps it close to hand at all times. Edited by Ozymandias Crow, Mar 31 2009, 01:49 AM.
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| Ozymandias Crow | Mar 31 2009, 10:13 PM Post #2 |
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Coming back had been a mistake. Somewhere behind and to the right, he heard the eager barking break out once more. The dogs had picked up his scent again. He clutched the book to his chest with his left arm, his long coat flapping behind him as he ran on bare-feet. The unearthly leather of the ancient tome felt reassuring against the bare skin of his chest. No time to be creative, or to solve the problem of his pursuers as he would prefer, with arcane might and his singular cunning. He had to throw them off the scent again somehow, just long enough to make it off of the grounds. Blast them, if only they'd let him keep his book! It was imperitive that he be permitted to keep the book at hand, for their own safety! It was too dangerous to be left unwatched, locked up like some mere thing of paper in an evidence chest. If only they'd let him out more often for excersize, he'd know the grounds that much better and wouldn't now be feeling quite so lost, as he ran across the well tended lawn, hoping that the ornate hedges would be sufficent to hide him from the prying eyes of the Sanitarium guards. His hand had been forced. The glamer had cost him a lot to cast, and the price for maintaining it was steep indeed, but had they seen his eyes, those foreign orbs that he had been gifted against his will, then it would have been all over. They'd disect him like they did the creature that washed up in the river, ten years back, last time he'd been in Arkham. Ozymandias Crow hopped over the small hedge barring his way, his bare feet landing on the small stones of the gravel path beyond. They cut at his flesh, but he hadn't the time to worry. He stole a moment, stooping and tracing the sign of Shub-Niggurath in the gravel, and was away again. It worked well enough. The yapping dogs, almost in view, reached the foul symbol of the Goat with a Thousand Young and though their animal brains new not what it meant, their darkest hearts felt fear at the scrawlings, and they would not track beyond it willingly. It was nearly an hour past midnight as he finally scaled the red brick wall and landed in the moonlit street that marked the edge of the grounds of Arkham Sanitarium. He would make his way to his hidey hole, the apartment he kept under an assumed name in the rougher part of town. There he could find a both simple things like a change of clothes, as well as his more important possessions; A good pair of goggles to hide his freakish eyes, the Glove-like aparatus that he took from the three-fingered Librarian of Xu, and perhaps most importantly, a passport. He would abandon the 'civilised' climes of the new world. With the Book now safely in his grasp, and the quacks of the Sanitarium evaded, he had little remaining use for Myskatonic or it's University. The green door was locked, but the key was still safely hidden inside the fake-brick in the alleyway beside the house and soon he was inside and warm. He left his coat lying on the dusty couch of his study, and lit the desk-lamp with a match from it's pocket. He paced the floor in the hospital-trousers, bare to the chest and with street-blackened feet. His thin, wiry chest rose and fell in increasingly steady rythms, slowing as the tension receaded beneath the gentle wreathes of cigarette smoke. In the morning, he would take his things and leave, taking the coach that went along the coast through the nothing-town of innsmouth. No use getting off in that dreary place, but along the coast a little he could find a vessel to take him back across the sea to the old world and it's far richer tapestry of occult riches and esoteric mysteries. With everything he had seen in his recent...involuntary travels, well. Perhaps he would at last be able to wring out the deeper mysteries of Constantinople...Or perhaps he would plumb the depths of the book, and take his explorations...elsewhere. Slowly, wreathed in smoke, he drifted to sleep at his desk. |
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7:15 PM Jul 11