Post by Quattuor on Jun 8, 2012 18:30:26 GMT -5
[/u][/center]In My Restless Dreams
Name: Quattuor (Moglow)
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Undead - Moogle
Home Continent: Ivalice (Salikawood)
Class: Caster
Character Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Class Statistics Bonus:
I See Your Face
[/b][/u]Character Personality: If black had an emotion associated with it, such a demeanor would be one that Quattuor indefinitely embodies. Filled with the hatred and jealousy of not only all around him, but of the unfairness of life (or unlife) that have forced him to see the world through eyes permanently shaded red. In short, Quattuor's hatred of most everything is only further fueled by his undying rage at having such a distracting hatred. With no life to cling to and nothing to lose, this moogle has nothing but ambition powered by loathing to keep him active. It is the common belief that any sadness can be cured by power or love, and because Quattuor does not and has never (as far as he can remember) experienced any form of intimacy with another being, the rewards of conquer and destruction appear to be the only facets of existence he could aspire to. Without goals that lead away from Quattuor's innate self-deprecation, he would likely become even more insane that currently.
Despite Quattuor's infinite anger at the world and his ravaging hunger for power and the praise of fearful underlings, death is a concept that frightens him out of his wits. Undergoing undeath left him with the glorious realization that death was likely never going to occur to him naturally. And undeath itself was quite the trip already, Quattuor liked to think. Without the protective bindings of undeath, Quattuor would likely be a flaky shell of the expert terrortist he is today.
As a result of his loss of memory, Quattuor is constantly reminded of a large blank spot by the nagging gnawing of a task forgotten, such as when one walks into a room and forgets their purpose in being there. Except, in this case, Quattuor must deal with the painful nostalgia of 17 years-worth of memories. The moogle frequently finds himself staring into space, having seen an object that sparked some hint of a rememberance, or sometimes a stray thought simply comes to him out of the blue, with no apparent reason for doing so. This deeply troubles Quattuor, and has led him to becoming a kind of basket-case that communicates very little, both for fear of his memories again slipping away from him, or a spare word that may cause an onslaught of past memories, enough to give a grown moogle a migraine.
Quirks:
- Ambition, fueled primarily by hatred and jealousy of those around him who are still in possession of their life and history
- Fearlessness of all things in the material world, outside of his own mind
- Cleverness that allows him to bluff and scheme his way into achieving his usually lofty goals
- Loveless that allows Quattuor to not feel the pain of unrequited love, the love of a lost one, or an intimacy associated with his murky past
Flaws:
- Evasion to Intimacy, which causes the moogle to avoid any sort of possible personal connection with another being, making him hardened and socially inept
- Hatred of most things, which, though empowering, leaves Quattuor with the strangest sensation of emptiness
- Distracting confusing resulting from Quattuor's loss of memory. Causes much frustration and a constant feeling of being detached from the rest of the world
- Cocky because of undeath, assumed invincibility, and belief that achieving utmost must be his life goal if it is all he can aspire to
Character Appearance:
At first glance, Quattuor appears to retain the semblance of any everyday Moogle hailing from the formerly well-populated region of Ivalice; he is only just below three feet tall and weighs an amount akin to a sack of feathers, not unusual for most Moogles whom have wings that, while not allowing for conventional, long-distance flight, do allow for leisurely drifting that takes much less energy than walking. However, unlike typical Moogles, Quattuor's skin is a sickly gray, starkly different in comparison to common yellowy to beige tones of Moogle skin. This skin color, along with many of his other features, derive from his status as one of the few non-enfeebled and mentally aware undead. In addition to gray skin, Quattuor's eyes are also a hazy dark gray, usually blank of emotion, but occasionally shiny with rage or wayward intent.
Most Moogle has a sort of antenna protruding from their head with a red "pom-pom" on the end that is extremely sensitive to touch, vibration, and climate-change. Quattuor has not lost his pom-pom, but the color has faded to a pale red and the antenna usually droops behind him unless he is excited or otherwise overcome by emotion. Additionally, the pom-pom is barely functional, only able to sense minimal vibrations and changes in the air. When touched, the usually sensitive nerve signal has been almost completely dulled. Quattuor also has, as most Moogles, a pair of dark-colored bat wings upon his back. These, too, are not as fully functional as typical Moogle wings, only allowing for very short bouts of drifting. On his left wing, the topmost end of the bat wings is jagged where a piece of it has been sliced off, or fallen off after being deadened. Likely, between the stages of death and undeath, many of Quattuor's functionality as a Moogle was removed, as a product of becoming less a Moogle and more something akin to a corpse. This explains the dullness of his pom-pom and the damage and near-uselessness of his wings.
Apart from these factors, Quattuor's appears to be a Moogle in every way. He typically wears a dark purple vest with black Moogle-sized boots and a deep purple cape that drapes his back, cut with slits from which his wings protrude. On occasion, Quattuor will don a two-piece black cap that covers his ears, coming to a point up and out on either side of his head. This hat has a resemblance to sturdy, intimidating horns and are intended to be frightening, and make the Moogle at least eight inches taller than his usual height.
On his bag, Quattuor keeps a sort of sling to carry his chosen weapon, a silver rod with a rather gaudy amethyst attached to the end. The sling allows for easy removal when necessary, with the ability to tighten if Quattuor brings his body inwards. This is to prevent any strenuous movement from dislodging and possibly damaging his weapon.
Come Back ToMe
[/b][/u]Physical Abilities:
Mog Punt: [Active] As a result of his size, Quattuor is not often able to engage in physical combat with his foes. However, if a foe happens to be smaller than Quattuor in stature, is slightly larger in stature with similar weight, or has no leverage as a result of losing balance, being preoccupied, etcetera, Quattuor can punt the entity or object with his body causing it to fall over. Because he is a Moogle, he can employ his rather weak wings to cause more movement than actual damage (such as to ram someone out of the way, or such), which is what really separates this ability for a typical slap, punch, or slam.
DMG: 5 + Phys/atk. Base damage increases by 5 with level.
Notes: Has more force than a typical ram, punch, or kick, and thus has the potential to displace the target in the direction Quattuor chooses. Although a target may appear sturdy, as long as the target defense is not 15 (at level 1, plus 5 per level), the target will move at least marginally.
Decrepit: [Passive] Because Quattuor is undead, he is somewhat feeble physically. His body did, after all, go through the wearisome and straining process of dying. Therefore, he takes significant reductions to anything related to what his body can naturally do. However, because he was arisen by a very strong form a magic, he is adept at spellcasting and calling upon the ether. Naturally, he is also well-suited to mentally resist magic, because of his overall familiarity and affinity for magic, having had to mentally battle magical constraints for much of the beginning of his undeath and adapt to surviving on the ether that fuels his corpse of a body.
Stats: - 3 Phys/atk., - 3 Def., + 3 MA, + 3 MR
Magical Abilities:
Flash: [Active] Flash is Quattuor's most basic usage of magic. The spell is a minuscule conjuration of charged magical energies that, while simple and less straining than more advanced spells, can be easily underestimated for its utility. These charged energies can be used to create a plethora of effects, from the seemingly harmless lighting of a candle (through the creation of fire via the friction of charged particles in the air) to a tiny explosion of the energies that may be used in combat. Whatever form Flash takes, it cannot visibly equal more than a foot in diameter; so, a Flash of fire from friction cannot carry for more than a foot without fizzing out, a Flash explosion will reduce force as it reaches out from the center up to a foot, and if Quattuor were to use Flash to displace the particles in the air below him, we would not be popped up more than a foot (after which, of course, he can drift with his wings a bit more.)
DMG: A Flash explosion will generally deal 20 points of damage plus 1/4 Int (30). This is because Flash can be considered a reduced Fire, but with more uses. Therefore, as a tradeoff, damage is lessened. The fire created by Flash cannot do direct damage unless left unattended for a long period of time, and will only cause burn until that point.
Notes: A Flash fire is simple to put out. The fire is not the magical fire of a Fire spell, but a small manifestation of heat and energy as a result of friction. Therefore, it is easy to put out as a fire created by any other natural occurrence. Quattuor may use Flash to propel himself in a direction, or up in the air to kick-start flight, since his wings can barely handle holding him up, let alone getting him off the ground. (1 post CD)
Cost: 10 MP
Drain: [Active] Drain allows Quattuor to, for a short amount of time, absorb the magical energies of a foe or creature. In its low-level, primitive form, Drain can only be used to provide Quattuor with the mana of his foes. However, with study, Drain has the potential to also drain the life energy of a foe, stealing not only mana but health. In both cases, the target Drain is being used upon will still undergo a minimal fatigue, resulting in some damage.
DMG: Drain will flatly deal 10 points of damage to any opponent it is used upon. Additionally, level 1 Drain steals 10% of the target's mana (MP) and adds it to Quattuor's current amount of mana. In the future, Drain will have the same effect on a target's life energy, stealing 15% of their HP and giving it to Quattuor.
Notes: Drain will only yield mana/health when used on player characters, because most NPCs and creatures do not possess a viable amount of mana to take. (2 post CD)
Cost: 5% of HP
Dark: [/i][Active][/i] The spell Dark can be considered the polar opposite of the White Mage's Holy spell. Dark is a conjuration of malevolent energies in the immediate atmosphere that results in the manifestation of an orb or otherwise simple formation of unstable magic. Like most elemental magic, Dark can be manipulated and used as necessary; it can be thrown, conjured directly near an enemy, shot at the enemy as a burst or ray, or shroud a target with darkness. When a target is shrouded, they will take no damage, but they will of course be unable to see.
DMG: 25 Magic DMG plus 1/2 Int. (44) when used in any form.
Notes: As a shroud, Quattuor can actually constrict the shroud inward, causing an implosion of dark energy that will damage the target as a Dark spell normally would. When used in conjunction with a magic-imbuing spell, Dark will imbue the object with the dark-attribute, giving weapons 10 additional damage and armors 10 magic resistance.
Cost: 15 MP
Weapons:
Amethystia[/i]: Amethystia once served as the device that controlled Quattuor via a spell cast upon it by Rift, the Voodoo Lich. After Quattuor’s willpower overwhelmed the control spell, the rod reverted to its normal self. This is not to say that the rod is normal in any way; although its origins are unknown, Quattuor believes it to be endowed with great power, possibly even mentioned in one of the Great Tales of the Ichus (a storybook denoting ancient heroes and artifacts of Ivalice) as the Scepter of the Violet Witch. The rod itself, again, has no obvious special physical qualities, but does grow in power as Quattuor does.
DMG: (15 + Phys. Attk. + 5 per level over 1, +10 to Int.)
Battle Discipline: Magic
Character Accessories: N/A
Summons:
Stat Totals
- HP - 50
- Mana - 100
- Faith - 15
- Phys - 2
- Def - 2
- Int - 38
- MR - 3
We Can BeTogether
[/b][/u]Again
[/b][/u]Relationships:
- Friends: Moglene, Moglista, Mogruda
- Enemies:
[/li][li]Rivals:[/i] Unus, Duo, Tres
[/li][li]Lover(s):[/i]
[/li][li]Relatives:[/i] Mother and Father[/li][/ul]
History:
On a cold winter’s night in the year of abundance and pleasantries (also known as Salikawood’s Prosperous Prime), a young male Moogle sat with his wife near the fire, surrounded by quite the number of people. One would only assume that the entire population of the Rydia Settlement in Salikawood had gathered here today for such a momentous occasion; the birth of the first male Moogle in nearly five years. Before these last ten years of prosperity, Salikawood had been ravaged by a deadly plague only described as “as unnatural as it was terrifying”. The people of Salikawood were hit the hardest, though the surrounding areas in Nabradia also caught slight strains of the plague. Though it was definitely rumored to be a result of evil magic, all of the deaths and tragedies kept the citizens of denizens of Salikawood too busy to worry about the origin of the plague. After three years, the plague randomly lifted one sunny morning. People emerged from their boarded up homes to bask in the peaceful sunlight, ecstatic that after three long years the Salikawood Curse had finally been lifted.
It was later discovered that most of the survivors of the plague had contracted the disease, but were immune; these people were in all cases those who had dealt with or resided in the vicinity of the Salikawood’s Guardian Crystals, whose mana ran through the veins of the entirety of the woods, breathing magical life throughout the settlements and tree-neighborhoods. The Guardian Crystals, whose magic was seemingly limitless, often served as regeneration locations for the sickly, or those found with the “Gift of the Ether”, also known as manipulator of magic. New settlements were built surrounding the crystals to ensure that if, Maker forbid, there should be another plague, at least most of the population could be left unscathed. It is in one of these settlements, the Rydia Settlement, that young Moglow was birthed this cold winter’s night.
After the women of Salikawood were left unfertile, it was a miracle that any children were produced at all. Eventually, the children came, either via fertile foreigners to the land that had come to settle, or those few in the affected population left fertile. And, strangely enough, none of the children born were male, until this very night. The Moogle father peered down at his new baby son after his birth, relishing in his plump red pom-pom and his beautiful violet wings. The firelight nearby cast an almost holy glow upon the young Moogle’s body and, in that moment, all in the room new of the boy’s name before it was even spoken: Moglow.
Not only was Moglow the first male in five years; he was the first with the Gift of the Ether that had been seen since the advent of the Salikawood Curse. As a child, his parents encouraged him to spend as much time near the Guardian Crystals as possible, until finally they acquired a pleasant little tree house that overlooked the crystal itself. Moglow absorbed the magical energy that radiated off from the Guardian Crystal, allowing him to perform magnificent feats. To his satisfaction, Moglow found he could not only drift through the air on his wings; he could fly, with a little concentration! Moglow’s parents hired a magic instructor who taught him the basics of magic, allowing the boy’s power to flourish with just a little guidance from the instructor. Eventually, Moglow’s own ability and finesse with manipulation of magic surpassed his instructor, and he became the primary instructor of all the children in the town born with The Gift.
As the years passed, more and more children possessed the gift, leaving Moglow with quite a few students on his hands. With a little financial help from his parents and the carpentry skills of a good friend named Mogruda, Moglow opened a school of magic right around the Guardian Crystal. In the main hall of the academy, the Guardian Crystal floated, encased within a shroud of powerful glyphs and warding spells cast by Moglow the Mage himself. Students gathered around the Crystal for lessons given by Moglow, perched upon a podium right in front. The Rydia Settlement had never seen so many successful individuals leave its treeline; Moglow the Mage had certainly been an amazing gift to the town.
When Moglow turned nineteen, one of his students (only two years younger than him) named Moglene began to show amazing ability with magic under Moglow’s tutelage. She became Moglow’s star student (only between the two of them, or course) and exceled primarily with restorative White Magic. Moglow had not encountered a student so adept in the arts of healing and protection that he was not entirely sure how to continue serving her with his limited skill in White Magic. Moglene studied books upon books from the Radiant Library, which housed another of Guardian Crystal. She would take long trips across Nabradia to the Library and study for weeks upon end until she returned bubbling over with spells and tricks and techniques to tell her teacher about. Moglene taught Moglow all she knew, and was eventually given her own class to teach the White Magic to Moglow’s students who also showed talent in the art of healing. After three years of teaching the class, Moglene obtained her own department in the academy and also became the Great Healer of the Rydia Settlement.
Moglene’s younger brother, Moglista, enlisted in her classes, having shown signs of greatness in White Magic, just like his sister had. However, Moglista’s adventurous, wild child nature was not feasible for study and the ways of magic. At the bottom of his class, the discouraged Moglista dropped out of magic schooling and turned to his passion, more suitable for his free spirit; archery. Moglista became a widely known marksman, rumored to have the aim to shoot a bird out of its next through a thick webbing of trees and the power to shoot the arrow through three branches before getting there. He and his father’s best friend, a carpenter named Mogruda, teamed up and revolutionized the settlement’s less than successful guard. Mogruda, with his skills with a great-hammer, and Moglista, with his finesse with a bow, became the settlements’ protectors.
It was not until eight years later, the year Moglow the Mage turned 27, that Salikawood’s Prosperity Prime finally ended. It began with a single crack. A single crack down the surface of the Guardian Crystal enclosed within Moglow’s Academy for the Gifted. Moglow and the people of Salikawood were in disbelief. Why was the Crystal breaking in this way? One of the very crystals that had provided this wood with so much life for hundreds, even thousands of years, was suddenly deciding to die. Despite all of Moglow’s protective glyphs and regenerative spells, the deterioration of the Crystal continued uninhibited. And then, like a nightmare, the Guardian Crystal in the Radiant Library also began its decline. Eventually, all the Crystals in Salikawood were ravaged with cracks and a dimming glow. Most believed that even the Living Crystals must die at some point in their life, just like people, but the wise knew something was amiss.
After all of the Crystals began to show signs of dying, darkness fell over the forest, a heavy darkness that was thick as the trees within. People went about their daily business, unsure of what to do about the darkness. With the appearance of the darkness came the rise of creatures, dreadful creatures with claws and fangs and such ferocity as was never seen in Salikawood. The people again barricaded their homes against the monsters and the Town Guard eventually fell to their otherworldly strength. Moglow studied his tomes for some sort of solution or answer to this problem, and eventually he read the tale of the Four Warriors of Light. The Four Warriors of Light were said to be four regular people, called upon by the four elemental crystals to save the world from a darkness; the story almost perfectly described Salikawood’s situation.
Moglow gathered up the three adepts he had encountered in his life. Together, they were the four heroes of light: the warrior, Mogruda, the marksman, Moglista, the healer, Moglene, and the mage, Moglow. Together they fought the creatures for days, fending them off for a few days until they again attacked, in bigger bursts each time. Eventually, the Rydia Settlement was no more, the Guardian Crystals were at their last strand of life, and hope was virtually nonexistent. It was then that Moglow remembered the plague. Years after the plague, when the cause was examined, the origin was thought to be located in a nearby marshland that teemed with some of the same creatures currently attacking Salikawood. The new Four Heroes of Light gathered their things and traveled to the marshland, fighting many hideous beasts along the way and speaking to those who would lend them their advice. Eventually, they reached the source of the impenetrable darkness; Rift, the Voodoo Lich.
It was believed that Rift had been a glorious magician with a power thought to rival the ancient witches of ancient times. Because of his immense power, there were those who sought to bring him down. When he was confronted and captured by citizens of his city, who were frightened of his power, Rift knew of his death’s approach. They took him to the stake and burned him alive… but, before the mage’s last dying breath, nearby citizens heard the whispers of an incantation. The fire flared higher as his body slumped, turning a sickly dark violet. When the fire eventually died down, no body nor was ashes revealed. It was as if the fire had never happened. And to this day no one has known what became of Rift.
But now, deep within the Marshlands, Moglow and the others discovered a decrepit old necromancer, locked deep within a tower fortress overgrown with lichen and thorny vines. The warped oaken doors opened at their arrival, as if expecting the four heroes. With no dangers as of yet, the four traversed the fortress until they reached the highest room of the tallest tower where the necromancer lived. The four fought, but to no avail the four fell to his power. With his dying breath, Moglow cast a deadly spell at Rift, the Voodoo Lich. The spell whizzed right to the side of him, and Moglow fell watching the Lich cackle at him hoarsely.
Role Play Sample:
It was then that a moogle awoke from what seemed to be a long slumber; his body ached and fought against him to move. His pom-pom hung limply behind him and his wings fluttered as weakly as those of a baby sparrow’s. His eyes blinked open to reveal a stone room filled with books upon books piled on the floor and alchemical circles drawn at random intervals on the floor, walls, and ceiling, but he could not for the life of him remember where he was. The moogle surveyed the room with tired eyes before casually walking over to a table with a journal upon it. Written in ink, the moogle found a line of text that particularly stood out to him; “Four moogles, arisal complete.” A low cackle resonated behind him.
The moogle spun around to find a decrepit old man with a gnarled staff, staring at him with deadened gray eyes beneath a rugged black cloak. The old man did not appear to be a threat, but the moogle had the strangest sensation that he should grab the nearest he could find to defend himself with. The two individuals stared at each other for a long while before the old man began to speak.
“I suppose you shall wish to know where you are…” The moogle nodded slowly, cautious but eager to learn. “Firstly… you remember nothing correct?” the old spoke with a glint in his eye. The moogle nodded again in reply. “Good… well, you have been under my direct control for the past year. You are an evil creation, my fourth undead experiment. You are not alive at this moment.” The moogle gawked at the man, taking in last sentence particularly. I’m… not alive? Before the moogle could ask a question, the old man continued. “Your name is Quattuor are you are a monster. You have no friends or family and your purpose in life has been to serve me. But, as part of my ongoing experiment, you are no longer under my control. You may leave, but you will likely not know where to go or what to do. I have killed your entire family, all of your friends, and have stolen you away from your home. Being undead as you are, you will be seen as an abomination of unholy properties and hated by all who lay eyes upon you.” The old man ended his speech with a dreadful cackle as the moogle’s eyes welled up with tears. But, the tears did not stay for long. A hostile anger racked the moogle’s body as he braced himself, nearly flinging his body at the man and clawing him to bits.
“Why?!” the moogle cried out, enraged at all this man had done to him. “Don’t be so surprised!” the old man quipped, remaining calm and concise in his speech despite the fuming moogle before him. “You were a ruthless predator long before I took you in and.. hm… civilized you.” A cackle yet again erupted from his wizened mouth, his cracked lips parting to reveal crooked brown teeth and a forked tongue. The moogle finally had had enough; he threw his body at the old man, weakly flapping his wings to carry him some of the distance.
The old man whipped out his cane with unnatural agility for his age, and batted the moogle out of his way, sending him flying into the stone wall across the room. He then reverted back to his aged self, making his way toward the moogle with his cane as support. “My dear Quattuor…” he said with a slight chuckle, poking at the moogle dazed on the ground with his staff. “I respect your rage. Anger is good; anger is ambitious, powerful. Make the most out of all the hate! Let it empower you! Let it filled up inside of you!” The old man raised up his staff to the ceiling as the moogle, maddened by the unfairness of life. Slowly, the man brought his staff down and allowed his eyes to lock with Quattuor’s. There are three others like you… other experiments. I suggest you destroy them. Nothing has to stand in your way to happiness. You may dead, but you can still live what life you have left…” With that, the old man turned around and made a shape in the air with his staff. The shape he had invisibly created suddenly manifested itself with a deep purple light. A swirling, gaping hole of darkness opened up behind it, and the old man reached through the hole as if to grab something.
As the man’s hand retracted, out slid with it a silver rod with a magnificent purple gem on the end, likely an amethyst. Quattuor’s could not take his eyes off the amethyst, entranced so much so that he could suddenly only think about acquiring that rod. To his delight, the old man turned with a sickeningly sweet smile. “This, I believe, is yours… Do with it what you wish…” With a final cackle, the old man backed slowly into the gaping hole, sliding into and disappearing before the hole vanished. Quattuor tightly gripped the gem-topped rod in his clutch, hugging it tightly to him. It was so beautiful… and the world was so ugly. With this rod, he would accomplish all he could. It was the only thing he could rely on… Clinging to the rod as his last hope, Quattuor stood up and wiped off the tears.
Referral IDK
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