Post by Goblin King on Aug 11, 2021 11:41:43 GMT -8
Hollowbreed
Basic Info
I'm a killer, cold and wrathful.
I'm a killer, cold and wrathful.
Name:
The King of the Mountain
Goblin King
Crowfeather
Death Trader
Chronological Age:
(Circa. 1358) 662
Biological Age:
N/A
Stage of Evolution:
Menos
Physical Info
I've murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones.
I've murdered half the town, left you love notes on their headstones.
Hair:
King has not hair nor fur but feathers, pitch-black and shedding at a constant rate with every quick movement taken. These form around & behind his mask, as well as ringing his shoulders and various odd points jutting outside of his “cloak.”
Build & Clothing:
At first glance the shape of the Hollow dubbed Crowfeather is difficult to suss due to the hulking cloak and overflowing pack of mortal oddities and objects that he has collected. The truth to the answer is that the coat he wears is actually a part of his body along with the aforementioned pack, leaving only the trash spilling out as not of the whole. He would be found towering over most doorways and reaching ceilings from his height alone, roughly ten feet tall and hunched by his assortments. The prevailing color of his shape is a dark, raggedy blue, adding to the idea that he was wearing his leathery skin, though his ‘pack’ is splotched with a tanned brown.
The shape of his arm and legs, where they protrude, are thin yet seem to have no trouble in holding his weight.
Mask and Hole:
King’s mask is shaped like a crow’s beak in the vein of a plague doctor’s, white as bone save for the heavy staining of blood that gives the initial impression of red. The eyes of the mask seem empty when approached, but a moment or two will pass where King focuses on your presence and two beady blue spheres align. As he grows in hunger or temperament more openings appear along the rim and wide of the beak, showcasing an increasing number of eyes until they overtake the mask in space.
King’s Hollow Hole is in its common place at the location of his missing heart, empty and void with an inky blackness keeping it from being entirely transparent.
Extras:
King’s hands are each three wiry claws that thin to a point and extend down as long as his arms themselves. He is very careful and particular about holding his objects with these as it’s painfully easy to break or shred anything he touches. On that note, he does collect things he finds of interest in the mortal plane or from souls he eats, keeping them within the bag-like protrusion from his hunched spine or hanging from the cloak of his body.
Spiritual Info
I'll fill the graveyards until I have you.
I'll fill the graveyards until I have you.
Favored Prey: Widowers, but never to create one.
King feeds at a measured tempo, never to gorge nor starve himself too much in either direction. While he stalks the World of the Living for peculiar objects his hunger builds to a point of guiding him to eat. His Favored Prey in this scenario is spouses that have lost their partner, and therefore entirely avoids couples that are unbroken. To a lesser extent he will search out not only the above but partners that have left their spouses, not by dying as in the first case but out of callousness or betrayal. These are souls he particularly savors and seem to edge away the encroaching ferality he feels he teeters on.
Historical Info
I want you stuffed into my mouth, hold you down and tear you open.
I want you stuffed into my mouth, hold you down and tear you open.
The Past:
There is only one aspect of King’s human life of which he has a hazy grasp on and is subsequently the only one that matters to him. This is a person he can no longer remember, a face he can no longer place and a warmth he can no longer feel. Despite only this recollection it is the sole motivating factor alongside his hunger that King has, his one lifeline to remaining lucid and as much of himself that still exists. Since his death - watching the vestiges of the life he led slip away - and his “rebirth” when that became too much to bear, King has had one goal: to meet them again, in this life or the next. He eats to feed this desire, to continue on, and he obsesses over any little thing that might remind him of them once more.
There is a cave of stones deep within the Forest of Menos where he sets up shop, and a shrine by the side of a mountain surrounded by woods within the World of Living where he rests. This shrine has a near-mirror within the Kouya of the Soul Society, a place he ventures solemnly and seldom for it reminds him of them the most of all. He is spotted and traded with by various beings at all three of these locations, and he makes a name for himself as the man of the mountains -- the King of Goblins, unknowable.
King trades information with the Hollow that seek him out in the Forest and the mortals that think him a divine spirit by the Mountain. He has baubles as tender and all the things he’s seen for anything you have, quick to strike a contract and establish a debt owed to him that he could collect when he finds something worth collecting on. He is one to help most that ask him for it, as long as he is helped in turn … ever careful on the tightrope of his own sentience, far too easily falling prey to the monster he is. He is a bright, quick-witted creature, but a crow is no stranger to its murder.
Snapshot:
“It shines in the light.”
His voice is slow, soothing, yet never quite sounds like it’s addressing someone else. He could be talking to himself, rotating the silver spoon he held between knife-life fingers that catch with the points to avoid scratching the precious object. “What do you have to trade for it?”
The human man looks up at the great spirit sat behind the shrine posting, a meadow beneath his size and a gravity to his very presence. This King of the Mountain so absorbed with the cutlery he had this most tenuous grasp on -- he would laugh, if he wasn’t in such awe. There was a way these meetings always went, and the man knew by now he’d be walking away with whatever oddity was offered to him. In the face of the King it was hard to broker. Still, he strained a sound like a chuckle, looking up toward that great reddened beak. “For a spoon?”
It takes a stretch of time for the Hollow to adjust his position, as if he was made of stone and hadn’t moved in millennia prior; a weathered statue. He would sit up straighter, feathers drifting to the turning earth, and open the beak of his mask with a rumble that could have been laughter of his own … deafening.
“It speaks of all the things it has seen … but do you?”
Live inside you, love I'd never hurt you.