Someone From Naught

[Ximruccilim]

Name: Ximruccilim
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Weapon:
1. The Banestick, a cane of black metal forged by his own hands. Countless poisons are imbued in it, bringing pain, infection and eventual death to anyone and anything that comes in contact with the weapon, save for Ximruccilim.
2. The Baleblade, a gift crafted for him by a young sorceress he fell in love with. It is a steel hilt which, when touched, calls upon Ximruccilim's inner magical power to produce a blade of blurry blue, inducing extreme pain, though not death, in anything it cuts through.
3. The banes, various poisons he keeps at hand, some capable of corroding one's very flesh and bone.
Power(s):
1. Weak magical spells: fire, thunder, aero, gravity, magnet and cure. Given time, he can draw symbols to cast stronger versions of these.
2. Poison/Meltdown/Pain - Throws banes that infect/weaken/kill an enemy.
3. Esuna - Applies weals to cure ailments and infections.
Personality: Even before he lost his heart, the youth that is now Ximruccilim was naturally cold and unemotive. Those characteristics have come to be even more evident in the Nobody that has arisen. Retained from his old life is a masterful and perplexing grip on rhetoric, a timidity in combat and consequent preference of strategy, and, to supplement all this, a wary and ponderous cunning that has helped him many times when force did not suffice.
Appearance(s):

Bio: All of Ximruccilim's old life, save for his name, remains in memory. He was raised in the Klade, a prospering fortress of sorcerors and sorceresses, educated in magic and lore to one day take his place among them as a prestigious Klader. Not favouring life there, however, he rebelled, first deigning to secretly study the forbidden alchemic art of banelore, then deserting the Klade altogether with the coming of his fifteenth year, running away to a distant land. His adventures there are too numerous to be recounted. But eventually he found himself living as a hermit in one of the deep forests, where, day by day, he experimented on magic and banelore, constantly hoping to attain more power thus. One day, he managed to tap on something promising - something he would only learn later to be the power of darkness, warded away by his world's natural boundaries. Unknowing, he effected a rip through these boundaries, creating a portal of darkness into which he immediately was swallowed.

When he woke up from the relentless black, he knew much had changed about him. A disquieting stillness, a dreadful echoing emptiness, lay where his heart should have been. Along with it he found his name torn away from memory, only the scattered letters of it coming back to him - I-M-R-U-C-C-I-L-I-M.

Yet he felt an inexplicable sureness that somewhere, out there, his original body still lay, the heart beating strongly within it. Though part of him had been torn away from them by the darkness to create the consciousness that resided in the new realm of nothingness now, the intermediate centre of all that he was had not been conquered.

And now he seeks to find it. He intends to rejoin with his old self, and become whole. Taking up the name Ximruccilim, he ventured out of nothing, and floated forth into the myriad worlds of light, altogether unsuspecting of whatever he would find.

Theme Song: Ozar Midrashim - Information Society

 

[Lelouch Vi Britannia]

Good character Xim.

 

[Ximruccilim]

I suspect you did not read it all over again in hopes of discovering something new, fittingly. But thanks.

 

[Ximruccilim]

'Nother one:

Name: Kosme Acethier

Age: 20

Gender: Male

Personality: A puzzle to any observer. Most of the time, he keeps silent, settling for gestures whenever he can. But alongside that, his occasional cackling, tendency to treat gruesome scenes with apparent glee, and seeming failure to pay attention to anyone or anything around him in average circumstances make him look quite deranged. Deep within, however, his mind is quite sound, and quite sharp. But his emotional attachment to anything of the world is minute.

Bio: Kosme is the offspring of two simple people who fled the tyranny of the Second City to live a willing exile in the woods. His upbringing there was pleasant, but far too brief for him to remember much about. One day, yet again, he had wandered off deeper into the forest, something that never failed to draw the displeasure of his parents, but a compulsion he felt he could never stem. This time, though, it was to save his life. When he returned some hours later, he found the hut where his family lived afire, and utterly looted - the work of one of the many groups of brigands lurking about these woods. His parents were nowhere to be seen. Thus was everything he had hitherto known torn from him, and yet, he felt little care for that at all. What drew his attention more was the fire - hot flames, pretty flames, biting and tearing through the innocent wood of the hut, leaping and diving further with each second, always in motion, never failing in their ambience. Within them, he was sure he could see something. Their smoke curled upwards in haphazard coils, but their formations were clear to him. In them he could see shapes, figures of the world, and of time. There was providence in this.

Since then, he has done little but create more blazes, tiny conflagrations for his unwavering scrutiny, as he strayed further and further into the deep forest, to regions so dark even the bandits would not intrude, sating hunger, thirst and weariness whenever necessary, but never caring about anything more than those curious helices of smoke, ascending from the hot blaze, disappearing into the invisible sky, but, while they showed, revealing more than anyone could ever fathom. He sought to discover their secret. He wanted to master them.

It has been fifteen years since he stared into the grey vapour of his home's ruins. And, to a great extent, he has. The art is difficult, but now he knows almost all of what the smoke prates. He is aware of the future. He has seen the world, despite never having left the shelter of these trees. Of the toils about to happen, there is no one who knows more. He has seen his own place in it. All through the smoke.

It responds to him. It nourishes him. The spirits of it have come to hearken to his presence. They obey him.

This will all serve him well in whatever will follow.

Appearance:

Though full young, the fifteen years of endless acquaintance with smoke have withered him shockingly. His twenty years appear to be sixty. His breath wheezes from lungs to mouth. His eyes are a deathly-pale blue, the pupils microscopic, the white around them cracked and tinged with a sickly yellow. His hair comes down in a dark-grey avalanche, and wrinkles crease every bit of his dust-coloured skin. His arms and legs are like spindles, around which coarse grey rags, his only apparel, hang hugely. Of strength he is totally empty. But he is not without any youth. His bones are yet in fine condition, the muscles stable. His movement has become unerringly quick, and he can flit and float about an environment, giving little disturbance to any aspect, as light as smoke itself.

Abilities: Having become an unparalleled kapnomancer, Kosme can control smoke, wherever it rises from. At his direction it will lead the way, fill buildings, strangle life. To keep such an asset ever-ready, he keeps at hand two torches, cut from the Kiefka tree, which catches fire faster than any other, yet can never burn out entirely. These serve as his weapons. Alongside his commendable agility, this means that taking him for what he looks to be at first, a weak and inane old man, can be the greatest mistake one can make.