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G i v e n N a m e:: Kaelan Flynn MacAulay
O t h e r N a m e s:: Kael
A g e:: One-hundred and sixty-eight
B i r t h d a y:: March 13th, 1825... But I was re-born on October 31st 1845.
O r i g i n:: Ireland; my home town does not exist these days.
S p e c i e s:: Cursed Human
H a i r C o l o u r:: A stereotypical Irish orange-red.
E y e C o l o u r:: Shamrock green.
H e i g h t:: 6' 1"
B u i l d:: Slender, lacking any substantial muscle tone. I look a little gaunt, but that's because I never really recovered after the famine. Probably could do with some decent meals too... I at least have muscle, so I'm not totally skin and bone.
S e x u a l i t y:: Strictly heterosexual.
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C o l l a r:: Velvet or Enchanted Lace; I can't have someone violent or anything of the sort around me. It's not safe.
C h a r m s:: Spatula, Crescent Moon, Wand - mostly since they'd be more accepting of my.. 'profession'. Um, Book, Tree and... Oh.. Yeah, that Heart charm.. Ahem.. Can we move on?
C o l o u r s:: Green; this is most important, as well as Deep Purple. Plum, because of my situation. Orange, mostly since I'm active at night and I don't want to be disturbed. And.. Light Pink. Gold would be good as well.
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L i k e s::
☑ Peace and Quiet
☑ Citrus fruits
☑ The rain
☑ Ocean sounds
☑ Pandora
☑ Being left alone
☑ Potato-based dishes
☑ Books
D i s l i k e s::
☒ Being forced to do things
☒ Never being truly alone
☒ The grief over killing my family
☒ People finding out what I did
☒ Practically all of humanity
☒ Being cursed
☒ People not understanding me
☒ Being this... Monster
T a l e n t s:: Hiding. I'm very good at keeping out of sight when I need to. Mostly because I just don't leave the house. I'm a decent alchemist, oddly enough. I can turn any kind of leftovers into something good; we had to adapt during the famine. I guess my best talent is I'm skilled in baking all kinds of artisan loaves.
Q u i r k s:: I will talk to spirits that follow me under my breath without thinking, which is why a lot of people are afraid of me. I also will stutter if I get nervous. I have scars; I have discolouring all over my face and body during the daylight hours when the living roam freely. I have markings of gold all down the left side of my face, enveloping that side like a crude mask. This gold trails down the left hand side to my shoulders where it fans across my back and chest like a disease encasing my body. It wraps down my right arm right down to my fingertips, and the gold trails off into nothingness past my shoulder blades and pectorals. At night I look normal, and the scar from my hanging is noticeable around my neck.
Oh... I can sing; tenor, actually... But you'll probably never hear it these days.
S k i l l s:: I judge the dead and decide their soul's fate. I'm a passageway between our Earthly plain and the other worlds. I decide if a soul passes to the good place, or if it is destined for the underworld. I'm not a Reaper - I help those who the Reaper has already come for. I can also decide if something lives or dies, but only within moments of their heart stopping, as well as removing dead or dying skin from a living being. It's very rare that I do either of these, because not only do I have to give them some of my life, but I absorb all previous ailments until my undead body heals - heart disease, blindness, renal failure... You name it. I gain more gold from wherever the injury or ailment was most prominent; chest for heart and lung issues, face for eyes.. you get it. This is my punishment forevermore.
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P e r s o n a l i t y:: Silent. Quiet. Uninteresting. Honestly, I'm not too interesting to be around. I stammer when I get nervous, and when I can't handle things I will just... Snap and freak the hell out. I don't handle stress well, and could probably learn how to change that. I can be grouchy and quiet, as I find it easier to push people away than get close to them these days. I will find it hard to adapt to having someone new live with me, since I'm used to living with the dead, and will probably appear to be antisocial for a while because, well, I am.
I used to be a kind man, a loving man. I used to care about others (not to say I still don't) and myself, but these days I focus more on just surviving.. And caring for Pandora. I can empathise with others, but I don't sympathise these days. I guess I do still have a moment here and there when I feel myself letting go of the stress and relaxing, but those moments are rare. At rarer times I miss being able to feel happiness, but I don't remember what that feels like anymore. Except when I get a moment to sit with Pandora. That's about the only time I feel anything that could be considered happiness.
H i s t o r y:: I was born a couple of decades before the Great Irish Famine - or the Irish Potato Famine if you're not from the British isles. We were simple farm folk, who made most of our living off potato farming. When I was twenty, I had my own wife and child and our own potato farm just like my father. It was only our second year when the disease took our crops and affected the farms around us. Things got bad real fast - potatoes were the main diet for us so no potatoes meant little food. Our farms were small as it was, and about a quarter of the population barely had enough room to farm anything else but potatoes to feed their families.
Death was a given. Without food, and with landlords extorting their tenants, families began to die off. I did what I could to keep my wife and child fed; I stole, I lied, I did anything. My parents left before the famine could really take hold and had begged us to leave too. I refused and they gave us their farm, the bigger space meaning more chance at healthy crops. Alas, it just didn't seem to work that way and I feared for our lives. The day my son couldn't get out of bed, not even to relieve himself, I snapped. I snuck out in the night to find a farm as far away from mine as possible. It felt wrong but I knew I had to do something. I stole all the healthy potatoes I could find and left. A week later the family I had robbed died - the man was my age, his wife and son the same age as my own. I felt horrid. In a way, I had killed my own family. The guilt didn't last long, and when my son fell ill I stole again. I stole from anyone I could, desperate to feed my poor starving son and my wife. Each time I stole, a week later a family would die, and after four months I just didn't care anymore. I was angry. Why should people better off than me live while my family starved to death?
My comeuppance came swiftly. At the beginning of October my family had been without food for a few days. There was no farm nearby with healthy crops to steal. My wife, my darling bride was dying before my eyes, and so was my son. I couldn't stand it, and I began to think; if they were dead, I could feed myself. The thought stuck with me for a whole day, I couldn't shake it. The only way I could stop the thought was to obey it - I killed them so I wouldn't starve. Alas, my guilt consumed me and I killed myself.
I awoke to find myself back in my human body, still hanging from the tree from the noose I'd strung up. Struggling to get down, I found myself face to face with Death. The Uppers were angry with me he said, They knew all that I had done. I was refused the sweet mercy of death because of my selfish acts and as I was cut down from my tree, I knew nothing would be the same. Forevermore I would walk amongst the living as not one of their own, but as a reminder of all the things I had done. Until deemed worthy of mortality, I would decide the paths for lost souls, judging whether their deaths were righteous, or sinful. I would walk the Earth as a Cursed Soul, never truly living, but not truly dead. My re-birth fell on All Hallows Eve of the first year of the Famine.
I saw out the remaining years of the famine in pain. My choice on the souls was not really my own. If I judged too harshly I was punished. If I judged too kindly the same thing happened. Either way, if I got it wrong the soul was refused entry and had to remain in limbo for twenty-one days. After that, if they couldn't find me or another Medium, they would be lost forever. The years of the Great Famine sent me into a deep depression. I saw no light at the end of the tunnel, I had lost my family completely, I was alone. I left Ireland at the start of 1860, but no matter where I went, the souls would find me. I wasn't alone, not really, but I felt it. I could not venture out in public in the day due to my disfigurement because of the curse, it constantly seemed like I talked to thin air... Everything was pointless. It wasn't until the beginning of the 1900's that I found the one thing that made my life different - Pandora. I found her as a kitten, abandoned and left to die on the side of the road. For almost fifty years I had felt nothing for any living creature - human or animal - until I found her. I took her home and tried to feed her, but within hours her little heart gave out. The first unselfish act I ever committed was giving some of my own life to bring the small creature back to life. I absorbed her pain - broken legs, crushed ribs, the lot - and in return the Universe gave me my Familiar - Pandora, and she's the only thing I feel anything towards. I found that this fluffy little cat could see the souls I saw, and could lead them to me. I noticed that she could tell the difference between the souls that came our way - she could tell good from bad with ease. We became a team. Now that the population has grown over time, I find myself working more, and spending less time keeping my house clean and Pandora fed and cared for. I spend more time in hiding than trying to help souls reach their final destination, and it's incredibly stressful; I can see the results of their deaths, since all the spirits look like their original human selves, just opaque. I can see the burns on burn victims, the discolourations of carbon monoxide poisoning.. Everything. The more that find me, the worse it gets, which is why I became a recluse.. But now that hasn't even worked.
I just need some help...
N o i r Wafflesaurus
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