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 Posted: Fri Jan 29, 2010 7:06 pm
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:18 pm
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 [- Herve J. Staun - The Keeper -]Name - Herve Johnathan Staun
Age - 22
Height - 6'2"
Weight - 185 lbs.
Alliance - Panymese
Living In - Imisus
Personality - Herve is what you would call a staid man. Collected and calculating, he is steadfast in his decisions and has no time for frivolities. He is painfully honest, often causing more harm with words than a murderer with a shank, and Herve won’t hesitate in pointing out a fault or a wrong answer. However, a majority of the time he’d rather just not have to talk at all; there isn’t much you could get him to open up about, nor is small talk any sort of ‘enjoyment’ he’d participate in. He is not a cold man, per say, but social activities are distractions in his eyes. For example, he wouldn’t harm a child, but he wouldn’t want to have to deal with one in the first place.
His mind is always at work, from dawn to dusk and even in sleep; he makes every move in his mind before he sets them to physical action as though to assure a good use of time without making mistakes. However, Herve is not a perfectionist in that every detail must be specifically achieved with naught an error, but merely feels if you can’t put your all in it…then potential is wasted on teabags of filth.
Herve spends his days either locked up in his den with his work, not-so-quietly reciting something on the rooftop of his building, or just sitting in some alleyway. You can imagine the sort of cockamamie names he gets dubbed by the local children.
Appearance -   |
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:19 pm
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:19 pm
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 [- History -]Herve’s father and mother weren’t the sort to stick around for long, although they all lived in a single home for a long while. His folks were often busy with some ‘fieldwork’ that he hadn’t quite wrapped his head around about, and so was left with his mother’s brother and his Nana. As a child, he already showed he had a strong feel for academics and progressively advanced through work and such. He had a taste of the power that was knowledge, and Herve didn’t seem quite ready to let go of it…This adamant attitude of little intelligent Herve annoyed his Uncle quite a bit, but his Nana always just smiled.
He moved to the Eastern Continent at a young age, where he met his seemingly only two living relatives, Uncle Ross and Nana. This world quickly became second nature to him as he explored every inch of its physical and biological being, a trait he must have received from his fieldwork parents. Uncle Ross was a very nervous, lank sort of man he kept many secrets to himself. He’d mutter under his breath often and let no one but himself into his room. Nana was a kind and elderly woman who hummed sweetly and made treats, just like a grandmother would do in stories. She was quite well in health, though, and often took Herve out. She was the one who really raised the boy and would stick by his side through thick and thin.
It was…a peaceful life; one that, though he spent little time with others, was a good life and gave him his morals. That was so until he turned 14. People say there is a time when you realize life doesn’t always finish with happy endings…and that the world isn’t a place where good can triumph over evil; Herve experienced this quite early in his life, blown by a full-on charge. On that day, he would change.
As it turns out his mother and father’s ‘fieldwork’ involved scoping out areas, be them nameless towns or reserves, suitable to be torn down and paved over for the ever-growing population ‘worth’ saving. They had been met with opposition, lead by his own Uncle, and horrifically made an example to show the Emperor and his kind who was in charge. Of course, when the nobility learned one of Uncle Ross’s many secrets was his opium trade…this opened a door of ‘justified revenge’ and he was put to the Chopping Block.
Herve was filled with such confusion at this point…and animalistic rage dominated his actions and melancholy clouded his mind. Even Nana, the one who could not be fazed by tantrums or threats, grew weary after the death of her children and stepson. At one point, this clashing tension caused Herve to strike his Nana; this snapped him back to senses, making him realize how he was becoming a monster as well. In shock of what he had done, he ran away.
For nearly three years he called himself an orphan with no family or friend to turn to, giving him chance to hide himself amongst railroad workers and such. Those odd jobs gave him just enough to live by, molding his body and mind to much of how he is today:
Disciplined
Level-headed
Hard-working
Alone
As he was off on break one day, he caught word of a senile old woman who was wondering around the workplace. She had been coming for about a week, and though she was turned away…she always came back the next day. It wasn’t long before Herve met up with this daft broad…:
“Please…please…I must tell him. M-must tell the boy…”
“…..”
“Please, I have to tell him…!”
“…Give me this message, and I’ll pass it on to whoever you’re looking for. Then you should leave and stay with your family.”
“Nono…No family. No one but the boy…D-don’t have to pass it on; he’s here…he’s here…standing right before me…”
“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to get back to wor--”
“—Herve…Please don’t leave, not again…”
“….What did you just call me?”
This mad granny turned out to be none other than his own Nana, who had spent years searching for him. The once strong and youthful-eyed grandmother was now weak and withering; above all, she was ill. Herve, who had hidden his name for those three years, tried to seek medical help for her. He knew it was the Black Plague, he knew know one would want to try…but he did. Perhaps it was the guilt of hitting her and leaving her alone that drove him to such ends.
His attempts were futile of course. A gray-haired medicine man not spurn by modernization, but tradition, however took pity and gave them shelter in his spare hut where Herve’s Nana would spend her last, remaining moments. In the midst of his frantic search for help, he had forgotten his Nana had a message for him but as he kneeled by her side, unafraid by this sickness, she had no puissance left. She reached into her pocket and placed something into his hands…Then, she was gone. Herve stared into his palm the last gift and memento of Nana: A peculiar Candy Cane.
Over the years, he made a place for himself in a collective world as an author. He was a damn good one, with perhaps some eccentricities, who lived off his written works well. In those five years, Herve had come back to the birthplace of which he had never seen and due to the hold on immigration and traveling between continents…he is forthwith stuck in Imisus. |
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:20 pm
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:26 pm
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:26 pm
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:27 pm
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Sat Jan 30, 2010 10:30 pm
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Posted: Sat May 08, 2010 12:47 pm
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~*[- Melting Swiftly Away -]*~
Solo
"Wilhelmina? Wilhelmina! Dammit it all, woman..."
Herve stormed up the stairs from his den, calling out for his housekeeper a couple more times. Again, however, he received no answer. Where was that broad?! he thought to himself, 'If I don't meet my deadline today on account of being hungry...damn it all!' His strong hand clutched at his gut gingerly, his face seeming more pale than it usually was and his thin-framed spectacles constantly sliding down the bridge of his nose. He seemed a tad worse for wear as he had spent the last couple hours cooped up in his den, working furiously on his new book. But to his dismay, his mortal form decided to it hungry, all because of this infernal schedule his housekeeper insisted on.
Now she was a strong woman, a trait he rather admired, who didn't fear and make fun of him like other people did. It was one of the reasons she was hired, besides being competent, but she had set a schedule for him to follow. Wilhelmina disliked Herve's work ethics, constantly saying how he'd ruined his health with his wayward and spontaneous eating habits all done to suit his work. So she set that he must eat a routine intervals each day, and dear god would she get angry if he didn't do as she said! As time passed, Herve had gotten use to this schedule and now expected it each day...but today, after hours of writing...Wilhelmina did not arrive with the usual lunch. He didn't think he would mind...but his stomach sure did.
"Where is that woman?!" he growled to himself, moving about the house in search. Finally he came to the kitchen where there was a note reading:
"Out to get more food--Will be back soon.
Do Not Enter The Kitchen."
He scowled. This was another rule Wilhelmina insisted upon: The kitchen was her domain and he was not to mess with it. Bloody hell...'What harm could I possibly do?! Blast it all, this is MY house,' Herve thought to himself, going into the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, which was dreary by nature, this one room was almost bright and cheery.
Disturbing.
Looking about, Herve noticed grounded coffee beans placed neatly in a can--Woman must have intended for this to couple his lunch. Well, what would it hurt to make a cup himself?
'Now how exactly does one accomplish that?'
-------
Wilhelmina, with arms full of a couple of things, was walking back to Master Staun's house. "I do hope the poor lad isn't feeling lonely...Lord knows he's always pushing others away," she said to herself out loud. She had only been gone about five minutes and figured the man was still locked up in his den, working his life and youth away. But to her dismay, she'd find it was an entirely different situation. A crowd was gathered outside the house, which had thick, dark smoke emitting from an open window.
...That couldn't be good.
Wilhelmina gasped at the sight, seeing how it was coming...from the kitchen! Despite shouts from others, she quickly stormed in and headed straight for the kitchen. "M-master Staun!" she called out, coughing as she recognized the pungent smell of horribly burnt coffee in the air. She opened a few more windows, airing out the smoke and once the smog finally cleared:
"Well Wilhelmina, it was time you came back," the man stated, flushed and sweating from the heat of the flames he had just put out. He was holding the coffee pot in one hand and a once perfectly good towel in the other. He was acting as thought NOTHING had gone wrong! "M-my...MY KITCHEN!" the 30-something woman shrieked, seeing the area where the stove was was burnt and crispy.
"Now, this is MY house. Everything in it belongs to me a--!"
"Get out! Get out get out! I've told you a hundred times sir, never enter the kitchen! Oh lord this will be a bloody mess to clean...GET OUT!" Without being able to protest, Herve found himself pushed out be the stubborn woman, who continued on until he was out of the house!
"Master Staun, I'm sorry but PLEASE talk a good, LONG walk today. Do not come back until the end of today and when you do...Do not enter my kitchen!" She slammed the door shut in his face, on which he appeared flabbergasted and almost pained...
"But...My lunch..." he practically whimpered...
Solo Finished |
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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Posted: Tue Aug 03, 2010 1:54 pm
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~*[- This Isn't A Kid--It's A Demon -]*~
Solo
Damn Wilhelmina. Damn that coffee pot. Damn that fire. Damn hell. Damn everything!
Herve grumbled quietly to himself as he walked away from the house he had just been kicked out of. His house. He hadn’t even the chance to grab his work to take along! No, he just gets a stern scolding from the housekeeper and then the boot. Damn it all…he was still hungry.
His hand reached up to his gut as it growled again, his lips thinning into a grimacing line. There really was no use just complaining, was there? No, of course not, he thought to himself. With an exasperated sigh, Herve headed to a nearby tavern—they didn’t have the best food, and no one cooked quite like Wilhelmina…but it was better than nothing. He took a seat on the verandah, giving his order and then waiting in complete silence. Fingers locked, he laid his elbows on the slanted table and rested his head against his hands. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself though it just wasn’t so easy when your body has familiarized itself with working for so many years. Only a few minutes had passed but already he was tapping his foot impatiently and frowning steadily more. If there was one thing he hated, it was being idle—He needed to be busy. Suddenly he felt something shift in his pocket.
Snapping his eyes open, Herve turned his head to see a young lad with his grimy hand in his coat pocket. Surprised that this giant of a man had noticed such slight movement, the boy grabbed the money pouch and swiftly started to run away. “H-hey! Get back here you thief!” Herve snapped, standing up so suddenly that his seat fell backwards. He gave a ‘tch’, quickly running after the street urchin. At this moment a man came out with Herve’s food…but the author was nowhere to be seen.
The boy was fast and knew the streets well…but he was faster and smarter. The boy turned his head to see the 6’2” man no longer behind him and he smirked, not noticing the tall figure move out in front of him. They collided and the child fell backwards; Herve took this chance to snatch up his money pouch and stuff it in a pocket inside his coat, growling a little as he pulled the boy up by his shoulder. They had come into an alleyway, and few to none other then themselves were around…“Let me go! You got your money back!” the kid shouted, struggling about in the air. “I don’t think so you little rat—you’re going to get a lesson…” Herve began, to which the boy replied with a rather worried, but smart-alecky comment.
“W-what? Are you going to beat me?!”
“No! But you should at least know what type of person to steal from!”
“…What?” Herve set the confused boy down, saying promptly, “If you’re going to run away and live on the streets, you better be prepared to know how to survive on the streets.”
“…How did you know I ran away…?”
“…You’re too clean for one, and you made the fatal mistake of trying to pick-pocket someone like me.” The boy chuckled sadly, gaze falling to his feet. “I-I’m sorry…” he whispered, “I just…I couldn’t be at home a-anymore and--”
“Save it.” Herve sighed once more; the boy wasn’t fit to be on the streets but who was he to tell him that? After all…he ran away and never came back. But the face of his grandmother came into his mind…“Look, running away is always a temporary solution. You’re soon going to need to find ways to live besides pick pocketing…” he rubbed the nape of his neck wearily, “and no matter what you think or how people act or what happens…there’s always someone who’ll miss you. Tell me I’m wrong but whatever, you’re going to need tips while you’re figuring out what to do.”
This was odd. Herve wasn’t a talkative man and he didn’t like children so much—but somehow he found himself sitting with the boy and having a small conversation. Was it because this situation was so similar to his own? Or was he just that hungry? Either way, the boy seemed glad to have someone to talk to. After a while, Herve prepared to leave. “Uhm…Thanks Sir,” the boy said to him before he left, “Maybe…maybe I will go back home, but…not anytime soon…”
“Your choice.”
“You’re not as insane and weird as everybody says you are.”
“…I’ll just pretend that’s an actual compliment.” The two parted ways and Herve headed back to the tavern where his food would be waiting. He reached into his coat pocket…and then another. He patted himself, but the money pouch was nowhere to be found. The boy! No…
“THAT DAMN BLOODY DEVIL!”
Solo Finished |
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Posted: Sun Mar 27, 2011 10:42 am
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Questionable Shapeshifter
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