Let me fly once again

Pet Name: Masque
Owner: Ghost
Theme / Type: Terror Gurahdi
Born: March 19, 2008
Gender: Male
Mood: Mad

MisticPal Name: Winston
MisticPal Age: 5135 Days

Battle Portal Stats

Level: 1
Hit Points: 8 / 8
Strength: 3
Defense: 4
Speed: 4
Intellect: 5
Misticpower: 4

Battles Won: 0
Battles Lost: 0

Attached Weapons

Books Read

Books Read: None

Exotic Foods Eaten

Foods Eaten: None

Of the future we see / Does it hold something for me?

Name: Mask
Gender: Male
Age: Questionable
Occupation: Necromancer(?)
Romantic Status: Oblivious.
Personality: Generally a man of isolation and poor social skills. Mask has a lot of reputations of being cold and callous in his efforts to break the secrets of life and death so that he may manipulate his own utopia, but in reality, he's just a curious nerd who prefers doing something he feels comfortable with than proving said rumors wrong. His lack of social experience has left him surprisingly clueless for someone of his age, and for all his intelligence, and considering the morbid twist on his occupation, most of his interactions with any others are surprisingly innocent.
Musical Inspiration: Given and Denied - Poets of the Fall

Pet:
Winston.
Named for one of Mask's childhood playmates.
It was an attempt at raising a dog soul, but as Mask was hard pressed to find a dog soul that wasn't happy enough to have moved on, he had to piece together several mismatched sentiments. It resulted in a dog who doesn't know it is no longer alive (although he has managed to teach it to 'play dead', ironically), with a two-toned bark and a habit to act as if it's much smaller than it actually is. Be wary, it loves to sit in laps.

Pictures:
[Old human concept]
[Old Pet Concept]
[Old Chibi]

Info Blurb:
Mask was born 'Drifton Satterfoot' to a lovely pair of young bakers in a picturesque village, and the lack of motherly demise or celestial signs of destiny associated with his birth was but the first in a long line of disappointments.

For his town was plagued with a seemingly simple problem; they had no heroes. There were no rowdy youths with questionable backgrounds, no daughters with tendencies to get kidnapped, no nearby crypts with problematic seals. Without such a claim to fame, how were they to support their idealistic lifestyle?

A bit of hope began to blossom as he grew, for he was a very solitary child and spent as little time outside as he could manage. When he was ushered out by a tired mother, he had more interaction with the animals of the village than any of his fellow students. Maybe this would lead to an emotional drive, his mother hoped, maybe it was some sign that he was being bullied, and would rise up just to teach them all a lesson as some great hero. She would even settle for a villain.

But, alas, he continued to persist in his apathetic averageness. His peers hardly scrambled to be friends with him, but he was never considered an outcast either, as he was generally a polite (if quiet) young boy. The only talent he began to show signs of was magic, and his mother would hardly have that. No son of hers would become a faceless fireball tossing mook indistinguishable from every Tom, Dick, and Harry, she insisted.

She couldn't keep it under wraps for long, however, for when representatives for various crafts traveled through their small town, the more magically inclined immediately picked up on the ability he was suppressing. By this time, Mask was barely scraping by in school, seen by most as not quite right in the head. He didn't mind this, for he knew the truth, as did his mother; he simply didn't know what he could do for anyone. His magic outlawed, and his physical prowess never something to brag about, he had entertained the thought of taking up the family business but only because his mother could see no other task.

With a few hours of wheedling, one of the visiting mages managed to win permission to whisk Mask off to Elzedar's Magecraft University, one of the more prestigious schools in the industry. He hardly saw it as any improvement (his mother still visited insistently thinking she could introduce him to a budding hero), until he took a course on the application of practical healing magic, and he realized that for once in his life, he wanted to know something. At first he was unsure if it was right, to start working outside of class assignments, but gentle coaching by his recruiter and advisor gradually lessened the influence his mothers words had on his talent.

In the span of a few short years, Mask jumped right to the top of the class list, gaining a reputation for living in the library and the eye of many a professor. His social skills hardly improved, but he did manage to meet a few people he was willing to call 'friend', and they knew how little to expect from him even with that kind of relationship. Graduating with a Bachelors of Living Therapeutics, along with a pocket full of honors and recommendations, he returned home a very esteemed high mage.

At first, this set his isolated home ablaze, for now they had someone to brag about. He was appointed the genius healer and, for a while, all was well. He was stationed at the church, given space to work on his own projects, as well as permission from school contacts to make use of their resources, and all they expected from him was to make a show of healing the big-named merchants and occasional hero-wannabe that traipsed through town.

But, as always, his less-than-personable nature began to seep through. Social interaction was delayed until he remembered to leave his workshop to eat every few days, and he would leave one project unfinished to start anew on an unrelated one, creating a pile of unfinished, albeit highly sought after, cures and supplements. As more and more people grew disgruntled with his treatment, they pestered his living space until he was forced to hide in the lower crypts to get any sort of peace and quiet.

It was on one of these such escapes that he stumbled across a meeting of anti-social mages, much like himself, or so he thought. He didn't think much of it at the time, so at their insistence he sat in on their meeting, donned their robes, grabbed a book, and promptly ignored most of their rhetoric. But the moment he stepped out in the daylight (not having thought to change), he realized he was given a wide berth by any of the previously insistent townspeople, and, it dawned on him that this was his answer. Unknowing of the implications and what rumors that began spread, he decided to hang on to the black and crimson robes.

It did mean a slight adjustment in his hobbies though, for when he tried to ask any of the other mages about curing the latest epidemics, they tended to laugh and insist he put his skills to better use. Pushing manuals and (what he thought were) focus groups upon him, he went along without a fuss, because for once, he didn't have to worry about social expectations with this sort. His only trouble was his lack of experiments, as they would never speak of where they found volunteers willing to help, and when he saw someone later on the street, they gave him an odd look and said loudly they had no idea who he was and began to look very nervous. He found it all very strange.

But, no matter, he still had his own body, and he hardly cared for physical appearance. What difference did it make if he had to sew an arm on here, or pop an eye back in there? There was little he could not fix with time, and the lasting scars, well, he wasn't the only one in his newfound social circle who donned a mask. If it helped public decency, he had no problems with it.

And thus he was nicknamed, and his prior family ties were forgotten (except for his mother, who was quite happy to have another son and tell him that he had a brother to vanquish). But all of that mattered little to him, if anything, his new name was much easier to sign. He was quite happy to be left to his peace and quiet, even if he did have to pick up and leave when the inn stopped serving him dinner. It was of little consequence; if anything, he rationalized, experiences on the road would greatly broaden his knowledge.

Still-Breathing Neighbors:

To lift me high above the din

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Masque