Post by Hawke on Sept 28, 2015 13:40:56 GMT
Cato
Full name (+titles, if any): Cato
Age: Mid 20’s
Gender: Male
Race: Kossith Tal-vashoth
Nationality (Ferelden, Antivan, Orlesian, etc etc): Spent the majority of his childhood in Tevinter so for all intensive purposes he'd sound like a Vint, but is probably not an official citizen of the Imperium by any stretch of the imagination
Class/Occupation: Dancer/performer/mage
Background:
Cato’s parents were bakers that defected from the Qun and ran to Seheron, and from there Tevinter. They floundered initially when they arrived in Minrathous and could barely find work and due to war tensions with Par Vollen, they were treated as pariah’s. Unlike the common opinion of ‘Qunari’ beyond the bounds, Cato’s parents were not the fearsome warrior’s humans came to expect. His father and mother eventually both started basic manual labour work - even as bakers, they could rival the strength of even the most robust humans. They were poorly paid and suffered at the hands of their Tevinter employers, but had enough to keep some food on the table. During this hard few years Cato was left mostly to his own devices - scurrying through the dockside Minrathous, privy to the comings and goings of slave auctions and the fish markets set up there. His parents had instructed him to stay out of sight - a child kossith alone an unattended in the roughest area of the Imperium would seem an oddity and a rarity.
Eventually, they decide that they can no eak out a living under the crushing weight of the Imperium and pack to leave; to the Free Marches, or Ferelden far from the reach of the Qun. They send Cato to pick up a few last minute supplies, and agree to meet just beyond the big gates of the city. He’s slowed over an argument with a shopkeep who tries to lure him inside his little shop; in a fit of terror Cato grabs the supplies from the little stall out the front and hurries to the front gates. He’s already a little late, the light lessening as it comes to dusk. As he arrives the gates are bustling as people surge in and out of the city, trying to get where they need to be before the gates close for the night. Just beyond the jostling surge of people he see’s his parents - a little further along, silhouetted in the fading light. They look like they’re talking to an elf - and suddenly, another Kossith appears, hulking, huge and hornless. His stomach drops as he realises what they must be - Ben Hassarath. He watches as they take his parents away and there is little he can do but slink back into the city.
He becomes an orphan and a street urchin. It is around this time (roughly 10 years of age), he starts getting dreams - dreams of the fade, of spirits and demons. Often they are calling to him, offering him the power to take out the Ben Hassarath and take back his parents. It is fortunate that he gets found by a travelling band of Tal-vashoth entertainers who are passing through the Imperium. Mainly they do feats of strength or skill, acrobatics and juggling, but they find Cato crouched in a corner of the fish market burning a pilfered fish with fire from his palm. The troupe is over joyed. Finally, they can add a little spice to their routine. Cato falls in with them gladly and finally, he leaves Minrathous. He is taught to juggle and sing, to flip and spin, how to stage a fight with as much flare as possible. And all the while, he practices. They begin gaining popularity and prestige in taverns and parades throughout the Imperium. Cato stars into as the dangerous Saarebas - he comes on stage, bound up and bridled, and then to everyone's delighted horror, breaks free, spurting fire magic. He’s like a lion in the gladiatorial ring but so much fiercer and wilder. He feels like he has a talent, like it’s something he can control and he likes the camaraderie of his fellow tal-vashoth - sometimes, they even tell him about Par Vollen. His parents had always refused to speak of it, but it was interesting, hearing stories, picking up snippets of Qunlat.
Eventually, they gain enough notoriety that they start getting invited to parties proper - to perform in front of nobles, in front of magisters. This is the big leagues, the big breaks - if they can be entertainers for this class of people, its reliable high paying work - as long as their style of show is in fashion with the nobility. This urges the troupe on to wilder tricks, staging more aggressive battles and even drawing blood. The performances get laughed and jeered at like usual, but somehow it seems worse - noblemen guffawing over the mockery they are making of Qunari. Cato isn’t particularly defensive of Qunari (knowing full well that the Ben Hassarath have certainly killed his own parents), but he hates the assertion that being a kossith means they are heedless and savage, barely above monsters. It is then that the realization clicks; thats what his whole troupe is playing up.
After one such show, magisters start enquiring if they can have ‘private sessions’ with cast members, curious as they are about the ‘monsters’ the Imperium is bravely facing. There are a lot of inquiries about ‘The Saarebas’ because he’s young and lithe and seems a powerful sort of mage ‘beneath all that savagery’ and they want to see it up close and personal. Cato is sold off to the highest bidder and he cannot believe it at first but his troupe leaves with short goodbyes and carts full of their recompense. At first he is treated as a pampered guest, asked to perform and dance and he goes through the motions but it is hinted that more is expected. He doesn’t wait around to find out what it is. He takes the expensive clothes and jewels he’s been gifted with, whatever he thinks if light enough to carry and expensive enough to sell and escapes the villa in the night. He is nearly out when he is confronted with a guard who orders him to return to his rooms. It is the first, and what he hopes is the last, time he ever has to kill someone. He can still remember the man’s face as he was cooked inside his own armour from the blast of fire. He never quite forgets his distaste for the vints, the Ben Hassarath, and most of all his little adoptive family.
Personality:
Cato as a child was timid and cautious, taught to be careful around everyone by his parents. After being stripped from them, and then the subsequent betrayal he felt at the hands of his troupe, he has difficulty truly trusting people. But he’s ill equipped to face or handle things alone. While he maintains some of the skills of his youth as an urchin, and could do sleight of hand tricks (useful for stealing expensive earrings from rich Tevinter Magisters) or scouting the best route across rooftops, he’s not very good at self sufficiency and is too out of practice to steal any food but from the least attentive of merchants. He has absolutely no skill with surviving in the wilds across Thedas - during his troupe’s travelling days he would get fire wood, or help cook a little, but most of his time was focussed on practicing songs or flexibility exercises. After they gained fame, they became important enough to own quarters in the richest part of the city, and were called upon regularly to perform, and this lavish life style left him unacquainted with necessary sorts of life skills.
Cato is quick thinking, able to quickly scope a social situation, he’s well adjusted to high society at least in Tevinter and how to conduct himself in such a position. He’s a good liar as long as he doesn’t lose his nerve, in most cases adept enough to talk his way out of trouble. He keeps up a facade of polite confidence used to using flattery and flirting to manipulate people to a more beneficial course of action (usually for him and them both). If he grows comfortable enough to drop this he is more of an awkward though well meaning nerd. He’s good at wrote learning and can memorize things relatively quickly - a useful skill for a performer. Ultimately, Cato just wants to find somewhere he might settle and better learn how to control his magic.
Cato can be a little self preserving and cowardly, but greatly values freedom. The death of his parents at the hands of Ben Hassarath weighs heavily on his mind, so he is usually torn between feeling helpless when situations devolve into violence and the overwhelming urge to do what is right. Depending on how dire the situation is he may be more inclined to assist. More recently since his escape from Tevinter he has been hearing the voice of a specific spirit/demon who remains unnamed, offering him the power to overcome anyone who might hunt him down. He hasn’t yet relinquished anything to whatever it is that plagues his dreams, but it has meant he hasn’t been sleeping much of late and is more prone to flighty anxious responses. He is a little vain, and almost always certain to adorn himself in fine clothes and jewellery. One thing he cannot abide is feeling imprisoned or trapped, or being judged as ‘savage’ simply for his race.
Cato would be happiest in a position where he is assured security, safety and the ability to practise his magic without fear of repercussion. The idea of being locked away, or taken by Ben Hassarath would be his biggest fear.
As Tal-vashoth Cato is used to the spectacle his horns and grey skin make him when wandering around alone in Thedas. As such he mostly shrugs about the differences between humans, dwarves, or elves. He dislikes Magisters and slavery, and the way elves are treated, by feels there is little he can do about any of it. Uninitiated as he is about the ways of the Circles, he almost wishes he could attend one (if only to be taught how to control his magic), even though he finds Templars a little unnerving. Regardless he doubts he would be able to attend and the thought of being locked away doesn’t sound particularly different from how the Qun dictates the handling of mages.
5 tv tropes:
Long Haired Pretty Boy
Circus Brat
Never Be Hurt Again
Homeless Hero
Cleopatra Nose
Appearance (description, image, or both!):
Writing sample:
Behind the stage, it was dark.
The curtains are drawn, thick and velvet, smothering the sounds from beyond - but he can hear it still, faintly. The rhythmic thrum of feet as they dance, circling each other with weapons drawn. Asalit would turn, jerk her sword (huge and hulking, an ugly iron claw) round and Jarvim would jump, coiled as a spring and spin, hair spinning with him as he would land and bare his teeth.
The crowd roars and claps at that, and he hears them circle each other on the little ring drawn out in the amphitheatres centre - sprinkled with sawdust to give them traction, to add spray to the drags and shifts of their feet. They always performed barefoot - something about big grey feet making them look more fearsome. Cato snorts at the thought, and nearly sneezes as the heavy scent of incense collides with his nose. Almost time for his cue.
He shifts up his headpiece as it slips down just the slightest bit uncomfortable, and he can already feel the sweat. It was a steamy night and he knows it will leaves streaks in the dark face paint so he dabs at it with a taloned finger - thick oily paint so it stays better despite the humidity. A moment later he hears the drums start up, low and rhythmic - the sound thrumming through him from the feet, up to his chest till it feels like a second heartbeat. He readies himself, fiddling with his headpiece a final time before sweeping out from behind the curtain. The crowd gasps, Asalit holding her forearm from the shadows - they had practiced that dual a million times but still sometimes Jarvim managed to nick her with his halberd. There would be words about it later, but for now he cannot care; the hum of the drums swell as he swirls to centre stage arms behind his back with heavy clunking chain and huge woven collar around his neck.
“Behold!” Taman calls from the side, stepping into view. Huge red shoulder pauldrons adorn his bulky arms, his face smeared with red vitaar in streaks and stripes he swore were the perfect imitation. He flicks a woven whip before Cato’s feet but he doesn’t flinch back - doesn’t twitch an inch. The drums are reaching a fever pitch now, and the crowd settles to the edge of their seats sensing the change in scene. Sensing the fever pitch of the show.
“The mighty Saarebas!” Booing, cheering, jeering erupts from the crowd in a cacophony of sound. Through the eye slits in his visor Cato can see them all, swathed in fabric dark and trimmed with gold. Magisters and their families, children and wives among the audience, slaves in attendance sweeping soundless between their masters - filling goblets or offering new morsels to be plucked at as an accompaniment to the entertainment.
And through them all, faint as the flicker of a flame, he can sense the touch of magic. He can feel the edge of the veil like the surface of a pool - he dips in just the slightest bit and the magic surges against him pushing against the surface begging for breath.
Not yet, he thinks, not quite yet.
He shifts the chains, and they start to come away - slowly, slowly, so as not to draw attention to it. They barely weigh anything, just a clever imitation moulded with clay and painted to look like metal.
“As fearsome as an army! As strong as an ox! Tamed, trained and chained for your enter-.. oh… oh,” Taman looks over as though he’s just noticed. The chains fall to the ground with a clink, and Cato’s arms come out from behind his back, unbound.
Taman looks on in mock horror as, with a grin, Cato rips off his mask and lets it skitter to the side a grin plastered across lips that have been makeup’d to look as though they are sewn together. With a guttural snarl, he throws his arms outward. He doesn’t whisper a word, just feels the touch of the veil, feels the press of the magic, and pulls the fire to life.
It springs into form from his outstretched palms spluttering and sprouting, twisting over itself like tongues of liquid orange, red and yellow.
Then he’s dancing - spinning, sprinting, flipping at he goes, gouts of fire launching from his hands and fizzling out just short of the audience as they cry with delight. He chases Taman round the stage, pretending to sear off a pauldron before in a final, savage display he tears the ‘stitches’ from his lips and spouts a gout of flame from his mouth, almost like a dragon.
He’s panting as the performance ends - streaks through his face paint, as he’s suspected. Handling fire even in the hot Tevinter summer had its drawbacks.
“Master ice next,” Jarvim jokes with a grin, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze on passing. He offers a wan smile in return.
“One day,” He asserts before glancing to charcoal painted palms.
One day.
This is the permissions list for IC (in-character), activity.
Hugging this character: Probably
Kissing this character: Sure
Flirting with this character: Sure
Fighting with this character: Sure
Injuring this character: Uh, you can punch him around a few times and I don’t mind NEAR DEATH scenarios for dramatic effect I suppose but him being ok after is always a bonus
Killing this character: um not unless thematically appropriate and we have discussed it but i mean probably no that sounds pretty damn final
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: as a mage i imagine he might have some.. mental barriers but sure
Offensive subjects: anything conflicting w/ forum rules also like non-con stuff honestly just. yeah :T
Full name (+titles, if any): Cato
Age: Mid 20’s
Gender: Male
Race: Kossith Tal-vashoth
Nationality (Ferelden, Antivan, Orlesian, etc etc): Spent the majority of his childhood in Tevinter so for all intensive purposes he'd sound like a Vint, but is probably not an official citizen of the Imperium by any stretch of the imagination
Class/Occupation: Dancer/performer/mage
Background:
Cato’s parents were bakers that defected from the Qun and ran to Seheron, and from there Tevinter. They floundered initially when they arrived in Minrathous and could barely find work and due to war tensions with Par Vollen, they were treated as pariah’s. Unlike the common opinion of ‘Qunari’ beyond the bounds, Cato’s parents were not the fearsome warrior’s humans came to expect. His father and mother eventually both started basic manual labour work - even as bakers, they could rival the strength of even the most robust humans. They were poorly paid and suffered at the hands of their Tevinter employers, but had enough to keep some food on the table. During this hard few years Cato was left mostly to his own devices - scurrying through the dockside Minrathous, privy to the comings and goings of slave auctions and the fish markets set up there. His parents had instructed him to stay out of sight - a child kossith alone an unattended in the roughest area of the Imperium would seem an oddity and a rarity.
Eventually, they decide that they can no eak out a living under the crushing weight of the Imperium and pack to leave; to the Free Marches, or Ferelden far from the reach of the Qun. They send Cato to pick up a few last minute supplies, and agree to meet just beyond the big gates of the city. He’s slowed over an argument with a shopkeep who tries to lure him inside his little shop; in a fit of terror Cato grabs the supplies from the little stall out the front and hurries to the front gates. He’s already a little late, the light lessening as it comes to dusk. As he arrives the gates are bustling as people surge in and out of the city, trying to get where they need to be before the gates close for the night. Just beyond the jostling surge of people he see’s his parents - a little further along, silhouetted in the fading light. They look like they’re talking to an elf - and suddenly, another Kossith appears, hulking, huge and hornless. His stomach drops as he realises what they must be - Ben Hassarath. He watches as they take his parents away and there is little he can do but slink back into the city.
He becomes an orphan and a street urchin. It is around this time (roughly 10 years of age), he starts getting dreams - dreams of the fade, of spirits and demons. Often they are calling to him, offering him the power to take out the Ben Hassarath and take back his parents. It is fortunate that he gets found by a travelling band of Tal-vashoth entertainers who are passing through the Imperium. Mainly they do feats of strength or skill, acrobatics and juggling, but they find Cato crouched in a corner of the fish market burning a pilfered fish with fire from his palm. The troupe is over joyed. Finally, they can add a little spice to their routine. Cato falls in with them gladly and finally, he leaves Minrathous. He is taught to juggle and sing, to flip and spin, how to stage a fight with as much flare as possible. And all the while, he practices. They begin gaining popularity and prestige in taverns and parades throughout the Imperium. Cato stars into as the dangerous Saarebas - he comes on stage, bound up and bridled, and then to everyone's delighted horror, breaks free, spurting fire magic. He’s like a lion in the gladiatorial ring but so much fiercer and wilder. He feels like he has a talent, like it’s something he can control and he likes the camaraderie of his fellow tal-vashoth - sometimes, they even tell him about Par Vollen. His parents had always refused to speak of it, but it was interesting, hearing stories, picking up snippets of Qunlat.
Eventually, they gain enough notoriety that they start getting invited to parties proper - to perform in front of nobles, in front of magisters. This is the big leagues, the big breaks - if they can be entertainers for this class of people, its reliable high paying work - as long as their style of show is in fashion with the nobility. This urges the troupe on to wilder tricks, staging more aggressive battles and even drawing blood. The performances get laughed and jeered at like usual, but somehow it seems worse - noblemen guffawing over the mockery they are making of Qunari. Cato isn’t particularly defensive of Qunari (knowing full well that the Ben Hassarath have certainly killed his own parents), but he hates the assertion that being a kossith means they are heedless and savage, barely above monsters. It is then that the realization clicks; thats what his whole troupe is playing up.
After one such show, magisters start enquiring if they can have ‘private sessions’ with cast members, curious as they are about the ‘monsters’ the Imperium is bravely facing. There are a lot of inquiries about ‘The Saarebas’ because he’s young and lithe and seems a powerful sort of mage ‘beneath all that savagery’ and they want to see it up close and personal. Cato is sold off to the highest bidder and he cannot believe it at first but his troupe leaves with short goodbyes and carts full of their recompense. At first he is treated as a pampered guest, asked to perform and dance and he goes through the motions but it is hinted that more is expected. He doesn’t wait around to find out what it is. He takes the expensive clothes and jewels he’s been gifted with, whatever he thinks if light enough to carry and expensive enough to sell and escapes the villa in the night. He is nearly out when he is confronted with a guard who orders him to return to his rooms. It is the first, and what he hopes is the last, time he ever has to kill someone. He can still remember the man’s face as he was cooked inside his own armour from the blast of fire. He never quite forgets his distaste for the vints, the Ben Hassarath, and most of all his little adoptive family.
Personality:
Cato as a child was timid and cautious, taught to be careful around everyone by his parents. After being stripped from them, and then the subsequent betrayal he felt at the hands of his troupe, he has difficulty truly trusting people. But he’s ill equipped to face or handle things alone. While he maintains some of the skills of his youth as an urchin, and could do sleight of hand tricks (useful for stealing expensive earrings from rich Tevinter Magisters) or scouting the best route across rooftops, he’s not very good at self sufficiency and is too out of practice to steal any food but from the least attentive of merchants. He has absolutely no skill with surviving in the wilds across Thedas - during his troupe’s travelling days he would get fire wood, or help cook a little, but most of his time was focussed on practicing songs or flexibility exercises. After they gained fame, they became important enough to own quarters in the richest part of the city, and were called upon regularly to perform, and this lavish life style left him unacquainted with necessary sorts of life skills.
Cato is quick thinking, able to quickly scope a social situation, he’s well adjusted to high society at least in Tevinter and how to conduct himself in such a position. He’s a good liar as long as he doesn’t lose his nerve, in most cases adept enough to talk his way out of trouble. He keeps up a facade of polite confidence used to using flattery and flirting to manipulate people to a more beneficial course of action (usually for him and them both). If he grows comfortable enough to drop this he is more of an awkward though well meaning nerd. He’s good at wrote learning and can memorize things relatively quickly - a useful skill for a performer. Ultimately, Cato just wants to find somewhere he might settle and better learn how to control his magic.
Cato can be a little self preserving and cowardly, but greatly values freedom. The death of his parents at the hands of Ben Hassarath weighs heavily on his mind, so he is usually torn between feeling helpless when situations devolve into violence and the overwhelming urge to do what is right. Depending on how dire the situation is he may be more inclined to assist. More recently since his escape from Tevinter he has been hearing the voice of a specific spirit/demon who remains unnamed, offering him the power to overcome anyone who might hunt him down. He hasn’t yet relinquished anything to whatever it is that plagues his dreams, but it has meant he hasn’t been sleeping much of late and is more prone to flighty anxious responses. He is a little vain, and almost always certain to adorn himself in fine clothes and jewellery. One thing he cannot abide is feeling imprisoned or trapped, or being judged as ‘savage’ simply for his race.
Cato would be happiest in a position where he is assured security, safety and the ability to practise his magic without fear of repercussion. The idea of being locked away, or taken by Ben Hassarath would be his biggest fear.
As Tal-vashoth Cato is used to the spectacle his horns and grey skin make him when wandering around alone in Thedas. As such he mostly shrugs about the differences between humans, dwarves, or elves. He dislikes Magisters and slavery, and the way elves are treated, by feels there is little he can do about any of it. Uninitiated as he is about the ways of the Circles, he almost wishes he could attend one (if only to be taught how to control his magic), even though he finds Templars a little unnerving. Regardless he doubts he would be able to attend and the thought of being locked away doesn’t sound particularly different from how the Qun dictates the handling of mages.
5 tv tropes:
Long Haired Pretty Boy
Circus Brat
Never Be Hurt Again
Homeless Hero
Cleopatra Nose
Appearance (description, image, or both!):
Writing sample:
Behind the stage, it was dark.
The curtains are drawn, thick and velvet, smothering the sounds from beyond - but he can hear it still, faintly. The rhythmic thrum of feet as they dance, circling each other with weapons drawn. Asalit would turn, jerk her sword (huge and hulking, an ugly iron claw) round and Jarvim would jump, coiled as a spring and spin, hair spinning with him as he would land and bare his teeth.
The crowd roars and claps at that, and he hears them circle each other on the little ring drawn out in the amphitheatres centre - sprinkled with sawdust to give them traction, to add spray to the drags and shifts of their feet. They always performed barefoot - something about big grey feet making them look more fearsome. Cato snorts at the thought, and nearly sneezes as the heavy scent of incense collides with his nose. Almost time for his cue.
He shifts up his headpiece as it slips down just the slightest bit uncomfortable, and he can already feel the sweat. It was a steamy night and he knows it will leaves streaks in the dark face paint so he dabs at it with a taloned finger - thick oily paint so it stays better despite the humidity. A moment later he hears the drums start up, low and rhythmic - the sound thrumming through him from the feet, up to his chest till it feels like a second heartbeat. He readies himself, fiddling with his headpiece a final time before sweeping out from behind the curtain. The crowd gasps, Asalit holding her forearm from the shadows - they had practiced that dual a million times but still sometimes Jarvim managed to nick her with his halberd. There would be words about it later, but for now he cannot care; the hum of the drums swell as he swirls to centre stage arms behind his back with heavy clunking chain and huge woven collar around his neck.
“Behold!” Taman calls from the side, stepping into view. Huge red shoulder pauldrons adorn his bulky arms, his face smeared with red vitaar in streaks and stripes he swore were the perfect imitation. He flicks a woven whip before Cato’s feet but he doesn’t flinch back - doesn’t twitch an inch. The drums are reaching a fever pitch now, and the crowd settles to the edge of their seats sensing the change in scene. Sensing the fever pitch of the show.
“The mighty Saarebas!” Booing, cheering, jeering erupts from the crowd in a cacophony of sound. Through the eye slits in his visor Cato can see them all, swathed in fabric dark and trimmed with gold. Magisters and their families, children and wives among the audience, slaves in attendance sweeping soundless between their masters - filling goblets or offering new morsels to be plucked at as an accompaniment to the entertainment.
And through them all, faint as the flicker of a flame, he can sense the touch of magic. He can feel the edge of the veil like the surface of a pool - he dips in just the slightest bit and the magic surges against him pushing against the surface begging for breath.
Not yet, he thinks, not quite yet.
He shifts the chains, and they start to come away - slowly, slowly, so as not to draw attention to it. They barely weigh anything, just a clever imitation moulded with clay and painted to look like metal.
“As fearsome as an army! As strong as an ox! Tamed, trained and chained for your enter-.. oh… oh,” Taman looks over as though he’s just noticed. The chains fall to the ground with a clink, and Cato’s arms come out from behind his back, unbound.
Taman looks on in mock horror as, with a grin, Cato rips off his mask and lets it skitter to the side a grin plastered across lips that have been makeup’d to look as though they are sewn together. With a guttural snarl, he throws his arms outward. He doesn’t whisper a word, just feels the touch of the veil, feels the press of the magic, and pulls the fire to life.
It springs into form from his outstretched palms spluttering and sprouting, twisting over itself like tongues of liquid orange, red and yellow.
Then he’s dancing - spinning, sprinting, flipping at he goes, gouts of fire launching from his hands and fizzling out just short of the audience as they cry with delight. He chases Taman round the stage, pretending to sear off a pauldron before in a final, savage display he tears the ‘stitches’ from his lips and spouts a gout of flame from his mouth, almost like a dragon.
He’s panting as the performance ends - streaks through his face paint, as he’s suspected. Handling fire even in the hot Tevinter summer had its drawbacks.
“Master ice next,” Jarvim jokes with a grin, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze on passing. He offers a wan smile in return.
“One day,” He asserts before glancing to charcoal painted palms.
One day.
This is the permissions list for IC (in-character), activity.
Hugging this character: Probably
Kissing this character: Sure
Flirting with this character: Sure
Fighting with this character: Sure
Injuring this character: Uh, you can punch him around a few times and I don’t mind NEAR DEATH scenarios for dramatic effect I suppose but him being ok after is always a bonus
Killing this character: um not unless thematically appropriate and we have discussed it but i mean probably no that sounds pretty damn final
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: as a mage i imagine he might have some.. mental barriers but sure
Offensive subjects: anything conflicting w/ forum rules also like non-con stuff honestly just. yeah :T
