King Alexander | Tulpa

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✧Loyal to a fault.
✧Can, and will, tank if necessary.
✧Almost entirely care-free

Negatives (At Least 3):
✦Deranged - Holding a conversation with him comes with a degree of difficulty and frustration.
✦Unstable - Not to any violent degree but he can go from a normal, care-free, and stable state to a quiet and near catatonic stillness at random.
✦Because he regards "all of this," as a dream, he's can be either too blunt for comfort, though respectful in his own way, or simply entirely indifferent. There's also the in-betweens to make note of.

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Parents: Undisclosed
Siblings:

• Annalisa - King's younger sister. Not much is known about her aside from being a kind individual undeserving of a most inappropriate fate at the hands of a street gang seeking retribution. Despite being dead several years now, rumors of Annalisa's appearance as a (sometimes) vengeful spirit of sorts have been surfacing throughout the city. Still, these are but simple rumors perpetuated by bored high school students much like the ghost in the girl's restroom and the spirit that takes your life if certain chain letters aren't propagated to at least 13 contacts within the next 5 minutes.
  

Other Family: -
Important Others:

• The Watcher - An enigmatic figure that, for the most part, does nothing but watch from a distance. It's appearance, however random it may be, seems to effect electronic devices and tamper with mental wavelengths, human or otherwise, in various ways. When questioned about it, King simply says that it's from "above and below." Despite being connected to King, It's relationship to King is as ambiguous as the night sky and King being afraid of it is moreso a mystery. For the most part, it's highly regarded as his own personal hallucination despite it never failing to rouse discomfort and dread in those around him.
  
• The Red Pyramid - The punisher that lives in mirrors when mirrors are looked at. Seems to be a product of King's own insanity. Still real enough to harm him, albeit mentally.
  
• Samantha - A phantom that lingers about and has attached itself to King. Said to the be the cause of several polterstorms related to him though exact studies have yet to be conducted. Usually takes the form of a child aged between 8 and 13.
  
• Weaver - Former best friend. Suffered a case of amnesia after enduring massive to her temporal lobe in an attempt to enact revenge for the death of Annalisa and King. Though in a state of remission, the amnesia still retains a prominent hold on the foremost of her memories. Currently, she seeks answers and is in pursuit of King who seems to elude her as though in flight.
•  At one point, King lead a prominent street gang that promoted order and peace over chaos and lawlessness. Though now defunct, the remaining members hold steadfast to the ways perpetuated by their former leader, King, of whom is believed is still amongst the living. Currently their numbers range in the single digits, four, all of which seem to have a near fanatical obsession with uncovering the truth behind the disappearance of their former leader, if not finding their former leader altogether. Though long inactive as a gang, they often come together to discuss theories, findings, and conclusions through use of science, rumors, and even occultism. In commemoration of their deified leader, the devout quartet engraved their body with the only symbol they knew of that could best represent King's life. Shortly afterward, the quartet suffered bouts of strange hauntings, nightmares, and hallucinations that escalated as time went on though quickly came to a stop one sudden September's night.
  

History:


First there was,

A child, barely enrolled in Kindergarten and yet her confidence in the existence of a man who saved her life was regarded as an undeniably and unshakable truth. When asked what this man looked like, she proceeded to describe him as a taller man with "brown skin," wearing "black clothes." Not much more of a physical description could be drawn from the naivety of this child.

"Can you tell me what happened again." Spoke an analytical ash haired man wearing a white coat and thin glasses. He sat across from her within an ornate yet boring looking room and in his hand he held a clipboard with complimentary pen. Whatever notes he was taking was an obvious mystery known only to him but it didn't seem to peak the child's curiosity.

"He.. came when the bad men took me and beat them up. He was really really strong too! Like REALLY strong!" She flexed her stringy little arms to add emphasis to her claim.

"He beat them up. Did he hurt you at all?"

"No. He was nice to me."

"Did anything happen after he beat up the bad men?"

"Yeah! After he beat them up he picked me up and took me to Ms. Betty's house. And when I asked him what his name was," The child jumped from her seat and threw her hands up into the air with enthusiasm and passion, "Whoosh! He vanished!"

"Vanished.... Just like that?" The ash haired man snapped his fingers as an example of what it was he had envisioned the girls' statement as being.

"Yep! Just turned around and disappeared!"

"Well did he tell you his name before that?"

"Huh... Oh... yeah! He did! It was-"

There was also,

In another part of the same city, sat a sullen girl in a sunlit room by a window watching the sunny day pass sadly outside through teary eyes and a head aching with the pain of memories that simply refused to surface. She held, in her trembling hands, a white mask that served only to give credence to a truth long buried and locked away in a place of great darkness.

Back and forth, for moments at a time, her eyes went to the day outside and the mask in her hands as though there lay an answer to the unknown riddle hidden in each and in between and in the spaces unseen and yet all drawn up came frustratingly black and chaotically white.

When suddenly there came a flicker of an image in her mind, for but a second's second and it was like the flash of a clapping thunder or the sudden glint of a spark sparked in a darkness and so suddenly did the headache leave her and the heavy chains of such a burden become all the more lighter.

And,

She stood at the start of the trail that lead to the playground which stood long abandoned in that place of old; that place of memory. Though her steps dare not go in, her heart beckoned and perhaps even went forth where her body could not. Memory reigned therein and in that place she and her older brother stood playing as children often played with happiness, freedom, a carefree carelessness that only the innocence of children embodied.

She was older now, much older then she had been in those memories, and yet her heart had not moved from that place of childhood. The agony of a lie that was perhaps a bitter truth ripped at her very soul like that of a thousand shards of broken glass and such an agony was well fought by the sheer will, the sheer determination, the sheer tenacity that prevented her from accepting what had been told to her.

"You cant be dead," Her whispered voice cracked underneath the tears that accompanied a deep seeded sorrow, "You just cant be!" And she yelled into the vast emptiness in front of her, though neither to the trees, nor the plants, nor the birds, nor the insects did her voice fall upon, but upon one of whom she hoped was listening.

Her fists clenched tightly, "I know their wrong," Her heart burned with a greater passion now as she stood before that place of memory and gave yield to the desire of bringing such a past back from it's place. So boldly then did her first steps upon that trail come with greater strength given, for it was her heart that pressed her forward and she knew then that she would not give rest to such a burning heart until she once more clutches that memory in her hands.

All together there was,

"Alex! His name was Alex!" A prideful smile.

"Alex," She whispered to herself as her longing teary eyes rested upon that white mask in her hands, "That's your name... isn't it." A restless dream.

"You'll be there... won't you, Alex?" A determined heart.

His eyes opened to a place of unmarked graves.

There was wind;

There was dust.




Alias: King
How did you find us?: Kadmin
Experience: 10+ years.
Other Characters: Not yet.
RP Sample:

There was snow.

White snow.

Pure snow and it covered the city as a soft blanket that hid the waste and refuse beneath it's purity. Such a snow was soft, softer still then the wool of a young sheep, and yet it was colder then a bath of ice in a summer's day, Alexander was not afflicted for he walked with this snow and only he saw the snow for it was his snow and no one else's.

But Alexander was human indeed and as a human indeed he instinctively sought to find shelter from this snow that covered all in it's pure white essence, because hiding from the cold was what humans did, indeed. Favored by fortune, or powers divine, Alexander walked amongst buildings of old which laid a wasteful and forgotten memory of a time long past and more prosperous then this one.

When he at last came to a place with unlocked doors he rested and waited for the snow outside to melt back to the waters that returned to the sky and yet he watched such a snow from the windows as it fell from the heavens above with gentle caress against all it drifted upon. There, in that place, upon old steel grate floors, refuse, and waste he slept a sleep far from peaceful; for as much as the snow covered the streets, the buildings, the garbage, the cars, it did not hold back the nightmares, the plagues, the asphyxia that visited him often; much too often.

Sleep was not sleep.

Now Alexander walked this place perhaps still asleep, perhaps awakened with eyes wide open, perhaps in a state between both, and his face was not his face for that Mask, that White Mask of old, rested upon him and he was Alexander no more, or perhaps he was. Steps taken neither heavy nor light echoed too and fro as he etched carvings upon the wall. Loudly the scratching of brick against metal broke the serenity of the silence as that of a scream ringing abrupt in the mountaintops.

When such a stone was cast aside with a loud clashing of the metal floors kissed by the brick, therein was adorned upon the walls, upon the doors, upon the grates that covered the windows circles overlaid with X's all around, symbols appearing as letters but something much more then that; perhaps reflections of something not quite belonging, not quite light.

For whatever reason it may have been, this one, this White Mask, grasped a remnant of metal much greater in span then he, and he drug it across the floor. Such a sound echoed throughout as the shrill screech of a siren's song devoid of it's beauty but it was not alone. He took it to a supporting pillar and, with greater strength given, he struck such a pillar repeatedly, as though it were a bell to be struck in the morning hours before the rising of the sun, and it had been as though he had tried to wake a sleeping sleeper long slept in slumbering sleep.

And he continued this noise.

Taking the brick from the floor he threw it against the wall, taking his fist he struck the many doors, taking refuse and waste from the ground he threw it all against the wall; noise for the sake of noise or perhaps it had a greater purpose indeed, or perhaps it was insanity that gripped him and drove him to such nonsensical acts of noise for the sake of noise. Perhaps it was a sleeper sleeping that he tried to wake, perhaps it was a nightmarish waltz walked in his own sleep that he now danced unaware.

Perhaps all too aware.

There was in that place darkness,

There was in that place,

The White Mask,

And It watched as Watchers often did watch.



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