Strange Alchemies
Transmutations in the flesh
Stats & Description
Description:
His face was a square, rugged cut with a strong chin. Yet his eyes were haunting in how they set within his face, this stormy blue-grey that reflected turbulent skies. His skin was peaked, but not completely unnormal. An ashen hue lingered subtly in his skintone. He had a strange gangliness that flowed into his thick and stocky form, with long limbs and a burly thickness to his chest. Those eyes lay behind granny-styled glasses, adding a touch of intelligence to a rather stormy visage. Running from his right eyelid to his neck was a long, vertical scar. His hair was untidy, left to hang limply to the middle of his ear and nose. The color of it was a washed out mahogany; highlights of ash darkened here and there. Lean upper body was clad in a ankle length, double-breasted, khaki trenchcoat. Under this he wore a weatherworn, dust colored waistcoat and simple button down grey and black flanel shirt, the kind that was built for outdoor life. His legs were within sturdy trousers, resembling charcoal fatigues. Sturdy leather boots of hardy construction reached to mid-calf under trouser legs, the leather well crafted with a soft polish to them. His hands lay within ebony colored gloves of canvas, stretching just a bit past his wrist and into the sleeves of his jacket. A belt hung on his hip, black leather with a tempered steel buckle. On it hung a simple holster, locked and in easy reach. Within that holster was a oak grip, finished in a dark stain. The pistol it was attached to was a brawny piece of craftmenship. Eight chambered cylinder gleamed brightly while ten inch barrel of rigid tempered steel set snugly in the holster.
The Disfigurement: When the facade was fallen, a nightmarish scene was delivered. His skin was grey and clammy, with the touch of blue discoloration one sees in a freshly dead corpse. His entire body lay disfigured under lines of stitching, holding his parts together grotesquely, like a jigsaw puzzle. His eyes glowed with a menacing spark of electrical current, while wires could be seen running along the bones under the skin, his fingers held by metallic frames under the pallid corpse skin. The skin itself clung tightly to his features, looking as if it could barely contain the muscles and organs within. From the back of his neck, and down his back, ran two columns of bolt-like studs that were anchored in the flesh with two mechnical plugs anchored into his temples.
Reference picture for gun
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Name: Yamiiel Sslagath
Codename: Paracelsus
Height: 6'1
Weight: 183 pounds
Age: Unknown (appears in his late twenties)
Gender: Male
Species: Promethean
Promethean Lineage: Wretched
Refinement: Ferrum
Weaponry: one .460/.454/.45 caliber revolver with semi-jacketed bullets
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Status: ...He's a freak stitched of stolen body parts and animated by chaotic supernatural energy, what in hell do you think?
Occupation: private investigator.
Alignment: Lawful, to an extent. Nuetral, but committed to keeping the peace
Origin: Unknown
Family: ...
Relationship status: Unknown
Residence: Anyplace he can eat, sleep undisturbed and reload his gun, uses the Tether as a hub for finding clients
Demeanor: Cold at times to most "normies" he runs into, and mildly lukewarm at best to those he talks to. When business is involved, Yamii is very polite, prompt and considerate. Calculation runs deep into his eyes and the analytical intelligence he has makes him arrogently wise at times or unflinchingly unsympathetic. However, when he has had time to know someone he can be a rather warm and extremely considerate person but should he be betrayed, his wrath burns white hot and rages like a storm unleashed upon the mountainside.
His face was a square, rugged cut with a strong chin. Yet his eyes were haunting in how they set within his face, this stormy blue-grey that reflected turbulent skies. His skin was peaked, but not completely unnormal. An ashen hue lingered subtly in his skintone. He had a strange gangliness that flowed into his thick and stocky form, with long limbs and a burly thickness to his chest. Those eyes lay behind granny-styled glasses, adding a touch of intelligence to a rather stormy visage. Running from his right eyelid to his neck was a long, vertical scar. His hair was untidy, left to hang limply to the middle of his ear and nose. The color of it was a washed out mahogany; highlights of ash darkened here and there. Lean upper body was clad in a ankle length, double-breasted, khaki trenchcoat. Under this he wore a weatherworn, dust colored waistcoat and simple button down grey and black flanel shirt, the kind that was built for outdoor life. His legs were within sturdy trousers, resembling charcoal fatigues. Sturdy leather boots of hardy construction reached to mid-calf under trouser legs, the leather well crafted with a soft polish to them. His hands lay within ebony colored gloves of canvas, stretching just a bit past his wrist and into the sleeves of his jacket. A belt hung on his hip, black leather with a tempered steel buckle. On it hung a simple holster, locked and in easy reach. Within that holster was a oak grip, finished in a dark stain. The pistol it was attached to was a brawny piece of craftmenship. Eight chambered cylinder gleamed brightly while ten inch barrel of rigid tempered steel set snugly in the holster.
The Disfigurement: When the facade was fallen, a nightmarish scene was delivered. His skin was grey and clammy, with the touch of blue discoloration one sees in a freshly dead corpse. His entire body lay disfigured under lines of stitching, holding his parts together grotesquely, like a jigsaw puzzle. His eyes glowed with a menacing spark of electrical current, while wires could be seen running along the bones under the skin, his fingers held by metallic frames under the pallid corpse skin. The skin itself clung tightly to his features, looking as if it could barely contain the muscles and organs within. From the back of his neck, and down his back, ran two columns of bolt-like studs that were anchored in the flesh with two mechnical plugs anchored into his temples.
Reference picture for gun
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Name: Yamiiel Sslagath
Codename: Paracelsus
Height: 6'1
Weight: 183 pounds
Age: Unknown (appears in his late twenties)
Gender: Male
Species: Promethean
Promethean Lineage: Wretched
Refinement: Ferrum
Weaponry: one .460/.454/.45 caliber revolver with semi-jacketed bullets
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Status: ...He's a freak stitched of stolen body parts and animated by chaotic supernatural energy, what in hell do you think?
Occupation: private investigator.
Alignment: Lawful, to an extent. Nuetral, but committed to keeping the peace
Origin: Unknown
Family: ...
Relationship status: Unknown
Residence: Anyplace he can eat, sleep undisturbed and reload his gun, uses the Tether as a hub for finding clients
Demeanor: Cold at times to most "normies" he runs into, and mildly lukewarm at best to those he talks to. When business is involved, Yamii is very polite, prompt and considerate. Calculation runs deep into his eyes and the analytical intelligence he has makes him arrogently wise at times or unflinchingly unsympathetic. However, when he has had time to know someone he can be a rather warm and extremely considerate person but should he be betrayed, his wrath burns white hot and rages like a storm unleashed upon the mountainside.