C. H. Ashpool
10-23-11, 09:57 PM
The False Saint. Disciple to None.
"Please sit down."
"Must I?" I balked. I always hated these interviews.
"In a word," the official mused, "yes."
"Not another time? I've got things to do, pal." I put emphasis on the false-friendship bit. I shoved my appointment contract in his face. Politely.
"You can either answer my very few questions, or you can go back to wherever-it-is you came from, if now isn't an appropriate time," he sniffed and gave me a tired look. "Either way, you're not getting past this office until we finish. However long this gets to take is entirely up to you."
What a dick...
Name: Cassius Horatius Ashpool
Age: 34,
Race: Human
Hair Color: Graying brown.
Eye Color: Steely blue.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 194
Occupation: Miracle-man and binder of demonic outsiders. False saint and crackpot are written in the margin.
Psychological assessment: A man on the fringe of sanity, Ashpool has a messiah-complex despite not being particularly religious. To the objectively-minded, he's a well-meaning humanist who believes in the greatness of the individual. While he's not terribly sarcastic, does have a tendency to turn language into a weapon when he's irritated. Very much a fan of the underdog, he feels a society ought to be judged according to the well-being of its least advantaged. Having been raised at a monastery and born of bad omen, he's come to reject any influence of a higher-power and disbelieves as a stubborn matter of principle. He is always calculating his situation, and the anxious thought it engenders occasionally brings out a few well-hidden but unsightly tics in his behavior.
Appearance: Clad in dirt-stained robes of a nonexistent order, he maintains the image of a cleric. His appearance suggests both scholarly learning and wearying travel.
Most noticeable is a more imposing height, though his composure and casual demeanor makes him approachable. His hair is kept short, usually something he seems to manage his own. Contained explosion is written in the margin.
Physically he is unexceptional. He's fit, but not muscular. Tall, but not advantageously so. "Wiry" fits Ashpool rather well. He moves as though the devil is on his heel, assuming he believed in one. If he were to try his hand at a carnival game of strength, he'd turn up on the "all elbows and knees" side of things. For what he lacks in strength, he's clearly made up for in underhandedness.
"Did you seriously write that? Tell me that's not public record."
History: Ashpool was born into the humble trappings of an orphan and under an unlucky omen. Thrice jinxed: the date, time, and location of his birth are unthinkably unfortunate circumstances. A stillborn child delivered at dusk, on the fourth day of the fourth month and abandoned on holy ground, what breathed life back into his body remains a mystery. Raised at the monastery under the care of the Priestly Order of the Pale Matron, he was given a scholar's education in exchange for a life of service to his fellow man.
He studied the concepts of rhabdomancy - divination and miracle-work through the use of a rod or staff. He paid particular interest to theoretical subjects of binding a possessing consciousness to physical matter, and channeling it to wield its power. He has enjoyed the study of alchemical steamwork, believing in a transcendent artifact of deliverance as the key to unlocking one's true potential: the Clemency Engine. He seems to have much to say on this subject, though becomes frustrated with those who have difficulty grasping concepts central to its implementation. As a hobby he has taken up an amateur interest at making balms and salves for healing purposes.
Skills:
Rhabdomancy: Cassius Horatius Ashpool claims to be able to use a rod or staff as an implement, through which he can work minor cantrips and scrying. Without patient preparation of a ritual, these abilities can be strained and sloppy. If needed to determine direction towards the subject of his divination, at least five to ten minutes would be needed to get a good bearing. Without adequate technique, he claims that unknown and often catastrophic effects can result - potentially leading to madness (a clear understatement). Use in combat would be ill-advised. He refers to his walking stick as a Hyperbolic Thaumaturgical Concentrator, though it clearly is a carved branch.
Salve Making: Given the correct components and oils, Ashpool can make balms for minor healing to stave off infection and cauterize wounds. This seems to be an amateur interest, at best.
Binding and Channeling: With the assumption that a broadly-conceived "demon" has manifested in a physical shell, living or inanimate, Ashpool claims to be able to exorcise these manifestations and resolve possessions and hauntings with the proper ritual. He claims he does not believe in the Great Nether or even the Antifirmament, and therefore cannot access these planes to banish marauding outsiders. It is unknown where these spirits go, but he claims to be able to channel their power for brief moments - often taking the form of enhanced physical feats and heightened senses based off of the nature of the bound spirit. If a bound spirit uses some degree of magical power, he claims to wield only a small fraction of it. I.e., nonsense.
"What do you mean, nonsense?!"
Equipment: a mundane, but carved walking stick. An iron rite-knife. Balm-maker's kit (oils, resins, herbs, fats, minerals, and roots needed to produce medical balms, serving as effective first-aid. Hooded robes under a leather cuirass. A wide and varied collection of pocket lint.
Companion: A rat named Mortiferrofax rides in the deep pockets of his robes. Morty for short.
"Alright, alright. Can I go now? I answered your stupid questions."
The Scara Brea official paused. "Actually..."
"Please sit down."
"Must I?" I balked. I always hated these interviews.
"In a word," the official mused, "yes."
"Not another time? I've got things to do, pal." I put emphasis on the false-friendship bit. I shoved my appointment contract in his face. Politely.
"You can either answer my very few questions, or you can go back to wherever-it-is you came from, if now isn't an appropriate time," he sniffed and gave me a tired look. "Either way, you're not getting past this office until we finish. However long this gets to take is entirely up to you."
What a dick...
Name: Cassius Horatius Ashpool
Age: 34,
Race: Human
Hair Color: Graying brown.
Eye Color: Steely blue.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 194
Occupation: Miracle-man and binder of demonic outsiders. False saint and crackpot are written in the margin.
Psychological assessment: A man on the fringe of sanity, Ashpool has a messiah-complex despite not being particularly religious. To the objectively-minded, he's a well-meaning humanist who believes in the greatness of the individual. While he's not terribly sarcastic, does have a tendency to turn language into a weapon when he's irritated. Very much a fan of the underdog, he feels a society ought to be judged according to the well-being of its least advantaged. Having been raised at a monastery and born of bad omen, he's come to reject any influence of a higher-power and disbelieves as a stubborn matter of principle. He is always calculating his situation, and the anxious thought it engenders occasionally brings out a few well-hidden but unsightly tics in his behavior.
Appearance: Clad in dirt-stained robes of a nonexistent order, he maintains the image of a cleric. His appearance suggests both scholarly learning and wearying travel.
Most noticeable is a more imposing height, though his composure and casual demeanor makes him approachable. His hair is kept short, usually something he seems to manage his own. Contained explosion is written in the margin.
Physically he is unexceptional. He's fit, but not muscular. Tall, but not advantageously so. "Wiry" fits Ashpool rather well. He moves as though the devil is on his heel, assuming he believed in one. If he were to try his hand at a carnival game of strength, he'd turn up on the "all elbows and knees" side of things. For what he lacks in strength, he's clearly made up for in underhandedness.
"Did you seriously write that? Tell me that's not public record."
History: Ashpool was born into the humble trappings of an orphan and under an unlucky omen. Thrice jinxed: the date, time, and location of his birth are unthinkably unfortunate circumstances. A stillborn child delivered at dusk, on the fourth day of the fourth month and abandoned on holy ground, what breathed life back into his body remains a mystery. Raised at the monastery under the care of the Priestly Order of the Pale Matron, he was given a scholar's education in exchange for a life of service to his fellow man.
He studied the concepts of rhabdomancy - divination and miracle-work through the use of a rod or staff. He paid particular interest to theoretical subjects of binding a possessing consciousness to physical matter, and channeling it to wield its power. He has enjoyed the study of alchemical steamwork, believing in a transcendent artifact of deliverance as the key to unlocking one's true potential: the Clemency Engine. He seems to have much to say on this subject, though becomes frustrated with those who have difficulty grasping concepts central to its implementation. As a hobby he has taken up an amateur interest at making balms and salves for healing purposes.
Skills:
Rhabdomancy: Cassius Horatius Ashpool claims to be able to use a rod or staff as an implement, through which he can work minor cantrips and scrying. Without patient preparation of a ritual, these abilities can be strained and sloppy. If needed to determine direction towards the subject of his divination, at least five to ten minutes would be needed to get a good bearing. Without adequate technique, he claims that unknown and often catastrophic effects can result - potentially leading to madness (a clear understatement). Use in combat would be ill-advised. He refers to his walking stick as a Hyperbolic Thaumaturgical Concentrator, though it clearly is a carved branch.
Salve Making: Given the correct components and oils, Ashpool can make balms for minor healing to stave off infection and cauterize wounds. This seems to be an amateur interest, at best.
Binding and Channeling: With the assumption that a broadly-conceived "demon" has manifested in a physical shell, living or inanimate, Ashpool claims to be able to exorcise these manifestations and resolve possessions and hauntings with the proper ritual. He claims he does not believe in the Great Nether or even the Antifirmament, and therefore cannot access these planes to banish marauding outsiders. It is unknown where these spirits go, but he claims to be able to channel their power for brief moments - often taking the form of enhanced physical feats and heightened senses based off of the nature of the bound spirit. If a bound spirit uses some degree of magical power, he claims to wield only a small fraction of it. I.e., nonsense.
"What do you mean, nonsense?!"
Equipment: a mundane, but carved walking stick. An iron rite-knife. Balm-maker's kit (oils, resins, herbs, fats, minerals, and roots needed to produce medical balms, serving as effective first-aid. Hooded robes under a leather cuirass. A wide and varied collection of pocket lint.
Companion: A rat named Mortiferrofax rides in the deep pockets of his robes. Morty for short.
"Alright, alright. Can I go now? I answered your stupid questions."
The Scara Brea official paused. "Actually..."