Angel Under Glass
05-21-07, 06:39 AM
Name: Tzaphiel
Age: appears 10
Race: construct
Hair Color: ivory
Eye Color: black
Height: 3’1”
Weight: 65lbs
Location: Ruins on Istraloth’s outer shore
History:
A small boy watched silently from the beach as the half-sunken tower crumbled to its final rest under the waves. The thin windows, lit like a jack-o-lantern, winked out one by one, leaving only faint plumes of smoke above the dancing water’s surface. Ripples subtle and calm, contrary to the destruction only moments old, pushed at the tips of his shoes.
They pushed harder, and he looked down at what they bore. It was a simple little box of dark wood, lovingly polished. A mechanical latch clicked within and a rough tube, barely visible through a murky window, began to turn. A voice lifted from it like the jittery song of a music box.
“Um… yes. What was this again? Oh yes. This is a record of my research regarding my grandson… er. Well, he is to me. My peers may disagree, but they have done so before. Many times, actually.” It was a male voice, tired, more so than the rickety device should have lent it to be. Despite that, it was a very pleasant voice, the kind that rocked children to sleep.
Another wave lapped against the box, tugging it back off the beach. With a near inaudible gasp, the boy grabbed it from the ocean’s fingers and hugged it to his chest.
The voice continued, sounding abashed at having left the topic. “Tzaphiel is the name I have given him. ‘Angel of the Moon’, I’m told it means. Jolly fitting too. He was born under a full moon, and his eyes still track it from window to window every night.
“Tzaphiel is an ‘inhabited construct’, as I term them. That’s essentially an automaton enchanted with all the properties of a soul. Details of the process can be found on other rolls in my library. I believe it’s called…” There was suddenly the sound of wooden object clattering across stone. “Biscuit!” he cursed, and the boy’s narrow mouth curved up slightly. “Um… I’ll have to pick those up later. The one I was talking about is there somewhere. It should be easy to find once I build a proper case for them.
“As I was saying before I got all clumsy… What was I saying? His birth! Yes, yes. More creation than birth, really, if we must be technical. Building the body was a relatively simple endeavor, though I’m sure few have heard of the materials used. The story of those expeditions is here… on the floor somewhere. To summarize, the properties of his flesh are like leather. I think.” There was a flurry of scuttling footsteps, followed by a small sigh. “Oh, I woke you, did I? Sorry, my boy. Just poking your arm for scientific reasons. I’ll let you sleep.”
“He doesn’t talk yet,” the elderly voice said with an unusual vigor. “Doesn’t even move, really. He looks around like a popinjay, though, always watching what I’m up to. Not much of it is exciting, though. I’m sure he’ll chastise me someday for being such a boring old coot.
“There I go again, off on tangents. I was talking about his body, right? Right. He doesn’t have any blood, at least on this plane. It’s more of an ether, as the spiritualists speak of it. Anyone who practices enough can see it. He almost glows with it. But, of course, I’ve been doing these experiments for decades. To most people, he looks like a normal, healthy scrap of a boy.
“The skeleton is mythril. I had the source material shipped in at quite a pretty penny. Understandable, seeing as it’s quite a chore for the traders to get their ships this close to the ruins. The spookies bother them. I haven’t had any trouble for a long time, though, since I made peace with the poor entities haunting this place. It’s because of them that my research is possible, actually. They provided the seed of a soul that I placed into Tzaphiel’s heart at his birth. It might just be my old mind’s eye playing tricks on me, but I swear I can see it growing bit by bit each day.
“Oh yes, his heart. I haven’t mentioned that. The core of the system, as they say. It was once the motor from my favorite clock. I tinkered with it quite a bit. I suppose… if I were to describe it, it would be a spiritual capacitor. You can actually hear it if you put your ear to his chest, especially when he’s watching the moon. I’ve noticed that under that light, the majority of spirits get livelier than a barn dance. It makes him smile, which I wish I could record on these rolls. Truly priceless. Always makes me a bit sentimental.” There was a loud sniffle, then the blast of a tissue being used. “I should stop for now. I’ll record more later.”
All then fell into silence. Even the lapping of the dark waves was unnoticeable. The child hugged the box tighter and mouthed the word “Please”.
The voice suddenly returned, nearly frantic. “Aha! Found it!” The familiar sound of wooden bars skittering across a stone floor was just fading. “I have to record this at the moment it’s happening. His first steps! My boy’s growing up.” There was the sound of the man’s own footsteps, livelier that one half his age, as he hurried somewhere.
“He’s out on the little balcony at the south wall, watching the moon. Oh my! From here I can hear his little heart ticking.” It was audible under the voice, a steady excited beat. The child heard the ticking in his chest rise to synchronization with the recording, and he followed the urge to look at the half-moon that looked sadly upon him now.
“He noticed me! Oh, look at him smile. I’ve never seen him smile so much.” The child did smile, though it was sorrowful. The moon’s image in his dark eyes was smudged with moisture. “Come here, Tzaphiel. Come to grandpa,” the voice coaxed, and the response was heard as a steady pitter-patter like a metronome. “He walks so precisely, like he’s been planning it out for a long time. You must have been, my boy. I knew you were always thinking. So smart!”
Rough cloth shifted as two bodies hugged, accompanied only by the old man’s happy sniffles. “You’re growing up, my dear boy,” he whispered. A squeak followed, like a bird trying to sing notes beyond its reach. “Don’t worry. You’ll talk in time. All things in time, Tzaphiel.”
The voice abruptly perked up with realization. “Your mother hasn’t seen! Cecily! Come-“ Abruptly, like a strike across the face, the roll stopped turning. Tzaphiel waited. The moon moved from overhead to just above the horizon, and his heart pleaded loudly the whole time. But, there was nothing else said.
Sunlight spilled over his shoulder in what seemed an instant. Before him, the ruins of an old city lay submerged. A few turrets rose above the waterline, but there was one less than there should have been. It was the only one he knew, and as much as he darted his eyes back and forth it didn’t rise into view.
As he searched, he saw movement farther up the beach. With rapid, precise steps, he struck out towards it. He didn’t know what it was until he was nearly tripping over it. A mass of seaweed ran from the crown, covering all except grey arms and legs as the figure crawled from the waves.
“Mother?” he breathed, making just enough sound for her to stop her unnatural shuffle and look up. What face there had once been was gone, smashed to rubble and leaving only a bed of ruined stone like that which slept in the water. Lurching forward, her cold arms circled around him and squeezed until he made a soft whimper, more concern than pain. The pressure lessened as her arms went limp with sudden weakness, and it was all the child could do to hold her up. For a long time, they stayed braced against each other like twigs. Both silent, though each could feel the sadness between them.
Eventually, her hand moved through the knee-high water. With a grating sound, it found a large object. Tzaphiel turned to see what it was, but he only caught a metallic glint as she lifted it behind his back and pressed the cold, cool surface to his spine. It set itself there as if sinking into mud, painless and welcoming. He cracked a faint smile in recognition. The spirit in that metal was like grandfather’s, but not exactly the same. “From your father’s hand, with your grandfather’s love,” came the voice from his mothers stone face as its surface cracked and rained chips into the water. Then, slumping, she slid off his shoulder with all the weight of a stone slab.
Tzaphiel let her fall. He didn’t even move as the ocean splashed up into his face with features blank and quivering. “Don’t go,” he cried louder than he had ever spoken before. To his eyes, her spirit lifted from her form, a gentle light that cradled him with more softness than her form could. “Don’t go,” he pleaded again. She heard him, and her light lowered to his chest. Like descending into a warm bath, he felt it wash over his flesh. His clockwork heart creaked as it drank, and the speaking box he held grew lukewarm as her essence poured into it. “Mother,” he whispered with a brave smile, and he hugged the box as if all that joy he faintly remembered was contained within.
Personality: Tzaphiel is a quiet, polite boy. He doesn’t have any vices or angry streaks. But, he also has little enthusiasm. An eternal follower, he will go were the nearest friendly face beckons with no worry for the consequences.
Appearance: He has the body of a normal child of ten. However, his hair is shining silver, and his eyes are pitch black, much like the stories told in some countries of black-eyed children that arrive at the door with an aura of horror and a request to be let it. While he isn’t malicious in the least, many feel that fear, especially where the stories are prominent. The only clothing he wears is a pair of pale white shorts, much like swimming trunks. Over that, and normally obscuring all but his head, is a forest green traveling cloak.
Equipment:
Mother ~ His name for the fist-sized box that records and plays audio on wooden cylinders. Like everything his grandfather created, there is a heavy spiritual component to its workings. To his senses, hugging it feels like being in his mother’s embrace. He wears it on a cord around his neck so that it rests against his chest under the cloak.
Father ~ While he does not remember much of what his mother was referring to, he understands the protective warmth he feels from the steel blade fused to his spine by its flat. It ends, hiltless, at the base of his neck and continues to a point behind his knees. Because of this, he can’t sit down without getting hung up.
He cannot remove it from his body, and he doesn’t understand how it is supposed to work. All that he has been able to learn is that it’s very blunt and has what feels like seams going down the length of it.
Composition ~ His flesh is tough and somewhat sticky below the surface so that it can seal when broken, though that takes as much time as a normal human’s healing. He does not bleed, but muscle groups can be cut to render him immobile.
His skeleton is mythril, and generally in proportion to a human skeleton. He has no other defenses and if he’s cut enough for his skeleton to come into play, his combat abilities will likely be hampered already. (An unforeseen consequence of the magics and the speed of his construction is that the mythril, while cool to the touch, is molecularly in a somewhat molten state. This renders it as strong as steel for now, though still as light as mythril.)
His heart is a clockwork contraption of gears, cogs, and glass ether chambers. If it is destroyed or prevented from functioning, he dies just as anyone else would.
Abilities:
Moonlife ~ His heart winds itself up to store power while he watches the moon. The image of it, reflected in his dark eyes, causes his spirit to become as lively as normal living souls. That energy is preserved for sustaining him when his souls returns to its normal lethargic state during the day. If he goes more than two days without charging, he will become very tired and weak, as well as mentally exhausted. There are some symptoms of this during the new moon, for he cannot power himself from what he cannot see.
Precision ~ Despite a lack of experience, he’s very intelligent when it comes to planning physical movements. He can calculate approximately how much force is needed and uses it economically. Due to this, he’s a bit faster than one would expect of a child, and his accuracy is above average when throwing objects that he has done test throws with.
Perception ~ When Tzaphiel concentrates, he can see spirits that have a strong presence. His vision of them is very clear if he knew the spirit, whether in life or unlife.
Age: appears 10
Race: construct
Hair Color: ivory
Eye Color: black
Height: 3’1”
Weight: 65lbs
Location: Ruins on Istraloth’s outer shore
History:
A small boy watched silently from the beach as the half-sunken tower crumbled to its final rest under the waves. The thin windows, lit like a jack-o-lantern, winked out one by one, leaving only faint plumes of smoke above the dancing water’s surface. Ripples subtle and calm, contrary to the destruction only moments old, pushed at the tips of his shoes.
They pushed harder, and he looked down at what they bore. It was a simple little box of dark wood, lovingly polished. A mechanical latch clicked within and a rough tube, barely visible through a murky window, began to turn. A voice lifted from it like the jittery song of a music box.
“Um… yes. What was this again? Oh yes. This is a record of my research regarding my grandson… er. Well, he is to me. My peers may disagree, but they have done so before. Many times, actually.” It was a male voice, tired, more so than the rickety device should have lent it to be. Despite that, it was a very pleasant voice, the kind that rocked children to sleep.
Another wave lapped against the box, tugging it back off the beach. With a near inaudible gasp, the boy grabbed it from the ocean’s fingers and hugged it to his chest.
The voice continued, sounding abashed at having left the topic. “Tzaphiel is the name I have given him. ‘Angel of the Moon’, I’m told it means. Jolly fitting too. He was born under a full moon, and his eyes still track it from window to window every night.
“Tzaphiel is an ‘inhabited construct’, as I term them. That’s essentially an automaton enchanted with all the properties of a soul. Details of the process can be found on other rolls in my library. I believe it’s called…” There was suddenly the sound of wooden object clattering across stone. “Biscuit!” he cursed, and the boy’s narrow mouth curved up slightly. “Um… I’ll have to pick those up later. The one I was talking about is there somewhere. It should be easy to find once I build a proper case for them.
“As I was saying before I got all clumsy… What was I saying? His birth! Yes, yes. More creation than birth, really, if we must be technical. Building the body was a relatively simple endeavor, though I’m sure few have heard of the materials used. The story of those expeditions is here… on the floor somewhere. To summarize, the properties of his flesh are like leather. I think.” There was a flurry of scuttling footsteps, followed by a small sigh. “Oh, I woke you, did I? Sorry, my boy. Just poking your arm for scientific reasons. I’ll let you sleep.”
“He doesn’t talk yet,” the elderly voice said with an unusual vigor. “Doesn’t even move, really. He looks around like a popinjay, though, always watching what I’m up to. Not much of it is exciting, though. I’m sure he’ll chastise me someday for being such a boring old coot.
“There I go again, off on tangents. I was talking about his body, right? Right. He doesn’t have any blood, at least on this plane. It’s more of an ether, as the spiritualists speak of it. Anyone who practices enough can see it. He almost glows with it. But, of course, I’ve been doing these experiments for decades. To most people, he looks like a normal, healthy scrap of a boy.
“The skeleton is mythril. I had the source material shipped in at quite a pretty penny. Understandable, seeing as it’s quite a chore for the traders to get their ships this close to the ruins. The spookies bother them. I haven’t had any trouble for a long time, though, since I made peace with the poor entities haunting this place. It’s because of them that my research is possible, actually. They provided the seed of a soul that I placed into Tzaphiel’s heart at his birth. It might just be my old mind’s eye playing tricks on me, but I swear I can see it growing bit by bit each day.
“Oh yes, his heart. I haven’t mentioned that. The core of the system, as they say. It was once the motor from my favorite clock. I tinkered with it quite a bit. I suppose… if I were to describe it, it would be a spiritual capacitor. You can actually hear it if you put your ear to his chest, especially when he’s watching the moon. I’ve noticed that under that light, the majority of spirits get livelier than a barn dance. It makes him smile, which I wish I could record on these rolls. Truly priceless. Always makes me a bit sentimental.” There was a loud sniffle, then the blast of a tissue being used. “I should stop for now. I’ll record more later.”
All then fell into silence. Even the lapping of the dark waves was unnoticeable. The child hugged the box tighter and mouthed the word “Please”.
The voice suddenly returned, nearly frantic. “Aha! Found it!” The familiar sound of wooden bars skittering across a stone floor was just fading. “I have to record this at the moment it’s happening. His first steps! My boy’s growing up.” There was the sound of the man’s own footsteps, livelier that one half his age, as he hurried somewhere.
“He’s out on the little balcony at the south wall, watching the moon. Oh my! From here I can hear his little heart ticking.” It was audible under the voice, a steady excited beat. The child heard the ticking in his chest rise to synchronization with the recording, and he followed the urge to look at the half-moon that looked sadly upon him now.
“He noticed me! Oh, look at him smile. I’ve never seen him smile so much.” The child did smile, though it was sorrowful. The moon’s image in his dark eyes was smudged with moisture. “Come here, Tzaphiel. Come to grandpa,” the voice coaxed, and the response was heard as a steady pitter-patter like a metronome. “He walks so precisely, like he’s been planning it out for a long time. You must have been, my boy. I knew you were always thinking. So smart!”
Rough cloth shifted as two bodies hugged, accompanied only by the old man’s happy sniffles. “You’re growing up, my dear boy,” he whispered. A squeak followed, like a bird trying to sing notes beyond its reach. “Don’t worry. You’ll talk in time. All things in time, Tzaphiel.”
The voice abruptly perked up with realization. “Your mother hasn’t seen! Cecily! Come-“ Abruptly, like a strike across the face, the roll stopped turning. Tzaphiel waited. The moon moved from overhead to just above the horizon, and his heart pleaded loudly the whole time. But, there was nothing else said.
Sunlight spilled over his shoulder in what seemed an instant. Before him, the ruins of an old city lay submerged. A few turrets rose above the waterline, but there was one less than there should have been. It was the only one he knew, and as much as he darted his eyes back and forth it didn’t rise into view.
As he searched, he saw movement farther up the beach. With rapid, precise steps, he struck out towards it. He didn’t know what it was until he was nearly tripping over it. A mass of seaweed ran from the crown, covering all except grey arms and legs as the figure crawled from the waves.
“Mother?” he breathed, making just enough sound for her to stop her unnatural shuffle and look up. What face there had once been was gone, smashed to rubble and leaving only a bed of ruined stone like that which slept in the water. Lurching forward, her cold arms circled around him and squeezed until he made a soft whimper, more concern than pain. The pressure lessened as her arms went limp with sudden weakness, and it was all the child could do to hold her up. For a long time, they stayed braced against each other like twigs. Both silent, though each could feel the sadness between them.
Eventually, her hand moved through the knee-high water. With a grating sound, it found a large object. Tzaphiel turned to see what it was, but he only caught a metallic glint as she lifted it behind his back and pressed the cold, cool surface to his spine. It set itself there as if sinking into mud, painless and welcoming. He cracked a faint smile in recognition. The spirit in that metal was like grandfather’s, but not exactly the same. “From your father’s hand, with your grandfather’s love,” came the voice from his mothers stone face as its surface cracked and rained chips into the water. Then, slumping, she slid off his shoulder with all the weight of a stone slab.
Tzaphiel let her fall. He didn’t even move as the ocean splashed up into his face with features blank and quivering. “Don’t go,” he cried louder than he had ever spoken before. To his eyes, her spirit lifted from her form, a gentle light that cradled him with more softness than her form could. “Don’t go,” he pleaded again. She heard him, and her light lowered to his chest. Like descending into a warm bath, he felt it wash over his flesh. His clockwork heart creaked as it drank, and the speaking box he held grew lukewarm as her essence poured into it. “Mother,” he whispered with a brave smile, and he hugged the box as if all that joy he faintly remembered was contained within.
Personality: Tzaphiel is a quiet, polite boy. He doesn’t have any vices or angry streaks. But, he also has little enthusiasm. An eternal follower, he will go were the nearest friendly face beckons with no worry for the consequences.
Appearance: He has the body of a normal child of ten. However, his hair is shining silver, and his eyes are pitch black, much like the stories told in some countries of black-eyed children that arrive at the door with an aura of horror and a request to be let it. While he isn’t malicious in the least, many feel that fear, especially where the stories are prominent. The only clothing he wears is a pair of pale white shorts, much like swimming trunks. Over that, and normally obscuring all but his head, is a forest green traveling cloak.
Equipment:
Mother ~ His name for the fist-sized box that records and plays audio on wooden cylinders. Like everything his grandfather created, there is a heavy spiritual component to its workings. To his senses, hugging it feels like being in his mother’s embrace. He wears it on a cord around his neck so that it rests against his chest under the cloak.
Father ~ While he does not remember much of what his mother was referring to, he understands the protective warmth he feels from the steel blade fused to his spine by its flat. It ends, hiltless, at the base of his neck and continues to a point behind his knees. Because of this, he can’t sit down without getting hung up.
He cannot remove it from his body, and he doesn’t understand how it is supposed to work. All that he has been able to learn is that it’s very blunt and has what feels like seams going down the length of it.
Composition ~ His flesh is tough and somewhat sticky below the surface so that it can seal when broken, though that takes as much time as a normal human’s healing. He does not bleed, but muscle groups can be cut to render him immobile.
His skeleton is mythril, and generally in proportion to a human skeleton. He has no other defenses and if he’s cut enough for his skeleton to come into play, his combat abilities will likely be hampered already. (An unforeseen consequence of the magics and the speed of his construction is that the mythril, while cool to the touch, is molecularly in a somewhat molten state. This renders it as strong as steel for now, though still as light as mythril.)
His heart is a clockwork contraption of gears, cogs, and glass ether chambers. If it is destroyed or prevented from functioning, he dies just as anyone else would.
Abilities:
Moonlife ~ His heart winds itself up to store power while he watches the moon. The image of it, reflected in his dark eyes, causes his spirit to become as lively as normal living souls. That energy is preserved for sustaining him when his souls returns to its normal lethargic state during the day. If he goes more than two days without charging, he will become very tired and weak, as well as mentally exhausted. There are some symptoms of this during the new moon, for he cannot power himself from what he cannot see.
Precision ~ Despite a lack of experience, he’s very intelligent when it comes to planning physical movements. He can calculate approximately how much force is needed and uses it economically. Due to this, he’s a bit faster than one would expect of a child, and his accuracy is above average when throwing objects that he has done test throws with.
Perception ~ When Tzaphiel concentrates, he can see spirits that have a strong presence. His vision of them is very clear if he knew the spirit, whether in life or unlife.