Drároth

I’ve thought about rping in the past, but never actually done it before. So here goes…


Name: Drároth.

Age: Fetchs don’t age, so it is irrelevant.

Race: Fetch.

Sex: N/A (Fetchs don’t have genders, though I shall refer to Drároth as male).

Eyes: Milky white, pupil-less.

Weight: 2lbs.

Height: 11inch actual height. 6ft (usually) including spectral body.

Race: Fetchs reproduce in a manner similar to cellular division, and the newly born Fetch retains all the memories of its parent. They can live indefinitely so long as they don’t starve or their core isn’t destroyed.

There are two parts to a fetch: Its spectral body, which can change shape and be used for defence, assault or (more usually) for manipulating its environment. The core of a fetch, resembles the skull of a bird and acts as their anchor to the physical world. If destroyed their spectral body simply dissipates.

Fetchs are carrion feeders that feed off the remaining ‘life energy’ of the recently deceased. They seemingly have the ability to sense when someone’s death is near and, because of this, they are seen as bad omens and are persecuted on many worlds. Though to most, they are merely scary tales to tell children.

They are solitary creatures and usually stay away from human settlements. They only gather in groups when there is a large number of dead (e.g. after a battle or a plague).

Fetchs also have the ability to sense weakness in the fabric of reality and, if large enough, they can use these tears to move between worlds.

Weapon/Armour: His only real weapon or armour is his spectral body which can change shape and consistency at will. In a fight he would usually morph a sphere around his head (the core of a fetch) while projecting several tentacle-like arms with which he would lashes out at his enemy.

Strengths: He doesn’t need to sleep nor does he tire and his strength is greater than a human. His spectral body makes him strong against physical attacks and because he floats, difficult terrain doesn’t pose much of a problem. He is completely immune to psionic communication and manipulation.

Weaknesses: His inexperience with fighting means he is prone to making mistakes and he often repeats the same tactics. But magic is his real Achilles heel in that he has no magical (or psionic) ability and his spectral body provides no real defence against those kind of attacks. If hardened, his spectral body will become gradually weaker (softer) after repeated blows. His core is his most vulnerable point, it is quite fragile and if destroyed, he dies.

Skill/Magic: His skills mostly revolve around his spectral body, which can change shape and become hard as rock or as soft as butter at will. He also floats just above the ground.

Mimic: Like all fetchs, Drároth can assume the appearance of a nearby person for a short amount of time, though his eyes remain unchanged. He can take the natural strengths and weaknesses of a person and their weapons and armour, but not any magical, technological or psionic abilities or enhancements. He is also unable to mimic ranged weapons.

Hide: Fetchs have the ability to blend in with the scenery, and can become almost completely unnoticeable, though they must remain motionless. This is their primary defence.

Appearance: He appears to be a human, wearing a hooded cloak and a bird skull-like mask.

Please forgive my crude sketches.



Personality: Drároth is usually quiet and contemplative, but also has a childlike curiosity of other races and, given the chance, will bombard people with questions about their lives and the use of various items. Like all fetchs, he dislikes violence but will defend himself if necessary. He also never holds grudges and will forgive any transgression made towards him. He also does not understand the concepts of sarcasm or deceit and usually takes things at face value.

Background: Drároth is something of an oddity among fetchs, in that he does not retain the memories of his parent. He has also become enamoured by the other races; their cultures and their creations, and has made it his mission in life to learn as much of them and their ways as he can. Though this has, more often than not, brought him into conflict with them.

-----

The man had been walking through this godforsaken wasteland for days now; ever since his caravan had been ambushed. He knew that he wasn’t long left for this world, though he continue his desperate journey toward (he hoped) civilization, anyway. But for miles in every direction, lay only scorched earth.

A growing flock of vultures had begun circling high above, but those weren’t what worried him. Trailing him, not far behind, was a fetch. A despicable creature of darkness, a stealer of souls.

When he noticed that omen of doom, early that morning, he knew his time was at an end. But that didn’t mean he was going to give up without a fight.

“Don’t think I can’t see you!” he growled at the spectre. The shadow seemed to hesitate for a moment, surprising the man, before continuing in his wake. The fetch couldn’t possibly have understood his words. He shook his head, the heat must be starting to me, he thought.

As the day ground on, he could feel himself grow weaker and weaker. Every step he made, becoming more and more difficult and, even with the makeshift walking stick he had found, his balance was abandoning him.

He felt a chill run down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His heart raced in his chest as he spun, coming face to blank face with the creature.

“Stay away from me!” he cried and staggered towards the fetch, waving the large stick about but missing it completely. He fell to his knees panting, dropping the stick. “I’m not going to let you have my soul,” he said defiantly, though not sounding so sure himself.

The man tried to stand again, but now he was too weak. His legs buckled and he collapsed face-first onto the ground. With some effort he managed to roll onto his back and he saw that the creature now stood over him.

“Why do you torture me like this?” He closed his heavy eyelids, he was so very tired.

“Why do you fight against the inevitable?” came a hollow voice; sounding as if it were coming from some great distance.

Through bleary eyes he looked up at the creature, unsure as to whether he was losing his mind. It just stood there, looking down at him unblinkingly.

He gave a derisive snort, he was losing it. Fetchs can’t talk, and there was no one else in view.

“Survival.” the hollow voice came again.

Again, there was not a sole, only the dark shape of the fetch standing over him, as still as a statue.

These were his final moments, he thought, he might as well play along. “But your survival comes at the cost of others!”

The creature continued to look blankly at him. “Do you not eat the flesh of animals?”

“But that‘s different,” the man breathed, his voice beginning to fail him.

“How is that any different from my consuming you?”

“Humans are intelligent!” he protested, “We have a soul.”

“Are you sure?” The fetch, cocked its head slightly to one side, questioningly.

“Yes!” the man snapped, before his head fell and he released a defeated sigh from his parched lips. “But what does it matter now. You’re going to take it as soon as I die.”

“I can assure you that your soul is your own.” But the fetch’s words provided no consolation, for the man had already passed.

It shook its head ever so slightly. “Humans are strange creatures, indeed.” It could never understand why these humans needed to delude themselves into thinking they were somehow special, somehow unique among all others.

The vultures screeched impatiently from above, hungry to get their beaks into fresh flesh. But they wouldn’t dare approach a fetch, so they settled for screeching impotently from the safety of the sky. They knew their turn would come soon enough, though.

Neat. Very interesting seeing this type of character. It's unique. I like it. But anyways, you've got everything as far as I'm concerned.

*approved*

Wow, thanks! That was faster and easier than I thought it would be. Phew