Percival Ozymandius

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Basic Information~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Percival Ozymandius

Alias:

Gender: Male

Age: 65

Race: Undead

Class: Demon

Rank: Unbound

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Blood Type(Optional): Don't have a whole lot left


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Appearance~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appearance: Percival stands at an even six feet with the decrepit stench of a much younger zombie. His flesh stopped peeling off his many decades ago, and now his hard skin can almost pass for merely an unkempt hermit.

Height: 6'0 on a day when everything is where it should be.

Weight: 135, I'm all skin and bones

Body Type: I'm all skin and bones

Extra Feature:

Voice: A mild tenor tone

Extra Clothing/Gear: His clothing looks better than he does, but that's not saying a whole lot. He scavenges from here and there, mainly there given his chemical abundant abode, but pulls off a wardrobe that makes him more approachable by the meatbags of the world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Persona~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Personality: Ever the opportunist Percival made great strides in a series of potions and devices that could cure disease and reverse aging. Funny story, it's not that they didn't work; it's that it worked far better than he hoped for. With the twist on his life at hand, and an eternity to laugh at the joke, Percival hunkered down for an amusing after life that would leave him in stitches.

Aging away in a home that will give out before his spark of life will presents Percival with all of the moments of clarity that come when you forget something just to remember it all over again. With an uncontrollable thirst for human life, Percival manages to control it quite well. Afterall, humans live so far away, why go to them when you can always sell them potions in exchange for blood and other body parts that could come in handy; who am I kidding, who doesn't need a spare arm or two.

Likes: Afterlife. Potions. Devices. Flowers.

Dislikes: Not being able to find that tool I just had here three years ago.

Goals: It's more of the journey, not the destination, that makes the trip worth it.

Fears: Joking right?

Strength:

You'd be surprised how much time you have on your hands when you don't have skin there.

All his potions keep his customers coming back for more.

Weakness:

Flying machine made more zombie candidates than his worst potions.

Inside lies a fearless inventor; outside lies a rotting zombie. You don't need Magellan to draw a map on which one people see first.

Extra Information

I don't like the way the village kids wear their hair, and they need to stay off my lawn, dammit!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~History~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

History:

Percival grew up alone in a plague filled town. By the time he reached the age of five, his family passed away. The town barely kept enough supplies to manage, and by the time he could read, the town of two hundred dwindled down to less than twenty. Plague doctors came to the town to administer tests on the bodies to detect any magical properties at work. The never shared what they learned that day, but a priest came the next day to sow the land with salt.

Percival and his new family of remained within the dying village as ordered by their lord. To grow crops on ground that remained usable, the villagers began to experiment with different kinds of soil treatment and chemical additives that they could use. Percival studied the worn tomes of alchemy and chemistry. Later in his childhood he took over the position of learned one from the dead shoulders of he who came before him. The village dwindled down to less than ten by the time he reached that his mid twenties, but he thought of new ways to surpass his elders before him.

Percival began taking extracts from roots that grew within the brittle village. He composed these into mixtures that would keep the townsfolk vivacious. All would work if not for the tainted soil that crawled with blistered disease. Slowly the townspeople succumbed to the cure that Percival made. While the others withered and rotted back to the soil, Percival continued to work away in the basement of the town hall. In the end Percival dies from dehydration and not from his own cure. At the age of thirty Percival and his village all began their slow return back to the Earth.

With the lack of nutrients from organic material, Percival's body absorbed the potions and reworked his tissue into an inanimate object that merely housed a talking collective of memories, opinions, and otherwise useful information.

After retiring from life, Percival finds his niche through continuing his work on potions and devices in a small shack in his now rundown and forgotten village.

I like it, I'll say

APPROVED, unless stated otherwise

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