Post by Keegan on Nov 6, 2008 23:15:22 GMT -5
Name: Keegan
Alias: The Guarded Weaver
Age: 18
Height: 5’6’’
Gender: Male
Alliance: Order
Keyblade name: Continuum
Weapon: He can create pockets in which he can manipulate time, affecting anything within. Also, he wields a Keyblade named Continuum which he can force the strands of time through, turning several cogs and other gizmos, ultimately increasing the potency of his magic.
Bio: Being spat into a strange world with no memories of his past self, the confused nobody asked every passerby if they knew who he was. The busy citizens obviously had better things to do, and didn’t notice the pitiful street kid who claimed to not know his identity. Soon, it grew dark, and the spiteful men and women briskly walking to the next meeting or appointment thinned until the streets were empty. He wanted to hate the pretentious citizens, walking by with their groceries and carrying on with their hollow lives, but for reasons the confused nobody knew not of, couldn’t. Alone, the nobody sank deeper into the damp shadows of narrow alleys, and there he waited for his memories to return. Weeks passed, and eating out of dumpsters soon drove the kid to desperation. Madness started to creep into the spaces were memories should have been. He could feel it, and resisted as much as possible, knowing it would make it even harder to remember his identity. One cold autumn day, three homeless kids, who were known for causing serious mischief, came across the nobody. The leader, a dashing, arrogant-looking teenager, called out to him.
“Hey! Wha’chya doin out OUR turf eh? You think you can just waltz into any old alley and decide to make it yours? I think we need to show you how things work around here.” One of the miscreants, a massive brute, started to move in, grinding his scarred knuckled against a calloused palm. The nobody looked up at the approaching monstrosity, wondering why he felt no fear. The giant brought his fist back in a dramatic fashion, preparing a considerably damaging blow, but before he could unleash, the nobody reach his hands out as if to catch the fist. To his surprise, what felt like a spool of thread unraveled from the emptiness of his being, and the strands tangled around his arms. Before the enormous fist reached its target, the invisible threads flew from the encased arms and swarmed around the enemy. The fist slowed to almost a halt, and the astonished nobody stood and stepped to the side. The gang witnessed the bizarre scene unfold before them, and resisted the urge to turn and run.
“Huh..huh… how did he do that, Boss?” stammered one of the three ruffians, the short, meager one.
“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” the leader asked with obvious false courage. The nobody spoke for the first time in weeks.
“I….” he murmured while looking at his hands, still feeling the twisting threads of time weaving between his fingers. I… did that?
The leader of the three street rats saw great potential in the pathetic-looking kid. Accepting an offer to join the mischievous club, the desperate nobody saw this as an opportunity to explore his completely new surroundings, and perhaps find his lost memories, not to mention get some food. Being nameless, it was difficult to for the kids to address the nobody. The brutish one who was known for his simplicity started calling the newcomer “Keegan”, the name of his deceased pet mouse. The name stuck, of course. Months of honing his power and fighting to survive with his new friends drove away the creeping madness, but the gaping emptiness painfully reminded Keegan of his loss. More months passed, and the gang started to regret their decision of letting the strange outcast join. Keegan was apprehensive about stealing from pedestrians and shopkeepers, and also apprehensive about using his power on others. Now, he had become just an extra body to them, consuming food and taking space that did not belong to him. The leader of the street rats kept confronting Keegan, asking him why he hadn’t been able keep up with the other member’s loot, and why his power had remained such a secret. One bitter, wintry night muffled by fresh snow, the gang turned on Keegan while he was asleep. They took his blanket and started prying off the clothes that “belonged to them”. The startled and betrayed boy was pinned as everything that protected him from the biting cold was pried from him. Keegan soon felt the tendrils of time swirling around his body once again, and instinctively encased himself in a protective shield. The malicious boys who were greedily prying the clothes off of Keegan had slowed to an unnatural crawl, and the moonlit snowflakes came almost to a complete stop. The weak Keegan dragged himself out of reach of the three ravenous street kids, and ran down a street dimly lit by old street lamps. Crashing through the thick flakes of snow hanging in midair, his mind was filled with the intense rush of being incased in a shell of time hastened to an alarming pace. The last thing Keegan remembered was collapsing on the pavement, completely exhausted. He had used all of his energy in that one powerful spell, and now faced the consequence.
Still laying face down in the middle of the street, Keegan remembered what happened and quickly jumped to his feet and brushed off the snow which had layered over his frozen-stiff sweatshirt and jeans. He saw the orange glow of sunrise, and wondered how long he had been out. Suddenly, a cheery voice directly behind him spoke, causing the tense Keegan to whip around in surprise.
“Hey there!” The boy smiled as he looked Keegan up and down. “Yep, you must be Number IX.” Trying desperately to put together pieces that didn’t fit, Keegan was stunned.
Does he know me?
Noticing the astonished expression, the boy realized Keegan’s situation. “I bet you don’t remember a thing. Hah! It makes sense I guess.”
Who is this kid and how does he know about my lack of memories?
“Well, you better follow me. There’s lots of explaining to do.” The boy’s cheery mood irritated Keegan. He had no idea what Keegan had been through for the past year. Cautiously, he approached him, ready for some sort of trick.
I guess I have no choice but to follow him… he seems to know more about me than I do. Still, he’s not to be trusted.
Personality: When first meeting Keegan, you would be able to sense his disinterest in you quite easily, and even more so his indifference to getting to know you better. After some consistent prodding and a bit of luck, Keegan might open up just a bit. This bit is just enough to get your fingers in: that much closer to prying him wide open. Becoming close to Keegan is no easy task; he is always skeptical of the motives of others, always considering the possibility that there is more than just friendship you want. You can call it paranoid, but Keegan just recognizes it as intelligent. Why give something as valuable as trust away so freely? If you do eventually gain his trust, your friendship will soon prove quite useful. Keegan may not be the most sensitive person, but he offers practical wisdom to those who deserve it. Also, his actions are always especially calculated to maximize gain and minimize risk, but will ignore this habit when a true friend is in need.
Appearance: Has dark, rust-colored hair, and light slate grey eyes. Along with having a poorly-groomed buzzhawk, he has a bit of boyish scruff on his chin, upper-lip, and under his sideburns. He has a slim physique and long, delicate fingers. He has always been quite handsome, but being poorly-groomed, this is often overlooked.
Roleplay Sample: Feeling the threads of time weaving delicately around you is a powerful feeling, but being able to control them is power beyond belief. Ever since Keegan discovered his ability to manipulate these threads, he has worked tirelessly to understand it. Intently gazing at his palms, he concentrated the strange energy. The silky tendrils of time spun clockwise around his forearms, brushing against Keegan’s smooth skin. They spiraled towards his fingers and increased in intensity while he kicked up a rock that was conveniently placed on his toes. The rock spun as it rose several feet in the air, and soon gave in to gravity, retracing its path to the ground. It was interrupted, however, by Keegan’s neatly-woven time bubble. The rock stood suspended between two hands channeling the strange magic, moving at an unfathomably slow rate. Tighter and tighter did Keegan weave the strands, but still he could not completely stop the rock. He could see his goal in the distance, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not move any closer. With one final lunge of energy, Keegan pushed himself further than he had ever gone before. He felt the threads snap with an intense shudder, and the rock continued its fall as if nothing happened, bouncing harmlessly at his feet. A curse slipped out of his mouth before he sank to his knees in exhaustion. Keegan was disappointed, but was surprised at his progress. This time, he had managed to maintain consciousness.
Alias: The Guarded Weaver
Age: 18
Height: 5’6’’
Gender: Male
Alliance: Order
Keyblade name: Continuum
Weapon: He can create pockets in which he can manipulate time, affecting anything within. Also, he wields a Keyblade named Continuum which he can force the strands of time through, turning several cogs and other gizmos, ultimately increasing the potency of his magic.
Bio: Being spat into a strange world with no memories of his past self, the confused nobody asked every passerby if they knew who he was. The busy citizens obviously had better things to do, and didn’t notice the pitiful street kid who claimed to not know his identity. Soon, it grew dark, and the spiteful men and women briskly walking to the next meeting or appointment thinned until the streets were empty. He wanted to hate the pretentious citizens, walking by with their groceries and carrying on with their hollow lives, but for reasons the confused nobody knew not of, couldn’t. Alone, the nobody sank deeper into the damp shadows of narrow alleys, and there he waited for his memories to return. Weeks passed, and eating out of dumpsters soon drove the kid to desperation. Madness started to creep into the spaces were memories should have been. He could feel it, and resisted as much as possible, knowing it would make it even harder to remember his identity. One cold autumn day, three homeless kids, who were known for causing serious mischief, came across the nobody. The leader, a dashing, arrogant-looking teenager, called out to him.
“Hey! Wha’chya doin out OUR turf eh? You think you can just waltz into any old alley and decide to make it yours? I think we need to show you how things work around here.” One of the miscreants, a massive brute, started to move in, grinding his scarred knuckled against a calloused palm. The nobody looked up at the approaching monstrosity, wondering why he felt no fear. The giant brought his fist back in a dramatic fashion, preparing a considerably damaging blow, but before he could unleash, the nobody reach his hands out as if to catch the fist. To his surprise, what felt like a spool of thread unraveled from the emptiness of his being, and the strands tangled around his arms. Before the enormous fist reached its target, the invisible threads flew from the encased arms and swarmed around the enemy. The fist slowed to almost a halt, and the astonished nobody stood and stepped to the side. The gang witnessed the bizarre scene unfold before them, and resisted the urge to turn and run.
“Huh..huh… how did he do that, Boss?” stammered one of the three ruffians, the short, meager one.
“Yeah, what’s the big idea?” the leader asked with obvious false courage. The nobody spoke for the first time in weeks.
“I….” he murmured while looking at his hands, still feeling the twisting threads of time weaving between his fingers. I… did that?
The leader of the three street rats saw great potential in the pathetic-looking kid. Accepting an offer to join the mischievous club, the desperate nobody saw this as an opportunity to explore his completely new surroundings, and perhaps find his lost memories, not to mention get some food. Being nameless, it was difficult to for the kids to address the nobody. The brutish one who was known for his simplicity started calling the newcomer “Keegan”, the name of his deceased pet mouse. The name stuck, of course. Months of honing his power and fighting to survive with his new friends drove away the creeping madness, but the gaping emptiness painfully reminded Keegan of his loss. More months passed, and the gang started to regret their decision of letting the strange outcast join. Keegan was apprehensive about stealing from pedestrians and shopkeepers, and also apprehensive about using his power on others. Now, he had become just an extra body to them, consuming food and taking space that did not belong to him. The leader of the street rats kept confronting Keegan, asking him why he hadn’t been able keep up with the other member’s loot, and why his power had remained such a secret. One bitter, wintry night muffled by fresh snow, the gang turned on Keegan while he was asleep. They took his blanket and started prying off the clothes that “belonged to them”. The startled and betrayed boy was pinned as everything that protected him from the biting cold was pried from him. Keegan soon felt the tendrils of time swirling around his body once again, and instinctively encased himself in a protective shield. The malicious boys who were greedily prying the clothes off of Keegan had slowed to an unnatural crawl, and the moonlit snowflakes came almost to a complete stop. The weak Keegan dragged himself out of reach of the three ravenous street kids, and ran down a street dimly lit by old street lamps. Crashing through the thick flakes of snow hanging in midair, his mind was filled with the intense rush of being incased in a shell of time hastened to an alarming pace. The last thing Keegan remembered was collapsing on the pavement, completely exhausted. He had used all of his energy in that one powerful spell, and now faced the consequence.
Still laying face down in the middle of the street, Keegan remembered what happened and quickly jumped to his feet and brushed off the snow which had layered over his frozen-stiff sweatshirt and jeans. He saw the orange glow of sunrise, and wondered how long he had been out. Suddenly, a cheery voice directly behind him spoke, causing the tense Keegan to whip around in surprise.
“Hey there!” The boy smiled as he looked Keegan up and down. “Yep, you must be Number IX.” Trying desperately to put together pieces that didn’t fit, Keegan was stunned.
Does he know me?
Noticing the astonished expression, the boy realized Keegan’s situation. “I bet you don’t remember a thing. Hah! It makes sense I guess.”
Who is this kid and how does he know about my lack of memories?
“Well, you better follow me. There’s lots of explaining to do.” The boy’s cheery mood irritated Keegan. He had no idea what Keegan had been through for the past year. Cautiously, he approached him, ready for some sort of trick.
I guess I have no choice but to follow him… he seems to know more about me than I do. Still, he’s not to be trusted.
Personality: When first meeting Keegan, you would be able to sense his disinterest in you quite easily, and even more so his indifference to getting to know you better. After some consistent prodding and a bit of luck, Keegan might open up just a bit. This bit is just enough to get your fingers in: that much closer to prying him wide open. Becoming close to Keegan is no easy task; he is always skeptical of the motives of others, always considering the possibility that there is more than just friendship you want. You can call it paranoid, but Keegan just recognizes it as intelligent. Why give something as valuable as trust away so freely? If you do eventually gain his trust, your friendship will soon prove quite useful. Keegan may not be the most sensitive person, but he offers practical wisdom to those who deserve it. Also, his actions are always especially calculated to maximize gain and minimize risk, but will ignore this habit when a true friend is in need.
Appearance: Has dark, rust-colored hair, and light slate grey eyes. Along with having a poorly-groomed buzzhawk, he has a bit of boyish scruff on his chin, upper-lip, and under his sideburns. He has a slim physique and long, delicate fingers. He has always been quite handsome, but being poorly-groomed, this is often overlooked.
Roleplay Sample: Feeling the threads of time weaving delicately around you is a powerful feeling, but being able to control them is power beyond belief. Ever since Keegan discovered his ability to manipulate these threads, he has worked tirelessly to understand it. Intently gazing at his palms, he concentrated the strange energy. The silky tendrils of time spun clockwise around his forearms, brushing against Keegan’s smooth skin. They spiraled towards his fingers and increased in intensity while he kicked up a rock that was conveniently placed on his toes. The rock spun as it rose several feet in the air, and soon gave in to gravity, retracing its path to the ground. It was interrupted, however, by Keegan’s neatly-woven time bubble. The rock stood suspended between two hands channeling the strange magic, moving at an unfathomably slow rate. Tighter and tighter did Keegan weave the strands, but still he could not completely stop the rock. He could see his goal in the distance, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not move any closer. With one final lunge of energy, Keegan pushed himself further than he had ever gone before. He felt the threads snap with an intense shudder, and the rock continued its fall as if nothing happened, bouncing harmlessly at his feet. A curse slipped out of his mouth before he sank to his knees in exhaustion. Keegan was disappointed, but was surprised at his progress. This time, he had managed to maintain consciousness.