OF BREATHING COLOR
OzzetBefore Revaliir I
A curious being with the uncanny ability to simply inspire irritation in people where ever he goes. His history is long, though the most common starting point for him rest somewhere after the beginning. Before the Timedeath, he was a figure in the world of Daeluin akin to a Trickster, at least he liked to think so. When he first woke up there after a taxing journey from which he couldn't quite remember aside from vague, fleeting detail. He soon fell in with place with the standard criminal behavior one might expect from a street vagrant, and when he grew tired of that, he even joined a pirate crew under the guidance of their captain who saw value in the quirky, sliver of a horned man for whatever reason. Between The Lines II
It was sometime after this that his story began to take shape in even stranger ways. It should also be said the being had no idea what he really was, the most he could figure out was he was some form of Sidhe, sometimes called a Fair Folk or even Fairy, it was a general blanket term that he wrapped himself up in quite nicely, though it was a chance encounter with the Rosenite Angela that started a spiraling descent into complete madness. In the middle of a bleak, summer evening the helpless man found himself near death after fighting a small group of bandits in the middle of a forest. Granted he beat each of them to death with his own arm in a furious rage about having said arm severed, that's neither here nor there. She took pity on the strange creature, and resigned to turn him into one of her own kind.
Laying bandaged tightly, he floated lazily in a bathing tub. Half out of it, and near death while the change was taking place it was here surrounded by rose petals he learned what he was to her people. A Black Rosenite, an unfortunate figure that trails death and bad luck where ever he goes. The notion of it brought a smile to his lips, because it did sound a bit too much like him. The Rosenites curse, or blessing, whatever one might call Angela's intervention didn't take well inside him at all, and rather than slowly changing what he was into a full Rosenite, the change was at complete war inside him with whatever he already was. Every day it got a little bit worse, his eyes had even changed until they were nothing but solid green emerald like globes. Pain wracked his form, he found himself constantly in the throws of paranoia with small burst of magic following the tempting whispers only he could hear. Two opposing forms of magic, and only one form to inhabit; Ozzet had found a solution though, it should be said that this solution wasn't a very good one, an was likely to end in his death, but none the less it was a solution.
The answer came in the form of a small pocket realm locked away by the lands patron deity of wisdom Judge. A serious faced man who didn't much like mortal beings poking around where they didn't belong. Ozzet on the other hand decided it was a wonderful idea to poke around where he didn't belong! The Fulcrum is what it was called, though many worlds have their own version of it in name. Some called it The All, another example was Akashic Records. It was a void like realm filled with the knowledge of everything that could be, would be, and has been; in short it was a very, very dangerous placed and locked for good reason. To Oz though, it would surely have the solution he needed, a remedy to all his woes and then some, and so in a complete disregard for the rules of the deities temple, he broke into the Fulcrum through sheer willpower and brute force, and saw everything all at once.
The realm didn't discriminate, and was all too willing to share it's self with the trickster. All that knowledge, all at once being packed into his mind over and over just about killed him. Struggling to find his way from it all, he found himself at the mercy of the deity himself, and the god wasn't pleased one bit. He looked down on the creature with pity rather than contempt, yet offered no help. Judge casually tossed a large, leather bound journal beside the dazed figure, and only offered two words after explaining a bit about the journal. "Get out." And with that, Oz was dropped back into the world all on his own.
He hadn't found a cure, in fact he had made it worse for himself in every sense. He kept the journal, which in Judges own words was "The scribbles of a mad man, and yours." The book seemed endless in nature, each paged filled with doodles, arcane geometry and footnotes of planar magic written in prismatic ink. It was through this and the Fulcrum that he learned of an innate ability he possessed called Chromakinesis. Through the auspice of using the color around him in it's purest form he began to understand magic on an almost primordial level. Where as most will workers used words, incantations and fetishes as the base structure for their magic. Ozzet slowly began to understand an underlining principle; it was all the same at it's basic level.
As if a switch had been turned, he found the world around him purely mercurial down to even his own form. Elements moved to his whim, illusions danced for his amusement and for the first time he tasted what real power felt like, and it corrupted his already degrading mental state. To put it another way, it was as if someone had handed a rocket launcher to an overly aggressive child with attention deficit disorder and a hair trigger while funneling extra strength coffee into them until they were until they were all but vibrating in their seat, pointing at random things and inadvertently blowing said things up as quickly as possible. It was pure, unadulterated chaos.
Most of all, he liked it.
He traveled the land doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and just how he wanted. He spiraled even more into chaos and madness daily, going as far as to pick fights with deities and other powerful beings just for the sheer enjoyment of it. He began to see himself as something better than everyone else, something untouchable that brought a scathing wit, plenty of senseless destruction, and a high body count where ever he went. The Rosenite's ritual was entirely truthful, it was who he was and he didn't see any reason to fight it, and instead he embraced it fully. He continued at this for quite some time, until everything was coming to an end, and it was here he came across something that gave him an out, something that let him escape the world of Daeluin into the great beyond; The Gatecrasher
And it changed everything…
The Gatecrasher he had come upon by chance after searching the bag of a traveling magi who had looked at him wrong, or maybe the man hadn't, Oz wasn't sure which it was but the man was very, very dead and crispy by the time Oz began searching through his things. He felt magic coming from a small, sheathed dagger. As he pulled the blade from it's small scabbard he could feel it's use in his mind and bones. It was a powerful artifact, with a very simple use. Think of a plane you'd like to go to, and slice at the air. And so he did, Oz shrugged thinking of a plane he had read about in the nameless journal, and gave the air in front of him a wide swipe. The fabric of existence splintered and ripped, but a stable tear had formed in the wake of his movements; it was a gate to Arcadia. Ozzet grinned, and even giggled like a school girl meeting her date for the first time. He hadn't killed a simple, wandering mage. No, he had slain a Planeswalker, and now he was truly free.
Through this artifact alone, he began skipping through the planes as if he owned them, and for a long time he continued just as he did on Daeluin with an almost sadistic glee about him, but a question nagged at him constantly; what was he? Finally, he stopped to think about it, and it wasn't as if he couldn't go out there now and find out. He pondered on this choice, but over all it finally gave him a purpose, something he had lacked entirely before hand. So, he searched, and he searched some more, and when he couldn't stomach searching anymore, he kept on searching.
Plane after plane, exploring, mapping and charting each one he came across to the best of his ability within a journal much like the one Judge had left the pitiful creature with. The farther he went into the planes, the more bizarre things became. He kept charting and documenting each one he'd come across, all but writing a guide book to everything out there. Sometime during this he became more driven than he had in his entire life, and his mental state had begun to stabilize.
Countless centuries were passing him by, he began forgetting much of what the Fulcrum had crammed into his head, or maybe he was suppressing it? Oz wasn't sure, and didn't much care, that kind of knowledge wasn't meant for a mortal mind to possess, and it was sheer luck that he even survived the encounter with that plane, which he had documented as a demi-plane residing under Daeluin at this point. Every plane he visited ended up maturing the man slightly more than he was before. Through all this however, he wasn't any closer to finding what he was, until fate intervened once again, and he found his first clue.
It was a mundane plane called Aerest, understanding of magic was limited there and it seemed to be a prime plane, after becoming bored with it he made a small jump and found himself within the a smaller pocket plane residing above Aerest, it was their plane of dreams. From the moment he stepped foot into the plane, he felt a sort of divine ping, something close to here was calling to him. Oz licked at his lips, his body trembled, he had never felt anything like this in all of his travels. This was truly new, and he liked new. He searched the plane for over a year, charting it like the countless others, and found nothing. He sat and thought for a long time, and then really got down to work. Whatever it was, it never stopped nagging at him, calling to him. He searched his journal for answers, began trying various things.
Countless years passed, and through a complex algorithm of magic and seemingly senseless strings together of numbers. He had cracked a small door to whatever was calling to him, finally the moment had come, that one moment that would define him entirely for what he was. However as often as things did go is way, more often than not, they wouldn't, and this sadly was one of those moments. It was something, that was for sure, but not entirely what he was looking for. Ozzet had come across a small pocket plane, and not a natural one either. It seemed to be one placed there by someone or something.
True Color & The Kakovi
Work In Progress