PLAYER INFO:
Name: Ash
Preferred pronoun: she, her, hers.
Any other characters currently in-game? nope!

CHARACTER INFO:
Name: Expatriate Darkleer
Gender: Male
Source: Homestuck
Canon point: Post-exile, shortly after constructing a cybernetic arm for Mindfang.
Age: Blue bloods age particularly slow given their high position in the hemospectrum, so he’d be easily hundreds of years old by human standards. Physically, however, he appears to be in his late 30s.
Colour: #031634
Chumhandle: tenebrousTechnician



History:

The wiggler who’d later become many great things within the highblood court (and many unspeakable things outside of it) was surprisingly ordinary. Save for his odd physical strength and size, very little set Darkleer apart from others within his hatch cycle. Which was precisely how he liked it. Even as a child he was a stickler for rules and roles, a boy devoted to making himself a pristine example of the blueblood status quo. Behave. Do your part. Hold your tongue. Serve your betters. Scheme and plot and plan with the rest of them, never let them take you down but never get too far ahead. Stay calm and stay alive.

He followed that credo to the letter. For awhile, at least.

Darkleer’s caste loyalty and eagerness to serve the Empire found him conscripted into the lower echelons of the highblood court shortly after the wriggling day he came of age. His prodigious strength almost guaranteed him a place among the ruffinhilators, glorified cannon fodder, a fate he narrowly avoided with his keen eye and alarming skill with a bow and arrow. Darkleer was indoctrinated into the squadron of noble archeradicators, easily among the youngest to ever join their number. Yet what the boy lacked in experience he made up for in prowess, loyalty, and viciousness. Darkleer showed two other talents valuable to the empire as well: medical and mechanical brilliance. When he was not slaving away in training arenas or slaughtering trolls on the battlefield, Darkleer assisted with the engineering of war machines and constructed stunning animatronic prosthetics for injured highbloods. With a chest of war medals and a kill count that would make even the most critical of lusii proud, his many sweeps in imperial service were spent on the rise.

Before long, Darkleer assumed high command among the archeradicators. By then he was a troll grown, no longer a stellar prodigy but an honored veteran of two dozen bloody intergalactic conflicts, slayer of three rebel uprisings, and a name reviled in most lowblood hivestems across the planet. Alongside his pristine military record was his slavish devotion to his highblood masters, often exceeding the call of duty to serve them and never once speaking ill of their views or supremacy. If Darkleer were to be entirely honest (which he never is), the doting warmth he showed the subjugglators was more or less always false. He gave no merit to their strange cult and cared little for its continued existence. He pledged fealty not to them, but to the ferocity of their power. Power was always something Darkleer could appreciate, even if was wielded by trolls he never bothered to understand.

It’s debatable whether it was his war career or his woofbeast caliber obsequiousness that won him the cushy title of Royal Executor. It was a vanity position more than anything; a commendation from his masters to show their appreciation and an encouragement to keep his head down.

He tossed his life of privilege away, however, when he allowed the beloved of a martyr -- The Signless -- to escape from the execution block. She was the martyr’s Disciple. It is unclear why he did what he did, precisely. Affection for the girl, secret sympathy for the Signless’s aims, or simple frustration with toiling away under blithering cultists… there are many possible answers, and in all likelyhood it was a swill of all three. Darkleer’s treason and the Discple’s resulting survival wrecked the highbloods’ goal of eradicating The Signless’s memory from history.

Darkleer was exiled from settled Alternian territory and banished to the untouched reaches of the mountains. Even though his execution was never formally commanded, the only reason he escaped from the highblood lands alive was by the hand of Marquise de Spinneret Mindfang. Ever since, Darkleer has carved out a home for himself in the black rock and hidden from those who sought to punish him further.

Personality:

A long, long time ago (longer now than he would be willing to admit) Darkleer was a prized member of the highblood aristocracy. He carried out his duties as a blue blood noble well, subjugating his inferiors without a speck of remorse and serving the royalty loyal as a dog. Impeccable manners, warmth in spades, an outpouring of social grace. He was the kind of man who would be pleased to sit you down for a round of expensive milky tea and affectionately detail his brutal conquests on the battlefield.

Most of the warmth was fake and the politeness insincere, admittedly, but what else is one to expect from a blueblood? His descendant, Equius Zahhak, is slavishly devoted to upholding highblood propriety and behaving within the calling of one’s caste. Time and again, he shows that a traditional blueblood’s existence is full of trickery and backstabbing. Equius even considers it common courtesy to believe other bluebloods are lying until proven otherwise, and lives with the assumption all other bluebloods think the same of him. Therefore it would not be a stretch to claim that Darkleer’s sense of honesty and allegiance operates under similar principals. Darkleer does not believe deception is wrong. If anything, gullibility and poorly executed deception are the real trespasses worthy of disdain.

Darkleer’s centuries cloistered away have dampened that cordiality and confidence immensely. What social ease he once had is all but evaporated. The presence of other people is a shock he’ll need time to adjust too. The clamor of voices sets his teeth on edge and unwelcome closeness makes him twitch with nerves. For all his fearsome visage and rigid demeanor, Darkleer is skittish around new people. If someone unfamiliar manages to engage him in conversation, he is cold at best and harsh at worst. For all his social anxiety, highblood privilege isn’t something that ever really goes away though. Given enough time interacting with people again, these feelings will re-emerge. He is still aloof and haughty upon first meetings; the only people he has to answer to are The Grand Highblood and The Imperial Condesce Herself... and, well, there's always the Marquise.

Darkleer is quiet and prone to all sorts of dark-minded brooding and self-pity. His step and voice are soft, a surprising feat for a troll of his size, as if he wishes to go unnoticed as possible. He hates drawing attention to himself these days, and rather detests being put under any sort of scrutiny. Even now he follows Alternian society’s caste system with little complaint, though not nearly as ardently as he once did. There is a ravenous love of sciences and worldly knowledge in him, though his passions usually don’t stray far from the practical bounds of mechanical engineering, medicine, and war tactics. A spot of venerable literature suits him once in a while too, so long as it’s suitably sedate and gloomy.

In spite of his former grisly position and the violent tendencies attributed to highbloods, Darkleer rarely delights in brutality for brutality’s sake. Power of his caliber is something to be meted out wisely, and only towards purposes with a higher meaning than momentary anger. If the violence serves what he feels is an exceptional goal, however -- such as restoring social order, war, or political execution – he’d be pleased to bring about someone’s end.

Solitude gave him ample time for personal reflection and the cruelties performed on him by his fellow highbloods have never been forgotten, but Darkleer still nurtures a borderline masochistic faith in the aristocracy. As detailed in Mindfang’s journal, even years upon years after his banishment, Darkleer mourns his mistake and openly wishes to be back among his kin.

Yet in close conjunction rests a contradiction. The phrasing of Mindfang’s taunt, “I wonder if he still thinks she was worth it?”, implies there was once a time when Darkleer felt justified in his actions to free The Disciple. Perhaps in some small way the feeling persists. Decades upon decades of isolation in punishment for an act, no matter how noble, can have a way of shifting one’s opinions though.

Darkleer still values commands from his superiors, on some level. They remind him that the world is in balance, that all is in its proper place even though so much has changed. He will defy them, however, if his life is threatened or it goes directly against his own beliefs. In group where he is of a higher status than everyone else Darkleer will take authority by reflex alone, delivering orders without a drop of sweat anywhere, completely calm and forceful. Being the former commander of the Imperial Army’s archeradicators can do that to a guy.

Abilities & physical limitations:

Obfuscation

In essence, Darkleer is surrounded by a sphere of influence that blocks him from supernatural or omnipotent means of location and reading. It was described briefly in Mindfang’s journal entries:

"Loc8ing his [Doc Scratch’s] so called dark pockets was the only gam8it I had in countering his milktongued dou8lespeak. The expatri8 for indiscerni8le reasons seemed naturally surrounded 8y such a void in the Doctor's awareness, and so was uniquely fit to inherit the or8. The Doctor could not see his treasure, nor I into it."

Whether or not this is directly linked to the high probably of him being a Hero of Void in a past (pre-scratch) existence is unclear.

Strength

Much like his descendant, Equius Zahhak, Darkleer's physical power is stunning. He can lift thousands of pounds with ease, bend metal in his bare hands, and shatter bones with a single strike. Unlike Equius, however, Darkleer’s long life has given him ample time to train and control his strength, keeping it in check to perform delicate actions such knocking an arrow or touching another’s skin without inflicting accidental damage.

Appearance: canon appearance; some lovely fanart by rumminov@tumblr.

Strife Specibus: Bowkind, Fistkind.

Prototyping: A mock up of Mindfang's mechanical arm, resulting in...Armsprite. Some enemies now have robotic limbs.

Title: Pawn of Void.

In-game abilities:

The Pawn is a numbered among the most passive classes available in the game. Its power alone and unassisted is not particularly threatening; the class’s true strength lies in working in conjunction with others. They are often exploited to further the plans of Thieves, Princes, Seers, and classes of similar builds. The Pawn’s fate – their longevity, their entire usefulness – is mostly up to the whims of their co-players.

The Pawn title is usually bestowed as a challenge upon those of great hubris and self-reliance, or the antisocial and isolated -- anyone who has difficulty working with and trusting others. In the case of being a Hero of Void, Darkleer’s abilities of obfuscation would be amplified, though only when directly used to assist other players. In example, he could completely veil someone else from outside perception, create a temporary deadzone against prognostication, and perhaps when Ascended have the power to make portals.

Planet: Land of Cold and Castles

The Land of Cold and Castles, or LOCAC, is a frozen waste crowned by immense black stoned castles of every architectural style imaginable, forever stuck in twilight. Before the arrival of Nyx, LOCAC’s fat, fluffy pony inhabitants loved to frolic through the wintery wonderland, playing in snowdrifts and swimming in the ice floes. But the denizen snuffed out every source of light, and LOCAC was plummeted into an unending arctic darkness. The rivers froze solid and the castles cracked at their foundations from the extreme chill.

The planet is barren save for a scattering of cobalt trees, stunted and gnarled, and dark lichen clinging to the rocks. Massive stone crags tower across the landscape like the spine of some huge beast. Their sheer faces are pierced by thousands of narrow holes, each trickling forth with boiling water bubbled up from deep below the surface. Thick, pale clouds of steam shroud the cliffs.

RP Sample:

Most would call him a fool to trust the Marquise, but she had yet to betray him (for that she was perhaps the only troll alive who could be lauded with such curious trust). That errant cueball of hers whispers secrets from dusk til dawn, or it had until she passed it off into his dark pocket. Once he might have fancied it splendid to be so certain in all things, but now he supposes ignorance to his future fate is a blessing. This, however, this is one painfully true claim of hers Darkleer will follow. It is a way out.

Play a game. Leave the planet through a hole in the sky. He pauses in his ascent of the cliff face to spit in disgust down into the dark below. Perhaps he’s become a foolish grub in his loneliness, willing to believe anything that offered a bit of hope. Darkleer climbs on anyway.

‘You know I’d give my blood and bones to leave this exile,’ he wants to say, ‘how impecunious of you not to ask for them.’ He would say it, if he ever got the motivation to write to her anymore (he won’t) or she had the inclination to slip up to the mountains to see him (she doesn’t). He rehearses conversations he knows he won’t have, pondering over quips and barbs he’ll forget before he has verbal contact again. Darkleer rolls the words around on his tongue, mumbling to himself as he scales the mountain handful of stone by handful of stone.

Little plastic discs in age-stained sleeves, she’d said, hidden away in some deep crevasse of stone whose coordinates were vague at best. It could very well be a lie, one of her childish taunts. Though... it’s the only possible escape he knows from this cave and this silence. It’s not as if he has anything else to do with his endless numbered days.

_

Also! A couple logs from a musebox a few months back: [x] [x]