Name: Cochran Belthazar “Bonezy” Bones
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Alignment: Neutral (Out for himself)
Power description: Calcium control. Anything Bonezy can touch, he can calcify. His favorite habit is to “bring back the dead” by raising skeletons from their graves to do his bidding, though he must see them to control them. His range has increased over the years to over one hundred yards, able to control the bone soldiers from a distance. As such, he can create more calcium to reform broken bones, as well as grow completely new bones from his body as weapons…on one occasion, he even pulled from his spine a chain of vertebrae that had grown atop the ones that he already possessed to use as a chain whip. Another specialty comes from his ability to harden the calcium to an almost diamond hardness…though he can’t sharpen the weapons any more than a normal weapon, he can keep them from breaking.
Appearance: Bonezy has quite the odd appearance with the dark red hair, the dark rings around his eyes, the blackened lips, and pale skin. His eyes themselves are rather disturbing, as well, seeing as they are milky white save for the black dots of his pupils. His height is another odd point, for he looks rather skeletal himself with his 6’8” frame. His attire normally consists of a coat with a reverse zipper, zipping from the top to the bottom, hanging all the way to his ankles. It normally stays unzipped from the waist down, revealing his tight black pants that cling to his legs for dear life. At the middle of his shins and thighs rest leather straps, cinched tight about them, wearing black boots that are hardly ever polished.
Brief Background: Unwanted, unloved, uncared for…all words described how Bonezy felt in childhood, for his mother truly didn’t want the little freak. Always too tall, too thin, too freaky with those eyes…she wanted the perfect child and she got the habitual f**k up. His father, however, took to the child easily, teaching him whereas his mother shunned him. His father made life worth it. He just wished it could have lasted longer. At 13, his father died of a massive heart attack at work, leaving Bonezy in the “care” of his mother, who had by then become abusive. He yearned for the childhood others had…those picturesque families with perfect children and loving parents. The beatings came regularly, but he never let a peep come from him, learning to lock away the pain. As such, he can turn off the pain he feels now.
On his seventeenth birthday, he finally snapped. His mother had once again taken up the frying pan, which she only grabbed as a last resort, yet he never let her reach him with it…he didn’t mean to kill her, but he was happy he had. He didn’t understand how at the time, yet he had thrown a spike of bone from the palm of his hand and impaled the woman’s black heart. She’d fallen with a look of surprise on her face, still alive, surprisingly, as she lay in the floor. She would die soon, but it wasn’t fast enough for the boy she’d tormented for seventeen years. With a look of manic glee, he had grabbed the closest sharp instrument, the butcher knife that had been on the chopping board. He’d then straddled her hips and stabbed her repeatedly…chest, neck, stomach…even when the light had faded from her eyes, he’d stabbed until he was bathed in the blood of she who birthed him.
Sitting atop the corpse, holding the knife in his hand and staring into her face, muttering things he couldn’t even remember saying…that was how the police had found him. He hadn’t known that one of the children in the neighborhood had seen him murder his mother and called the law. They’d taken him away for evaluation, sending the corpse to the morgue where it belonged, thinking it one of the most gruesome things they had seen so far. He’d been prescribed some pills he’d never even heard of by a psychiatrist who had interviewed him, the police in his city never saw him again and he never took another pill after the first. The bottle went in the sewers and the disturbed young man himself walked out of the city he’d lived in. Never charged for the murder of his mother, though he would likely have gotten off on self defence, for the frying pan in her hand had given them a clue, as did the bruises littering the boy’s body.
He began to learn of his odd ability soon after leaving as odd growths of bone began to manifest on his body, as well as the hardening of most anything he touched when angry. Anger caused him to lose control of his powers, learning that quickly, though he also adapted to his powers quickly, as well. Slightly deranged and possessing the ability to make any weapon he needed from his own body, he saw himself as a force of nature, traveling by himself and taking what he needed through force or persuasion…or sometimes both. Feeling the tug of something big near his heartstrings, he follows the feelings, collecting bone soldiers as he goes…yet he does not carry them. He has forced one into the shape of a mole, forcing it to dig beneath his boots. The oddly defining feature of the tall young man is the fact that he chronically carries a skull…and carries on conversations with it, calling it his “dear Lenore.”
{The Wizardly One has arrived, my friend. Hopefully this is good enough for you. As with everything I do, if something needs to be changed, let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.}
