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Craven

Oh the sweet and bitter taste of flesh, to realize what monsters we can become.

0 · 447 views · located in Ascension Parish

a character in “The Catalysts”, as played by Oborosen

Description

Name: Craven

Nickname: Red Death, #63, Sanguine

Gender: Possibly Male (abilities make determining this difficult)

Allegiance: Devils Hand

Appearance: Because of the nature of his powers, Craven is able to shift his physical shape and appearance. However when present among those he deems requiring, he will adopt a more common appearance that they can accept. The most usual of this is a man in his late twenties, with course reddish brown hair and deep red eyes. His skin can be a range of different shades depending on his feeding habits and when he has goon too long without sustenance, Craven's appearance can extremely pale with tight drawn skin. A common sight of his condition are small red blotches that can be seen traveling under the top layer of skin. Flush red cheeks and intense bloodshot eyes.

Skills/Abilities:
Physical Alteration/Consumption - Craven is able to alter and shift his physical form down to its most base parts. Shifting organs and bones around as if being shook within a puzzle box. This gives Craven's body a severe degree of malleability, able to absorb large amounts punishment and to keep going despite grievous injury. This also allows him to repair wounds taken in combat, provided he has enough mass stored within his own body.
Mental Transference - Beings devoured by Craven are given the unenviable body and psyche devoured piece by piece, until they no longer exist. This allows Craven to witness and transfer a large portion of their short term memory to his own mind, with only a fraction of long term memory being stored as well. This information comes in burst and requires time to become fully integrated into Craven's being.
Separation - The most difficult of abilities that Craven has developed since gaining his freedom. This allows him to separate parts of his own body and create a new form of life directly connected to his own mind. This separation is neither clean, nor easy to watch and it allows him to split his attention into the mind of a separate body. This ability is mainly used for gathering intelligence and watching his own back from time to time.

General Information:
Though his powers make him a living monster and a waking nightmare for the people of the cities underbelly, it is not without its own limitations or weaknesses. Besides making the flesh and bone denser, or the muscle more thick and powerful. Craven's body is just as mortal and vulnerable as anyone else alive today. His body requires massive amounts of fresh matter every few hours, even compared to his own body weight and he cannot consume inorganic material. This usually leads to scattered remains and refuse left in secluded areas. The genetic material that gave him such power, also damns him to a near perpetual reign in darkness. His eyes are sensitive to intense light and in the case of direct sunlight, his skin cannot survive exposure for long. Matter that is damaged in combat and is unable to be returned to his body, quickly loses life and disintegrates to ash.

Craven does not talk much, in fact his voice is still not used to it and at the times when he does speak. His voice can be animistic and guttural.

No matter what humanoid form he takes, Craven will always appear pale and his skin will have the pinkish red blotches that dot his appearance.

History:
In the first decade of the Horizon Foundation's inception, there were always words whispered of heinous experiments done to further the companies goals, without caring about convention, or decency.The prisoner Maria Shriner or as she is now known within the Foundation as Subject 9, was the unfortunate mother of the creature known as Craven. The catalyst gene enzyme was spliced with her own DNA to merge the genetic defect in her system and the one they added, too that of her unborn child. The mixture being of Hemophilia and Porphyria, were meant to create a source of genetic material to serve as a fount of medical miracles. The result however was gruesome and destructive, resulting in a burst of growth from the embryo that killed the mother and only gave the doctors barely enough time to extract the specimen. Even then, it was a lumpen and misshapen nightmare of a thing which showed no signs of life what so ever.

After three hours of dissection however, the doctor performing the procedure must have hit a nerve and was nearly killed instantly when the mass latched onto his face and began to devour him. The resulting lock down made sure the two attending staff would die as well and when the blood cleared from the screens, the staff were surprised to see something vaguely human and child like sitting in the corner of the room.

Due to his nature and ferocity, Craven as he became to be known among the staff. In memory of the ME that he first devoured, this room became his one and only home for the next fifteen years. Using electric shock and positive reinforcement with other subsequent meals, the learned much from his growth and in fact part of their original plan was achieved. Craven was the golden goose that they intended him to become, his blood leading to discoveries in medicine that threw the Foundation years ahead of their competition. Despite learning much about him, how he acts and feels, even how to hurt him. They did not notice that when they fed him, his body would store the mass and he would learn from the subjects that he was being fed. So on the night they decided to retire one of the bases guards by giving him to Craven, the resulting meal gave him the information he needed to escape. He unleashed the mass he had built up over the years, becoming an amalgam of roiling flesh, muscle, bone and sinew. What remained of the guards memories allowed him to disable the lock downs and countermeasures in his path. On that night, Craven saw the moon for the first time and retreated to the underbelly of the city afterwords.

For the time he was alone and running, because The Foundation would not willingly allow him to stay free and how dangerous he was, made him more so a factor then most. Unfortunately they could never really catch him, cornering him here and there from time to time. But he would always give them the slip, or devour whoever they sent after him. After some time he would come to know them by the Catalyst that were sent to capture him, but the results would always be the same. It was also evident too him that others were fighting against the will of The Foundation and at times he would fight them as well. In fact many of the factions now separated in the city know him rather well and if not by name, then it would be by his actions.

So begins...

Craven's Story

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Character Portrait: Lucielle Thorn Character Portrait: Craven
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~Craven~





Craven had been running for some time, clearing as much space between him and the Foundations lackeys as he could. The possibility of them catching him was growing more dim every minute that he ran, jumping stalls and knocking one pedestrian down after the other. Oppertunites to feed passed him by, good ones at that. But he could not afford the chance for them to track him down, not now, not this day. He would have to figure a different method to deal with Hunter and the rest of the Foundations demented blowhards.

The wind blasting in his face, with no time to sniff and no time to hear what he wanted to keep a tap on. No matter the measure of his running, he was going to get as far away from the Crown as possibly. Someplace that no one really looks, or really wants to go for that matter and that would mean the Outskirts of the city. A most depressing shit hole if he'd ever seen one, though he knew a place to head too just in case he ever needed to return there.

Craven stood on the edge of the bridge as he could see the waters below, looking out into what remained of the night and he could now see a bead of sunlight peeking over edge of the horizon. Though the lights of the city always seemed to keep the night world almost as well lit as the day. He reached his hand up high, slowly passing his fingers into the way of the morning sun and watching as the skin on his hand begins to singe lightly.

A thump on the concrete behind him sets his nerves on fire as he twist on the spot, setting his massively dilated eyes on the woman behind him. His body wanted to pounce from the sheer weight of how his night had been and he slightly tilts his head.

“Hey, wait up big guy. Fun little show you put on back there.”

He stared at her for a moment before smirking through his teeth. "Well, you got my attention first.. which means your not foundation." He looked the woman over and her figure was strange, though she did match several of the memories that he had acquired from several of the specialist and he worked a name over his tongue as he tried to bring it too words.

"..Lucielle.." The name brought a smile too his face, like winning a game show after guessing the right price.

He leaned on the side of the grungy rail, its rusted, pitted form reaching down the length of the bridge like a tired outstretched arm. "Ah.. yes, that is your name.. though the face is different. It is you in the end."

Bracing up and lifting himself away from the rail, his posture becomes more offensive. "Why follow me, better yet.. why approach me? It is not wise to provoke a starving animal and I am so very hungry right now."

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"Why? Fascination? Admiration? Choose one."

Lucielle began to circle Craven, looking him over. She kept her distance, knowing his power. Reaching his backside, she leaned forward whispering, "If you're so hungry, why not find something? Someone? I know you thirst for blood, I can see it in your eyes."

She turned her back, stepping away from him. The air was calm, the smell of cedar, oak, and other woods drifted through the air. Just right for a fire, she thought, maybe I should spell my name this time...

She knew without looking, Craven was keeping an eye on her. She needed to know more about him, she wanted to see him in action, tearing through flesh and bone like it was nothing. Growing stronger at every kill, never slowing, never stopping. For the second time that day, Lucielle was reminded of herself.

The setting changes from The Outskirts to Emperia City

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***Edited out***

The setting changes from Emperia City to The Outskirts

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Character Portrait: Lucielle Thorn Character Portrait: Craven
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~Craven~




Craven gave wry smile in return as he could feel the tension returning to the muscles in his forearms, as if his body wanted to press into action before he did. The wind of the outskirts brushed across his face as it changed directions for a split moment and he thought closely too himself. Several memories came to light about what she could do, though they were vague in retrospect. Several could see nothing but glancing eyes of a photo screen, with Lucielle waving her hands in the background.

"My own concerns are just that, though the idea is not an unattractive one."

Searching for more scattered information was difficult, it was like swimming through a ocean of voices and sights. Not being able to truly point out whatever was catching his eyes and ears at the moment. It was times like this that Craven really tended to dislike the way his own body was designed to act or operate. While thinking this the agitation had manifested in the form of his finger tips slowly bursting into clawed talons. Reaching nearly four inches in length, with his body slowly shifting to become wider as his mass bulked up his own muscles strength. He was working on a short line however, the only thing running in his system was the poor waiter and that was quickly burning through his body. This was just in part of the state his current form was in, rushed, frantic and nervous.

His leg tenses up as he can feel himself inch forward towards her, till a singular image replays in his mind. Her standing behind a swirly gout of flame, one of her own design and creation to be exact. A slow realization of her powers ebbs over him for a few moments as the wind shifts again and he pulls back to his standing posture. With the same wry smile as before "Heh.. Fire.. Not to be a downer, but I think my dance card has been filled for tonight. Besides.. its a new jacket."

Craven tugs on the lapel of his "new" black, jacket. Only for the touch of his hand to transfer a large stain of blood to the inside.

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"Ah, another time then." Lucielle chuckled. "Still, you won't do so well without a good meal..."

She trailed off, keeping her gaze from the beast behind her. Holding up an arm, she pointed down into the heart of the Outskirts. "There's a nice little trailer park down that way. I hear they're just getting over a mysterious fire. The children there have the cutest screams."

She let silence blow between them, dust settling in the breeze. Leaves rustling and twisting in the early morning light. The rusted bridge glinted, swaying slightly. The air held a timeless quality. Breathing in a deep breath, she dropped her arm. Glancing back, she saw the shadow shift behind her.

"Oh, and Craven." Lucielle turned, looking at the creature's back. She snapped her fingers, a burning flame streaking from her hand and into Craven's chest. "Don't kill them all. I still need some entertainment."

The smell of burning flesh reached her nose. Lucielle smiled. She extinguished the flame. She wouldn't kill him, he had to many, intriguing factors. Her hand waved a farewell to Craven. Ash and soot clouded the air. With cinders and coals disguising her movements, she climbed to the top of the bridge effortlessly.

"This land is mine Craven, you'd be wise to behave in it."

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~Craven~




The meeting wasn't a problem for him and when the small stream of flame struck his chest, it only compounded the notion that he could do very little at this point besides posture and spit. She was far more interesting then the other catalyst that he had encountered and fed upon in the last few weeks, though her reasons for approaching and giving him free reign at this point were still beyond a method of question. He could hardly argue with her, he was so hungry that he could feel his vision becoming blurry and the tips of his fingers were beginning to break away into ash.

He burst from the bridge into a frenzied run, putting distance between himself and Lucielle. He knew that some point in the future she would show up again, only because her interest in his was very obvious. Though he could barely be asked to care about what was going to happen later, or even think about it now.

His feet carried him for nearly a half mile before he caught his first meal, despite it being a homeless man and the taste of dirty scarf lingering on his pallet. Craven still ran on with his face in the wind, not wanting to miss any opportunity to feed and regain his strength. Upon finding the place he saw that Lucielle was correct, the area did suffer a decent blaze. Several of the small trailers were gutted and blackened by flame. Though they were now covered with tarps and tapped off from the rest of this small community.

He had managed to climb onto the edge of an outside fence wall and was just looking on as very few people could be see milling about. There were simple people, with simple lives and Craven could tell this. For now however, they would have to do.

The setting changes from The Outskirts to Emperia City

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~Craven~




The sun crest over the nearby walls of the lower section of homes and there it shines on a lone figure, sitting near the center of a wring of homes. The light bathes him with several strong beams as the morning sun fights through a slight cover of clouds. Craven is sitting there silently, the light is causing some patches of his flesh to bubble and sear. Though his own body is more then strong enough to mitigate whatever ill feeling this could cause. While the memories of the last hour have been playing over in his mind, as he stares at a sewage grate sitting near dead of the center of this ring.

More then a few hundred families lived here in this place and in the state of things, it was hard to believe they had a better place to go. Though now that some of them are going to be missing from this day on and with the results of some of their homes, it would be simpler to say that a more tense place could not be found. Though there were some kinds of meals that Craven did frown upon, seeing as he rather liked feeding on those strong in body and will. The young were not too his taste, lacking in flavor and mind. However in his previous state, he could be hardly judged for doing what he had to do to survive.

However now he had a different problem, it seemed that the Foundation was doing more now then just sending waves of lackeys at him. He found an opponent today that could exert power near on par with him, though his body was lacking in strength or resilience. His speed did make a heavy difference in the outcome of things and that was compounded by the fact that the Foundation was still assisting him in the end. So instead of an actual fight, Craven had to deal with someone that had the resources of an army at their disposal.

He knew now that, in order to survive this outcome, he would need an army of his own. Or at the very least a collection of bodies to help protect him..

Craven stood and reached down, several tendrils of flesh whipping out to grip the bars of the iron grate. A quick snap of his arm and the heavy cover for the drain rips free. Taking several strips of steel reinforced concrete along with it as it goes sailing through the air. He dropped into the darkness of the lower sewage systems, with several ideas in mind.

The setting changes from Emperia City to Ascension Parish

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~Craven~





The last few hours of activity for Craven had been hectic and fun, having known the sewers of the city well for some time and having used them in the past to make his way around from place to place. Though it would be assumed that every small creature that met his path down in that place, would die. He never expected to see a write of cleaning duties sent his way from the city. Too him it was all about the meal and the time he had between the next, only several streets over and he would scramble across another nest of rats. or a wild dog begging down after a morning of chasing its own damn tale. A mass of roiling and springing tendrils were his means to pass from tunnel to tunnel and he would only peak out his head and massed intersections. Only to ensure there wasn't a small camp of homeless sleeping beneath a guttered drain pipe.

But despite all the information he had rummaging around in his head at this time, the idea of what needed to be done still persisted. Knowing what the plans of the Foundation entailed for near future was not enough, he would need to prepare and in great abundance. Something that he had thought of doing, but in his addled life, never thought he be truly able to achieve. Allies were in short supply and even if he could form some small lasting allegiance in this city. The day would come that he would most likely see them as the next meal, instead of allies.

His bulk and weight displacing pipes and vents as he shoved along the route he was picking at a whim. Streams of hissing steam would reach out to give his surging flesh a searing kiss as he bucked and turned corners. Causing even more damage and the ground above the pipes to become warped, bulging with the mass beneath. Before long, Craven could feel stale air breathing into his face as he moved. It was a sign that he had reached an extremely old part of the city and someplace that he had only been a few times before. His mind did not wander on the subject for long, before his body was soon surging from an open pipe line. Taking a quick and sharp plummet towards the ground before a cold, hard, surface reached up to slap him in the face. The roiling body of tendrils surged back into its host as he stood upright and looked above his position.

He was somewhere in the old city yes, but its make was nearly archaic. His body had fallen into a vast container, set into a large tank of some sort and as he extended large spines on tendrils, to lift his body from the base. He could see other things that described were he was written about the walls of the tank. Though what little light that could be achieved from within this place, poured forth from dying bulbs in the ceiling and from the looks of their casings, it was a wonder they even worked at all. Still however, as he got to the top of the large tank, Craven adjusted the lenses of his own eyes to take in more of the light that was available and in front of him, plaster on the wall was a plaque.

Though years of grime covered its surface, a cursory wipe of his sleeve uncovered a name.

Ascension Parish tributary.

A smile grew across his face and he knew that it was here, his claim to power could start.