Theta Omicron's page

Theta stands tall and lanky at 6’2 and hardly 200 pounds. His stature is starved, muscles visible not from exercise but simply enduring whatever his situations were before now. He is extremely clean shaven, from head to toe there is not a hair to be seen, not even his eyebrows.

His skin taut and face gaunt, Theta’s already lifeless gaze gives the impression of a dead man walking, if not for his soft and coconut flushed skin. All sitting a little too loose on his lanky figure is a well worn explorer’s outfit, two bandoliers strapping 16 shuriken across his chest, and a backpack that jingles several different tones when he walks.

Across what skin is exposed sprawls what appears to be spiked chains tattooed onto his skin. They cross at his forehead in an almost crown of thorns fashion, his wrists and ankles as well. Light pink scars dot his back from what one can only assume is self-flagellation, and there are almost always bruises to be found across his body.

Theta slowly squats to the floor, his calves flexing against the back of his thighs. He stares while hunched forward as if something were forcing his vision there. Eyes never shifting from their focus, only small winces of hesitation escaping his lips, he positions himself into a push up position on a single left handed finger. He gives a mighty exhale before another wince can escape. Only pain comforted by determination would bring it back.

As planned this meditation of pain begins turns his vision red before a curtain of black unfurls with true solitude within his mind finally achieved. The frayed memory always had the same thread to be pulled in the hopes of dragging more into his mind. A seemingly fresh corpse lays on the ground in snow, its face neatly cut from the flesh. Its muscles twitch and spasm as a darkened hand extends the skin towards him. “Hunt the living. Eat the dead. Eat, Theta.”

Theta hears himself whimper “no” and retches, vomit coating his hands as he falls to his knees. “No.” The voice booms in response, “I won't ask again, Theta. Eat.” Just as Theta looks up to get a better view of the shadowed hand the black curtain is ripped away from the wall of his mind; he only sees his previous point of focus now. No memory at all. Just a silly spot on the floor.

He gives a frustrated grunt as he rolls to his side, thudding onto the ground with pain through his left ribs. “I’ll never remember.” He massages the joints as they howl across his finger in pain while gazeless eyes find a spot on the wall to glue themselves too.

Chocolate is the way to this “tough guy’s” heart, he loves the color gray, and enjoys respectful distance and solitude from others to meditate. Theta also appreciates finding someone worthy of being loyal to, outside of his deity alone.

Loud and bubbly will always get a grumble of “quiet” out of him. Indecision also causes him to fume and brood, even his own. He hates the colors purple, yellow, pink, light blue- pretty much anything that is an “easter” or “spring” assortment of colors.

Afraid of the dead, but will disguise himself as them to blend in. Fearful of outsiders, but worships Zon-Kuthon who met his fate going out into the unknown. Theta is centered around a constant struggle of acknowledging his fears and attempting his best effort to confront them, making him a very conflicted and hesitant character.

Using the drawback selected, there is very little Theta is afraid of, but what he is fearful of is detrimental. A zombie may cause him to stop dead in his tracks, an outsider may force him to reconsider what reality actually is, and a fey may steal his very soul.