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Ixcaliber · 04-07-2012, 10:59 PM

MALKYGRAND

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Username: Ixcalitop
Name: Cactaceae al Sada (deceased), some ducks (nonsentient) and Lanmò (intangible)
Gender: Male
Race: Cactus Owl, ducks
Colour: #245507
Description: Cactaceae, or Cacta for short, is a burly barrel chested cactus owl; a strange hybrid of both a cactus and an owl. He has the shape of an owl while the physiology of a cactus. His skin was hard green bark with protruding spines, though that hardiness and that texture is now long gone. He is now slowly rotting, his hard bark now cracked here and there, pale sap is congealed around these areas. His hooked beak is surrounded by a thick beard of cactus spines. His eyes that were once a pale orange are now mismatched. The one that is still there is blood red through and through, the other one is a glass eye with an emerald centre. A dark blue, almost indigo flower that bloomed upon his forehead is now wilted, clearly dead. Overall he gives the impression of being unwell, sickly or perhaps a better description would be deathly. His gait is slow, waddly, and he jingles when he walks; a result of a large number of quarters moving around inside his husk of a body.

From a distance it would appear that his wings have been tarred and feathered perhaps. Up closer it is possible to see that this white downy covering is actually a patchwork of minature ducks. They are not sentient and not really alive in the same sense as you or I would understand it. They move of their own volition, mostly slight movements, or the movement of individual ducks wings, but can sometimes just flap around of their own accord heedless of whatever Cacta might think about this. Due to the fact that he has no control over his main limbs, all tasks must be completed with his beak alone. If this proves to be tricky his only means of recourse is to use his talons to get a better grip on whatever he is trying to operate.

Strapped to his back is Lanmò’s coffin. It is old and made of sturdy dark wood. It is very heavy, a fact which is evident just from looking at it. Its surface is carved with a face, a gaunt face with hollow staring eyes and this is surrounded by grim, gothic symbology that Cacta does not pretend to understand. It is longer and wider than Cacta and is probably the first thing you notice when you see him. Through the cracks it is possible to see a pale red glow, but only if you were to press your face right up against the coffin, a move you would likely regret.

Cacta is somewhat reserved. He has lived a long and varied life and there are many things he does not like to speak of. He was somewhat more forthcoming when he didn’t share his mind with a spirit of death, but not much more. His actions suggest that he’s a good person deep down. A lesser person might have caved to the temptation to murder and maim when faced with Lanmò’s influence, but Cacta remained resolute. He does not complain, or bemoan his lot in life. He just gets on with it and does what he has to do. He likes reggae and will sometimes play some using his funeral stuff, but probably not in the course of a battle to the death. A fact of life that he’s learnt to deal with is that sometimes, for reasons he cannot fathom, his wings will have what he dubs ‘duck frenzies’ and will thrash wildly around. He does not bemoan this either.

Items/Abilities: Strapped across one shoulder Cacta has a toolbet filled with carpentry tools that have been specially modified so as to be easily operable with his beak or talons. He has become quite proficient with them over the years; he has the rather unique ability to craft coffins in under ten seconds provided he has the necessary materials, and he can pretty much always find the necessary materials. Though whether this can be attributed to his own skill or to the influence of the spirit who rides with him is hard to say. The coffins he makes tend to be of two different qualities. Either decorative coffins which are of good quality are solid and sturdy, or alternately there are coffins that Cacta thinks of as fodder. These coffins are functional at best and not pretty to look at. Practically there is little difference except Cacta wouldn’t dream of making a humorous funeral display with fodder coffins. But in the end both kinds of coffin are eventually fed into the larger coffin that fits upon his back. Space does not seem to be a concern in there, and at this point it has a not unreasonable amount of coffins stored within. If Cacta finds himself under attack the coffin on his back can serve as a cannon. It shoots forth magically infused coffins, which burst open upon impact and release a zombified corpse from within. If you want to be technical, these zombies fall under the control of lanmò, but the influence that it and Cacta have on one another mean it is more typically about 50/50.

It is worth noting that he once swallowed, and can if given a couple of goes regurgitate, the coin of Hulter; the god of colour. The coin’s only ability is to change the colour of objects, with the rather unusual side-effect that it gives him an overpowering urge to lick purple things. He keeps it around only because it is one of those objects that seems to cling to their perceived owners and keeping it with him is easier than trying to get rid of it. Also of note: his glass eye allows him to see justice.

Biography: Little is known about Cacta from before he crossed the border to Sawte. That was back before he got the coffin, or even before the gelato incident, though he still had those duck wings growing up his arms. If you can find it in yourself to ask him about them he might tell you he had them from birth; that his father was a duck and this was what he got for it. Then again ask him on another night and he might tell you that they’re a result of exposure to mutation goo. Cacta never really was one for telling the truth about his past. A couple of weeks after he passed through the small village on the border of Sawte a lawman came through, asking about a murderer; a cactus owl, one that you wouldn’t be likely to forget in a hurry, one crippled with ducks instead of wings. Everybody remembered Cacta but nobody told that lawman nothing. People aren’t like that in Sawte. People gotta look out for one another in this unkind world.

The gelato incident? Well yeah I can explain that one to you. See he arrived in Shattered Creek and he was pretty down on his luck, the deserts hadn’t been kind to old Cacta. He needed a job and the only job in town was one that nobody really wanted; test subject at the old alchemists’. To say it didn’t turn out well, well in one sense you’d be accurate. Ever since Cacta has had a nasty habit of swallowing every quarter he happened to stumble across, most of the times with a look of weary acceptance on his face. Ate so many damn quarters he can’t walk properly any more. But on the other hand most of the people who tried Old Rattan’s concoctions ended up six feet under with generous pay for a day’s work well done going to their nearest and dearest. What I’m saying is that broadly speaking Cacta didn’t do too bad. Hell he’s probably worth a small fortune nowadays.

Cacta, well, it seemed he had a certain type of luck when it came to enchanted objects. They seemed to seek him out for one reason or another. He swallowed Hulder’s quarter, of course that one was inevitable. When his eye got shot out by a trigger happy bandit called Brasslin, he somehow ended up with Retfærdighed’s glass eye, lets him see justice itself they say. He sure saw that Brasslin saw justice for what he did. An eye for an eye. That’s some good old fashioned justice right there. Then of course, there’s Lanmò’s coffin. He don’t carry that thing around for fun. That thing’s got a mind of it’s own and it’s got a grip on him. Last I saw him, he looked like he ought to have been dead and I think that’s what he should’ve been, but for that spirit of death riding him around like a damn horse. He don’t come round to the towns much any more. Only when there’s been a death. Sometimes when there’s about to be a death. He’ll be there, ready and waiting with a long face, that fire burning in his good eye, and a freshly carved coffin, just waiting.

Ain’t seen him in a while. I hope he’s okay out there in those wastes. He may be a walkin’ corpse with a predilection for eating money and a past so chequered it could start races, but he was one of the good ones once, and the desert can be hard on a man.