The Grand OC SII: The Re-OCening: Week 29: UNINTELLIGIBLE!

Name: Nome D’Plume
Species: Fae
Gender: She/Hers
Color: Indiscernible

Description: Nome (Nome-Ee) has no true physical form and can best described as smoke in the rough shape of a humanoid. Anything she possesses (see Abilities) gets a few ornamental additions including a beaked domino mask, avian-centric finery, and an imposing countenance. Nome is can be described as “vampiric.” As a liminal creature, she naturally envies the living but with decades of solitude, that envy has been extended to anything remotely interesting. She can be charmingly eccentric but her fickle nature and need for control ensures whatever pleasantries developed will be brief as summer nights. Nome is not nice and caution should be advised when approaching her.

Abilities: Nome can possess literally anything. She is parasitic, consuming at her vessel’s existence. If left unchecked, the victim gradually fades away and leave no trace of soul or any means of recovery even through supernatural methods. However, Nome also gives a great blessing in the form of impossible charisma. Every unbelievable lie is as persuasive as truth. Every faux-pas more brilliant than the most cultured of formalities. You can kill a man but no one will bother to connect the dead body with you in that ridiculous bird get-up. Nome is the perfect murder weapon if you can handle the whole “eventual absolute annihilation” sort of deal.

Biography:

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Spoiler
“D’PLUME! GET THE DAMN OUT OF HER!”

The woman slowly stood up and turned towards the Inquisitor. The feathers of her dress waved gently in the unfelt winds of the fallow-fields. Not a speck or smudge of dirt on her and in the dead of night, she practically glowed. She was breathtaking like an ancient forest and radiant like whatever nature-spirit dedicated inside. The Inquisitor felt her knees beginning to buckle, a thought itching at the back of her head to bend down, worship, and kiss at her feet. She refused to concede. Mere sorcery. It was the mask.

From the compounding evidence and the disappearance of several prominent figures, it was definitely the mask.

“Oh darling, darling,” the presence within the woman purred. Her lips did not move with the form of the words and the noblewoman’s voice, sing-song and twisted with mockery, did not seem to originate from her mouth. “I don’t understand why you think I did wrong.”

“People disappeared.”

“Those who deserve it.”

“And those who did not.”

“So what if they did not,” she shrieked as she turned for the terrifying. Smoke started to pouring out of her hair and ghostly talons wormed her way out beneath fingernails. “They took my queendom, slew my children. Locked me in a cage of cold iron.”

“D’Plume.”

“Unspeakable acts!”

“D’Plume –”

“So what if those I took do not come back? I told them and they understood. They helped. They helped.”

“D’Plume.”

“What! What other nonsense will you spill out of your wretched mouth?”

“The war was two decades ago. You don’t need to do this anymore,” the Inquisitor paused. “You can go back home.”

The woman started to convulse as clouds upon clouds of smoke started to pour out of her mouth. The Inquisitor could barely see her sword in the hand, let alone a strange creature peeling from its vessel like a butterfly from a chrysalis. She soon found herself hit with a tremendous force and knocked amongst the grain. Her head was pounding and her chest was hurting. She could barely recover her breath when she realized a line of fog, ominous and seething like a thunderstorm, rushing towards her. She could see a strange creature, not exactly avian, but not exactly human, coming towards her. It raised its hand and she raised her sword –

It was gone.