» age :
[19]
» eye colour :
[grey]
» hair colour :
[raven]
» height :
[5'6"]
» weight :
[126lbs]
» appearance :
Hanselt Lemke appears remarkably effeminate, his softly-built face serving as a pale canvas for grey-green eyes, a rounded nose, and delicate lips. His hair is long, locks of raven that in the right light appear to be violet. His countenance is constantly described as 'innocent', as his eyes tend to wander, and his long dark brows contour his face in a way that becomes reminiscent of a child's inquisitive furrow. Yet despite the youthfulness of his features, there lies a tiredness – his face has begun to become gaunt due to malnutrition, and circles have formed beneath his eyes, the brand of many a sleepless night.
The Acerbus dresses himself in earthen colors, by circumstance as opposed to preference. Generally he covers himself in rags kind souls can spare him. Gems of icy-blue adorn each of his ears, however, a sign – perhaps – of lost wealth. Lines of blue cloth keep his hair out of his eyes, and accentuate his effeminate features.
Diminutive in stature, and lean, Hanselt carries himself lazily, swaggering with an air of haughtiness, although moving nimbly, as if a gazelle at tranquil rest before it pounces into action. Despite his small stature, he speaks with a definitive confidence, voice soft like the maidens, yet devious in tone, a hint to his acerbic wit.
⌜ PERSONALITY & HISTORY ⌟
» elemental type :
[metal]
» elemental powers :
My Trusty Steed, Bellerophon
[summary: control over a specific mass of quicksilver that accompanies him]
Hanselt Lemke is constantly accompanied by a mass of metal (referred to as Bellerophon), most commonly manifested as a large quicksilver 'slug' that silently slides along behind him. In its default resting state, the mass has the peculiar consistency of cold dough, soft to the touch, firm enough to qualify as pliable and reforming any indents made as it is poked and prodded. The amorphous quicksilver construct seems lifelike in its own strange way, even demonstrating a phenomena akin to 'breathing' – ever so slightly contracting and expanding as the temperature shifts.
Hanselt's elemental powers are directly linked with the manipulation of this quicksilver mass. Comprehensively, he is able to reshape it, as well as alter its consistency, hardness, weight and size. Control over the mass is done by intuitive feel, and require no somatic component – the mass acts as Hanselt thinks. There are, however, rules of nature and logical limitations which govern this degree of control.
Perhaps the most critical rule to Hanselt's control is that the mass's solidity bears an inverse relation to its size, a rule of density. This means that, generally speaking, the larger the construct, the more ineffective it is when weaponized. The largest size Hanselt is capable of altering Bellerophon, while still being able to maintain a solid enough consistency is of the average steed. Additionally, it also means that there is a minimum size that the mass can be rendered into – around the size of a young pup.
Secondly, is the matter of complexity. The quicksilver mass is manipulated by Hanselt's own intuitive feel, and thus it cannot be readily manipulated in ways that other geniuses may be able to utilize metal. Difficult concepts of construction, such as the levers associated with implements such as the crossbow, are unable to be replicated through this mass of metal. Additionally, the mass must remain whole – it cannot be split into multiple entities.
The highest degree of complexity Hanselt is able to achieve is to allow the mass to take upon a quadruped form, mimicking the joints and appendages of animals in nature, and render it able to carry a rider as well move at pace. It must be said that the malleable nature of the quicksilver mass offers a degree of versatility – Hanselt has even been known to arrange the mass in a serpentine shape. Hanselt's most common application for this versatility is to utilize a horse-like construct. The trusty steed; Bellerophon.
Side Note: Generally speaking, while other Acerbus of metal are capable of manipulating Bellerophon, Hanselt's control overrides them.
»
elemental weaknesses :
- [Liquid is anathema to Bellerophon. Being impacted by trace amounts (such as Bellerophon stumbling into a puddle for but an instance) is negligible, but a substantial amount of water (such as a spray generated by a Water element Acerbus) or consistent exposure to water (such as during the rain) wreaks havoc. Essentially, Bellerophon undergoes an intense chemical reaction and is reduced to a meager puddle of quicksilver. In this state, Hanselt retains control of Bellerophon's movement, but is unable to reshape it. A substantial amount of time must pass before Bellerophon resumes normal utility.]
- [Extreme heat and prolonged exposure to intense flame has much the same effect, unfortunately. ]
- [Sensory overload while intuiting Bellerophon's movements has also been an issue in the past. While Hanselt is capable enough of moving in tandem with the mass, complex or substantial amount of movement by his own person negatively effects the mobility of Bellerophon, and vice versa. While Hanselt possesses the spatial awareness to overcome this weakness in small confrontations, the more external forces to consider, the trickier matters become. ]
» personality
Hanselt Lemke, as is somewhat typical of a Metal Acerbus, is a thinker of great deliberation. His brand of deliberation, however, extends into complacency and procrastination, and oftentimes descends all the way into inaction. Simply put, even in the midst of a world where his kind is consistently persecuted and slaughtered, Hanselt Lemke exists in a realm of extreme calm. He approaches danger with gallows humor, and regards dire peril as situations in which to exercise his remarkably creative and resourceful muscle. Which, of course, he'll wait until the last possible moment to exercise.
To sum it up, intelligent, and chronically prone to underperforming in relation to his own talents.
At the very least, this is the nature of Hanselt Lemke when only his own life is on the line. The Acerbus is particularly anxious when it comes to the needs and safety of the many. He himself has theorized that this is due to a particularly unfortunate esteem issue – he is at ease when his own life is in jeopardy, but utterly distraught when put into a position where his actions could let down others, let alone impact their well-being. Still, he is able to put aside this anxiety to contribute in as rational and productive a way as possible. A consummate comrade.
In conversation, Hanselt generally opts to speak only when spoken to, although will latch onto conversations with zeal if it happens to involve an attractive female, and acerbic wit if it involves a particularly stupid verbal adversary. Indeed, Hanselt Lemke's overarching ambition is to firstly survive long enough to see a world where he can engage in copious amounts of fornication without worrying about King Sephiran's lackeys hunting for him. Secondly? To shame idiots. To that end, Hanselt engages in accordance to an exaggerated code of chivalry, no woman left behind, and no fool unridiculed.
» history :
In the year 1514, House Lemke, based in Wren, was dying, for Lord Marlon Lemke was weak of seed and thus like to be the last male of his bloodline. A foolhardy man unable to accept this, he went through many a wife, and blamed them all for his inability to conceive. The bloodline was everything, Marlon Lemke had reasoned, and these women sabotaged his legacy with their failings.
In the year 1514, the veil was cut.
In the year 1514, Lord Marlon Lemke, petty and cruel though he was, received a gift from the Gods. A beacon of light that feel from the sky upon his balcony that metamorphosed into a boy. 'Our beautiful boy' Lady Fringilla Lemke had said, the newly elevated fourteenth wife who had formerly been a simple merchant of eclectic and purportedly ineffective fertility trinkets.
And obsessed with the goal of leaving behind a legacy, to continue the bloodline, Lord Marlon Lemke accepted this 'child of the Gods' as his own, naming the confused being Hanselt, of House Lemke.
In the days to come, this phenomena known as the Acerbii would become widespread information, and Marlon and Fringilla alike would quickly decipher the true nature of their godly child. It was a phenomena that at first spawned wonderment, but also fear, and Marlon instinctively knew that Hanselt's true nature could never be revealed. For his part, Hanselt was cognizant of the fortuitous situation he had found himself in – having formerly remembered a past as a poor stablehand, and allowed himself to indulge in House Lemke's patronage. He was to play the role of gifted adopted son, shipped from some esteemed Orphanage in the faraway lands that educated their children before bestowing them upon families.
Hanselt was not particularly adept at the role. He was intelligent, and certainly intelligent enough to note the opportunities his situation afforded him. He was boisterous, wanton and absorbed by carnal passions, and disgraced himself in the eyes of Marlon Lemke. One particularly distasteful incident involving a somewhat expensively priced strumpet forced Marlon Lemke's hand, causing him to flog Hanselt in the gardens of the Lemke abode.
Over the years, Marlon and Hanselt's relationship became tense, with Marlon dutifully attempting to mold Hanselt in his image, and with Hanselt firmly pushing away. Aside from that, political intrigue became an issue as well. House Bastile lay claim to Lord Marlon's lands in the event that he pass on without an heir, and they began to question the suspicious nature of Hanselt. Indeed, the theory that he was an Acerbus came into actualization, in a time when Acerbii were regarded with growing amounts of wary distaste.
In 1519, Hanselt Lemke and his ilk became the enemy.
Soon after the King's declaration, a contingent of strange men, said to be elite soldiers commissioned by the King, as well as a group from House Bastile assaulted the Lemke abode, under the pretense of capturing an Acerbus. Hanselt Lemke awoke to pure bedlam, as Lord Marlon Lemke slowly inched his way into his room, bleeding from evisceration.
"You are my son, and there will be a time… when House Lemke will be once more." He had said, before succumbing.
Hanselt Lemke did not know if he spoke out of desperation, to feel as if his passing would not signal the end of his House, or if he spoke out a genuine love built out of five years. Nonetheless, as Marlon fell, as the footsteps of the intruders grew ever closer, a mass of steel emerged from beneath Hanselt's bed.
"Bellerophon, ride." He had said. The last sight the attackers had seen of Hanselt Lemke, was of a man galloping through a window on a steed of steel.
Laying low, he spent a substantial amount of time in the Port City of Windsor, before eventually finding his way to Sorvan City.
⌜ WRITING SAMPLE ⌟
» prompt :
From the port city of Windsor, overlooked by the shadow of Brandkast, Sorvan City seemed an eternity and two lifetimes away. Perhaps with an untimely death added in, Hanselt noted. Overlooking the merchant junks that sailed from East to West, and West to East, and back again, he inwardly cursed the time-sensitive nature of purposeful motion. He would need to chart a path out through Windsor, past Wren, and into the last sanctuary for the Acerbii. The mild summer was ending, and the scent of salt water would be eradicated by cold winds that numbed the senses. Hanselt was a lone traveler, and Bellerophon would not sustain itself through the rain and snow.
"Which means, of course, that I am going to die." Wistful was the Acerbus' lamentations, resigning himself to his fate. Hanselt had stayed too long, and either the winter or the Orion Knights would outrace him. Complacency had defined his time within Windsor. Windsor was a mercantile city, and Hanselt had estimated merchants to be a quirky and strangely honed sort of people; he had thus theorized that his own characteristics would not draw overt suspicion, and so allowed himself the comfort of a temporary abode. As Sephiran's hunters of men disseminated themselves ever so rapidly into the Windsor populous however, Hanselt realized his comfort had been utter folly.
He had, of course, made plans to depart seven suns and moons ago but was held up by promises and obligations, strong enough to bypass an ingrained sense of self-preservation. Lily, the vagabond Acerbus who had so enthralled him with her carefree smile, had given him cause to stay. Steal a flask of spiked mead from Captain Olliferous' ship, and then the two of them could share it, as well as the night. That, Hanselt reasoned, was worth the week-long delay and the shortened life expectancy.
Yet Hanselt's thoughts were not near so juvenile. He knew that Lily was enamored with Windsor, the way the ships sailed in without fail upon the morning, the smell of salt-baked fish and the rare spilt vintage upon the wooden docks. Even as more and more of the Orion Knights made their rounds within the city, Lily's feelings for what she knew as 'home' never diminished. But Hanselt knew, and so too – he suspected – did Lily, that she would die in Windsor if she stayed the coming Fall. If Hanselt could just steal a night with her, he could steal her heart as well, and maybe…
They could escape the city, Winter, and death all at once. Together.
Olliferous was a navigator of some regard, and each week, without fail, his ship would sail into port the moment the sun touched the roof of Father Abernathy's. The sailors of the Lintwood Company, Olliferous' patrons, never immediately unloaded their stock. First, they would find comfort in the buxom and alcoholic pleasures of the nearest brothel. He watched as hulking men of seaborne stout strength touched feet upon the docks, celebrating the completion of their routine journey.
Hanselt's heart pounded as he watched the sailors make their way towards Lady Lindegaard's unsavory premises. He glanced at his burgundy pack, where a shrunken Bellerophon lay hidden, dormant – yet Hanselt could feel its quicksilver mass breathing in tandem with his heart.
"Easy, Bellerophon."
Boarding the ship proved easy enough, as no one paid the young man any mind. Hanselt knew that the ship could not have possibly been empty; Hanselt had not counted Olliferous amongst the brothel-bound contingent. Perhaps he had fallen asleep within his cabin, salt-baked to unconsciousness by the sun. Strengthened though he was by wishful thinking, Hanselt could not help but feel his legs quaking as his linen soles graced the deck. The ladder towards the stowspace could not be more than a few dozen steps away, and yet already Hanselt felt his heart in his throat.
Cursing the things that he did for infatuation, Hanselt made his way to the top rung of the ladder, and began to descend. All he could hear were his footsteps upon wood, and Hanselt attempted to find solace in this. Finally, his feet landed above the keel.
"Who's there?" A voice rang in Hanselt's ear, inquisitive and assertive all at once. The Acerbus froze, shocked to paralysis by the sudden inquiry.
Captain Olliferous emerged from behind crates of shipped goods, a pipe protruding from his mouth, his red mane of hair surrounded by tendrils of smoke. He was partially disrobed, his scarred torso – a testament to his years combating piracy – staring at Hanselt, each scar a leer that informed the Acerbus of his tragic misstep, and the scimitar at his waste the most damning of glares.
"Hanselt Lemke." The Acerbus felt himself say, eerily at ease despite his position. "Vagrant. Mead thief."
Olliferous' eyes widened in amusement, allowing Hanselt to note that his left was glazed over by curse of blindness. "A mead thief, you say? A cunning rapscallion with a desperate hungering for honey-wine, aye? What do you have against fine ales or liquor?" The Captain paused, taking the pipe out of his mouth to survey Hanselt. "I've seen ye before, I do believe I have. The young lad that watches all the ships sail in? Have ye been eyeing me as a target?"
"I… well, no, sir. I'm actually not a mead thief at all. A vagrant, possibly."
"So what brings ye aboard my humble vessel?"
"To steal some mead."
"I thought ye weren't a mead thief?"
"It's certainly not my profession, sir."
The Captain guffawed at the exchange, stifling his laughter with his pipe. Shaking his head in almost paternal disappointment, he questioned Hanselt, "Is there a lass?" He continued, without awaiting the young man's answer. "You're not the first would-be mead thief to be found out like this. There's a rumor, doubtless you've heard, that Lintwood Company's mead makes you more robust. In the codpiece area, of course. Perfect for the first night of rose picking, if ye catch my drift."
Hanselt could scarce believe the line this diatribe had taken, and yet considered it a blessing all the same. "I… yes. Certainly. I'm just weak and limp of manhood, and eager to avoid disappointing my sweetheart. If you could be ever so kind as to spare me just a bit of the famous mead, I would be forever in your de-."
Olliferous had already turned away, disappearing behind a row of crates. For a few solitary seconds, Hanselt wondered if this was an opportune moment, perhaps, to make his escape. Before the thought could actualize into a course of action, the Captain re-emerged, a bottle in hand. He handed it to the Acerbus, sighing as he did so, "Young lad, one day you'll learn it's about strength of heart, not strength of codpiece-flesh. Away you go now, boy."
"Is it true? The bit about the codpiece, and the robustening…"
"Boyo, I was born robust, how in the blazes would I know? Off you go!"
Hanselt practically skipped from the docks, past the strumpets at Lindegaard's, the fish market of Windsor, and Sigis Rutherford who cut meat for a living. Why, procuring the spiked mead had filled him with a satisfaction and sense of accomplishment; he could only imagine what it would feel like when he magicked himself and Lily away to the safety of Sorvan City. He waved at Old Man Rochen as the toothless man stared incredulously as what looked like Hanselt frolicking through the streets.
He stopped at Lily's abode, a wooden house, roof shingles emblazoned with papyrus flowers.
His heart dropped.
A blade had cut into the wood above the door, engraving a single phrase.
R-O-T D-A-M-N-E-D A-C-E-R-B-U-S.
