Can freely be drawn, ask before writing! | Freely able to be depicted with others as long as you maintain his nature | Limited creator availability
.;Origin Prompts;.
~check back soon~
Ozymandias' elemental is one he's had since his creation, and in general is a very personal one. Made up from the same core as the statues that litter his boundary, Ozy's melting marble elemental allows him to create visages, statuettes, ornate pieces, small trinket-like objects of things he's seen in recent times, or even random shapes. He's always had a love for the arts, and he takes pride in his works that he can create with his elemental and always treats them with care. Much like his creator, he has a tendency to turn towards it for comfort when stressed, which only shows just how mindless at times the task of working with this elemental has become for him.
Due to it being so personal, Ozymandias doesn't hand over figurines and statues lightly. They are deeply meaningful, and only given to those he adores, cherishes, or respects immensely. To those folk, they may even find a statue carved in their honor within the confines of his garden. They might be reclaimed by his overgrowing home, but there will be an art to that as well. He takes good care of these statues, and you should do well to remember that when finding them - especially if they are not in your honor.
Due to it being so personal, Ozymandias doesn't hand over figurines and statues lightly. They are deeply meaningful, and only given to those he adores, cherishes, or respects immensely. To those folk, they may even find a statue carved in their honor within the confines of his garden. They might be reclaimed by his overgrowing home, but there will be an art to that as well. He takes good care of these statues, and you should do well to remember that when finding them - especially if they are not in your honor.
Represented by a glow to his laurel leaves when active, Ozymandias' 'Tyrant's Countenance' is a rather prickly and annoying enchantment, one that echoes with a bitter vengeance a reminder of what he once used to be. To those near him and on his boundary grounds, Ozy's enchantment will create a rather suffocating sensation. It feels, in a way, akin to carrying something so heavy for so long that you've forgotten how it feels not to be overburdened. It's stifling, and though it doesn't hurt, it's certainly uncomfortable and can leave folk exhausted and drained if in his presence for a prolonged duration.
He uses it as a defense mechanism, essentially, for when he does not know the stranger or when he becomes uncomfortable. But to some, he will purposefully not activate his enchantment, leaving them able to walk through his home without so much as even a bit of sore muscle. In fact, they feel almost weightless, in comparison.
He uses it as a defense mechanism, essentially, for when he does not know the stranger or when he becomes uncomfortable. But to some, he will purposefully not activate his enchantment, leaving them able to walk through his home without so much as even a bit of sore muscle. In fact, they feel almost weightless, in comparison.
Background
Conceited | Obedient | Cynical
In his past life, Ozymandias had once been a revered and respected king - perhaps even feared at times. He ruled similarly to his father, his father before him, and even further behind: similar to a tyrant in terms of disposition, and with an arrogant air surrounding him. Though respected, Ozymandias was often called cold and calculating, and they weren't wrong. He was a good ruler, even if not entirely kind - he never went into altercations unprepared nor did he cause them without reason, he listened to most of his people's grievances and he listened well, he made deals with those he knew would bring the most benefit to the collective and not himself. So yes, he wasn't entirely sweet, but he was smart. He knew that, his people knew that, and if it weren't for this - and his general acceptance that always came unabashed despite his vain attitude - he likely would've been hunted decades before his passing, or at least more than he had been.
He was a family man, however, and this his people knew. Ozymandias gave his wife and son a pedestal, worshiped at their altar, and loved them dearly. With them present, he wasn't the cold, calculating ruler everyone knew him to be. He was actually kind of sweet in a way. Perhaps that's why folk jumped at the chance for gatherings with him at feasts or balls - they knew he'd be far more open to suggestion. And unfortunately, so would his family.
Ozymandias' life had been cut short by a horrid case of the plague. No doctor was able to find any proper cure, though they could suppress it, but by the time it had reached the castle it'd already been too late for most folk. His wife went first, then his son, leaving him a grieving sickly king who could barely get out of bed on his own and had to be physically carted around by over garbed maids and gruff doctors and rather manic apothecary. He died a hollow version of himself, alongside his dying people, within his ruined and mockingly emptied castle.
When X found him, he'd been just freshly dead and struggling to hang on, driven only by bitter anger and harsh grieving. But the Wanderer had found him, and had cooed a kind deal: a new immortal life in exchange for some favors. A chance to renew what he lost, to control what he couldn't before. To be king of kings once more. What other choice did he have than to accept?
But it's been years since then, and now as a spirit, Ozymandias is a bit of a strange creature. He still carries his head high, quite literally too, and despite his lack of a proper kingdom anymore he still thinks himself something of a king. Even in death he hasn't lost his vanity, his arrogance, his knack for bitter. But he's also a man of patience. Ozy's entire lifeblood centers around reviving his home, in making it whole again and reviving that liveliness it once held so many years ago, but that takes time. So much time. And he's long since learned how to use it well. He's content with standing still for long periods of time within his castle's walls, waiting for the next thread to lead him to the next figure to recreate. He's fine with the silence. He's fine. Is it preferred? No. No it is not. But he understands patience, and he understands that with time he shall see his home be reborn. That's perhaps one of the few comforts he has nowadays: the promise of life and a fresh start with those he remembers.
Ozymandias is, however, a bit strange. He's old and ancient these days - a king from a long gone period who has many stories to tell and no one to tell them to. Despite his desire for visitors, he's innately protective over his home and cautious. He remembers the mistakes he'd made in the past, the ones that allowed for illness and death and ruin, and though he knows realistically he cannot be afflicted by it any longer there is a fear to him. The old king has a clouded mind, hazy with ancient fever and old memories he claws to hold onto, and even with his arrogant posture he is a weak, lonely, scared man.
He was human once. He is no god, he is no deity. He was but a man, and now he's a spirit who's tied forever more to his old empty home and must watch as it crumbles so he may rebuild it pebble by pebble. He's tired. He's so, so tired, and though he still carried hope for the future he can't help but long for rest. There's a kindness to it, Ozy thinks, the art of dying. He's always enjoyed art no matter the form, but he's always wondered in recent years if one could properly represent the kindness of death. Of rest. For as much as he begs for renewal, he begs for an end to. He's not lost on the world, not by a long shot, and all of his half-baked desires for this strange second death have to be the ramblings of a king going mad, but he can remedy that. He can push through his fever ridden mind, his strange air of doubt and loneliness, and he can focus himself. He has to.
He has to.
There is an anger to him as well. A strange sense for it, but it comes from a simple fact: he couldn't control the past. He couldn't stop what happened to his people, couldn't stop what happened to his son, his wife, and he is angry. So angry. He's cynical, and though he can become friendly, he isn't by default. Fear of abandonment perhaps, or maybe something deeper?
Altogether, Ozymandias is tired, ancient, a bit crude, but respectable. He's lived many years and will live many more, especially considering his drive. Though he can be cold and off putting to many - it doesn't help that he's got a bastard of an enchantment - he does offer solace within his castle to those who need it. He remembers people, he resonates, and he loves a good story. He's protective and cautious to a fault, but should you settle him he'll welcome you in happily. To get to know him is another story, but perhaps one wouldn't want to go that far. The old king may not be used to modern affections, but he's interesting company, if a bit hazy and jagged at the edges.
In his past life, Ozymandias had once been a revered and respected king - perhaps even feared at times. He ruled similarly to his father, his father before him, and even further behind: similar to a tyrant in terms of disposition, and with an arrogant air surrounding him. Though respected, Ozymandias was often called cold and calculating, and they weren't wrong. He was a good ruler, even if not entirely kind - he never went into altercations unprepared nor did he cause them without reason, he listened to most of his people's grievances and he listened well, he made deals with those he knew would bring the most benefit to the collective and not himself. So yes, he wasn't entirely sweet, but he was smart. He knew that, his people knew that, and if it weren't for this - and his general acceptance that always came unabashed despite his vain attitude - he likely would've been hunted decades before his passing, or at least more than he had been.
He was a family man, however, and this his people knew. Ozymandias gave his wife and son a pedestal, worshiped at their altar, and loved them dearly. With them present, he wasn't the cold, calculating ruler everyone knew him to be. He was actually kind of sweet in a way. Perhaps that's why folk jumped at the chance for gatherings with him at feasts or balls - they knew he'd be far more open to suggestion. And unfortunately, so would his family.
Ozymandias' life had been cut short by a horrid case of the plague. No doctor was able to find any proper cure, though they could suppress it, but by the time it had reached the castle it'd already been too late for most folk. His wife went first, then his son, leaving him a grieving sickly king who could barely get out of bed on his own and had to be physically carted around by over garbed maids and gruff doctors and rather manic apothecary. He died a hollow version of himself, alongside his dying people, within his ruined and mockingly emptied castle.
When X found him, he'd been just freshly dead and struggling to hang on, driven only by bitter anger and harsh grieving. But the Wanderer had found him, and had cooed a kind deal: a new immortal life in exchange for some favors. A chance to renew what he lost, to control what he couldn't before. To be king of kings once more. What other choice did he have than to accept?
But it's been years since then, and now as a spirit, Ozymandias is a bit of a strange creature. He still carries his head high, quite literally too, and despite his lack of a proper kingdom anymore he still thinks himself something of a king. Even in death he hasn't lost his vanity, his arrogance, his knack for bitter. But he's also a man of patience. Ozy's entire lifeblood centers around reviving his home, in making it whole again and reviving that liveliness it once held so many years ago, but that takes time. So much time. And he's long since learned how to use it well. He's content with standing still for long periods of time within his castle's walls, waiting for the next thread to lead him to the next figure to recreate. He's fine with the silence. He's fine. Is it preferred? No. No it is not. But he understands patience, and he understands that with time he shall see his home be reborn. That's perhaps one of the few comforts he has nowadays: the promise of life and a fresh start with those he remembers.
Ozymandias is, however, a bit strange. He's old and ancient these days - a king from a long gone period who has many stories to tell and no one to tell them to. Despite his desire for visitors, he's innately protective over his home and cautious. He remembers the mistakes he'd made in the past, the ones that allowed for illness and death and ruin, and though he knows realistically he cannot be afflicted by it any longer there is a fear to him. The old king has a clouded mind, hazy with ancient fever and old memories he claws to hold onto, and even with his arrogant posture he is a weak, lonely, scared man.
He was human once. He is no god, he is no deity. He was but a man, and now he's a spirit who's tied forever more to his old empty home and must watch as it crumbles so he may rebuild it pebble by pebble. He's tired. He's so, so tired, and though he still carried hope for the future he can't help but long for rest. There's a kindness to it, Ozy thinks, the art of dying. He's always enjoyed art no matter the form, but he's always wondered in recent years if one could properly represent the kindness of death. Of rest. For as much as he begs for renewal, he begs for an end to. He's not lost on the world, not by a long shot, and all of his half-baked desires for this strange second death have to be the ramblings of a king going mad, but he can remedy that. He can push through his fever ridden mind, his strange air of doubt and loneliness, and he can focus himself. He has to.
He has to.
There is an anger to him as well. A strange sense for it, but it comes from a simple fact: he couldn't control the past. He couldn't stop what happened to his people, couldn't stop what happened to his son, his wife, and he is angry. So angry. He's cynical, and though he can become friendly, he isn't by default. Fear of abandonment perhaps, or maybe something deeper?
Altogether, Ozymandias is tired, ancient, a bit crude, but respectable. He's lived many years and will live many more, especially considering his drive. Though he can be cold and off putting to many - it doesn't help that he's got a bastard of an enchantment - he does offer solace within his castle to those who need it. He remembers people, he resonates, and he loves a good story. He's protective and cautious to a fault, but should you settle him he'll welcome you in happily. To get to know him is another story, but perhaps one wouldn't want to go that far. The old king may not be used to modern affections, but he's interesting company, if a bit hazy and jagged at the edges.
BoundaryThe place of his birth, the place of his life, and the place of his death, Ozymandias makes his home within the confines of his abandoned castle and its surrounding lands, within limitations. The castle itself is nestled on a hilly clearing with forested mountains and various water sources surrounding. It's a rather pretty sight in all honesty, with a variety of flora and fauna filling the area in the form of canines, passerine, birds of prey and cervids, though it isn't uncommon to see plenty of other animals roaming about. It is the mountains, so tread lightly. To those who venture into the woods, you may even discover old buildings and ruins that were once core to the castle, or perhaps minor safe havens for folk nearby.
The castle itself, despite its abandonment, stands tall to this day. The clean walls have been cracked with weathering, ornately carved arches often overtaken by flora and nesting sites, gardens lush and glass fogged - it tells the story of its age and ailments just by looking at it and yet? It stands proudly. The architecture is rather ornate in design, almost baroque, and the interior is no different. Gardens and fountains little the grounds of this place, housing a variety of plants, fruits and vegetables from all over that've been brought once upon a time as gifts and now grow in abundance. The most notable plant is the peach rose, a sort of symbol for the castle and the family's favorite. The interior of the castle is highly reminiscent of baroque styles - almost theatrical in a sense but gorgeous to look at anyway. Grand stairways, stained windows, illusion-type paintings along the dome-esque and even flat ceilings, mirrors, columns, gilding, cartouche design work - it was dramatic, reeked of money and power, but it was beautiful. Though the furniture inside is a bit at disarray these days, the silks, velvets, lace and various other fixtures, blankets and cloths can still be seen decorating the place. Considering no humans live here anymore, Ozymandias has taken to restyling some of the items and making them kinder for the Esk - typically in the form of handmade nests, candles, more earthy decorations, things of that nature. It's still ornate, everything is place with purpose, and it's still a marvel he desires to keep alive. Should one ever visit him and bring a gift - which is encouraged - he'll find a special place for it in the decorum. Perhaps, if he enjoys the gift immensely, he'll keep it in his haunt: the old throne room, now quiet and stained with the light from the floor to ceiling windows. It reeks of loneliness, but it's still a pretty thing to gaze upon. |
His Creator
X and Ozymandias have a strange relationship at best. Not aggressive by any means, but they aren't friends either per se. It's a companionship built on requests and favors - a living and walking business deal, basically. Ozy stays in his boundary, and X comes by to ask him for assistance, to ask for stories or tales, and the old dead kind obliges. They're decent acquaintances, and Ozymandias will be the first to admit that having a fairly regular constant to speak with is nice. Having someone interested in his old stories even more so.
Despite this transactional relationship, they are okay with each other. When X comes for stories, Ozy does his best to make the young Wanderer comfortable, offers them hospitality and mockeries of human customs from his time, and they settle. Sometimes they exchange sculpted gifts - little trinkets to remember their time and to leave a mark. Ozymandias has a steady little collection of X's glass, and he's got an even bigger one of his own marble. So yeah, he could live fine without X around, but the company is kind.
X and Ozymandias have a strange relationship at best. Not aggressive by any means, but they aren't friends either per se. It's a companionship built on requests and favors - a living and walking business deal, basically. Ozy stays in his boundary, and X comes by to ask him for assistance, to ask for stories or tales, and the old dead kind obliges. They're decent acquaintances, and Ozymandias will be the first to admit that having a fairly regular constant to speak with is nice. Having someone interested in his old stories even more so.
Despite this transactional relationship, they are okay with each other. When X comes for stories, Ozy does his best to make the young Wanderer comfortable, offers them hospitality and mockeries of human customs from his time, and they settle. Sometimes they exchange sculpted gifts - little trinkets to remember their time and to leave a mark. Ozymandias has a steady little collection of X's glass, and he's got an even bigger one of his own marble. So yeah, he could live fine without X around, but the company is kind.
art by Tayleaf
Character Details and Notes
- Ozymandias' vibration or voice is rough, low, ancient and telling. There is a tremor to his speech, one brought on by scars that've carried from his human years, and a rasp that is reminiscent to ones voice amidst a horrid flu. His tone is often cold and purposeful, almost haughty towards some depending on how he may speak, and his words are always carefully chosen. He's long since been well-read, and though he often uses rather backhanded comments he maintains a polite and good mannered attitude, especially should he deem you an equal. Beneath it though, there is a slight loneliness to his presence. A feeling similar to being in an empty ballroom, one long filled with dust and mess. It's a soft thing, comforting but not, and it is there only for a moment when he is near and speaking, unless you know where to look.
- Despite being incredibly thin, Ozymandias actually stands fairly tall. From the shoulders down, he's a decent 13 feet (essentially a large elephant).
- Ozymandias was a good ruler, but not exactly kind. He kept his family and friends close, his enemies closer, and he had an even closer circle made of only his most companionable. As a result, he's respectful, but who he chooses to entirely show that to is rather picky. He does not bow to strangers unless he's got good reason to, nor is he entirely sincere either. Despite being long dead, he still thinks highly of himself and what he represents within his boundary. With those he deems companionable though, or perhaps even higher than him, Ozymandias will bow and lower his head to speak to them and he'll keep it that way. He is incredibly patient and respectful to those few folk, and they tend to have statues dedicated to them within his gardens.
- Though he is not a frequenter of the Conservatory, he does visit it here and there. In particular, he enjoys spending his time within the odd palace mimicries and lush gardens and fields, sometimes even the Wellsprings can find his company. He does have a personal wing: a quiet little corner deep within the Developed wing that mimics a colonnade of sorts. It peers down at fountains and flowers, glass keeping the way shut that can be opened, though the ornate designs it makes would be lost if you did. There's plenty of velvety seating in the form of pillows, odd books that when opened display moving baroque paintings instead of words, and plentiful amounts of incense and floating candles - alongside other minor decorum. It's a quiet place, and he usually spends his time alone within it, though visitors are welcomed. Just do your best to keep it down. Outside of that though, you may find him beside 000 sharing stories with youngsters, or should you come across him out and about, feel free to join him for company. He's likely in a fine mood if he's even there to begin with.
- As a creator, Ozymandias' attitude depends entirely on what he creates. His entire motivation behind creating Esk is to revive his castle back to its former glory, and as a result he'll only transform folk who lived and worked within his home and any meaningful objects as well. He is a kind creator to the transformed that he remembers closely, but he is not a mentor, at least not usually. To younger folk he will be open and kind, and to those he was close with it's the same treatment, but to everyone else? He is a king, and they were his workers or visitors. He gives them the respect they "deserve" unless they earn more.
.;Badges;.
credits ; images from pexels