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[nohorseplay]

Player Information

Name: Silva
Personal Journal: justajoker
Age: 22
Contact Info: lunalloer @ plurk
Other Characters Played: Nope!
Do you need an invite? Nope!

Character Information

Character Name: Equius Zahhak
Character Series: MS Paint Adventures: Homestuck
Character Age: 6 sweeps/13 years approximately
Character Gender: Male
Original Canon
Canon Point: From just prior to being sent on his kill-mission by Gamzee/”Seek the Highb100d”.
Background Link: Homestuck and Equius himself.

Personality: Equius is a Troll of many contradictions. As a proud and noble b100b100d, he is expected to be proper, ruthless and domineering. The Alternian rules of conduct and social propriety are unbreakable laws to him, and he sees most facets of life in stark black and white, the way things are supposed to be and the ways they aren’t. He looks down on all those beneath him on the blood spectrum with a casual sneer, and would gladly defer to any higher blood with the utmost submission. Or so, at least, he’d claim if asked about it.

In reality things are a lot more complicated than that. When faced with Aradia, the lowest of lowbloods, he is reduced to a stammering mess by his attraction to her and his respect for her calm and regal nature. At the same time, he’s constantly infuriated by the lax and ludicrous ways of Gamzee, who is nowhere near the highblood he seeks to serve. These mixed up feelings put him in a constant state of anxiety, and anything relating to dominance, submission, and rank sets him into a sweaty fervor.

Further contradictions show in his behavior with others. At times he is cruel, indifferent, and utterly emotionally indifferent. He seems to speak with no consideration for the feelings of others. Instead, he says simply what he thinks is best and most appropriate at any given time, and expects others to agree with him implicitly. Even if they never do. However, he often acts out of kindness and good-will, even if it’s his own bizarre sort. He’s willing to put his mechanical aptitude to good use for others, and frequently apologizes for his outbursts and crassness when it is pointed out to him.

Really, he has something of a tender heart buried beneath all the bluster and sweat. He treats his moirail Nepeta, his guardian Aurthour, and his romantic interest Aradia with incredible tenderness. At least, as much as he can show. Trapped within his own unnatural strength he cannot really touch anyone, or treat anyone with softness. Even the most gentle caress bruises his unnaturally hardy guardian. He has become distant and closed-off almost out of necessity, because he can never really get close to others without hurting them. He further walls himself off in codes of conduct and Alternian history, and it seems unlikely he will ever push his way out.

Abilities: Equius is abnormally strong compared to most Trolls. He easily shatters glasses without even meaning to, and regularly beats robots into submission with his bare hands. His strength can be both an asset, allowing him to kill monsters effortlessly in Sgrub and leap several stories into the air, or a hindrance, making it difficult to interact with many people and objects. In addition, as the Heir of Void, he acts as a sort of psychic blindspot. No psychic abilities can affect him.

Sample Entry: The hallway was dark and empty. The sun had already set, turning the windows into black and unsettling mirrors. Unsettling for most, perhaps. Equius was facing the fear head on. He had been dragged to this place against his will, and that was simply unacceptable. He would not allow it. He would not go gently. It was his determined goal to conquer this place and the fear it inspired.

There were monsters in the darkness, he had been told. He welcomed them.

He had also been told that the monsters seemed infinite, unceasing in the shadows. He didn’t believe that. There was a source of everything, and thus an end, if only you could reach it. He remembered the nightmares that they’d been put through in the Medium, the seemingly endless hordes of Imps and Ogres and whatever else there was. But they’d put a stop to it. Perhaps there was a Black King here, in this tower, or something like it. Just kill the King and the rest would follow. He simply needed to find it. Or maybe draw it out.

Almost on cue, he heard the shuffling off footsteps in the darkness. As it drew closer, he could see that it was one of the imps. They’d been following him, a few of them, all day, but were never bold enough to strike. Now it seemed to be ready. With a wide rack of broken antlers and a leering grin it shuffled in, tar oozing from its broken fangs. His fingers curled into a tight fist, and he readied himself.

He didn’t hesitate when it sprang forward. From dealing with all the monsters in Sgrub, he knew better than to give them a chance. His fist cocked back and he swung once it was within reach, not hesitating for a moment, no matter how eerie the tea-kettle scream it let out was. He caught it squarely on the side of its misshapen skull and it crumpled satisfyingly under his fist. Black ichor spewed everywhere. Disgusting. Fitting that such a twisted creature had no place on the hemospectrum. It was simply born to be executed.

The body smacked into the wall and then collapsed, like a ragdoll, to the ground. He looked over it with a sneer. Was this the best the Tower could provide? It was faster than the Imps in Sgrub had been, and more menacing, but it was still nothing. He’d killed Ogres in a single blow.

“Disappointing,” he said. He shook his hand back and forth in the air, trying to clear some of the blood from his knuckles. “Is that the best there is?”

There was another whispering noise from deeper in the darkness. He looked back at the door from whence he’d come, and wondered for a moment about his roommates. But they said that the monsters almost never tried for the doors. They would be safe. He could step a little farther without worrying about them too much. Though in the future he may start putting them to training. Bettering themselves. They would need to teach themselves to survive.

He walked, seeking the sound of that noise. It always seemed just a little ahead of him, just out of reach of his vision, and he had very good night vision. He put his hand on a wall, just to keep himself steady in the darkness, and that was when it struck. A hand closed around his, appearing out of nowhere and with an iron hard grip. He had barely any time to even think about breaking loose before there were even more, grasping at his clothes and his shoulder and his other arm, and he was being pulled into the wall. His face ground into it, his glasses cracking even more, and he let out a grunt of pain. He could feel blue blood dripping from his nose.

“Unhand me,” he growled.

With all his not inconsiderable strength, he wrenched back in those many spectral hands, feeling a few of them give on the first tug. Some of them tried to hold him again, but he kept pulling, kept fighting, kicking at the wall and easily putting his foot through it before he was staggering away. The hands seized after him, appearing to come from the wall itself, but he stepped outside their reach. Tenderly, he rubbed at his nose. Bloodied, but not broken, he thought.

Then he heard the snarl. It was low and vicious and aggressive, and followed by the pounding of footsteps. It seemed animal, beastlike, but the creature that approached through the darkness looked more human than anything else. Well, save for the sagging skin and vicious-looking fangs.

“You’ll do.”

Or so he thought. The monster barreled forward, full of strength and fury and not a moment’s hesitation. He squared himself, ready to take the charge, seeing that it had no intention of slowing. It didn’t help. It hit him like a shot from a cannon and he went down to the ground, his shoulders jarring against the floor and his head snapping back. Above him the monster let out another bellow. He looked up to see its jaws open wide, fangs glistening, long lapping obscenely at the air, and had just enough time to think:

Oh dear.