Adrian Grey
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Fairest Bright One |
|---|---|
| Court | Winter Court ••• |
| Freehold | Dunasheen |
| Player | Richard Hussey |
Name: Adrian Grey
Known as:
- Blackbird Bishop Grey - Formally or to new people.
- Blackbird Bishop Adrian - More informal settings, or to acquaintances.
- Adrian - To close friends only. You don't know if this applies to you, it almost certainly doesn't.
- Reverend John Green - Mortal identity.
Seeming: Fairest
Kith: Bright One / Telluric
Court: Winter
Mantle: ยทยทยท
Entitlement: Bishopric of Blackbirds
Concept: Ice King
Current Location: Dunasheen
Physical description:
- Mask: Adrian stands around five foot eight. He wears a floor length plain black cassock, and his long black hair falls freely down his back. His eyes seems to shine slightly as if lit from within. He has been compared to an angel in the past, his features seem to have that fairness and brightness to them. He maintains a fairly cold gaze, and is quite often accused of being unfeeling. However, when pursuing his Bishopric work, he seems to warm slightly and be fairly effective.
- Mein: Very similar to his mask, except that a few random black feathers cling to his clothing or hair. While his looks are still angelic, they are of a harsher cast and pale as the moon. He is a terrifying beauty of ice and light. Stars glint among his hair and the light of distant suns flares in his eyes when angry. His cassock is clearly Hedgespun Raiment, and takes on a darker look, seeming to be made of shifting shadows and black feathers. His eyes are flatter than normal, and while they are of the brightest silver instead of white, and the iris is yellow, there are black veins beginning to creep in from the edges and his eyes are glassier than normal eyes, more like a birds.
- Mantle: He seems to be a bit clearer than the rest of the world. Slightly more in focus than reality around him, as if the rest of it were the nebulous dream and he was as solid as a planet. More plain than he should be. When he has been seen to cast magic, a snowflake or three may swirl around him briefly or settle on his shoulders for a moment.
Contents |
Is there a hero somewhere, someone who appears and saves the day,
Someone who holds out a hand and turns back time,
Is there a hero somewhere, someone who will never walk away,
Who doesn't turn a blind eye to a crime
—Locking up the Sun, by Poets of the Fall
All infomation contained on this page is strictly OOC unless you have my express permission to know it IC.
History/Bio
The Before
1947 - Born in Dundee to Ralph and Mary Grey.
1964 - Taken through the Hedge into Arcadia by Vestigere the Usurper at age 17.
The Durance
The light was bright. So very bright. I kept my eyes screwed tightly closed, but still the light blinded and pained me. I clawed out my eyes, and I could still see it. And the eyes just grew back...
The snow filled me up. The ice forcing it's way inside. Flooding my flesh, and ripping through my muscles. Replacing my nerves with rivers of water. My bones succumbing to the encroaching cold. The cold heavens looked down on me, watching me change. Playing their music and watching. That haunting tune.
I lay, contorted in agony and bliss. Pain beyond imagining. Pleasure beyond thought.
The light and the ice and the music seeped through my body and soul. Changing. Warping.
I became a thing of fire and ice. An angel of snow. The music in my soul and my blood. The ice in my limbs and my eyes. The light on my lips and in my hair.
What I had been was frozen over, melted away, and lost into the ever flowing of the streams.
For ten years I stood there. A graceful statue of an angel amid the glacial gardens of the King of the Crystal Garden. If I moved, the ice would lock around my limbs. If my appearance displeased my lord, the light blinded me with pain and pleasure.
Every few months, on his whim, I was moved to a new location, and my form changed to suit his current mood for the Garden. Sometimes I was a soft light to provide pleasing illumination during the twilight that fell when the King was depressed. At other times I was a sentry to prevent others from escaping, my light harsh and bitter to the eyes of my foes. At all times, I felt the pull of the heavens above me. I knew that I was an angel from there, and that I should move as part of their divine dance. Their music moved me to dance. The agony of staying still thrummed me with every note.
Ten years. Ten years I stood there. Here and there. Everywhere. Never quite how He wanted me. Never able to please him, and to warm his frozen heart. Every wrathful gaze was like a knife to my flesh, and every sneering word a whip to my back.
And then. Then I was perfect. I stood, my back arced and my wings thrown wide. Beside the river I stood, watching the small chunks of ice floating down from the glacier. From behind me I heard the approach of my King, his soft shoes crunching the frozen gravel beneath them.
"This one is perfect. Move him to the palace."
My breath caught, and I felt the wizened and the brutish servants pick me up and begin to move me. Never had I heard of one of the statues being allowed inside. The ornaments in their were hand picked by Him from the finest of mortals and taken directly to the palace. For one to be moved? To be promoted? Unheard of.
I was placed in the entrance hall. Placed on a pedestal, and surrounded by a sparkling fountain of diamonds. Sparkling diamonds the size of pea. Flowing like water. Shimmering in my light like tiny suns. The music of my soul pleasing on the ear. Pleasing on the eye. I shone in light and harmony.
The floor was of a flawless crystal, and the light sparkled and reflected, bounced, and magnified through out the hallway. Delicate frosty plants were placed in delightful crystal vases. Tapestries hung from the walls, and depicted the many and marvelous deeds of the King.
There I stood. For a time without incident. He had many servants who tended to the Garden. He had fewer that tended to the Palace, for they had more responsibilities and He chose only the perfect from among the perfect to serve Him there.
Honour. I felt great honour. For a time. Still there was always the pain of the light. Light I could not shut out. Such painful light. Reflecting off of every surface and dazzling me. Blinding me. My own light. Always the cold as well. The sterility of the Palace. Cold, cold, cold. Seeping into me. Locking my joints into place. Ceasing up my muscles. Agony of ice and beauty. All too beautiful to look at. Had to keep my eyes closed. Closed against the beauty. Against the light. The light that shone through my eyelids. Couldn't escape it. Too harsh. Too bright. The music. The Celestial Spheres still haunting. Endless music. Melodies of the heavens threading through my flesh.
They brought a new statue in. I watched. They took me down, and placed it where I had been. I watched. They took me outside. I watched. They cast me from the Garden. I fell. They watched. I fell from the glacier. They returned to the Palace. I landed.
Bent and twisted. My beautiful wings shattered beneath me. Broken my fall and broken themselves. I staggered to my feet.
Before me, the towering walls of ice atop which sat the Garden. My home. My home?
No.
I grasped at the fleeting thought and hung on. A splinter of a memory. A shimmer of light in the darkness that grew around me.
I looked behind me. Thorns. Everywhere. Pressing closer. A pathway ran from my feet. From a large gate in the Ice behind me. From the gate, into the thorns. A path of woven light. It ran across the ground and arced into the air. It passed through a gap in the thorns and vanished deep inside.
I hesitated.
The memory fluttered within reach again, and I grabbed at it. A home. My home? A real place. Not this paradise of agony. Perhaps I should go back? No. I couldn't leave the King. I just had to find a way back.
I took a step towards the gate. From behind them a great baying of hounds began. A howl that caused the glacier to shake. To shudder. Pieces began to break loose and fall. Hunks of ice the size of a car falling towards me. Falling. Like I had.
I grasped at the idea of a home, and began to run down the path of light. Towards the thorns. Towards the Hedge that stretched as far as could be seen in every direction. Straight sideways, and up. Curving at the edge of sight with the distance.
The path took me up. Up towards the gap in the thorns. A small gap. Not tall enough to walk though. I fell to my knees and began to squeeze through. The thorns ripped into my clothes and my flesh. They tore at my wings. My beautiful wings.
I stopped. My wings were caught. Too large. Too encumbering. I tried to move forwards and the thorns dug deeper. I tried to move back and they twisted more agony.
Then I heard the horns. And the hounds. A hunt. For me? I was trying to escape. Others had tried. He always had them hunted down. He didn't like them getting away.
I pressed on. The thorns increased their pressure. I cried tears of ice. Tears of light. Tiny diamonds fell between my hands. I strained to get through. The muscles in my back screamed agony. Blood like ice water ran down my back, round my sides, and began to make the path too slippery to grip. I grasped at branches, at thorns. They sliced at my palms, at my hands, at my arms. I pulled forwards. With agony beyond measure I felt my skin rip. I was free suddenly. Falling forwards onto the path. I looked back. My wings, my glorious wings, were hanging, caught, in the thorns. Stubs on my back marked their absence.
I stumbled on. I couldn't rest. Behind me I heard the horns. I stumbled down the path. The woven light. It twisted around in the hedge, in the thorns. Looping around, back on itself, and on again. I ran. Ran as fast as I could.
The Emerge
Adrian Grey emerged from the Hedge on the 4th August 2004 in the gathering dusk, and stumbled into the building before him. Once he had recovered enough wits to look around him, he discovered he was sitting behind the back pew of a small church. He stood up, shakily, and looked around. The church appeared to be empty, all the regular visitors safely at home at this time of day. Adrian stumbled down the central passage, and picked a pew at random. Sitting down, he began to rock slightly on the hard and cold wood. Tears streamed down his face, and he curled up into a ball, lying down on the pew. Wracking sobs convulsed his body, and he wailed great cries of agony. A short while later, a polite cough caused him to look up. Sitting on the pew a few feet away was an old man, dressed in a priest's cassock.
"I don't need any divine knowledge to see you're in need of help, my child. Can I be of any assistance to you?" Adrian sat up, and clutched his tattered robes closer to his frail body. He opened his mouth to speak, and it took a few attempts to remember how to.
"Ah, ah. I. I do not know."
He draw a ragged, emotion wracked breath, and buried his face in his hands.
The priest gave a short exclamation of shock. "Your hands. They're all cut. Have you been in a fight?"
Adrian looked down at his hands for the first time, and as he moved, his robe slipped down his arms. They too were sliced every which way. As he stared at the blood trickling down his skin, he spied a thorn still stuck in one of the cuts.
"Must have fallen in bushes..." He spoke as if half in a dream, as he took the thorn out. "No, I fell in a hedge. That was it."
"I think you need a change of clothes." The priest was staring at the cuts with a strange look on his face. "Do you have a name, my son?"
"Ah, ah. Adrian."
"Right then, Adrian. Let's get you cleaned up. If you will follow me, we'll go to the vicarage next door." He gestured towards the door at the end of the church by the altar. Adrian nodded, absently, and followed the priest down the church, and into a small and pleasantly furnished set of rooms.
"Sit down there, then." The priest gestured to an armchair. He busied himself filling a bowl with warm water from the sink. "My name is Reverend Matthews. Frank Matthews. Just call me Frank if you like."
He brought the bowl of water over, and placed it on the table next to Adrian. Taking a sponge, he carefully began to mop the blood off of Adrian's arm and hands.
"These cuts look quite deep, I think I'll get the iodine in case they get infected. Unless you want to go to the hospital...?"
Adrian shock his head. "No, no. I do not think it is that bad." He felt better now, his head clearing up. "I will be OK, I am fairly sure. Just got a bit cut up. Fell into a bush. A thorn bush. Thank you for your help though, er, Frank."
He stood, and noticed for the first time he towered over the priest. In more than physical statue. "I am fine." His voice changed slightly, with a twist and a catch that seemed to twist beyond his normal skill and blunder through the priest's mind.
"Yes, I'm sure you will be." Frank smiled hesitantly, as if he was still unsure but being persuaded around to Adrian's point of view.
Adrian strode from the vicarage, the new clothes hampering some of his movement due to their ill fitting nature. He wandered the streets for a few hours, before the cold began to creep into his bones. Standing beside a park, he was beginning to wonder where to spend the night before he froze to death, when a strange sight walked across the grass. At first, he had assumed it was just a normal human but now he saw there was something different about him. He moved too gracefully, and there was something otherworldly about him. Something not unlike himself. Curiously, he followed, hugging to the shadows as he tried to keep silent. As he got closer, he noticed with growing alarm that the fellow had what could only be described as goats legs.
The goat-man stopped, turned, and looked straight at Adrian.
"Why are you following me?" He stopped, and looked closer. "Are you new here?" He stalked over, his thin legs tap-tap-tappity-tap-taping on the grass.
Adrian looked him up and down. "Are. Are you like me?"
The goat man paused. "Ahh, that new. I'm similar, yes. But this isn't the best place to talk. I take it you don't have somewhere to live right now?"
Adrian shook his head.
"OK, then come with me and I can show you somewhere safe to hide out for now. At least until you get yourself back on your feet." He offered a hand.
Adrian hesitated.
"It's OK. I understand you're probably frightened. It's natural. You've just escaped from something you may not even remember. You don't know if I'm another monster like those from your dreams. I don't think there's anything I can say at this point to help. Words were never my strong point."
Adrian hesitated for a moment more, and then stretched out his hand to take the offered one.
The After
2004 - Escaped at age 21. Found himself in Brighton. Was helped out by ...
2005 - Joined the Duchy of the Ice Bound Heart for 10 months, and left after deciding they weren't right for him.
2006 - Moved to Dunasheen in February, after seeing out the end of Winter in the Brighton Freehold, as a retreat from conventional Changeling society to contemplate his future. Joined the Bishopric of Blackbirds towards the end of the year.
2007 - Taking up his calling with the icy passion that marks much of what he does, Adrian roots himself in Dunasheen and seems quite content to stay there forever, tending to his Mortal and Changeling flocks as he tries to understand his faith.
Keeper and Fetch
Keeper
Makuel, Marquis of the Crystal Garden, Count of the Moon, Lord of Light, Prince of Ice.
Fetch
Hollow
Under construction. For now, here is a pretty picture.
Motley
Under construction.
Known Associates/Contacts/Enemies/etc
Feel free to add your character, and I might write something about you.
Spring
- Greene, Evie - We met in Dunasheen, at the Tomnahurich Market. A nice lady who appears to have put her problems behind her and thrown herself into life with a passion.
Summer
Autumn
- Karakov, Vladimir - Married to Evie. Strange man, never quite sure what he is, but he is certainly something. A performer, a magician.
- Vestigere - I don't remember much from my time away, but I remember Vestige. I loathe every fibre of his being. Perhaps the Lord will forgive him for his sins, but I am not sure that I can yet.
- Rea - Nearly got dragged to Arcadia for trying to rescue a songbird. Afterwards didn't recognise the simple courteous gesture of extending her an arm to lean on. Soft-hearted, independent, or just plain simple?
Winter
Rumours
Please feel free to add anything you hear about Bishop Grey.
- While he may appear to be generous, when crossed Bishop Grey becomes as harsh and sharp as the winter sun as cold as the snow it reflects from.
- Adrian still retains some of the courtesies and mannerisms he cultivated whilst with the Icebound Heart. He is unaware of the effect they can still have on the unpractised...or unwary.
- His faith still holds true. Vampires have dissolved into ash from his prayers.
- The god he prays to? That's actually one of the Fae. He just doesn't realize it. Yet.
Quotes
Please feel free to add anything you hear Bishop Grey say or some says about him.
- "He takes such a huge offence at the little stupid things, ya know?" - Steampunk
- "I'm just waiting for the day he really starts a riot so i can order everyone to 'Furiously Bash the Bishop'... Heh. Bash the Bishop" - Steampunk
- "A stern, solid man. The Bishop knows his place, and offers wise council to others. This is one worthy of his title." - Aleksander Sokol
- "A blackbird who knows to tend to his flock. I worry he may be blind to their faults in wishing the best of folk." - Cormac the Poet
- "He was the first thing I really saw when I escaped.. he made me not scared and told me what I needed to know. He is the loveliest! Eeee and he's so pretty! I could stare at him all day.." - Reeva
- "He dances with his soul and radiates a beautiful inner light. It was kind of him to offer a shoulder to cry on, but I am not good at opening up to those I do not know well." - Graceful Aline
- "He's okay, really. But I still think he's on the crazy side of good people. Needs to remember how to laugh. And that's a hard one." - Malakai
- "He cares about people, but he's very hard and he can be very cold. He's really strange when he's happy, as well. I don't understand him. But he's a good man, so maybe I don't need to." - Arthur MacAodh
- "Forty years and forty days I spent in the company of devils before I was raised by the Lord's hand, and since then scores have I blessed and baptised in His name. What has this "Bishop" done besides beg for His forgiveness?" - The Reverend Marsh
- "He glows. He seems to care for folks. Sometime I want to have a talk with him." Deyanira
- "He does like to gossip." - Orpheus Bane
- "He's nice, mostly. I'm sometimes confused about what he thinks the proper jobs are for boys and girls, but maybe he just doesn't understand that it's inappropriate for girls to go running about alone when there's a gunman on the loose." - Violet Pennyfarthing
- "There once was a fairest duckling... What? no, i pronounced it exactly how i meant it" - Steampunk making 'Subtle' social commentary.
- "Grey. Aye. Can't really fathom him, but for some reason we've never really got on. Seems to think he's above the rest of us, just cause he can glow like a maglite." - Hoffman
- "Now, there was something I was never expecting to find. Someone who actually _understands_. I hope we get the chance to talk again." - Aria
Artwork
Below are some links to art that seems to be fitting with Adrian.
'Winter Poem', An angel, 'Sorrow', 'Exorcist', Spectre, Monk, Cruel and icy beauty, Priest, The Angel in the dark, The birds are circling.
Player Details
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