Phillip Edward Hammond
From Changeling Venue
| Seeming | Wizened Chirurgeon |
|---|---|
| Court | No Court |
| Freehold | The House of Cards |
| Player | Puck Soball |
Contents |
== I have found my way from one maze. ==
== As the Lady my witness, I offer service to those in need. ==
Overview
Alias(es): Pinn
Real Name: Phillip Edward Hammond
Age: 29
Concept: Unnerving Tinkerer
Physical description:
Mein: He stands five foot eight inches, with almost perfect posture and a prim/pressed look to his chosen mix of dress/goth/casual clothing. His skin is a pale hue, close to pallid with a fine tracery of veins just beneath. His joints appear as if they were carved, articulated, though upon close inspection, they are but flesh. His neck is encircled by two interlocking metal rings that glide along eachother when he moves his head. For all his manicuring and fussing, the strange, vestigial metal plate and what appears to be a socket of some kind on his right temple always detract from his appearance. As his head and or left arm move, a soft whirring of clockwork can be heard if one pays close attention.
Mask: As he most often hardens his mask to keep from revolting the "norms" of changeling society, Pinn usually appears as an unassuming, proper though foul-mouthed young man in his mid twenties.
Relevant Mechanics:
Wyrd: 3
Clarity: 7
Character Information
Known History
Basic Timeline:
Born: October 5, 1939
Taken: October 1, 1954
Older Brother Dies: October 4, 1969
Father Dies: July 14, 1978
Escaped: August 13, 2004
Killed His Fetch: December 25, 2004
Mother Dies: April 12, 2008
Graduates early with Bachelor's in Forensic Medicine from Oxford University: May 1, 2008
Arrives in Orlando: May 2, 2008
Secures Lodgings at the 52 Pickup: May 3, 2008
Current Activities:
Settling in.
Background:
At the age of fifteen, Pinn, known at the time only by the name his parents had given him, wandered the grounds of Oxford University, awaiting his father's workday to be finished. He passes a small pond and notices an injured squirrel on the bank. Deciding to help the poor creature, Pinn picks it up and turns, intending to take it to one of the professors of medicine on campus. Before he can take a step, he is startled to find a man of unimaginable beauty staring him in the face "Hello young man. Might I inquire what it is you intend on doing with such a miserable creature as that?" Pinn glances down at the squirrel, two tiny jet black eyes staring back as if in warning. He explains his intention to help tend it's wounds. Those dark eyes unsettled Pinn more and more with each passing second, yet he couldn't tear his gaze off them for the feeling that the little animal was trying to tell him something. "How cute. The beautiful man almost spat the word out as if it tasted like manure. His voice had an unreal quality to it, a tone of arrogance and condesention. The squirrel turned his face from Pinn then,closing it's eyes as pain washed over it's face; or was it remorse? Fear struck Pinn then. It rose in waves from his abdomen, churning and twisting his stomach. He couldn't bring himself to look up at the man standing before him. "As you've stated your intention toabscond with my quarry, so I now claim you in it's place. May you learn, in time, the error of your impertinence." Hands locked on Pinn then from all sides. Pain blinded him, exploding from the back of his skull. His scream never made it to his lips, the dark peace of unconsciousness swollowed so fast.
For what to him passed as ten years, that was the last peace known. He awoke to a small stone room. A cot placed on one side, washbasin with pitcher on the other. The deiling went up so far as to be lost in an inky shadow, the door a large wood and brass beast looming over the contents of the cell. that room, the endless halls of the triage where Pinn would learn to treat the wounds of those brought back from the front lines of the Director's endless war games, and his keeper's grandoise chambers were all he knew. When not covered to the shoulders in gore from mending wounds, he spent his time catering to the Director's every whim. He learned to mend his own wounds, often leaving scars from the beatings he would recieve when doing or not doing whatever the Director thought he should. At times, he would hear the songs sung by another captive, while laying on his cot. What dreams he had while there were colored with those sweet words.
Late one evening, after the songs had been sung and Pinn had gotten a few moments' reprieve, the door to his cell slammed open at the bellowed summons of the Director. He made his way through the service corridors and passages to emerge in the Director's private study. The Other was seated at it's desk, scribbling with such ferocity that Pinn was surprised the paper held it's ground. Pinn stood beside the desk, soundless, staring at the words as they flowwed from the Director's quill. At the bottom of the page, with a practiced flourish, the keeper pens a name that burns itself into Pinn's memory. It wasn't his pseudonym, and even written there, unspoken, it pulsed power from the page. The letter was folded, sealed and thrown into a stack of others like it as the Director stood. It took notice of Pinn then, the rage and disdain burning in it's eyes as it stepped to the far side of the chamber to lift a flail with ends stung with barbed hooks and shards of glass. It turned it's gaze back on Pinn, expression that of spite-filled mirth, the wrath in those eyes tainting the playfulness of the smirk. "...and now, to relieve a bit of... Tension." Pinn recieved the worst beating since his capture eight years prior. When he woke, broken and still bleeding, he found himself in what he'd come to think of as his workplace, his triage. Days had passed and still he was unable to stand. It would be almost a full year before his wounds healed completely. His left arm had been all but severed, the elbow and muscle replaced with clockworkand grafted flesh the color of a corpse's. his right temple retained the metal plate and plug he'd seen used in cases when a patient had been decapitated. His neck bore the interlocking brass rings used in reattachment of the same.
The clockwork in his neck and left arm ached in the cold of his cell for another year after his wounds were only a terrifying memory. The Director left his demense on one of his hunts late in Pinn's tenth year of enslavement. The manor seemed to breath a sigh of relief, and Pinn strode through the gardens thankful to be outside without the stink of blood and gore to fill his nostrils. He strode through the garden gates and beyond, before, finally taking in his surroundings, he found himsef in the hedge and terrified of the Director's wrath yet again. In that moment of panic, the fear turned to scorn, and melted away into spite. Resolute in his decision then, Pinn walked on, pushing through the hedge, lead by the memories of his family and childhood, driven by his hatred for his keeper.
Motley
Hmm.
Allies
Good question.
Enemies
Soon enough, I'm sure.
Character Inspirations
Niles Crane
Rupert Giles
Borg
Willow Rosenberg
Emperor Zombie
Susan Sto Helit
Soundtrack
Quotes
"I keep having this recurring dream where I end up shooting myself in the face. No, that's not the strange part. The strange part is I was sitting at my kitchen table with Merlin watching me pull the trigger over by the stove."
"Tea. That's what we should do. We need to have tea.
"That suits."
"Right. Typical. Makes perfect sense. Bob's your uncle." *rolls eyes*
Rumors
He comes from England.
He is a Manikin.
He can charge his cell phone with the jack in his temple.
He's full of bees.
He sometimes wears a small piece of red thread/twine tied around his left wrist.
