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Previous Life: Alexander Biscay
Weight: 200 lbs
Apparent Age: Mid Twenties
Creation Date: August 4th, 2006
Eye Color: Green
Hair Color: Brown
Skin Tone: Fair
Azothic Visage: His skin looks and feels like cold, fine porcelain and his eyes glitter like marbles under light. His wavy hair loses its luster, looking like a doll's. Small puffs of steam are visible close to his lips when he opens his mouth.
The beautiful Savannah had left a trail of animosity, broken relationships and suicides across five states before she met Alexander Biscay, on the stage of a crowded bar in Alabama. He stared at her, of course, the whole place stared at her. Still, he was different, there wasn't submission in his eyes, only curiosity and a hint of mirth. In the weeks they spent together, other men would have gone literally crazy, but for him she was still just the latest toy. The deference others showed her only amused him.
Of course, he wasn't a simple mortal, he was the solitary Mystagogue Orpheus, and one day his legacy cut their story short. She found him dead in his bed, blood from his nose and ears soaking the pillow, the result of a mental combat against the Seers of the Throne. In an inversion of Orpheus' myth, Savannah tried to bring him back from the dead. She dragged him into an empty warehouse and performed the ancient rite, watching with glee as the smoke enveloped and transformed his body, but her excitement turned into a shriek of horror when he first opened his eyes - that fierce gaze that attracted her in the first place was replaced with a meek, loving stare.
She tried hard to put some spine in that doll and teach him the basics of the Stannum Refinement, but after a month she simply gave up on the twisted mix of innocent and predator that resulted from her efforts. She left him with his clothes, guitar, and a P.O. box number, just in case. Her intructions were very straightforward: "Write to me after you become half the man you once were."
Ironically, his death and rebirth completely changed his personality, but not his love or aptitude for music. He sang and played his guitar to make enough money to have decent meals and buy a string or songbook in his Pilgrimage, slowly but surely moving North. By early September, he was in the outskirts of Gary, Indiana.
From that point on, things went downhill for him. Expelled from bars, accused of atempted murder, seen as an air-headed doll by his own peers, Al sees his patience growing thinner and the urge to fully embrace his monstrous side tugging stronger inside him.
(what people and monsters are saying about Bisque)
What sort of Fucktard comes back from the dead and names himself The Thick Cream Soup I mean really.... Matthew Tillman (Am-Heh)
It was just one of those nights.
Just one of those fabulous flights.
A trip to the moon on gossamer wings
Just one of those things. - Marigold Plunkett