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Alias: Adam
Age: 100
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Joined: 28-November 15
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Adam Frankenstein

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Jul 31 2016, 11:30 AM
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ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

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STRANGER IN TOWN

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<p>Adam was a big man, tall and built of solid muscle and bone, but despite that he could move surprisingly quietly when he chose to. It was largely a matter of slowing down and watching where one put one's feet, both of which he was good at. Lacking any grand goals to accomplish and not spurred by intimations of mortality, he was content to live his life day to day, taking each as it came. If he needed to move quickly, say to evade pursuit or get somewhere before dark, he did, but for the most part he didn't hurry. </p>
<p>That was the case that evening as he made his way through the gathering fog to his hideaway. And he hoped it stayed that way – though the posters he'd seen offering a bounty for the creature known as the 'Patchwork Man' suggested he couldn't count on it. Granted, he'd never exactly been popular with normal people, and there had been a few occasions where mobs had formed spontaneously to attack him, but this was the first time he'd seen any planning or organization to the hostility. </p>
<p>It made the construct vaguely sad. Granted, he was accustomed to not being welcome, but the guardsman called Greg had been kind. That had given him a tiny hope that despite the reactions of the other guardsman, perhaps things would be different here. It seemed now, though, that that wasn't going to happen. And, given that he wasn't exactly unobtrusive, he wondered how long he could afford to stay in Bowerstone. </p>
<p>He still hadn't been able to figure out what had drawn him there in the first place, though there were things in the city he couldn't get in his normal nomadic wilderness existence, especially books like the one he currently had tucked in the satchel slung over his shoulder. The problem there was that as much as he enjoyed them, books had value and he lacked anything to leave in payment. The one he had now he'd 'borrowed' from a library and fully intended to return. Eventually. </p>
<p>He would start reading it tonight, Adam decided. Pausing at the mouth of the alley that led to his bolt hole, he brushed his hood back temporarily and cast a quick glance around. He saw nothing, though given the fog that didn't mean much. So, shifting the satchel's strap a little higher on his shoulder, he continued on.</p>
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<table><tbody><tr><td><div class=tagflip>TAG</div></td><td>
Natasha Romanoff
</td></tr><tr><td><div class=tagflip>WORDS</div></td><td>
406
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hope that works
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<div class="scredit"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/cautionskye">◆ </a><a href="http://tinyurl.com/shineskye">skye</a><a href="http://tinyurl.com/candylandskye"> ◆</a></div>
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Mar 10 2016, 11:45 AM
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ADAM FRANKENSTEIN

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101

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WANDERER

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DISPLACED

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AARON ECKHART

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A construct stitched together and brought to life by mad scientist Victor Frankenstein, Adam has spent most the century of his existence thus far haunting the wilderness and less-populated frontier areas, first in his own world, then in Albion. He has little experience interacting with regular people, avoiding them not out of any hatred or contempt for them on his part, but due to their general tendency to regard him as a monster. Recently, though, he's felt a strange, inexplicable need to forsake his isolation and go to Bowerstone, despite the risks inherent in entering a city.
<br><br>
Personality-wise, Adam is fairly even-tempered. He'll hurt or kill if he must to defend himself, but violence isn't something he seeks out or takes pleasure in. He's also straightforward and lacking in pretense. He is what he is, and has never had the urge to pretend to be anything else. He might or might not answer questions, but if he chooses to, he'll do so honestly. He'll also be friendly to those who are friendly toward him.
<br><br>
Plot-wise, what drew him to come in to Bowerstone is up in the air. Might be something magical involving balverines (which react to him with instinctive homicidal loathing), or he might just have finally gotten lonely, or something else entirely. I'm totally up for ideas.

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<a href="http://shine.b1.jcink.com/index.php?showuser=165"><div style="width: 400px; text-align: right; font-family: calibri; font-size: 9px; text-transform: uppercase; color: #000; margin-left: 50px;"> ♥ TY SARA! </div></a>[/dohtml]


CODE

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NAME & ADAM

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stuff here

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Nov 28 2015, 07:49 AM
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Adam. PM. Pacific (GMT -8).
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Adam Frankenstein
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<div class="app-intro3">Wanderer</div>
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<table><td><div class="app-bar"></div></td><td><div class="app-title">Adam Frankenstein</div></td></table>
<div style="overflow: auto; height: 385px; margin-top: 5px;"> Just over a century ago, I was born … no, that isn't the right word. Neither does I 'came into being' work, as it suggests something that simply happened, with no particular effort or intention on anyone's part, and that was most certainly not the case. Victor Frankenstein, the madman who created me, devoted considerable attention, energy, and expense to doing so. And if the results were not precisely what he expected, well, thus runs the law of unintended consequences, to say nothing of the price of playing god.<p>
Beyond such simple knowledges as the common tongue, the pieces of which I am made carried nothing with them of their former owners' lives, which I count as a blessing. My own first memories are confused and fragmentary, a dizzying barrage of light, sound, and other physical sensations, and no doubt I appeared quite dull as I stood there dazed and inarticulate. Perhaps that is why Dr. Frankenstein's wife felt so free to speak around me as she did, in my very presence calling me an abomination and demanding my destruction.<p>

Perhaps I am stupid – I have lived alone these many years since, with few to compare myself against, so how would I know, after all? But I understood her words full well, and I have the same desire to live as any natural man. I did not mean to kill her when I struck her … or perhaps I did, as rage and fear both clouded my mind, so I cannot be sure in retrospect. Regardless, though I knew it not then, I am fiercely strong, and death was the result of my blow. <p>

I fled then, as you might expect. Whether I have a soul is another thing I know not, but I knew then just as I know now that I had broken something that could neither be replaced nor repaired, and that there would be consequences. Perhaps, should I ever die, those consequences will extend into the metaphysical, but at the time I was concerned with the more immediate and temporal ones. I fled, and Frankenstein, his already tenuous sanity completely overthrown, pursued. <p>

For years, he dogged my footsteps. No matter how remote and inhospitable the paths I trod, he was always there behind me. I suppose save for revenge he had nothing left to live for, so it would have ended the same for him with or without my destruction. Ultimately, somewhere in the trackless snows of the frozen north, his flesh could no longer sustain his spirit, and I chanced to look back to see him lying there, a small and tattered husk all that was left. Carving a tomb for him there in the ice, I moved on. <p>

In a way, I miss him. As much as he hated me, he also knew me, and I cannot say the same for any living being since. Animals sense something off about me and shun me. When I go among normal, mortal people, I keep my face hidden, for my scars cause fear and fear so very quickly turns to hate. I have a pair of clubs I use to defend myself at need, but I truly prefer not to hurt anyone, so why provoke trouble? Of late, though, I have found myself drawn to the city. I know not why, but there is this undeniable need within me to walk its streets, seeking until I find whatever will feed this strange new hunger.
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<div class="app-shimmer"><a href="http://shine.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=16439">▼ ShimmeringWitchy</a></div></center>[/dohtml]
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