Information

Khamil
Legacy Name: Khamil

The

Darkmatter Serpenth
Owner:

finch

Age: 6 years, 7 months, 3 days

Born: September 16th, 2017

Adopted: 6 years, 7 months, 3 days ago

Adopted: September 16th, 2017

Statistics

Level: 1
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 0
Books Read: 0
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

art by

grim!
Khamil Ramza's father was a good man.

He rescued him from the cold and dangerous streets of Meda as an infant, and raised him alongside his infertile wife as if he were his own flesh and blood. When the children at his school began to ostracize him for his dark skin and piercing eyes, he sat down with them and explained away his differences. He prayed at the temple nightly, and generously took care of the city's destitute. He was always kind and gentle in his words and actions, and provided expert alchemical services to the people for discount prices. He was revered by all, and lauded as a paragon of man.

Unfortunately for the good people of Meda, Khamil was not his father.

He lacked his good intentions, his piety. He wasn't content adhering to the strict rules of the alchemist's code; he craved the knowledge, the experiences, the power that unbound alchemy could provide him. He wasn't sinister; he at least possessed enough respect for his father to wait until he passed away to begin practicing the darker facets of his craft, and enough discretion to do so in private. During the day, he operated his father's alchemical shop, and was friendly, if not curt to his customers. It was at night, while nestled deep in the expanse of his library, that he began to experiment with the soul.

It all started well. Khamil was intelligent, and a very talented alchemist, and thus did not have much difficulty with the new, dangerous literature. He started small, by experimenting on plants. His first successful mutation of life was a mandragora, which, after the thrill wore off, he was quick to dispose of. It was such a noisy thing.

Logical progression dictated that he then move to animals, which he did. He set out traps for small rodents and kept them in cages until he was ready to use them as subjects. Upon the successful transmutation of a rat to a snake - which he then kept captive as a memento - he made the decision that he was now ready to move on to humans.

Now, Khamil wasn't a murderer. He wasn't going to take the life of a man for his experiments; he was never one to get his hands dirty. Grave robbing was also not an attractive option, so he instead took it upon himself to mix a potion that would drive one of house's guards into a blind rage, and bludgeon to death the next guard he saw, after which he would take his own life. Potion making was one of his sharper talents, and his plan went off without a hitch.

He was left with two corpses in the end - one whose soul he would harvest, and one who would act as a vessel. It took him six months to get to this point in his studies, and he was both enthralled and nervous to finally be attempting soul transfusion. If he was successful, he would be left with a dumb, reincarnated corpse that would continue rotting even as it stumbled around, but that was a small concern. He could easily kill the creature. Khamil's main goal was to prove that this was possible, and to then proceed to find more intelligent, worthwhile sacrifices. This was only a test run.

Unfortunately, it was at this point in his experiments that everything fell apart.

He didn't know what his error was. He followed the text to a T - or so he thought. His ingredients were still fresh; the cadavers hadn't yet started to decay. Perhaps it was something with his pronunciation, or the quality of the souls he was experimenting with that caused such an unprecedented reaction. Whatever his mistake was, Khamil was furious. He had been so close, and now all his progress had been snatched away, leaving a pile of smoke behind.

The smoke didn't simmer, however. It began to billow. It stunk up the room, and obscured his sight. The dim lights in his library flickered menacingly, and in the swirling pillars of smoke, Khamil started to make out the outline of something unnatural.

If he had been a lesser man, he might have assumed he had been successful after all, but he knew better. The corpses of his foolish guards were disintegrated into nothing. Whatever was beginning to form in the circle was not the result of a successful experiment, but something menacing - something unwanted.

Khamil, being quite a small man, was quick to arm himself with a silver dagger, in case whatever he had just inadvertently summoned was indeed some kind of demon. Small he might have been, but a coward he was not. As the smoke finally began to disperse, he clutched the dagger close to his body, ready to defend himself if necessary.

"What are you?" he demanded hotly. "You don't belong here, creature. Go back whence you came."

(profile and story by me)