|Text Color||#333399 color |
|Gender||None (refers to self as male)|
|Age||Physically Elderly/Old Adult but mentally pre-adolescent|
|Species||#623, Golurk, the Automaton pokemon|
|Pokédex Entry||It is said that Golurk were ordered to protect people and Pokémon by the ancient people who made them.-White|
|Ability||Iron Fist-Increases power of Punching moves by 30%|
|Moves|| - Heavy Slam (learnt)|
- Fly (HM)
- Dynamic Punch (learnt)
- Shadow Punch (Learnt)
|History||”With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was nearly one in the morning; rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.|
How can I describe my emotions at this tragedy, or how delineate the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavored to form”
Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I gazed upon him when unfinished; he was ugly then but when those muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion it became a thing such as even Dante could not have conceived.”
It is a fruitless endeavor for me to entreat from you compassion or sympathy and it is one from which my juvenile thoughts have long since passed. The description of my creator is no doubt accurate, to see myself in such a device as a looking glass is a luxury fate would never allow me but the few glimpses of my form I have caught in the silvered surface of still water are so true in their repulsion they drive me to greater depths of fear and self-loathing as surely as if it were path I was being whipped down.
As vain as it may be to ask you to judge me not by the severity of my deformity I wish this tale to be known, if only for my own satisfaction for as the days grow longer I come to fear that I am as much a monster in mind as I am in body.
My first moments, it must be supposed, resembled closely the tale of my creator. He fled my form, the disillusioning results of his attempts to restore the ‘fossilized’ broken Golurk armor fragments that now compose my body. I remember little of it, in that time to me all was to me as it is unlike to every living thing; I heard, smelt, saw, felt, all at the same time with no understanding of it or even that they were separate. A harsh light; potent and painful hurt me so my body reacted and there was dark. This came to worry me but I suppose then my eyes opened again and the light returned, although as a friend, not a foe.
For a long time my world consisted of flimsy ethereal shadows, things easily swept aside by my motions. I recalled falling, from the rough slab my creator had formed on to the cold floor. In that time I was as ignorant to the cruel fate consigned to me at birth as a squalling infant is. The newfound actions of my limbs bought me to place vastly different to the place of my unholy creation. There I learnt to satisfy my basic needs; the pains in my abdomen taught me to seek berries, the dynes of my throat to sip from brackish pools of stagnant water or to suckle the morning dew from the emerald leaves. In that manner I spent the first year of my life, eventually learning how to craft crude tools of tree branches that came away easily in my hands and, one glorious night, the seed of Promethus himself, my own fire to warm the cold stiffening of my worn limbs.
In my second year my body’s rambling insistence on drudging further through the woods bought me to the first contact with life other than the gentle Ratattas and Pidgey that fled at my passing. No doubt with intention to harvest a crop of berries and with the lithe striped form of a Growlithe at his side I encounter my first human. It was a strange experience for me; to see one who walked on two legs like I did, though he was on a much smaller scale. Fascinated I approached him, hand outstretched with full intent of picking the man up when a prickle of hot embers fell in a shower upon my hide as if I had fallen into a fire and I swiftly fled the scene.
Twice more I would attempt to approach those who lived outside the safety of my woods, once out of an insatiable desire to learn, the second in cruel cold winter in search of food. Both times I was driven back with my appetite unsatisfied. I desired to seek out my creator, to find put his reasons for making me such a wretched thing. Yet at the place where I was created there was only the ancient dark and the remains of the tools of life he has used to form me, smashed beyond repair by his despairing hands.
To find my Creator and with great cunning I slipped into the sleeping streets of the town. The sight of me sparked fright in the domestic pokemon that slumbered in the lawns of their owner’s homes and in the night flies, many of whom nearly collided with my colossal form in the dark. Although my eyes could dine little from the shadows the glowing lights of every house and the others trapped in shells of glass hovering over the streets were such a thing of joy and wonder; I spent much time trying to divine their workings until the radiant halo of a sunrise illuminated the buildings and I realized it was too late to make my way back to my accustomed woodlands without being discovered and subsequently receiving a brutal beating. In mortal terror I concealed myself in the nearest place that would conceal my bulk, a derelict woodshed next to similarly poverty stricken home. There I spent my third year of life, not due to danger but instead for the human contact it afforded me.
Four humans lived there; a Veteran trainer, eyes fogged with cataracts, his son; a trainer challenging the pokemon league, the son’s fiancée and their child. From my shelter in the woodshed I could hear their talk through the thin plaster and see them too through the cracks in the wall. I came to know them all better then the runes of the back of my hand. The old man told wonderful stories in an elegant style of old, each tale lovingly encased in soft words of forgiveness and compassion and I listened with wide eyes and a childish wonder. The trainer taught their young son letters and I too paid attention to these lessons with an avid ear. From them I learnt speech too and how each letter made a sound. I learnt too of their troubles; the old man owned a small berry farm and press but had grown too feeble to gather the berries himself. His son, gone for most of the day, had to feed the family on the income for the battles between trainer’s pokemon but there was little money in it due to disturbing rumors about the behavior of pokemon. Whenever they mentioned what new hardship had befallen them it made my hands itch greatly with desire to help them. As the months passed I began to feel that I too was part of a family. When night fell and I was free again to walk the streets I would swiftly move to the woods and gather the sweetest, plumpest berries from the places only I could reach, then I would take them back to the farm and crush them between my palms to make the sweet Berry Juice they sold. If I had time afterwards I would harvest grain too, or chop firewood and listen eagerly as all three humans would wonder aloud and what mysterious benefactor had so improved their fortunes.
Near the end of my third year the rumors grew to truths and I urged to sooth the worrying of my human friends. One day, late in the evening when the trainer had left to purchase the evening meal I approached the old man alone and did beg his forgiveness, something that seemed willing given and yet so hard to obtain. For a while I rested at his side while he regaled me with the tales of others of my species, great people who had forged empires and I felt for the first time pride in the energies that ran through my veins.
Yet it seemed happiness was a thing life would constantly strive to deprive me of and the young trainer returned soon after and, seeing my misshapen form at the knees of his father, swiftly set his highly trained team on me and personally beat me viciously with a wooden stave until I was once again forced back into the unwelcoming wilderness with cries of horror and antipathy echoing in my wake.
When next I dared to return to the town, and the house of those I had loved so well it was an abandoned shell of a place, bereft of all life as was the entirety of the town. For once I could walk among the streets with no fear of hostilities but even those streets had become shallow and meaningless, full of mysteries I would never be able to understand.
This is my fourth year of life and only now I learnt of those more monstrous than I, be it in action not in form.
|Appearance||A monstrous figure of a Golurk made of patched together pieces of other Golurks and held together with seals. The energy that courses inside it appears to be leaking from its several cracks. Stress fractures are seen all over it as well as glowing cracks where it’s internal energies can be seen. It still moves awkwardly but can get very fast if need be. So unnatural is its appearance that all who sees it is struck by fear, disgust and hatred. When not out in the open it moves with a slumped gait so as to appear humble and less looming, although it is already larger then even those of its own species. Scraps of dirt and scratches from hiding in thorn bushes mottle it like bruises and moss discolors it in patches.|
|Personality||The creature has come into it’s new form as if being born. From the moment its creator, its father, first abandoned it to death screaming, the patchwork Golurk has been utterly alone. With all other Pokémon reviling it as a monster the creature has become desperately lonely and desperate for a single bit of kindness. Eloquent in manner and speaking from those who it had learned from (even referring to itself as male) it knows well of the disastrous effects of revealing the horrors of its face and prefers to address others from a place of hiding, although it may see it fit to approach the blind and the excessively friendly freely. The massive strength afforded by its form it tries to use for the benefit of others, although when enraged it can easily snap lesser pokemon like twigs. The monstrosity of it’s form and the hatred it has received from people and pokemon alike has caused it to consider itself an aberration and it seeks revenge on the one who gave it such twisted form.|
|User Notes||-Based on the original Frankenstein’s monster|
-If ever named by another pokemon will be called ‘Gort’
-Its revival wiped the programming of all other Golurks but a form of flesh memory in each of its parts sometimes drives it to certain actions.
-Each one of its moves is learnt by a different part of it and often its body will use these moves by survival instinct without it deciding to. Its left hand performs the move Dynamic Punch, the right hand Shadow Punch, the knees and body Heavy Slam (by causing it to fall over) and the feet Fly. It requires a precise effort to get these moves to operate at its will.
-As each part of its body is aged it has difficulty moving quickly or resisting the ‘flesh memory’ of where it wants to go. Regularly it must guard itself against further cracking or wear, its armor is thin enough for it to feel hot or cold very unpleasant. Three of its fingers have already broken off due to wear.
-The creature believes in a moral code he calls the Three Laws, learnt from his master’s research on other Golurks, but it doesn’t have to comply with them as others might. These are nearly identical to Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics.
-The “Uncanny Valley” effect is the reason why he is so openly loathed by both people and pokemon, his very existence is perceived as unnatural by the brain as an animated corpse.
-Greatly lonely it seeks a ‘female’ companion of the same nature and monstrous appearance to share its solitude with.
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The unnamed monster Golurk-(Shadow, Orre)
- Age : 26
Posts : 2388
- Posts : 3631
An interesting concept.
Admin - Profiles, Plot
- Age : 26
Posts : 2388
Please remove this profile to Dead.