Name: Artham Midren (prefers being called Art)
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Personality Traits: Prefers to be alone most of the time though likes having clingy friends, cracks jokes to hide the pain. Hides behind a shell until others inquire about his art—tends to show just a little bit of the heart he swears was eaten the day he ate the Abyssal Ink Sac. Loves hallucinogens and foreign foods.
Origin:
Color of Revenge:
Far to the north, the Kingdom of Color, Kerazuz, once stood. It was a place of pride and artistry, of color and beauty. The people there cherished their artistic prowess, decorating the very nature of their lives with as much beauty as they could craft. It was a Kingdom of unity, without division, without hatred and scorn. Even the fingers of war couldn't grasp the lands for long. A monarchy whose Kings and Queens, whose Royals and Dukes and Barons were decided not by conquest or name but the perfection of their craft. Idealistic in their endeavors, sure, but only overcome by the greed to pursue art and not a raging thirst for power. No others challenged them for how little of a threat they presented nor the resources on their lands. A prosperous utopia for the arts and those who loved them.
Even at a young age, Artham was an artistic prodigy. His parents proudly claimed he did not cry upon his birth but rather painted a beautiful mural of a land unknown. None were able to verify these claims, of course, but such stories seemed to become reality as he grew older. Though he might not have been the greatest artist in the Kingdom upon his birth, the skill behind his strokes became apparent even in his first true pieces. To his people, even a young Artham no older than 6 was a master of the arts. The techniques he displayed, the stories his pieces told and the passion behind the ink on each canvas were as true as the words of a man whose many mountains had since been climbed. Artham was a prodigy. A prodigy that, by the age of 9, was crowned the Holy Artizar.
A single was born in every generation. Some called them the Peerless Artizar; individuals whose artistic prowess could challenge even their colored gods. Massive events were held both in celebration of art, but also to crown a Holy Artizar worthy of serving the King themselves, so that one day they may also wear the crown and hoist them into the future of color. Such an event happened, though there was no competition. Every child knew they stood no chance. They feared his talent, his prowess. How easily his brows furrowed and his eyes darkened when he painted. How masterfully he wielded his massive brushes, how beautifully he painted and how true each stroke remained. To them, Artham wasn't Human. He was a Demon. On the day a Holy Artizan was to be crowned for his generation, all children surrendered before they were given a canvas to paint upon. Artham was the only Holy Artizan in history to be crowned as such without ever painting to prove his worth. It was as if the entire world knew there was no better man that stood upon its dirt to create than he. He had no rivals. No equals. It was as if he were the very idea of art itself made manifest.
After crowned unanimously as the Holy Artizar, Artham was made to serve as a personal painter for the King and Queen. They loved him like a son and he them like a father and mother. Each piece he painted for them was greater than the last. More beautiful. More serene. Delicate, awe-inspiring. There were many more words his people used to describe his work. He, on the other hand, was unhappy with each new piece. The older he became the more non-existent flaws he found in his work. To Artham, his paintings were ugly, disgusting. The works of a Demon as those children once treated him as. His passion turned to scorn, and with scorn his eyes grew heavy. This greatly worried the King and Queen who consulted his birth parents. According to them, Artham had never been satisfied with any of his work even when he was too young to understand what perfectionism even was. But even so, he dreamed of becoming the painter he believed he could be. There was something more he could accomplish. Something more he could be.
It was then realized that what he lacked was color. For as much color the Kingdom of Color held, it was only a place of colors natural to the lands it rested on. Artham knew that what he was missing was the color of the world unknown to him. The places he could visit. The people he could meet. The love he could share and the joy he could spread with his work!
The King and Queen were saddened and shocked by his sudden departure. A mission of enlightenment, he called it, to gather the colors of the world and return them to his home, so that his people may experience the world they'd never known through his work. For six years he travelled as far as his feet would take him. Too many places to name he visited, too many faces and too many names. Yet he was happy. His paintings had become vibrant in his own eyes. No longer did he despise the canvas he painted on. No longer did he feel scorn and disgust in his work. He had gained the colors of the world, and for that he would give it to his people as promised.
On the day of his return, the Kingdom of Color was brought to ruin.
A beast. A demon. A devil. A Kraken. A monstorsity of flesh and tentacles, a thing of pure carnal hatred and destruction. It rose from the seafloor over night and devoured the color, people, and all that which the Kingdom of Color had been. So desperately did the Organ Bearers and the citizens fight back against the monstrosity. They gave their lives to protect the art they loved more than their own selves. Their sacrifices meant nothing.
Though the battle was fought bravely, all they could do was briefly injure the Titan. Black blood rained that day from clouds pierced and shattered, and from that wound fell an organ. An organ that fell before Artham as he stared at the beast in terror. It had no face to look at, yet he felt its voracious gaze on him. Ever so hungry it was, and Artham would be the final meal of his people. But it was injured. The resistance of his people had proved to be more trouble than it was worth causing such widespread destruction. Rather than devour Artham, the Titan fled back into the sea.
The color of hatred was born within his broken heart that day. Though the sky rained black around him still, all his eyes could see was red. The boiling red of rage in a man whose everything had been stolen from him by the world. He swore it upon himself, the ruins of his beloved home, and upon the Kraken itself that he would have his revenge. Hell would pay for the devastation of his people. He swore an oath to the corpses of his family and friends, of the destroyed art lost forever to the wrathful sea. He swore revenge upon the Kraken.
To seal the oath true in blood, he devoured the organ that fell from its injury wholly.
Although now overcome by his rage to slay the Kraken and lay to rest the souls of the lost, he had learned well from his travels. Gaining power wasn't enough to kill the Kraken. He needed resources. Connections. An army. To do so, he must head west to the Theocracy. They would know how to train him. How to handle him. How to turn his rage into a weapon to paint the world black in the blood of the Kraken.
Organ:
Abyssal Ink Sac:
A mysterious ball of flesh similar in texture and shape to an oversized Octopi suction cup. It fell before him from clouds of black rain, painting the world around him dark even as the fires raged. Not a pleasant eating experience.
Power: Peerless Artistry:
Devouring the Abyssal Ink Sac has given Artham the ability to secrete a supernatural ink that, when drawn with by his own hands, brings to life his artistic visions. Draw a tiger and its teeth will sink into the flesh of his enemy. Draw a pair of wings and he may take flight. His ink contains within it the power to bring his drawings to life. Artham channels this power by coating a large two-handed paintbrush in his Ink and drawing onto the world as his canvas, temporarily shaping it to his liking (limited only by his imagination and several factors). Most drawings are temporary in their existence, however, and will lose their shape after some time. Most, not all.
Ink: Artham is limited by the amount of Ink he is able to produce within his body as a natural biological resource. Ink can both be produced and even stored within his body, but the amount he's able to produce becomes strained through continous expulsion—similar to the strain on muscles after repeated stress. His reserves of Ink can be emptied. When empty, Artham will be unable to use his power until either his reserves are restored naturally or through the consumption of Ink. Yes, he drinks Ink when he needs to. Nobody ever said the power of an Organ-Bearer was pleasant!
Ink Consumption: As mentioned before, Artham can refill his reserves by drinking Ink. This is the fastest way for him to regain his reserves after exhausting it, but it's not the only way he can refill it (and it is EXTREMELY unpleasant). He's able to accomplish the same by absorbing dry ink from paintings, though the amount he regains is significantly lower. Artham carries a bag full of scrolls coated in ink for him to absorb from when reserves are critically low in a fight.
Complexity: His paintings range from extremely simple to increasingly complex. This offers him great versatility to adapt to a fight as he needs, but there are both advantages and disadvantages to this. Simple paintings don't exhaust his ink reserves and are quicker to paint from a lack of complex detail, but lack destructive potency. His complex drawings, on the other hand, take longer to complete due to the nature of their complex detail, as well as exhaust his ink reserves, but allow for more versatility and destructive force. Artham constantly needs to be mindful of what he is drawing, what his drawings should accomplish, how much detail he's putting into his drawings, as well as keep a close eye on his Ink reserves. A simple drawing could be an ink blade around the edge of his brush (so that he can clash with swords and other physical attacks) while a complex drawing might be an enormous ink meteor descending from the sky.
