promoted_pawn | Demeleier Catch-All

Character Tags

In-Game Possessions

- Queen's Ring
- Wasteland Rags
- One colorful battle-tattered robe
- Rowan Crown + Mirror

Application

'I have no idea how to rule. What orders could there possibly be to give anyway?'
Character: PM (Prospitian Monarch)
Source: Homestuck
Appearance: With ring: The white-shelled lady on the left; Without ring: Just killed a dude
History: Wiki link
Timeline: A6A6I2: In the middle of chasing Gcat.

Personality: Once upon a time, PM was an endlessly kind, spiritual, and patriotic carapacian woman. She was completely content with her job as a postal worker. But she was also quick to feel fear, and hesitant to take active agency in her own life. Then the world ended, with her caught in the middle and with blood on her paws. She was thrown into exile on an alien planet, which jaded her and ended her innocence. But even as she walked a desert world for untold years, she still nourished a gentle hope for a future where civilization may, in the fashion she knew, return again. It seemed like a distant promise, but it was one she was willing to embrace when she met other like-minded carapacians wandering the wastelands. But that, too, was not meant to last. The world ended again—by the hand of the same villain who destroyed her world the first time—leaving only her, her rage, and a wealth of power.

And yet, to say that the events of her life destroyed her would be a gross misrepresentation.

PM is a woman who does not merely thrive in adversity—she makes it her job to conquer it. She believes in the force of her own strength, and in her ability to overcome the odds, no matter how much they continue to stack up against her. She is unflinchingly brave, and strong, and no longer can think of any reason to be afraid. She has felt the worst pain imaginable by losing everything, and has thrown herself into a new cause to gain it all back. She believes in the goodness of her heart, and the evil that can be found lurking in those who style themselves villains. She never, ever gives up.

Because of all that she has lost, PM has transformed her once-burning passion for delivering mail into her most important work: to deliver justice to a great and terrible villain named Jack Noir.

Her single-minded quest to defeat Jack has not destroyed her ability to care, nor has it taken her hope or faith. Quite the opposite: it has only strengthened her belief that a safe and happy future for those who remain must be secured, though she has not bothered to imagine her place in it beyond vague abstracts. Still, the flames of her fury have burned and consumed the mild sweetness that once was. She is now a woman bent on the protection and preserving the good memory of everything she holds dear: her queen and her king, and a brave man who upheld the law and protected the innocent, even with his life. A girl named Jade. A noble little mayor, whom she sent away to be protected by those she once revered as heroes. The preservation and protection of civilization.

However, although she is incredibly strong, and still has the capacity to care and love deep down somewhere, her situation has made it difficult for her to relate to people. Too long has she been alone with her fury, and with the canine feelings that came with the ring. As such, much of her behavior is now dictated by instinct and emotion. She has abandoned the social norms that come with normal life. Everything that she has lost or been forced to abandon has taken its toll on her sanity, leaving her a mess of feelings afraid of becoming too attached or too engaged. It is too easy to remember that keen sense of loss and not wish to experience it again.

Although she can and will gradually come out of her shell and scratch out what emotional and mental stability she can find, it will not be easy. Adapting to a life of speaking with people again, relating to them and caring for them will take work. It will definitely never be the way she was as a Parcel Mistress, but that's okay. She will try to find her own way of relating to others, because she does care. She may just say and believe some things that she does not entirely realize are completely insane. She may even find her love of the mail again.

PM is a good dog, and a brave woman, and so very unflinching from proving either one to those who may argue otherwise.

Abilities: On her own, PM is not especially powerful. She is a strong swordswoman with a fierce temper, an instinctual ability to find people when she has packages to deliver, and an incredible survival instinct. She is clever and smart, and able to survive even in horrific times.

What makes her particularly god-like is her ring. This ring is a relic imbued by powers related to the guardian/guide figures of her people's mythical heroes. The ring grants the wearer incredible stamina and health—she hasn't had to eat or drink anything in three years—and possesses the incredible ability "Red Miles." These resemble enormous veins that surge outward from the ring, which are able tear apart anything that stands in their way.

The ring draws further power from Earth's "first guardian," a quasi-omnipotent dog with teleportation and portaling powers. The dog form itself imbues PM with an amazing sense of smell and keen hearing. However, the dog also tends to override the wearer's true personality at certain times, especially around its original master, Jade.

If that wasn't enough, the wearer also has a built-in sword (which is sheathed in their midsection, much to the alarm of passersby).

The ring MUST depowered because whoa, but I'd still like for it to work in some capacity. The altered form and sword, as well as the canine instincts, are really all that I'd want to keep.

Inventory: The rags on her back, and her ring.

Prose Sample: The new Incipisphere is a rush of sounds and smells and sensations that PM has not felt for years, and at first she has little idea what to make of it.

It is not like the dream bubbles with their own ever-shifting landscapes born from the memories of others. Those came with their own stimulation for the senses, to be certain, but her canine instincts could read that they were ultimately false. Real events and places, but not true. The distinction of not-real things from real things stopped making any sense to consider long ago. But those dreams are truly just that in the face of the real thing. And not just something real: something familiar.

It was, in a superficial sort of way, almost like a dream bubble for her. Her pursuit of Jack brought them past a meteor field, filled with chunks of the usual rocks as well as debris from the destroyed moon of Derse. There were the distant circles of portals, and the jewels of heroic planets populated by consorts. It was alive, really and truly alive. The thought of speaking to people again was a weird one, and she didn't know how to handle the feeling. Was it good? Was it bad?

All conscious thought came to an abrupt halt when she caught one particular scent that made her chest swell with love. Jack stopped abruptly, and she did not even think to raise her sword against him. The dog who powered the ring was in charge now, and he favored one thing and one thing only.

Jade.

The two sworn enemies, acting as one, raced toward the source of the scent. They were eager to greet their 'master.'

Journal Sample: [A dog's face, white and scarred quite noticeably with a jagged black line through her fur, passing down across one of her eyes, stares into the mirror. Her good eye, black and beady, blinks slowly. It's almost bored. She turns away, and scents the air.]

[Inwardly, she is not thinking so much as feeling. There was a cat and it was running. She was barking and chasing it. And now it is gone, and everything is different, and the canine brain in control cannot reconcile it.]

[There is nothing but wind and the gentle patter of rain and the sight of this dog staring off into the distance for a long moment. Her ear tilts then, back to the mirror. The rest of her head follows. Intellect floods into her features, and she seems to be noticing it for the first time. She turns it around in her paws, showing her tattered rags covering her hard-shelled but humanoid body. There is a sword, the same pure white as her shell, sticking through her torso. But there is no blood.]

[The view turns back around to her face, but only briefly. She drops it in disgust, and the view clatters as it hits the marble at the top of the steps.]

[She has more important things to do now than play with mirrors. Figure out how to leave, for starters. Normally, that would be easy, but she can already tell that she has been cut off from the source of much of her power. PM will have to do it the old-fashioned way—flying—and for that, she'll need to know where to go. She scents the air again. There is no sign of her enemy, no sign of her friend, no sign of even that blasted cat that caught their attention.]

[PM sits down beside the mirror, and thinks.]