White and Black, nothing inbetween.
Death… is an odd thing at best. With so many ways to die, it always seemed that the worst was at the paws of another. This was his life. He shaped the world by killing political leaders who were overzealous of their cause. But why? Was it because he was looking out for the people, or looking out for himself? Was his own movement so overzealous that he was no better than them?
Until he could reason these questions, his katars would remain in the same place he had found them so many years ago. Never wanting to spill the blood of another furre in malice, he now lives.
Living, much like death, is odd at best. What truly defines one as living? Your heart may beat, but does that mean you are actually alive? Could you die at this moment and smile, knowing you have lived life to its potential? If not…. Are you alive?
Almasy found himself asking these questions one day to the calm, placid waters of a nearby lake. He was not asking the lake for answers, but rather himself. It seemed he was not alive, but dead… he could not die smiling, not with so much left undone.
He walked now with a confident air about him; confident enough that he even closed his eyes at times, and was able to daydream as he walked. His bare feet touched the ground beneath him, able to fully appreciate the feel of freedom ‘pon his pads. Strong, snow furred legs with black hash marks were hidden beneath pants of unknown fabric
Backdrop to his legs was that of his pitch black trench coat. He had modified the sleeve upon his right arm to be missing, but present on the left. Finding it rather comfy, the soft, silken material was meant mainly for show, and not for battle. Black silk meshed into a gunmetal hued, sleeveless shirt which clung close to his body, showing off the muscles and figure of someone who cared about himself. His body had not fatigued over his ripened life-span, and neither had his mind. As keen as ever, the deaf psychic was well aware of his surroundings at all times.
Paws were equipped with nothing more than the bracers of the ninja. Light and offering very little defense from weapons, the bracers were meant only for show – hardly for battle.
Most evident of course, was an astoundingly long tail. At least two to three times his own body length. Naturally white like the rest of his fur, black hash marks of a tiger ran rampant along the caudal. This was the coloration of his entire body, giving him a rather exotic appeal.
Indigo locks hung down to his neck. Straight and soft, the hair blew freely in the breeze and even got in his eyes sometimes.
His eyes were important though. Before there was a look of a killer… ruthless and effective. Now though, they were carefree and happy. Eyebrows did not narrow to stare-down anyone he saw, but instead they were met with acceptance.
Age: Unknown
Birthdate: August 21
Height: 6'7
Weight: 214lbs
Physique: Lean and Muscular
Psychic abilities
Psi: Any mental power a psychic would have. Almasy depends on Psi to hear everything he needs to. He does this by tapping into the mind of someone, and diving no deeper than their sensory lobes. Since he is able to do this, it is rather hard to detect him at times, and even stop him. His mind has been trained nearly all his life to dive into minds, and it is sort of a profession to him. Most psychics (because they lack the handicap of a disability), are not able to perform tasks as well as Almasy can. When he went deaf, his body compensated by increasing other senses.
Psy: The ability to create energy with his mind. This is the main ability he uses when forced into a fight. A broad array of tactical advantages rest within his mind, and he has quite the extensive library of tricks he can use.
Blood is an amazing thing. Almasy grew up never realizing his blood was enchanted until he came across the Shadowen. Like a drug, the enchantment of his blood is highly addicting. The drinker quickly turns to a placid nature which only morphine could bring about.
Almasy is very good with a flute. Armed with a pure-silver flute, he can caste rather odd ‘spells’ with his music. Those who hear the melodies and rhythm could find themselves lost in it. Being deaf, Almasy is not lost to such a thing. While he can still hear through Psi, he is not able to feel it the way others will; along with all other music.