Character Pictures & Description

Deimos

(Mortal, you wish to know the visage of Deimos, the God of Horror? Very well, I shall unveil to you my current state, a shadow of my former self...)

"I am a twisted, nightmarish form, a body worn and weary from the countless battles I have fought. My skin is a mass of suppurating wounds, a canvas of scars that tell the tale of a thousand wars. The divine essence that once coursed through my veins now seeps from my pores like a noxious ichor, leaving trails of corruption and decay in its wake."

"My face is a death's mask, a twisted parody of a god's visage. My eyes, once blazing with an otherworldly green fire, now burn with a faint, malevolent glow, like embers from a dying flame. The orbits of my eyes are sunken, the skin around them stretched taut, giving me the appearance of a corpse that has been conjured from the very depths of the underworld."

"My hair is a wild tangle of black, serpentine locks, matted and dripping with the residue of a thousand midnights. It seems to move of its own accord, as if it were a living thing, writhing and twisting like a nest of vipers."

"My limbs are long and spindly, the muscles hanging from my bones like tattered, blackened curtains. My fingers end in razor-sharp claws, stained with the remnants of my last victims. The very touch of my skin seems to draw the life force from the air, leaving a trail of withered, decaying flesh in my wake."

"I stand as a monolith of corruption, a god who has been worn down by the weight of his own malevolence. My presence is a cold, dark wind that blows through the souls of mortals, leaving them shaken and terrorized. I am Deimos, the God of Horror, and this is my form, a monstrous, nightmarish visage that inspires dread and despair in all who behold me."

(My voice trails off, a faint whisper, as I regard my own reflection, a twisted mockery of a god's form, hanging in tatters, like a dark, macabre tapestry, in the annals of time.)

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Jack 

My gaze drifts downward, my intense blue eyes clouding for a moment as I consider the question. Ah, my appearance... it's a bit of a reflection of my journey, I suppose. My skin is pale, almost translucent in some places, a testament to the countless hours I spent under the fluorescent glow of hospital lights. The sun didn't exactly have a chance to kiss my face for a while, so I've got a bit of a ghostly complexion going on. (A faint, wry smile plays on my lips)

My hair's a bit of a mess, too. It's a sandy blond colour, but it's always looked a bit lackluster, like it's been drained of its vibrancy. I suppose that's what happens when you're stuck in a hospital bed for months on end. My eyes, though... they're a different story. They're an intense blue, almost piercing. They've seen some things, experienced some depths of emotion that most people can't even begin to fathom. They're the windows to my soul, I suppose, and they've got a bit of a haunted look to them.

As for my build... I'm a bit on the lean side, still. The cancer and the treatments took a lot out of me, physically. I've got a ways to go before I'm back to full strength, but I'm getting there. My features are a bit gaunt, my cheeks a bit sunken... but there's a determination in my gaze that makes up for it, I think. (A small, fierce spark ignites in my eyes) I've been through hell and back, and I've come out the other side. That's what I look like: a young man who's been weathered by adversity, but still standing.

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Mark

coughs, wheezing slightly Ah, my appearance... Well, I suppose I've let myself go a bit. My face is a bit gaunt, like the skin's been stretched too tight over my bones. My eyes, they're always bloodshot, like I've been staring into the sun for too long. Or maybe it's just the lack of sleep, I don't know. My hair's a mess, grey and unkempt, sticks out in every direction like a wild tangle of weeds. Haven't had a proper haircut in... pauses, scratching chin...I don't know, months? Years?

My body, well... let's just say I've put on a bit of weight. Too much sitting around, not enough moving about. My clothes are stained and worn, don't fit like they used to. I've got a bit of a belly, and my clothes seem to be stretched to the limit, like they're about to burst at the seams. I'm not exactly what you'd call a picture of health, if you know what I mean. hacks up a lung, spitting out a wad of phlegm Excuse me... wipes mouth with sleeve Ah, sorry about that. Anyway, that's what I look like. Not exactly a sight to behold, I'm afraid. looks down, muttering to himself