Creadora the Hollow - FINISHED

___ H O L L O W ___

The Mask

On The Surface ___

Name: Creadora
Age: 40 (15 years Human | 2 months Plus | 5 years Hollow | 20 years Gillian | 1 month Adjuchas)
Gender: Female, for all intent and purpose.
Height & Weight: Creadora can stretch to a staggering 9 feet tall and weighs a whopping 2 tons.
Hair & Eyes: She is covered in white fur and her almond-shaped eyes blaze a demonic red.
Mask & Hollow Hole: With a domed head and short muzzle, Creadora's mask is shaped to resemble the visage of a large canine. Of notable mention are the rows of sharp teeth carved across both sides of her mask, giving her an uncharacteristically menacing appearance. Her Hollow Hole resides dab-slab in the center of her chest, though it is usually hidden under a thick ruff of white.

Physical Description: Creadora is a beast through-and-through. A quadruped by design, the black-and-white Hollow stands on four lean yet mighty legs, and her ceaseless mobility has led her to maintains a slender physique.

From head to hind leg, she is covered in a sleek white fur that is addictive to the touch. Her white mask, as previously stated, is canine in appearance. She carries a hefty mane on her head that overgrows her mask; pressed into her forehead is a jewel-esque oval, as black as the shadow-filled sky of Hueco Mundo. A large, curved blade of black protrudes from the right side of her skull, completing a crescent shape as it arcs above her head. 

A thick ruff of gray-white wraps around her lean neck, covering the entirety of her upper chest and back. Beneath this fur rests her Hollow Hole, hidden away for no one to see. 

At the ends of her paws rest four sets of deadly claws, colored as black as a thousand Hollow souls. A second crescent blade protrudes form Creadora's rear, replacing the more tame tail of her canine brethren.

All of her physical features combine to give her a truly horrific appearance, and those inexperienced who gaze upon her eyes are left stricken, like deer caught in headlights.

When it comes to her presence, it is simply accurate to state that she smells like the Hueco Mundo desert: a mix of salt and sulfur. Creadora is a monster, and monsters consume the blood and bone of all living things, so it isn't a surprise that her naturally white mane and black crescent blades are more often than not tinged blood-red. Add in the fact that water is scarce, and you get a Hollow with the desire to be clean, but no means to clean herself. 

The white-furred Hollow does not commune with words, not because she isn't capable, but rather because she hasn't yet been presented with a need to. She tends to respond with physical gestures and grunts, and if things really get heated, she adds in a powerful growl or two. 

Creadora is a multifaceted creature, and her demeanor is testament to that fact. Her chest-out and back-straight posture speaks to her elegance; she maintains this degree of style even when feeding on the dismembered limbs of her prey. Her stride is sheer magnificence, so graceful that she makes her two ton weight seem like two pounds. Even in the face of danger, she holds onto her instinctual elegance with an unshakeable will.

Of particular note is her behavior in the act of feeding. Unlike most of her kin, Creadora is a calculated hunter, opting for precision over brute force. She is blurringly quick, a whisper in the wind to most of her prey, and she uses both of her sharp blades for the kill. She isn't in the least sadistic, so she finishes off her prey painlessly with a swift severance of the head. After the kill, Creadora uses her blade-like horn to slice her meal into small bits; she finds small pieces easier to consume, and more often than not, leaves her in a cleaner state than if she were to eat her prey whole. 

When in the company of non-hostile entities, Creadora enjoys physical proximity, wagging her blade-like tail as she brushes against animate and inanimate objects alike. She also possesses a strong sense of smell, and she's made a habit of putting her nose to everything. 

Spiritual Description: Blackness is to Creadora like peanut butter is to jelly. Her spiritual energy is colored midnight black, and it sharply contrasts her overwhelmingly white physical appearance. 

If one were to look through spiritual lenses, Creadora's appearance would resemble that of a giant black canine silhouette brimming with smoking dark energies, her almond eyes as red as the fires of hell. 

If one were to sense through spiritual lenses, Creadora's existence would feel much like being trapped in a tight and breathless coffin. She is a monster difficult to adore, especially when her spiritual energy tastes like tar.

Behind The Eyes ___

Personality: Creadora's personality is derived from two primal sources: the instinctual and the intellectual. On her instinctual side are two desires that have immense impact on her: the desire to survive and the desire to grow.

The desire to survive is something that all Hollow's relate to, and Creadora's facility for in-the-moment analysis has kept her on top for decades. There's a degree of cool-headedness that comes to her in situations of extreme discretion, like an encounter that challenges her instinct for self-preservation. And there is no shortage of strategies that she employs to guarantee her own safety; she is exceedingly resourceful in ideas and processes. She is also a reclusive creature, preferring to spend the majority of her time alone and away from the dangers of Hollow company.

Manifested as the iconic undying hunger of Hollow's, Creadora's instinct to continue evolving is unstoppable. When it comes to the acquisition of power, Creadora is ruthless, borderline savage, not hesitating to kill in the face of her desire for never-ending self-improvement. Her instinct to grow in strength is in constant conflict with her instinct to survive, an invisible tug-of-war hidden beneath a seemingly composed exterior. 

On her intellectual side are two refined desires that fill the primal husk created by her instinct: her desire to create things and her desire to transcend the gaucheness of her monstrous kind. 

She adores the act of creation. The satisfaction she experiences from creating things is greater than anything else. She is a creature easily marveled by the arts, especially of the architectural kind, and her urge to always produce something grander is at the forefront of her mind. When her insatiable hunger temporarily recedes, Creadora's mind focuses on what her next creation will be; she often loses herself in the creativity within her own thoughts, dozing off for hours at a time. This taste for design is also why she enjoys observing the world around her; the environment is a source of inspiration for her. There's a degree of attachment that Creadora experiences toward her creations, and she's even gone so far as to kill strangers who've gotten too close.

It is widely known that Hollows are a primitive breed, designed on a fundamental level to consume without prejudice. This fact coupled with Creadora's strong desire to be different has led her to adopt a specific set of humanly behaviors, best characterized by the words elegance and optimism. Even though her mind is often clouded by dark thoughts, she strives to always be positive in the face of her potently depressing circumstances. She approaches her problematic situations with a high degree of positive intent. Her frequent trips to the human world have influenced her to cherish enriching relationships, and the warmness she displays toward both living and non-living things speaks for her capacity to build strong connections. The strong pull toward elegance she experiences leads her to admire gracefulness and sophistication, and to detest crudeness and primitiveness.

Positive Qualities: 

Optimistic 

Creadora, even though a creature born to do ruin, possesses a strong tendency to see the good in all things. Death, for instance, has an overwhelmingly negative touch to it, but in Creadora's mind, death is a means to an end: her personal growth. She doesn't allow the rigors of everyday Hollow life to sour her perspective. There is always good to be found in the darkest places.

Creative

A Hollow has to be creative by default to survive, and power alone can only get one so far. Every waking moment for a Hollow is a fight for survival; danger lurks in the shadows, ready to take life at a moment's notice. That is why Creadora has learned to embrace her own creativity; many times she has hunted more powerful Hollows than her, besting them with her acute imagination; many times she has survived being hunted because of her ability to think outside the box. This same inventiveness bleeds into her creations.

Composed

There's a calmness about her that escapes the earthliness of words. Both on the exterior and in the interior, Creadora keeps cool even under the most trying times. She's not the kind of Hollow to have a knew-jerk reaction to a spontaneous, and often unfortunate occurrence. She tends to keep her composure, utilizing her clarity of mind to asses situations on the go. This does translate to a degree of patience on her part, and it has served her well more times than she can remember.

Negative Qualities:

Reclusive

She is alert to danger, and when she's not on the hunt, she'll choose flight over fight without a second thought. Her tendency to distance herself from others comes from her instinct to survive, not from a dislike of company. There are only two situations in which one would ever lay eyes on Creadora: if she's hunting and you're the hunted, or if you're just that lucky.

Fickle

Creadora is a creature of extremes. When she puts her mind to something, she'll do everything in her power to achieve her goals. This behavior has led her to seem fickle in the eyes of others, especially those who have and will inevitably be betrayed by her. She cares little for the wishes of others because she's way too busy thinking about her ever-changing desires and how to accomplish them.

Selfish

There's Creadora and her creations, nothing else. This selfishness comes predominantly from her early stage of evolution, which fuels her instinct much more than her intellectuality. She's the type of personality that will act aloof when presented with others' ideas, and she's very particular with whom she shares her own. She is most selfish with her time, above all else.

Goals and Motives:

To Become More Powerful

Creadora wants to grow in strength because she understands that the strong survive and the weak die.

To Overcome Her Birthright to Crudeness

Creadora was born a Hollow, and with her birth she acquired an unseemly collection of habits. She wants to grow out of them because she has led herself to believe that they are harmful.

Strength Of The World ___

Aspect of Death: Creation. That is Creadora's defining word because her existence requires it. Back when she was a simple human girl, Creadora used her creativity to bring words to life. She was the creator of a thousand poems, all of them etched onto paper by the age of fifteen. And on the day of her fifteenth birthday, after nine grueling months, she died while giving birth to her bastard child.

As an Adjuchas Hollow, the small portion of her mostly primitive mind is devoted exclusively to the art of creation. She is always on the precipice of bringing greatness into the world, of creating the next wonder of the world. She was born by creation, died in the act of creation, and the cycle will forever continue.

Hollow Power: El Arquitecto 

Creadora's power is simply the ability to create. The process is simple in practice, but complex in theory. The process of her power to create begins with a thought. That thought is accompanied with the will to create, and then whatever she desires is manifested before her eyes. There is a price Creadora pays for this power, and that price is her own flesh. She uses her own body as the physical matter for her creations.

I'd like to provide an example!

Let's say in a hypothetical scenario where Creadora wants to create a sword. She would initially think of the sword, working out all of the object's details within her mind. Then she would desire to see this sword made real, and so the sword would come to life literally in front of her eyes. As the sword manifests out of thin air, her hand disintegrates.

The larger the object, the more of her body she must sacrifice. This sacrifice of her body is as painful as it looks. In addition, these creations remain connected to her both physically and spiritually, so if anything were to happen to said creation, she would experience that sensation herself. Hypothetically speaking, if her sword were to shatter, she would experience physical pain as if it were her hand breaking instead.

I'd like to provide some guideline for this power based on the progression of the Hollow Evolution skill.

Beginner: Able to create inanimate objects no larger than the size of a human child.

Basic: Able to create inanimate objects no larger than the size of an adult human.

Intermediate: Able to create inanimate objects no larger than the size of an elephant.

Advanced: Able to create inanimate objects no larger than the size of a large house.

Master: Able to create inanimate objects no larger than the size of a large cruise ship.

Grandmaster: The sky is the limit!

Creadora must pay a severe price in exchange for creating the maximum-sized object in the respective rank. As she progresses through the ranks, she sacrifices less of herself for creations that match the maximum of previous ranks and much less for smaller objects.

In addition, Creadora must have some idea of the object she wishes to create. If she were to want to create a clock that actually worked, she would need to understand how a functional clock is engineered.

The sturdiness of her creations are dictated by her Spirit stat.

Legacy Created ___

Current Allegiance: Creadora's current allegiance is only to herself.

Snapshots: 

Venezuela, 1975: Born as Alexandra dos Santos.

Venezuela, 1980: Abandoned by her single mother. Left on the streets.

Venezuela, 1981: Started to work for a pimp, initially selling produce.

Venezuela, 1982: Saved enough money to buy a notebook. Started to write her poems.

Venezuela, 1985: Started to work as a prostitute.

Venezuela, 1989: Got pregnant from a client.

Venezuela, 1990: Died giving birth.

Venezuela, 1991: Became a Hollow.

Venezuela, 1994: Went to Hueco Mundo.

Hueco Mundo, 1994: Eaten by another Hollow. Became Gillian.

Hueco Mundo, 2015: Gained control of Gillian. Became Adjuchas.

History: 

Humanity (1975-1990)

In early March of 1980, five year-old Alexandra was abandoned by her drug-abusing mother. Left on the streets to fend for herself, young Alexandra spent the majority of her time scavenging for food. The first few difficult weeks taught her that the best places to scour for food were the dumpsters behind busy restaurants. So she spent the majority of her evenings in dark alleyways scouting for leftover filled trash bags.

Months into her struggle to survive, Alexandra met a man who saw potential in her. Little did she know that what he had in mind would later lead to her death. So she worked for this well-dressed businessman, selling produce on the bustling streets of downtown Maracay. As the days passed, she experienced regular meals and eventually earned enough money to buy her own notebook: something she'd wanted ever since she saw it showcased in the bookstore next to her food stand. The moment she put her fingers to that pristine notebook, she knew that writing was what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. The prospect of writing was her new motivation to get through the hot workdays, and she spent her nights writing poems about her daily experiences. Then, when she lest expected it, the best time of her remembered life was taken from her.

Her boss, whom she once thought to have saved her life, had a different kind of work for her. She was forced into prostitution for four long years. The days were much different, but her nights were much the same. Poems, poems, and more poems. Writing was her outlet, her only moment of reprieve. She had nothing else, until one day, she noticed her belly had grown much too large.

As the stack of poem's grew, so too did her stomach. She continued to work until her pregnancy led to sickness, and the few weeks before her delivery were filled with so much pain she wished to simply die. And her wish came true, for she passed away during the moments of her first and last child's birth.

Ghost (1990)

The black chain protruding from her chest began to crumble.

He was so beautiful, a healthy infant who cried through the black-and-white nights. She couldn't hear him, of course, but she knew when her baby boy was crying by the way he jerked his head left to right, and by the gape of his toothless lips. She spent the entirety of her ethereal days by her son's side, experiencing a sort of dread only a mother could as she watched complete strangers touch him. She didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Nothing would take her from her child.

The chain continued to crumble.

She couldn't keep track of time, partly because days and nights had become one and the same, and partly because her only interest was the safety of her baby boy. So entranced was she that she ignored the masked creatures that roared, and howled, and screeched as they passed by the building of her hospital. She wasn't afraid, for her son's soundless cries silenced the thunder outside.

"My poor baby, please don't cry." She smiled that sorrowful smile that only a mother who knew better could. "Everything will be fine."

The chain crumbled to nothingness.

Hollowdom (1991-1994)

"Food…"

And with her evolution came an insatiable hunger. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months and all Alexandra cared for was the flesh of the pure. It wasn't voluntary, this hunger. She wasn't thinking, but simply acting upon a raw urge to consume. She sought to kill out of design.

"More…"

She roamed the larger Venezuelan region for years, eating away at the hopeless souls that had died yet could not let go of their mortal pasts. Much like she had once done on the day of her child's birth. Bite, and chew, and gnaw she did until the day came where plus souls no longer satisfied her.

"Better…"

Out of sheer will she opened the Garganta to a new and much more dangerous world.

The Menos (1994-2015)

Monster had become her new prey, and throughout her initial foray into the hunt for Hollow, Alexandra experienced delectable success. Unfortunately she was a small fish who had made entirely too much noise in an enormous ocean of death, and in a single catastrophic moment, she lost her life to a much more powerful Hollow.

What she gained from her gruesome death was the potential to evolve into the next stage of monster. This potential would not be met for decades, so she joined thousands of other restless souls in a march across the white deserts. The Gillian that both was and wasn't Alexandra wandered through Hueco Mundo, continuing its endless feasting.

Meanwhile, from within...

Creadora looked up and gazed into the shadows of the long corridor. If it wasn't for the green-fire torches lining the walls, she'd have been completely blind to the fact that something stood above her. She knew that smell. "Hey Cromm, what can I do you for?"

Cromm was a hulking male with a detrimental disparity of brawn and brain. Well, detrimental for him. "Is my weapon ready yet, little girl?"

She gave him a you're-not-wrong kind of look. In his presence, everyone was little. "Almost! Almost!" she yelled back. "I'll have it done in time for your fight."

"Good," he said heartily as he rose to his ridiculous full height. "This is my day! You'll see! I'll rip that shitfaced asswipe to pieces and take my place at the driver's seat!"

Creadora rolled her eyes. That's what the last hundred had said, but she wasn't about to shit on the idiot's dreams. "You're going to do great! I know it!" She lived in a strange world indeed.

In a time long lost to her, she had woken into blackness. From that blackness was born the Grand Citadel, a bastion of emerald-green flame. The Grand Citadel was the place where the denizens of the Void congregated; in reality, it was the place where the wicked went to fight for the promise of eternal salvation.

Creadora had found her home within the Grand Citadel as a blacksmith, creating weapons for all the up-and-comers. From where she'd learned to craft weapons she did not know, but she'd put it into her mind that she had been a renowned craftsmen in her past life. 

One last thrust of the large axe-head into the green fire, and then a second thrust into the icy water. "Nice," she whispered under her breath as she marveled at her latest creation. "Very nice! It's done! Here you go big guy!"

Cromm grinned as he took the enormous axe from her. He whistled approvingly. "Yea, very nice…" he cooed as he threw a few practice swings. "It's kind of heavy, but other than that, this'll cleave any fucker in two. You're gonna come spectate, yea?"

Creadora raised her brows in a yeah-yeah kind of look. "Let me get my things."

They marched together to the Arena, Cromm the Giant in front and Creadora his white-haired tail in tow. It didn't take long for them to arrive. The Arena was bustling, the noise emanating from within as thunderous as always. Creadora couldn't help but marvel at the building's otherworldly architecture, especially the hellish-green ray of light that shot straight up from the center of the open-air arena into the pitch black sky.

Creadora reached her seat in the very front of the battlespace. If she were to take two steps forward, she'd literally find herself on the fighting floor. The perks of being a facilitator to the system. She watched on as the announcer took the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The crowd died down. "Welcome to tonights spectacle! Tonight is a very special night, one that may alter our entire existence as we know it. As you may or may not know, one of tonight's contestants has defeated nine-hundred and ninety-nine opponents. As the prophecy goes…" the crowd gasped collectively. "…any man or woman who defeats one-thousand enemies consecutively will ascend to the Above and live in eternal bliss." He gave the crowd a thoughtful smile. "Without further ado, tonight's fighters!" The crowd roared.

Creadora smiled her faux sheepish smile.

"On the left we have our reigning champion! He's big! He's mean! He's everything you'd want in a killing machine! He is El Capitan!"

An enormous creature--yes, creature--stomped its way to the center of the stage, causing Creadora to hop at his every step. Why he was named El Capitan she didn't know. It made no sense, really. El Capitan raised his muscled arms way above his head and howled. The crowd exploded.

"All right, all right!" The announcer spat! "Settle down folks! Now, on the right, El Capitan's challenger! He's…" the announcer glanced at Cromm and forgot what he was going to say. The look on his face was priceless. Utter disappointment. "…He's strong! Yes! He's as strong as a hundred men! He wields the mightiest axe, forged in the depths of Hell! He is Cromm the Destroyer!"

Creadora giggled. The Destroyer? The announcer was definitely good at what he did, because the crowd went wild. She watched on as El Capitan and Cromm faced off in a battle to the death. El Capitan was much larger than Cromm, almost twice the axe-wielder's size. Cromm didn't stand a chance.

The fight literally ended in the blink of her eye as El Capitan took Cromm's axe straight to the gut. It was all on purpose, for the larger combatant grabbed Cromm's arm, completely immobilizing him. He then swung his free arm overhead, and brought it down to smash Cromm's head into a thousand bloody pieces.

The crowd went silent out of sheer astonishment at how quickly the fight had ended. The silence was short-lived as the audience erupted in bloodlust.

El Capitan fell to one knee, his wound taking too great a toll on him. Creadora smiled.

Behind the hulking creature were born a set of pristine white stairs, one-by-one, ascending all the way up into the pitch black sky. Everyone quieted. El Capitan shifted on the bloodied stage. Creadora stood.

Everyone watched silently as she made her way toward the beast. The announcer, mouth agape and wide-eyed, did much the same. "Hey, little girl!" he stuttered. "Where are you going?"

Creadora reached El Capitan. "What the fuck do you want?" He barked.

"Thank you," she said as she reached into her white dress. She pulled out a jagged dagger, twirled it over her palm, and then shoved it into El Capitan's forehead. There was no sound in response to her act of violence, save for the thundering boom of the giant's corpse hitting the floor. She dusted off her dress, and then began her ascent. She took one step at a time as she rose into the blackness she'd once stared at from far below. Her eyes were fixated on the dim green light that grew in size the more she climbed; the Grand Citadel had become nothing more than a drop of feint green that she guessed was miles beneath her.

She landed on the final platform. In front of her stood a black door, outlined by green light that pulsated every so often. She pushed with both hands. The door swung open, and she stepped inside.

The room she entered was dark, no sign of light save for a large square-shaped screen. She payed no mind to the contents of the picture, for just in front stood a chair. A white mask curled around the chair and stared at her with its yellow eyes. "What are you doing here!?"

Creadora smiled the smile of someone who was about to kill.

The Adjuchas (2015-Now)

Creadora the Hollow was only a month old.

After her rise to power from within, she transformed from the gigantic monolith of a Gillian into the white quadruped she is today. White fur replaced the black coat, a ferocious canine mask replaced the generic Gillian expression, and best of all, mediocrity was replaced with the power to create.

Her beginning breaths were solely dedicated to reducing her intense thirst for blood. She slew hundreds of her Hollow kin as she feasted for days on end. After every kill she sacrificed her own body in order to create a souvenir that resembled her prey. Her Hollow brothers were an artistic inspiration to her secondary but growing focus. Her home at the edge of Hueco Mundo was littered with human-sized Hollow replicas, a sea of white figurines across the barren dunes.

She spent her days in bloody routine, eating and growing. It was only a matter of time until Creadora ventured out to meet the dangers of other worlds.

Roleplay Sample: 

The smell of sulfur was exceptionally strong today.

Creadora licked at her left paw as she cleaned herself from the meal she'd just had. Her prey had been a lesser Hollow, and she knew that for certain by the way its flesh tasted. When she salivated by the mere smell of her prey, she knew she was in for a treat. Unfortunately, delicious meals were becoming more of an exception than the rule.

The image of the Hollow she'd just consumed flashed within her mind; she envisioned the monster's exoskeleton, its many skittering legs, and its curling needle-pointed tail. She shrunk the image to the appropriate size, and all that was left was for her to will it into existence. She was practically bursting to create that which lingered within her mind. Before her eyes was born a tiny spec, which grew until it became a ball of white mass the size of a human. 

Creadora yelped as her hind leg evaporated, only to be regenerated in the time it took for the white mass to transform into her mind's image. The statuette dug pincer first as it struck the sand. She wasn't quite used to the sacrificial aspect of her power, in particular the excruciating pain that accompanied any of her creations. The larger her desire, the more pain she experienced. But in the end, her will always won out over her pain-influenced hesitations.

She went to her newest piece of art, experiencing a rush of heat as she rubbed up against it. She felt a closeness to her creations that just wasn't normal; to her, these glistening toys were her greatest achievement. Being the creature that she was, achievement was second only to her growth. 

The white hairs on her neck stiffened, and she jerked her head north. She'd caught the scent of her next prey…and it smelled like filet mignon.

OOC ___

Player Alias: Perci
Desired Starting GP: 2000+
Where you referred by anyone?: A long time ago
Other Characters: Shushana Senganza