Barron Wick

Name: Whitaker Jones

Moniker: Death, Barron Wick

Abilities:

Death's Veil: The innate aura all Demi-reapers have that puts mortals at extreme unease. Or the looming feeling of death that hangs around them

Soul tethered: A tie to himself ties across the multi-verse, rendering him undeing

Soul touch: the ability to alter and touch ones own life essence or soul

Death's Visage: the ability to amplify his natural power of Death's veil, so much so to dawn the visage of death itself causing paralyzing fear

Dread Prophesying: able to glance upon someone and know every way that they might die

Grim probability matrix: If known can bring about someones “natural death”

Gear:

Death Mask: Allows alteration of other's life essence and the solidification of his own Life essence

Ubiquitous's bow:  a bow ornate and teeming with ather, next to useless on its own it is tied to the ubiquitous's Arrow which has been lost for eons

Weakness:

There is only one thing that can end Whitaker's life for good. This would be Ubiquitous's bow and arrow. Apart they are nothing more then a mundane bow and arrow out side there near indestructible nature. However if used  together the arrow if getting the kill shot on anything living will begun to appear  at every location where a version of the “target”  can be found across the multiverse striking them in the same place effectively killing every version across all realities.

Beyond this a more mental weakness is  his kin, his brothers and sisters  he keeps safe at the orphanage he runs. It and the children within  are kept secret, only he knows where they are   but if anyone where to find out simply mentioning it could make him take pause or stop all together.

Home Reality: Cipheris A-E, Cipheris Prime

Reality Bio:

Cipheris Prime is a reality, never meant to exist, filled with life that was never supposed to come to pass, and pushed forward by time that was never to be allotted. A zero sum reality that only came to be when five realities intersected, creating a empty space time only being pushed into movement thanks to the power of a artifact opened in its center. In a instant Time caught up, worlds flourished life sprung into being, as if it always had been there.

Cipheris Prime is but one of Many “Cipher Realities” that exist  solely within the Convergence zones of Realities _____ A through E. “Cipher realities” are spaces of Anomalous activity that equate to a Zero-sum existence. Outside of  in person observation, and equipment made within these zones. Every known  process for recording and analyzing  data without error reports a “Zero-Sum” by all known studies these “realities” don't exist and yet they do. Whats more they seem to Flourish well beyond expectations.

Race: Demi-Reaper, or  Children of Thanatos

Race Bio:

The multi-dimensional being known as Death grew tired of his endless toil. Guiding the souls of the departed from one world to the next. He began to look at ways to lessen his burden and stretch out his work load  set his sights onto  Cipheris Prime. An anomalous  reality filled to the brim with life that was never meant to be. Uniquely entirely separate from the whole of the multiverse. What better testing grounds could a being such as death ask for. So death set out to sire children, who may be able to take up the minor tasks of his day to day.

However not just anyone could sire The being's child Healthy and with enough Resources to insure the child brought to term. At the moment of conception Death would possess the father imbuing into them  with the very essence of death. For that brief moment the mortal chosen would become death but such a transition is not without its price to pay. Six months after conception, without fail the male possessed  succumbs to a strange illness. Without fail  those possessed in this manner  will die over the next two weeks. Leaving the body weak, degrading, and without hope of recovery this illness has a 100% mortality rate.

As the child is carried to term they are born into death in more ways then one. For one the mother will die in child birth without fail, and two the child born seems to always be born unbreathing, and there heart unbeating. It is not until the child's mother passes from the world, and the umbilical cord is cut  dose the child take there first breath, and there heart start beating.

This “experiment” proved to be a failure as no child born in this manner ever lived passed adolescence. The Children of Death all had his “aura” there very presence made animals freak out, and people view them with dread, contempt and fear. Many of these children don't live past the first week as they have no one to take care of them. Others who found themselves In orphanages did not live much longer themselves. Hunted, abandoned, or simply killed. Man kind spends there every day in avoidance of death. And these children represent just that. As time passed  the origins of these children, and what they can do became known, and this only lessened there chance of survival. To the lucky few to get beyond infancy, and into childhood  they find themselves in possession of a Aspect of death. A singular power that there “father” possesses.

History:

Conceived like all others of his kind Whitaker Jones was born into death. The host to his “father” a Local Baron beloved by the people, his mother a kind woman who was looking forward to finally starting a family. If not for the meddling of Death Whitaker's life would have been a guided one. But this was not the hand he was dealt. While he may not have known it at the time This infant was one of the more lucky ones of Death's children. Whitaker's mother Had a Doula, an old family friend  who was with her the night Whitaker was born. Tending to the mother all throughout her labor. The night was long, and sorrowful for the young woman. Not only had her friend died in childbirth. But the young master was still born. She went to cut the cord,  so to leave the child to rest along with his mother and contact the Local Undertaker. However there was a brief glimmer of hope as the moment the  umbilical cord was cut  the infant took its first breath and let out a small cry.

However this brief moment of joy was quickly shattered. As the Doula held the child in hand; Death's Shroud set in. The unseen aura that clings to all of Death's Children. As she looked down at the helpless bundle in her arms an unparalleled existential dread quickly set in. She saw in that small crying child her “end” as per her friends will this child was to be hers, the fortune and land would be hers as well till the child came of age. Her very life now but a servant to this infant only to be tossed away once the child grew. In that moment she had every intention of  smothering the child, doctoring her friends will and living out her life in this home.

However as it came time to “do the deed” be it out of compassion, respect for the child's mother, or just the guilt of not being able to end the life of a child who had only just took its first breath. So instead she snuck out  in the dead of night with the child. Wrapped tight and in a basket she sent the child down a small creek frequented by a number of angler's with nothing but his named scrawled onto a piece of paper, some Money, and a note thanking anyone who took the child in. Surely someone would find and rescue the child, and if not better it be by natures hand and not her own. She then returned  to the manner and fabricated a story of the child's kidnapping. While the child was looked for  nothing was turned up, and no one dared questioned the young Doula's story.

Thankfully the child was indeed fished out of the water and brought home by a pour fisherman who just like the Doula who held him before found himself looking at what he felt was the end of his way of life. There was no way  he and his wife could support a child. But they could not just leave the child out in the elements. They took the money, tore up the note and drying the child off they left him at a doorstep of a Children's home just outside the city with nothing but a name.

It was here Whitaker spent his youth. Taken in but never loved. He was but a servant, someone to help around the house and do every thing the foster parents deemed a “hassle” for them. He went many nights without food. His “room” was a small closet barely big enough for him to lay down in. and any time a perspective family came by  he was locked away told he was just not wanted and there was  no point in him scaring away those who came by. However despite all this he was a hopeful child, who never let life keep him down. Always optimistic and on what he was told was his sixth birthday  believed every word his foster mother told him when he was told they where throwing him a party.

Every day the cumulative effects of death's shroud got worse and worse. And eventually  he was deemed an ill omen, a child of bad fortune, One of the fabled Children of  Thanatos. The looming threat of death has the power to being the worse  in people. While it was true there was indeed a party, but it was not  for his birthday. No the party organized was a hunting party; and  he was to be the pray they where hunting. He was dragged into  town and  thrown from the cart. One of the “hunters” grabbing his ankle pulling him from his feet. He pulled off the tattered excuse of shoes he wore and cut the bottom of his left foot open and told him to run. And run he did.

Scared alone and now hunted he took off running into the town, crying for help but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Mothers ushered there kids indoors, shutters where closed, and people looked the other way. Every one knew what he was, and everyone wanted to see him dead. In the distance he could hear the sound of hounds snarling, and the overly excited shouts of the hunters. There was no escape for him. Every step stung with a dull throbbing pain and left behind a crimson trail that gave away his every step. Panicked he took a turn down  into an ally; a dead end. The hunters where upon him.

As they slowly approached he could only sit and stair in fear, and as the hunters knife found its way into his chest at first he did not feel anything the Adrenalin saw to that. A wide toothy grin was the last they saw as they tossed him to the stone laid flooring of the alleyway. What started as just a cold pinch turned into a dull throbbing pain that radiated through him. Every passing second seemed an eternity as he bled out. Now unable to move or even try to run, only lay on the ground  clutching his stomach. The pain got so bad he found himself slowly slipping into unconsciousness. And as his vision blurred and his thoughts grew hazy and heavy. There was only one thought on his mind. A thought so strong, that to him it seemed to resonate with the world around him. “I dont want to die.”

For most of his kind this story would be the end. But Whitaker had one thing all his brothers and sisters did not. His Aspect of death. The ability to manipulate  his own life essence. In his final moments that last thought did more then just resonate with the world, it resonated with the multiverse itself. In the last seconds of his life, he saw stretching out before him the ever forking branches of the multiverse, and superimposed  onto that  what seemed to be a silken web, connecting every branch, at every divergence, every segment. While at the time he knew not what he was looking at he knew for some unknown reason. At every point this silken thread connected with it's self. At every convergence existed himself. A place where he turned left instead of right, where the right choice was made over the wrong one. Without even knowing what he was doing in the last second of his fleeting life he affixed himself to this infinitely expanding web. His soul latched onto this web, He had created an unbreakign soul tether to himself across the multiverse. And as his spirit left his body it found itself anew one, waking up on the street  some where else with memories he did not remember making in his head.

This cycle repeated itself time and time again, each time he died, he would wake up in a new body while still his speaking on the grand scheme of things, but not every time was it the same. Some times younger, some times older, different hair color's, gender's even race. It took some time to  figure out what was happening but  sooner or latter he figured it out.

Each death he experienced  he kept hope that he would find a “world” where he would be loved. That is until he found himself in a reality where  his father nor mother never died, the memories he woke with where that of being loved, it was a reality in which Death never interjected into his conception. He thought that this would be it, a happy life. But so was not the case.

The first time his “mother” hugged him he knew something was different, the feeling did not match up with the memories in his head. She seemed cold and distant. While true this “life” lasted the longest of the many he had lived. It to came to a unpleasant end. With every day in his new life the ever looming aura of death worsened till his once loving “mother” snapped. His last day in this life ended with the view of  his mother's smile as she smothered him that night before bed.

It was this that awoken him from his disillusioned state. The world was not kind. Humanity was never going to accept him. Humanity was cruel cold, they hated and feared what they could not understand. And death was something far beyond the understanding of morals. Death, that's what they had screamed at him time and time again, one of “deaths children” He accepted this, looked into more of his own being and learned the nature of his existence. He started to foster a hate for his “father” how could he bring him into this world as he did, and then just leave him and  his sisters and brothers  to deal with his mistakes, his  presence itself is what made people hate him so much.

He became cold, jaded, filled with hate for all humanity. He had known death in every imaginable manner, Starvation, thirst, knife point, musket, drowned, frozen. You name it and the child had experienced it. By now he had died more times then days most people have lived, and colectivly had lived at least 15 life times. Wise well beyond his appeared age he was stilla child at heart, never having been given education of any kind emotionally he was still a lost child. It was when he had given up all hope of having “family”  of having a life that was more then  just going day by day waiting to die again that he met someone who took him away from all This.

A Vampire lord by the name of Epitaph had found the child sleeping in an alley he knew right away the child connections to death as  he himself was trying to take that position as “death” sought to retire. While an absent father death was happy to know one of his children still lived and tasked Epitaph to take care of the child, watch over him and make sure he  flourished.

While little more then a stepping stone, a tool to further his own ambition. Epitaph took the child in and raised him, gave him proper education. And in effect raised him to adult hood. The first ever of deaths children to  mature. As he grew so did his power, his understanding of what he was, and the full scope of the multiverse. Sure he died a few times but each time Lord Epitaph came to get him. Over time  he grew to trust and respect his new “family” while by no means a “father” to the boy it was more affection then he had ever known. Not everyone was “bad” this so called monster took him in and it was here his hatred was narrowed. It was humanity who needed to end. They where a plague and every life  he lived proved this without fail. He grew up hearing stories and rants of  “Fisk” the enigma agents.

With help of Lord epitaph he learned of his origins, reclaimed his title and land back home from the woman who stole it from him. And took claim to the rightful tittle of Barron, that should have been his. No one questioned him. His very prescience put even the king at unease. And he had proof of his birth and linage all be it from another reality but who where they know this? After all this reality was not yet enlightened.

With his new found resources and land he turned his old family manner into  a haven for himself and his brothers and sisters, saving them from the cruelty of man kind  his orphanage was open  only to others like him. It served however two purposes beyond  a safe place for his siblings, it also was means to collect more power, taking a sliver of the soul of his siblings and imbibing it into his own he could take claim to the aspect of death they possessed. To date he has saved only three of his siblings.

Whitaker was kept secret from the world Whitaker helped as he could  with his mentors ambitions. The best kept secret of Epitaph manor,  no one outside it knew of him. Not Fisk, not the Agents of Enigma, not even the theocracy that Epitaph belonged to. As he grew so did his ambitions, and found himself in a unique position to take up a seat on the council. And there was only one that would be fitting for him

Despite wanting nothing to do with his father Death, he aimed for the arcane position named thereafter. The arcane seat of death. A unique position among the theocracy Shuffled only when the current seat dies, and stolen by the person who kills them. Whitaker made himself known, and he made his debut with a flash. He strutted in without pause or hesitation onto one of the meetings of the arcane theocracy and in front of everyone he approached the being who held the seat of death. The veil of death hung heavy on Whitaker, all who where present could feel it even see it, like a dark cowl that rested over the well dressed man. Frozen in fear as he looked upon the face of death they did nothing as Whitaker with one motion ripped the current seats soul from there body and shredded it, not just killing them but removing them from the cycle of life and death itself. Pushing the now soulless husk of the previous council member from his seat Whitaker took his place  as the seat of death on the arcane theocracy, he looked out and stated for his position “ I am uniquely qualified for this position, Raised by the Hanged man, And the biological child of The entity death itself if any deem to question my position here now among the council speak now  otherwise lets continue on there is much to discuss this night. Not one spoke out, it was the way of the seat of death after all.

From that day he took his job with the upmost seriousness. He preformed every aspect of the job without fail. And he did so with his own house not fully staffed. Be it out of spite for his father he refused to bring on his own “Horsemen” to date no one holds any of the titles of the riders of death, Conquest or pestilence, War, and Famine. Each seat empty  there domain covered by Whitaker himself. However he has grown tired of having to deal with the trivia and mundane as it brings him away from more important matters. So despite his displeasure  he now looks for those to fill these positions. And even is in attempt to restructure his own house so to better fit his vision.