Tschichold

Tschichold is a character in LAST THING STANDING.

Equipment/Abilities:
Tschichold is an exemplary artist, with a keen eye for aesthetics. He is well-versed in various techniques of visual arts, including drawing, sculpture, and printmaking. Tschichold is not without his biases though. Tschichold feels most comfortable in the medium of paint, dabbling pigments on whatever surface is available. The pictures he produces are not supernatural in any way. They are simply pretty pictures, although it is obvious that Tschichold placed a lot of care and skill went into them.

He prefers to paint scenes and landscapes, the more majestic and grander, the better. Bold colors catch his fancy.

Art supplies tend to burn a hole in pockets. Luckily, Tschichold has no pockets or money. In fact, this mysterious artist could be described as a living paint generator! Tschichold can produce a paint-like substance which has the consistency and property of oil paints (horrible smell, flammable, hard to wash off, toxic if ingested). Unfortunately, he has no control over how much paint he can generate and tend to leave pools of paint behind. At least, when he uses the paints, they always are in the color he wants.

The paint he leaves behind has a very peculiar quality which differentiates it from mundane oils. If one were to breathe in the fumes or make contact with the still-wet paints (dry paint is effectively inert), something special comes along. It takes a while for the effects to settle, but when it finally hits and it is quite a trip to say the least. The paint of Tschichold induces hallucinations and other psychoactive effects on the victim. It can be pleasant or horrible, depending on situation.

Of course, Tschichold is affected by this substance too. It does not ruin his intelligence. However, it does kind of skew his vision. Fantastic images and phantasms are a common sight in his view and even though he tries his best, he has a hard time distinguishing what is real or not. This naturally leads to a screwed-up sleep cycle, perpetual existential crisis, and a grumpy personality.

Description:
Tschichold looks like an inky silhouette of a young man. He is slight of build and could be taller if he stood straighter. He looks pretty much like a solid shadow of a human although his legs leans towards hoof-like and there are noticeable, but dull claws on his fingers and toes. He has one glowing left eye, constantly squinting and twitching as he attempts to distinguish between reality and drug-induced crazy. Tschichold wears black leather gloves and carries around an oil-painting kit. He smells of harsh chemicals and sadness.

Despite being constantly high off his nonexistent pants all the time, Tschichold does not act mellow or huggy or whatever stereotypical things that a stoner or a hippie would do. In fact, he's short-tempered and belligerent. After all, being technically drugged all the time never improves people’s moods. Regardless of his lack of happy, Tschichold tries his best at manners and politeness if he was confronted with a social situation.

Although his perception of reality is constantly warping, Tschichold has an eye for detail, for craftsmanship, for flawlessness. In other words, he is a perfectionist. The colors have to be this shade. The objects must be in this place. Hallucinations be damned! EVERYTHING HAS TO LOOK RIGHT. If a design is not in his liking, he would do anything to fix that up. By fixing that up, he meant paint it over, and nothing would stop him. NOTHING! Even if there is a meteor aiming towards him or there is a forest fire nearby. That mindset tends to lead to problems. For instance, one time he got arrested for painting over people’s clothes.

Sadness is pretty much the core of his personality. The artist has alarmingly high expectations for himself. He wanted to produce the best art-not simply the best, but the very best. Tschichold feverishly churns out paintings, taking great effort to each stroke. Woe is to him! No matter how hard he tries, what he produced was never going to be what he wished (probably because his perception is always changing). Sadly, he rids of his works, usually by giving them away, selling, or even leaving at the road.

Biography:
Does he really trust what he remembers? Reality is constantly shifting in front of his eyes. Floors shift. People change. Colors fade - a rainbow of senses fading into the monochrome of despair. At least, he was consistent, an oasis of constant in the terrible maelstrom of his existence, not that it honestly matters.

“Fuck it,” the artist murmured to himself, drawing a few glances. Tschichold looked at his customers from the roadside. He knew they were people. They were real, he supposed. After all, they did take away his artistic trash and gave him pay. Though, the artist was not exactly sure if they were real. Their faces were blurred, their arms spindly, fingers growing lengths as they interacted with him. They were real, in an ephemeral sense.

Should he really remember what he was before? Tschichold scoffed. What good would that do to him? What was past is past. He should not bother with these silly memories. They would have no effect in the upcoming future. He should leave them along, those unreliable memories – in the deep, dank corners in his minds.

Still, he was curious. He was curious in the way that killed cats. He should focus, concentrate, and maybe sneak in a little peek into memory bank. A little peek would not hurt after all. Yes, yes.

Tschichold remember a bit of the long-gone past, Like a delirious dream, it came to him in bits and pieces, he remember his idyllic younger days. He remembered being with others. He remember a deal he did with a –

And so, he disappeared.