Atticus Knoxwik

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NAME Atticus Dante Knoxwik
AGE Twenty-six
GENDER Male
HEIGHT 5’9”
SEXUAL ORIENTATION Straight
APPEARANCE Atticus Knoxwik could be compared to one thing, a cherub. His thin angular face resembled that of Hercules and Michelangelo’s David. His skin looked of painted porcelain, as white as the petals of orchids. His eyes, of steel blue, were the kind that looked as though they pierced into your soul. His chestnut hair tumble delicately enough to cover his light eyebrows. His lips were a bit thicker than most and he was of an average height. The ‘Hercules’ was healthily toned and muscular, a result of an exercise addiction in his teenage years. His posture was immaculate and it accentuated the beautiful air he carried along with him everywhere.

TRAITS/PERSONALITY The thing about Atticus was that he wasn’t all there. One may make the assumption that the man needs some sort of psychological help- but those who were smart would turn and leave Atticus in the dust before they ever tried to figure him out. He was a lot like a spider; using his looks and peacefully welcoming nature to lure people in- like a web. When these innocents souls were so wrapped up in the beauty, he’d strike. He was a ruthless murderer, none ever to link to him. He cast his sights usually on women as he loved the way they fell so fast and so madly in love. The one’s he preferred most, but were hard to come by, were the good-Samaritans. He’d ask for a helping hand, sometimes it was carrying groceries, other times it was helping his ‘sick-self’ to his apartment. He loved the ultimate fear in their eyes when they realized their good deed would be their last. He knew though that his favourite hunt were couples. He loved watching their passionate struggles as he’d separate the two in dark alleyways. He’d usually take the girl and watch the boyfriend or husband panic, scream.

Not many have gained closeness to the man as he frequently moves from village to village. For those fortunate enough to get past his bloodlust and were unfortunate enough to know the man, they’d find that he was intelligent. This was not just the regular ‘book-smarts’ or ‘street-smarts’, this was the scary kind of intelligence that people should fear and not praise. He always had quite the knack for inventing, which he takes a lot of pride in. He was a cold man, uncaring. He enjoys going to parks and he’d just watch people, learn their quirks, and learn their names. He always found it amusing how he could find out so much about an entire family by watching one member in the park for ten-minutes. He could spot the obsessive-compulsive as they perfectly folded their newspapers; he could spot the self-conscious as they looked repeatedly over their shoulder while fixing their shirts. Then, he’d spot the different ones, those who were worthy of having death dealt by him. Those were the fun ones. They reminded him so much of his self. He was unique though, no one could be like him. Before you ask why he’s so cruel, you have to make sure that you can stomach such a thing. Are you positive? Certain? The self-tattoo he had given himself sums what he feels is his life’s purpose: ““Those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire.”
It must be understood though that he has a secret; a very deep secret. He does not want to be this way. He envies his victims and he know that he's too addicted and too deep in where he's set now to ever change...
SPECIAL ABILITIES His intelligence and intensive knowledge of the human psyche.

HISTORY One must wonder, how did a child, so sweet and innocent, have such a cruel fate befell them. With every monster is the breakdown of their nightmare- their silent trauma that not many will ever hear. Some children after facing a traumatic moment of their life receive help so that they can grow into well-respected members of society wearing constricting suits and clinging onto suitcases. Atticus was not one of those. At the age of nine, his family was brutally murdered before his eyes. Why did the man do that? Who knows? That night, Atticus committed his first murder; and he enjoyed it, too much. The bastard deserved it, of course; but Atticus did not deserve the blackening of his once pure heart. The only thing he remembered of that man was his silent demeanour. He resembled the kind of person who’d be a writer, spending all of their time in a library. Apparently the man was in love with Atticus’ mother, Adina. Chances were, Adina and the man were having an affair. Atticus as a child had a lot of anger. After the murder, he ran away and was eventually adopted by a wealthy man who hoped to pass his fortunes onto an heir. When the man tried to force Atticus into bed with him, he too met the end of his days. If Atticus took anything from his life, it was the targets of his victims; Good-Samaritans (as there is no such thing, everyone always has another motive), Lovers (one always had something to hide- something hurtful), and the Quiet Ones (forever thinking thoughts that would be kept hidden from the world). The one thing that he enjoyed as much as his...’activities’. This was reading and drawing comic books. He made an occupation of it, drawing comics for the Daily Prophet. In his spare work, he created a character for himself, The Sadist. And at every murder scene, he leaves this very name written on the wall in the victim’s blood.

IN THE PAST NINE YEARS (Info here!)

POSITION Artist for the Daily Prophet: Specifically Comic Artist.
ANIMAGUS FORM Black Widow
WAND 14” Ashwood Basilisk Scale

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MEDICAL CONDITIONS Other than the obvious problem, does suffer with a bit of paranoia, bouts of schizophrenia.
DAY OF BIRTH November 19
PETS His victims
FAMILY
Ramsay Knoxwik: Deceased
Adina Knoxwik: Deceased
Owen Knoxwik: Deceased
PATRONUS FORM Komodo Dragon
SAMPLE RP

One...

He casually broke apart a piece of bread and scattered it upon the cobblestone. His eyes had been downcast, watching the birds chipped for their meal, until she walked by. With his head low, he did not even have to look at her to figure her out. The sound of her footsteps said it all.

Over-worker, single, lonely, studious...a Quiet One.

He lifted his head and watched her, his thirst for blood hidden behind the innocent blue of his eyes.

Two...

When she was a bit away, he followed her, keeping a casual distance.

Three, Four, Five...

He rushed behind her when they reached her apartment building. “Wait, hold the door!” he called at her. She smiled so sweetly, her caramel hair drifting down her shoulders. She held it open for him and he smirked.

Good-Samaritan..

Six...

The two had got to talking. It turned out that his suspicions had been correct. She fell for his lie that he moved onto her floor. She was all so kind when she invited him into the apartment. “We all need a friend, I know what it’s like to move to somewhere new,” she softly said.
He nodded and the moment she went to grab some food for them, that’s when he did it.

Seven...

He saw the terror in her eyes as he coldly did this. He did not once strike any emotion whatsoever. No smile, no evil curl of the lips. He just did it. She was crying and he stopped for just a moment.
Before he pierced the cold steel to her neck, he whispered, “Cruelty is fed, not weakened, by tears.” She struggled and then she was still and silent. It had been picture-perfect.
“Only seven minutes...my lucky number,” he whispered. He stood still and swallowed his guilt, feeling tears in his eyes for only a moment. He wiped his hands clean and pocketed his knife. Then, he left the building as he had entered, without a care, without a whisper, without suspicion.