A. Vischias Sei'Dist

### Distinctive Marks:

X-scar (left cheek framing the eye), diagonal scar (nose bridge, descended right), claw marks (right brow), various other scars

**A. Vischias Sei'Dist** is the eldest son of Lord Whiltheld, 12th Viscount of Sadistique, and the aptly-named heir to House Sei'Dist.

Brilliant, aggressive and *completely* unpredictable, Vischias spent his life hampered by an untreated and persistent mental illness, which drove him to wild and often dangerous extremes. When he wasn't distracted with terrorizing someone else, he often settled for his younger brother, Helvah. His role in the deaths of his household caused his own end, and set off a chain of events that would mark Helvah for the rest of his life...at least, until something changes.

Even after his untimely death, he was unable to rest, consumed by the need to find his little brother again and finish what he started. Using Helvah himself as a puppet, Vischias rampaged through Helvah's neat, orderly life like a bull in a china shop, determined to ruin him. The only thing that stopped him was the timely intervention of a person who did not exist. In the process of sparring with the mad poltergeist, the being that would become Fred learned the truth of its harrowing existence, and made the unreasonable choice to try and save him from himself--an effort that would end in vain, and lead to a choice between keeping his pet project, or saving the charge he was meant to protect.

Vischias and his tragedy are to blame for the Break, a temporal phenomenon caused by Fred 's attempts to take the third option, and "save" him. His miserable fate and subsequent struggle for salvation are both the source of and central to the story of Kingdom of Paraphilia: One Wish, which overwrites the original timeline.

## History

* ORIGINAL (KoY)
* REBOOT (KoP)

The advent of Fred's wish saw Vischias given a second chance at life. It began very much like before, with one adjustment: Fred was there from the start, not as a djinn, but a human. And he made all the difference.

### A Matter of Socialization

Vischias was brilliant from his first word, and everyone knew it--but with that brilliance came a penchant for boredom that led him to bouts of acting out. Caught in the wrong mood, the eight-year-old boy became a walking disaster, tormenting his brother and terrorizing the staff. His nurse insisted that these spells were merely growing pains, which he would age out of--but his father knew better. Vischias was too smart, and too young to take that in stride. He was so accustomed to thinking like an adult that he did not know how to be a child.

Whiltheld saw the writing on the wall. Left to his own devices, Vischias would grow up convinced of his own superiority, unable to interact with others in the way he would need to in order to succeed. A childhood spent among adults had left him lacking socialization. The answer was clear: he needed someone his own age to talk to, to play with and confide in, to learn the finer points of interaction in a natural way. He needed a *friend.*

No sooner had the notices gone out to every noble house than the office of the Viscount was inundated with responses. Most of them saw it as an opportunity to gain an edge, and to endear their heirs to that of their lord. None were suitable options.

Then, Reginald Du Con threw his hat in the ring. Notorious for his antisocial nature, his response was a surprise, which intrigued the Viscount enough to entertain the idea. As it turned out, Reginald *also* had a son, who himself was notoriously difficult. Having his own troubles with the boy, he saw the chance to kill two birds with one stone. "You have a brat, I have a brat," he said. "I think we can help each other."

### A Troubled Heir

> *"Something is wrong with that boy."*
>
>

Vischias was born to rule, a fact that was impressed on him almost from the moment he could speak. The knowledge of this combined with the Sei'Dist family genius quickly instilled in him a confidence and drive that could not be overcome.

By the age of eight, he both read and spoke at an adult level, easily holding conversations on topics from science and mathematics to history and politics. No more was he provided with paper and pen than he started drafting full recreations of buildings; placed in piano lessons than he was playing full circles around his instructors. His brilliance was at once as impressive as it was daunting. His parents hardly knew how to challenge him fast enough, providing him every opportunity they could find, only to watch in wonder as he mastered them all. There seemed to be no limit to what he could learn.

And yet, despite the undeniable talent he showed in every discipline, everything he did came across as mechanical. The places he drew were cold and lifeless, the songs he played complex and soaring, and utterly devoid of joy. Even the subjects he seemed to favor were offered with the shallow coldness of someone reading from a book--and that was essentially what he was doing. Vischias was able to memorize most anything he saw, but he could not understand it, or feel anything for it. Playing the piano, drawing a picture, speaking to anyone in any language, it was all a matter of memorization and repetition.

And it didn't mean anything. *Nothing* meant anything.

Early signs indicated that Vischias was suffering from the family curse--the so-called touch of brilliance that, with it, brought "the darkness." The few who knew what it meant knew that there was nothing to be done, and so encouraged him that he was fine. Any difficulties he had were simply the price.

Little did they know how much these whispers would isolate him--the promise that "nothing was wrong." These fruitless efforts of comfort only assured him that the cost of his genius was for him to go mad...and that he would do so completely alone.

### Into the Water

The summer before he would have been sixteen, Vischias and his household--minus his busy parents--went to visit the sea. It was meant to be a holiday, with hopes that the much-loved view of the ocean would calm what was undoubtedly a storm building inside of the young heir. In a way, the attempt was successful, in that it offered him a moment of clarity. His silent struggles with his fraying sanity had led him to that very instant, there on the cliff. Seeing a lifetime of madness and misery in his future, he simply turned and leaned back into the wind, watching as the sky fell beneath his feet.

Then, he hit the water--and beneath it, the sea floor. He had committed suicide, and so was gratefully dead. Had it been his will, he would have remained there, in the peaceful throws of the ocean, to watch the sun set a final time, through a filter of the only color he could truly see.

Unfortunately for him--and for everyone else--someone was near enough to intervene.

Thirty seconds in the air, two minutes in the sea. By the time they fished him out, the damage was done. Vischias fractured his skull in the fall, injuring his brain in two places, and damaging both ear drums. Consumed by crippling pain and permanent ringing in his ears, which only caused his mental noise to trigger constantly, Vischias awoke to a world that was agonizing, and ever-screaming. The trauma erased his impulse-control and magnified his already fluctuating emotions, eradicating what little power he had to resist them.

### Possessed

Though his body miraculously healed, Vischias never truly recovered. The shrieking in his ears remained, and with it, the overwhelming knowledge that he had missed his exit. The change in him was immediately clear; his brooding temper bloomed into raging, heedless acts of violence, moody stress-talking into roaring, senseless rants. His interest in books and art and music disappeared overnight.

It was as if all of his worst features had overtaken everything else, and where the parts were missing, new, frightening things began to develop. His mannerisms became predatory, taking to looming over people as he spoke, grasping at their clothes and backing them into corners, as if intending to tear into their bodies. Even at a distance, his once-thoughtful stillness became like that of a wild animal, poised to lunge upon its prey. In moments of mania, he openly attacked the staff, brandished any weapon he could reach, clawed and bit and snarled with every breath, destroying everything he touched--all the while laughing in a strange, high tone.

His younger brother watched, and questioned whether the thing they had pulled from the sea was truly his brother. Vischias himself had long-since lost the ability to question. For all the horrors he had foreseen, the beauty of his state was that he could no longer bring himself to care what he was doing. Could not consider it at all.

Attempts to calm him resulted in unspeakable violence. Only his nurse could reach him, and even then, the peace she managed to bring was tenuous, uneasy, and brief. The household became a ghost town, with many of the servants resigning or fleeing outright in fear of becoming a target. Those who escaped reported that the young heir was possessed. Their offices remained empty until the end of the family's days.

### A Rabid Dog

The first year was the worst by far--and then, quite suddenly, he seemed to level out. The Viscount's cautioning as to his inheritance was a major factor. The doctors assumed that his brain had managed to exorcise the demons brought on by his injury. In a way, they were right; Vischias had regained a measure of control, if only under the right circumstances. After all, he was going to be a viscount. He had appearances to keep up, and no one liked bad manners.

The broken chain of logic was all that kept him together, for the rest of his life. That singular goal, tethering a rabid dog to a post that was bound to give. And, inch by inch--year by year--that post shifted.

Over the years, he played his role with shocking skill, portraying a mockery of his original self in social situations, all the while tuning out the ever-constant screaming in his head. In polite society, he was popular, his looks and "eccentric" unpredictability making him a figure of interest. In the off season, Vischias took up hunting. He stayed away from home more and more, disappeared for weeks, and frequently returned reeking of blood. No one dared to question what he was up to; no one wanted to know. Which was just as well. Even in a culture that ran on slave labor, human-hunting was somewhat frowned upon. So was cannibalism. That did not stop him at all.

### Spiraling

Though he kept his head well enough in public, Vischias remained a terror in the halls of Payne Manor, and the servants were not his only victims. Even before his fall, he had held his younger brother, Helvah, below all other forms of life. He resented him for holding favor with their parents, for his much-lauded intelligence, and apparent normalcy, all crimes that could not go unpunished. Vischias had spent their childhood waging war against his younger brother, his methods ranging from petty bullying to outright physical abuse, all with the threat that, if he told, his punishment would be all the more severe. Helvah was powerless to stop him. Even his attempts to hide did little more than invite Vischias to hunt him down.

The final nail in Vischias' coffin came in the form of Eileen Ofton, the daughter of a lesser lord. Chosen to be his wife, Eileen was everything she was expected to be: pretty, unassuming, and obedient. To the Sei'Dists, she represented a chance for their son to find solace in the normalcy of marriage and his eventual rank. It was a role she was eager to fill. Unfortunately for everyone involved, her meek and unassuming manner did nothing but annoy the moody Vischias, who quickly grew to detest her. Attempts at scaring her off through intimidation and bullying ultimately failed; she was too well-trained to be chased away. His dislike was well-documented, and largely ignored; he *would* marry her. For two years, Vischias maintained the illusion that he would obey, attending events in her company, even as he plotted how to be rid of her for good.

By this point, much of the staff had fled, and those who remained lived in fear of the young master. Helvah was no better, and--lacking other targets--Vischias homed in on him with increasing violence. His aggression, which had only redoubled in the years since the cliff, took on a sudden depraved bent, from which Helvah was not exempt. Finally, after years of beatings and torture, Vischias attempted to sexually assault him, only to be foiled when a servant happened by, with a candlestick in hand. The encounter left Helvah was a wrenched shoulder, and hand-marks on his neck. It left Vischias with a concussion. Though Helvah did not speak out, for fear of reprisal, the absent Viscount would at last be made aware of the situation.

Before a verdict could be passed down, Vischias disappeared. He was arrested by the Viscount's Guard two days later, covered in blood and claiming amnesia. The truth of what he'd done wouldn't be discovered for weeks: in a fit of wild mania, he had murdered Eileen, and *eaten* most of the evidence.

Vischias was placed under guard while the Viscount decided what to do with him, and warned against further contact with his brother--a directive he ignored at the first opportunity. The moment they crossed paths, Vischias had Helvah against a wall, and leveled a dire threat: Vischias *would* come for him again, on the eve of his coming birthday, and any attempt to seek help would end in him begging for death.

The Viscount's judgment came shortly after: Vischias was to be disinherited, and Helvah would replace him as the heir. He was given until his birthday to confess to the extent of his crimes, at which point he would be exiled. Just like that, Vischias' world came crashing down. The promise that had sustained him all his life was gone. All that he had endured and sacrificed in the pursuit of that goal, and it was for nothing. He was more than devastated. He came apart completely. Returned to his confinement, Vischias began to plot vengeance for the loss of his fate.

His father couldn't disown him if he was *dead*--and Helvah couldn't replace him if *he* was dead, too.

### The End

The day of Vischias' 21st birthday came with little fanfare.

## Personality

If Vischias likes anything at all, it's being *good* at things. Hunting, fighting, fencing, really anything that sparks adrenaline is fair game, and he excels in all of them. He is not shy of seeking out a thrill, or making a risky move. Despite this--and perhaps contrary to his appearance--he is incredibly smart, thinking circles around people when his head is on right. He has forgotten more than most people will ever know, and often resorts to reading to answer questions and solve problems. He has a love-hate relationship with challenges; he hates being bored, but detests failure. He will face down *anything* in order to come out on top. When reasoning fails, his fists or a sharp object are his go-to answer. He is exceptionally bullheaded, and insistent upon having his way, damned be anyone else's opinion.

The two things that will set him off without fail are striking him for any reason, and telling him he's wrong. Neither of these is a good move.

Vischias' behavior comes in a strange blend of flavors, ranging from bright and witty, to crass and charming, to intimidating and aggressive--and he can change in an *instant*. Just how he will act in a given situation is anyone's guess, which just makes social situations a game of roulette. One minute, he could be humorously commenting on someone's wardrobe, and the next, he's at their throat, blade in hand, with full intentions of using it. His unpredictability is just as much a draw to the people around him as it is a reason to keep their distance. He has no shortage of adventurous admirers intrigued by the mystery of just what makes him tick.

When he is alone, he becomes hyper-aware of his otherness, and how little everything matters to him. His singular focus is obtaining the power he was born to, in the hopes that it will add some meaning to his life. He is willing to do *anything* to reach that point.

### The Darkness

> *It was so loud.*
>
>

In a time before mental illness was fully understood, the Sei'Dists were well known for "darkness"--a form of madness that varied from carrier to carrier, often attributed to genius. In Vischias' case, his darkness presents as sociopathy, accompanied by bouts of sudden mania. At his best, he exists detached from others, adrift in an unending sense of emptiness that leaves him lashing out for want of some meaning. At worst, his usual erratic behavior escalates into full-blown destructive rage. He can easily flip from conversational to violent, often resorting to *attacking* people outright for the smallest slights. Between the two points, he sometimes becomes catatonic, disassociating from events or conversations and even losing touch with time. The latter-most situation is often when he experiences visual hallucinations. And mental or emotional stress only worsen things.

The onset of a manic spell is characterized by what he calls "noise" in his head, which gradually builds with his distress. These hallucinations often start as low, persistent ticking, advancing to clattering pots and grinding gears, and finally to a doom-signifying screeching metal. The noise becomes so overwhelming that he is left near to screaming, resorting taking out his maddened frustration on whatever is nearest--whether inanimate or sentient.

Being from a time of limited medical knowledge, his options for treatment range from laudanum to blood-letting, with each offering little more than brief respite. In the reboot, the advent of Vorare's advanced medical treatments offers some hope, in the form of counseling and advanced tinctures, but the fact is that the darkness is a part of him. It cannot be eradicated, only controlled.

### Mirrors

Vischias has never liked mirrors, knowing the reflection he sees is proof of what he lacks (specifically, the ability to discern colors). This dislike only increased with the worsening of his darkness, which brought with it a new--and unfortunately persistent*--*hallucination. From the age of fifteen, the image that looks back at him is not his own, but that of a much larger corpse, which only becomes more mutilated with time. The level of detail in this image is *deeply* disturbing.

As he ages, it deteriorates, and yet seems more familiar for the fact. His few attempts at sharing the knowledge ended in frustration. No one else can see it, and every time he does, he's filled with a dread that assures him: his days are numbered.

The meaning of it is lost to him. All he knows is that he does not want to see it, for fear of what it means. Catching sight of himself in any reflective surface starts the noise to ticking, and often results in the offending object being smashed. He can only tolerate his reflection in part, making use of a knife blade or a small compact to check his appearance--as it seems his brain can only render the ghastly image with his full face in view.

## Appearance

Though resembling Cruelle in many respects, Vischias inherited several features from Naughtan, among them his uncharacteristically broad frame, and an impish upturned nose that does not suit his square face. His stocky build lends itself to his brutal manner, but does *not* lend itself to formal clothing in the current fashion. He tends to wear things that are loose and open to offset this, going about in little more than a shift and breeches when not minded. His startlingly red hair is kept short, tamed down only when necessary, and otherwise worn in an orderly tousle that only adds to his strangely boyish appearance.

One-quarter Kamari heritage left him with an unfashionable olive tone to his skin, which is only worsened by time spent outside. Due to his habit of fighting--and *picking* fights--his face is an unseemly patchwork of scars not considered tasteful for a nobleman (not that he cares). Further scars mark his arms between elbow and bicep, left from his personal attempts at "blood-letting." He is never seen without at *least* half-length sleeves, preferring to keep them hidden.

The wolf-fang at his throat has been there since he was twelve. He is never seen without it, and most attempts at getting him to remove it are met with varying degrees of violence. It is the one part of his image that is *not* up for debate.

## Trivia

* Vischias is left-handed, one of only three in his family line. The other two are Kaind and Royce. He is the only left-handed main character in KoY.
* Despite his stocky build and powerful frame, he prefers wielding knives in favor of a sword. When disarmed, he resorts to grappling, easily breaking bones with his hands.
* Vischias' version of the Sei'Dist "darkness" is mania. When stressed or detached, his hearing becomes magnified, his mind wracked with a building auditory hallucination he calls "noise," which triggers his anxiety and causes violent episodes.
* Vischias speaks the most languages of all major characters, being conversational in Mastrian (Irish), and Kaman (Hindi), and fluent in the in-universe equivalents of French, Russian and Japanese. This is in *addition* to his native Kingspeech (English). He also knows British sign language. His fluency carries over to other verses, minus Irish, making him the most proficient polyglot in any verse.
* He is red colorblind, able to perceive only yellow and blue, with all the rest reduced to a muddy gray-brown. He inherited this trait from his maternal grandfather.
* Vischias has an eidetic memory. He is able to draw inanimate objects and animals from memory with photo-realistic detail, but has difficulty drawing people, even with a model.