Name: Hive Le Gion.
Age: impossible to work out. Has been sentient for about five months, but is generally treated as about 16.
Birthday: Theoretically impossible to guess
Gender: Genderless, but His/Him pronouns.
Species: Hive mind/Swarm of various insects.
Category: Student
Class: High School
Grade: 11th grade, but is taking several classes at different levels, including a college level mathematics class, and a remedial english course.
Appearance Description:
Hive looks like a writhing swarm of insects. Simple as that. Innumerous insects, all climbing over each other, forming the shape of a 5’11” shape. He always wears a hoodie, with the hood pulled up, and covered by a greatcoat. He often wears black chinos, although he does own a bee onesie, someone’s idea of a joke. But it is very comfortable, and he often sleeps in it.
Personality Description:
Hive is strange. He is smart, being quite good at pure mathematics, but not anything applied. He lacks a general moral compass. He does not know right from wrong, but is slowly learning. His emotional state is that of a child, and he quite often does not understand things or needs them explaining twice.
He feels the need for companionship of friends his own age, and is trying to make friends on the island despite being slightly creepy looking. He is good at his studies, and often enjoys sitting out on the grass, gathering insects to add to his swarm.
His English is strange and fractured. If he does not know the name for something, or forgets, he describes it to the best of his ability. For example, a tree would be the tall organic cylinder made of wood with the green leaves which fall in the autumn.
He likes horror movies, especially ones involving bugs, although he is a fan of The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. He enjoys reading, anything he can get his insect hands on, but struggles to enjoy art, although he is slowly learning. He often quotes books and films, and is a massive fan of popular culture. His room is actually quite nice, despite the insects, and has a TV in it. He is a regular visitor to pet shops on the island, purchasing insects to add to the swarm, like bullet ants, or locusts. Anything interesting.
Species Abilities:
Living Hive – Hive is made of an innumerable insects, all different kinds, anything from bees to beetles to locusts. Millions of insects make up his body, one giant swarm controlled by the hive mind that is the creatures themselves. Each insect Hive adds increases the power of the hive mind. He needs to consume food like any other organism, although this food is broken up and distributed by the creatures that need it. He does not need to eat specifically food, and can consume any form of organic matter. Alcohol and other drugs affect him in the same way it would affect a human. These insects become slightly hardier than their regular forms, and can last almost twice as long as if they were not part of the hive. These insects also breed rapidly within Hive.
His body is composed of these insects, so he can use them to his advantage. They can bite, sting and generally do anything an insect could do. Because he is a mass of small creatures, he is effectively intangible, although he is highly susceptible to both drowning and fire, and is terrified of both, but, as long as two wisht beetles are left, Hive can rebuild, although this does take time. He can speak, but it takes the form of words formed by buzzing. It sounds like human speech, although a little strange and echo-ey.
Any insect can be added to the hive, as their minds can be overpowered by the will of the hive mind. Hive has been attempting to assimilate other vermin whilst he has been on the island,
The hive mind can operate with insects at a distance of about a mile or two, and Hive often sends out insects as spies, or, in one case, to watch when the coffee house in town was going to open. These insects are indistinguishable from other insects, except if a psychic scan is performed, in which case they register as being Hive.
Powers:
Assimilation – The Wisht Beetle, the strange beetle from wistman’s wood, saturated with magic, is one of the hardiest insects in the entire swarm. If it consumes enough flesh of an organic organism, it gains some of its basic properties, but only for the Wisht beetles, such as the poisonous skin of the toads. It is theorised that if Hive ever consumed the body of a powered individual, he would gain some strange warped form of that individual’s power, although this hasn’t happened yet.
These beetles are the core of the swarm, and are effectively where the hive mind comes from, despite being shared and powered by all the creatures within the swarm. In addition, the hive mind can see both the glamour something wears, and the true thing within. It can also see through quite a lot of illusion magic, as it has many eyes.
Biography:
Magic has saturated the earth for millennia. In certain places, it is in the soil, the water, the trees. It warps the world around it. Eventually, it seeps into the wildlife too.
Dartmoor, the great swamp, is a moorland in the south of England. It is remote, famous for its unpredictable terrain, exposed moors, and deep bogs. It is a place of myth and reverence. Some say, if you stay on the moors at night, you might even see the beast of dartmoor, or the galloping of a headless horseman. Some locals say the devil prowls Dartmoor. Wistman’s wood is a dark place, deep within the heart of the moors, the remains of a forest from thousands of years ago. Even the name mean’s eerie or uncanny. Innumerable twisting trees, moss covered rocks. Some say it is where the legendary wild hunt of the fae began. Magic seeped into the landscape, which, in turn, seeped into the wildlife. A strange kind of beetle evolved with the ability to make the abilities of those it devoured it’s own. The possi of beetles devoured numerable poisonous toads, so they in turn became poisonous. Imagine if they could consumed something else….
Mac O’Carran was down on his luck. He was across the sea from his homeland, the golden isle, and he was in trouble. He had been a telepath, not good enough to fully read people’s minds, but good enough to tell what a lass wanted to hear, or what cards someone was thinking, if they were thinking it hard enough. He had graduated from starlight. He had made a killing performing short cons, but decided he wanted more. He had been a little overzealous with his gambling. You could only win so much before somebody took notice. Unfortunately that someone had been Arty Gilt, a cutthroat casino owner with ties to organised crime, a man who once cut off a man’s hand because he owed him £1000. Imagine what he’d do for £10000. Or, in Mac’s case, he had conned him out of £570,000. Enough to make a dent in anyone’s portfolio. So Mac had gotten in his car and got the heck out of dodge, gunning it down the M3. He needed somewhere where nobody knew him. Somewhere he could hide out. In his younger and more vulnerable days, he had visited two bridges, a tiny village deep in the heart of Dartmoor, while on a scout trip. He had stayed at a scout hut there, along with the rest of his troupe. There was something about Dartmoor. Twisting roads, dead ends. It was the perfect hideout.
What he hadn’t counted on was that when you conned someone out of over half a million pounds, they would go to extreme lengths to get it back. Including bribing someone in the met to trace your phone. It was 3am when Gilt’s boys caught up to him, two large gentleman. They took him out into the woods near Two bridges, and shot him in the head.
That was February.
Dartmoor is almost 400 square kilometres.
People don’t get found in Dartmoor.
But what did find him was the insects. The insects which could absorb the abilities of those they consumed. The insects devoured him, and their minds opened, or rather, one single mind opened, a hive mind, shared between all the insects of the grove. They found they could add insects to the mind. Anything with a weaker will could be assimilated. He felt strange. He was not human, but nor was he an insect no longer. The humanoid shape somehow felt right.
He knew he wasn’t human when the woman screamed. She was a dog walker, walking down a path which wound its way through the forest. She screamed when she saw him, a humanoid mass of writhing insects, and ran, her immaculate poodle at her side. It was strange. Why did she run? “Stop” he called, a cacophonous buzz forming coherent words. That was strange. He could speak English.
Off in the distance was the village, or rather three houses, one of which was a pub labelled The Saracen’s Head. He could read English too. That was rather odd.
Inside the porch of the pub, stood a hatstand. Several coats, and a hat. He stole a long greatcoat, and a hoodie, and put both on, the hood pulled up high, to cover the insectoid form of his head. He turned to leave, before he saw something, a poster with a large picture of a clock tower and a red bus. Come to London! Offered the poster, an advertisement for coach trips to the city, advertised to foreign tourists visiting the area. But he didn’t know that. To him it was an instruction. He kept to back roads until he hit the city, then to alleyways. Eventually he realised something. People didn’t look at who you were.
He was sitting in Paddington station when the scout spotted him. He had no name. He was at there, trying to find out what he was, where he had come from. That was the joy of London. Nobody looked at each other, nobody left their own personal bubble. A woman had bumped into him in the street with the bright lights and she had merely apologized and continued tweeting on her phone. But the scout spotted him. And put him on a boat to the island. That was august.
The name was given to him by the person he met on the boat, the strange man with the large box that moved around on it’s own. He said “Hey, you’re a hive mind, right? That’s fascinating. Why don’t you call yourself… I don’t know… Hive Le Gion?" and that was the name he decided to register with. He had read a bible once, left in a bus stop in Basingstoke, and the idea of 'My name is Legion for we are many' appealed to him.
Since then, Hive has been enrolled in the academy. He realised something. Whilst he did not have Mac’s memories, or consciousness, he could still do things. He could think. He was very smart, but then again he did have 50,000 brains. He was good at maths. His English could do with a little work, and he often struggled to explain things. But that was what schools were for. They were for learning.
Age: impossible to work out. Has been sentient for about five months, but is generally treated as about 16.
Birthday: Theoretically impossible to guess
Gender: Genderless, but His/Him pronouns.
Species: Hive mind/Swarm of various insects.
Category: Student
Class: High School
Grade: 11th grade, but is taking several classes at different levels, including a college level mathematics class, and a remedial english course.
Appearance Description:
Hive looks like a writhing swarm of insects. Simple as that. Innumerous insects, all climbing over each other, forming the shape of a 5’11” shape. He always wears a hoodie, with the hood pulled up, and covered by a greatcoat. He often wears black chinos, although he does own a bee onesie, someone’s idea of a joke. But it is very comfortable, and he often sleeps in it.
Personality Description:
Hive is strange. He is smart, being quite good at pure mathematics, but not anything applied. He lacks a general moral compass. He does not know right from wrong, but is slowly learning. His emotional state is that of a child, and he quite often does not understand things or needs them explaining twice.
He feels the need for companionship of friends his own age, and is trying to make friends on the island despite being slightly creepy looking. He is good at his studies, and often enjoys sitting out on the grass, gathering insects to add to his swarm.
His English is strange and fractured. If he does not know the name for something, or forgets, he describes it to the best of his ability. For example, a tree would be the tall organic cylinder made of wood with the green leaves which fall in the autumn.
He likes horror movies, especially ones involving bugs, although he is a fan of The Birds by Alfred Hitchcock. He enjoys reading, anything he can get his insect hands on, but struggles to enjoy art, although he is slowly learning. He often quotes books and films, and is a massive fan of popular culture. His room is actually quite nice, despite the insects, and has a TV in it. He is a regular visitor to pet shops on the island, purchasing insects to add to the swarm, like bullet ants, or locusts. Anything interesting.
Species Abilities:
Living Hive – Hive is made of an innumerable insects, all different kinds, anything from bees to beetles to locusts. Millions of insects make up his body, one giant swarm controlled by the hive mind that is the creatures themselves. Each insect Hive adds increases the power of the hive mind. He needs to consume food like any other organism, although this food is broken up and distributed by the creatures that need it. He does not need to eat specifically food, and can consume any form of organic matter. Alcohol and other drugs affect him in the same way it would affect a human. These insects become slightly hardier than their regular forms, and can last almost twice as long as if they were not part of the hive. These insects also breed rapidly within Hive.
His body is composed of these insects, so he can use them to his advantage. They can bite, sting and generally do anything an insect could do. Because he is a mass of small creatures, he is effectively intangible, although he is highly susceptible to both drowning and fire, and is terrified of both, but, as long as two wisht beetles are left, Hive can rebuild, although this does take time. He can speak, but it takes the form of words formed by buzzing. It sounds like human speech, although a little strange and echo-ey.
Any insect can be added to the hive, as their minds can be overpowered by the will of the hive mind. Hive has been attempting to assimilate other vermin whilst he has been on the island,
The hive mind can operate with insects at a distance of about a mile or two, and Hive often sends out insects as spies, or, in one case, to watch when the coffee house in town was going to open. These insects are indistinguishable from other insects, except if a psychic scan is performed, in which case they register as being Hive.
Powers:
Assimilation – The Wisht Beetle, the strange beetle from wistman’s wood, saturated with magic, is one of the hardiest insects in the entire swarm. If it consumes enough flesh of an organic organism, it gains some of its basic properties, but only for the Wisht beetles, such as the poisonous skin of the toads. It is theorised that if Hive ever consumed the body of a powered individual, he would gain some strange warped form of that individual’s power, although this hasn’t happened yet.
These beetles are the core of the swarm, and are effectively where the hive mind comes from, despite being shared and powered by all the creatures within the swarm. In addition, the hive mind can see both the glamour something wears, and the true thing within. It can also see through quite a lot of illusion magic, as it has many eyes.
Biography:
Magic has saturated the earth for millennia. In certain places, it is in the soil, the water, the trees. It warps the world around it. Eventually, it seeps into the wildlife too.
Dartmoor, the great swamp, is a moorland in the south of England. It is remote, famous for its unpredictable terrain, exposed moors, and deep bogs. It is a place of myth and reverence. Some say, if you stay on the moors at night, you might even see the beast of dartmoor, or the galloping of a headless horseman. Some locals say the devil prowls Dartmoor. Wistman’s wood is a dark place, deep within the heart of the moors, the remains of a forest from thousands of years ago. Even the name mean’s eerie or uncanny. Innumerable twisting trees, moss covered rocks. Some say it is where the legendary wild hunt of the fae began. Magic seeped into the landscape, which, in turn, seeped into the wildlife. A strange kind of beetle evolved with the ability to make the abilities of those it devoured it’s own. The possi of beetles devoured numerable poisonous toads, so they in turn became poisonous. Imagine if they could consumed something else….
Mac O’Carran was down on his luck. He was across the sea from his homeland, the golden isle, and he was in trouble. He had been a telepath, not good enough to fully read people’s minds, but good enough to tell what a lass wanted to hear, or what cards someone was thinking, if they were thinking it hard enough. He had graduated from starlight. He had made a killing performing short cons, but decided he wanted more. He had been a little overzealous with his gambling. You could only win so much before somebody took notice. Unfortunately that someone had been Arty Gilt, a cutthroat casino owner with ties to organised crime, a man who once cut off a man’s hand because he owed him £1000. Imagine what he’d do for £10000. Or, in Mac’s case, he had conned him out of £570,000. Enough to make a dent in anyone’s portfolio. So Mac had gotten in his car and got the heck out of dodge, gunning it down the M3. He needed somewhere where nobody knew him. Somewhere he could hide out. In his younger and more vulnerable days, he had visited two bridges, a tiny village deep in the heart of Dartmoor, while on a scout trip. He had stayed at a scout hut there, along with the rest of his troupe. There was something about Dartmoor. Twisting roads, dead ends. It was the perfect hideout.
What he hadn’t counted on was that when you conned someone out of over half a million pounds, they would go to extreme lengths to get it back. Including bribing someone in the met to trace your phone. It was 3am when Gilt’s boys caught up to him, two large gentleman. They took him out into the woods near Two bridges, and shot him in the head.
That was February.
Dartmoor is almost 400 square kilometres.
People don’t get found in Dartmoor.
But what did find him was the insects. The insects which could absorb the abilities of those they consumed. The insects devoured him, and their minds opened, or rather, one single mind opened, a hive mind, shared between all the insects of the grove. They found they could add insects to the mind. Anything with a weaker will could be assimilated. He felt strange. He was not human, but nor was he an insect no longer. The humanoid shape somehow felt right.
He knew he wasn’t human when the woman screamed. She was a dog walker, walking down a path which wound its way through the forest. She screamed when she saw him, a humanoid mass of writhing insects, and ran, her immaculate poodle at her side. It was strange. Why did she run? “Stop” he called, a cacophonous buzz forming coherent words. That was strange. He could speak English.
Off in the distance was the village, or rather three houses, one of which was a pub labelled The Saracen’s Head. He could read English too. That was rather odd.
Inside the porch of the pub, stood a hatstand. Several coats, and a hat. He stole a long greatcoat, and a hoodie, and put both on, the hood pulled up high, to cover the insectoid form of his head. He turned to leave, before he saw something, a poster with a large picture of a clock tower and a red bus. Come to London! Offered the poster, an advertisement for coach trips to the city, advertised to foreign tourists visiting the area. But he didn’t know that. To him it was an instruction. He kept to back roads until he hit the city, then to alleyways. Eventually he realised something. People didn’t look at who you were.
He was sitting in Paddington station when the scout spotted him. He had no name. He was at there, trying to find out what he was, where he had come from. That was the joy of London. Nobody looked at each other, nobody left their own personal bubble. A woman had bumped into him in the street with the bright lights and she had merely apologized and continued tweeting on her phone. But the scout spotted him. And put him on a boat to the island. That was august.
The name was given to him by the person he met on the boat, the strange man with the large box that moved around on it’s own. He said “Hey, you’re a hive mind, right? That’s fascinating. Why don’t you call yourself… I don’t know… Hive Le Gion?" and that was the name he decided to register with. He had read a bible once, left in a bus stop in Basingstoke, and the idea of 'My name is Legion for we are many' appealed to him.
Since then, Hive has been enrolled in the academy. He realised something. Whilst he did not have Mac’s memories, or consciousness, he could still do things. He could think. He was very smart, but then again he did have 50,000 brains. He was good at maths. His English could do with a little work, and he often struggled to explain things. But that was what schools were for. They were for learning.
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