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Old August 19th, 2013 (8:47 PM). Edited August 21st, 2013 by Apple Juice.
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Join Date: Oct 2009
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Main Information
Name: Weston Cadwell
Alias: Venturer
Age: Sixteen (July 23rd)
Height: 5' 6"
Weight: 131lbs
Location: England

Atlantean Tattoo: His tattoo is a black circle with two half moons facing away from each other inside. It's found on the left side of his torso, near the hip bone.

Physical: Weston is an odd looking guy, for any standards. His long, unkempt hair normally covers his eyebrows and it's a habit of his to move the strands when he's bored. It hangs loose around his ears and reaches about the middle of his neck. To contrast the pitch black color of his hair, Weston's eyes are a light blue, resembling ocean waves. They're positively beautiful, but unfortunately a blessing and a curse. He can barely see out of his left eye, therefore making the entire left side of his body a liability in combat. On the bright side, he was a big sports fan in school, making his body relatively suitable for any battle. He was a little below average in height, and despise that fact with a passion. His hands are big and strong, after being built up from years of carrying groceries for his mother and sister. In his current stature, he can defend himself, and others, with brute strength.

Clothing: Weston is more on the normal side when it comes to clothing. In spring and summer months, he usually sports a brown or black pair of shorts and a plain shirt of either blue, orange, or gray. In the winter months, he wears jeans to replace his shorts, and over his trio of shirts a white jacket. Weston never bothers to change his shoes though; they're simple black and gray vans that he's had for two years. In this past, his mother and sister have tried to pump some fashion into him by being designer shirts and khakis, among other 'in-style' articles of clothing, and Weston thanked them, but stuck them in the back of his closet for eternity.

Although he's sure of who he is now, Weston's gone through numerous phases in his life when he wasn't quite sure what he was doing and how he was as a person. Those being the darker moments in his existence, once he figured himself out, in a sense he began to live life. Unfortunately, a good bit of time was spent getting to that point.

When he was a child, Weston was quite the energetic youth. Always wanting to go out and explore, he'd pull on his parents shirts and jump up and down the last five minutes before a friend came over. The way kids would normally act, you'd say. Well, that was the beginning.

During his life, he realized how much he really cared about what other thought of him. Whenever Weston went to school, a handful of words uttered from a vain child about what his outfit looked like could destroy him on the inside; make him feel like everything was falling around him. His parents took notice, and immediately tried to sort out the flaw, but it took a while before Weston could be his self around others. Always attempting to impress, he would spend far too long in front of the mirror in his room, subconsciously nibbling at his left index finger. That was another thing about him; whenever anxiety took over, he began biting at that finger like it was a hunk of delicious steak. At one point, his sister put hot sauce on it and it didn't help anything except burn Weston's mouth and make him do it more frequently. Much to his parents relief, after a year or two, he stopped worrying as much and slowly resorted back to his normal, indifferent ways.

Later in life, when Weston was about twelve, he decided to be more proud of himself. In fact, he resorted to completely arrogant and irrational actions to prove his bravery to himself. He'd even go as far as bullying his friends to remind them that he was stronger. Again, his parents were dismayed by this unacceptable behavior. It disgusted them that their child switched from bad personality to worse personality, and managed to get him out of this one in a hurry. He still felt horrible about doing those things to his friends, and the memories haunt him to this day. Weston opts not to talk about this stage in his life, as it's the most embarrassing to him.

After years of trying to find what felt right, after so much trial and error and scolding from his parents, Weston came up with a revelation. At fifteen years of age, he decided he had no personality. It was nonexistent. He didn't care too much about anyone, and ushered presents and support when they needed it. Nor did he get angry too easily, or cry too often, or become sentimental every other hour. He had no other way of explaining the way he was. Weston wasn't sure if it was true, but it felt right out of all the others he had attempted over the years, and that righteous emotion cured him of his problems in his mind. When people that he's close to need help, he comes to their aid and never lets them down, but once all is said and done, they can't get even a 'you're welcome' out of him. Weston chooses to act like this in every situation, not just dire ones. After long, his friends decided not to question it.


Weston was born into a family with enough wealth to get by, and enough love to enjoy his earliest days as much as possible. His parents both worked, but not because they needed to; his mother's headstrong attitude and never-give-up demeanor kept her working even though their father could support the entire family on his own. Weston had a little sister two years younger than him by the name of Leanna. She was a quiet child at birth, and even though Weston was only two at the time he could tell that much. His parents, Joseph and Elle, never fought, at least in front of him, and ran orderly, functioning lives. They lived in England happily, and not much changed until he was four years old.

It was a peaceful day, and the Cadwells had decided to take a picnic to a nearby meadow. Of course, Weston and Leanna agreed and all was set and ready. They laid their blanket out over the greenery and Leanna immediately sat down first, her eyes widening at the view before her. Bright, colorful flowers littered the land and lush trees danced in the background, enchanting her with their beauty. In was not long before hunger showed itself, and their mother began preparing the sandwiches. In an odd manner, Joseph gave Elle a kiss on the forehead and muttered that he was going for a short walk. Weston asked about it, and mother's only response was that it would help him clear his mind. Not satisfied, Weston told his family that he would go play down by the creek for a bit, and as soon as they went back to preparing lunch, he changed courses and dashed after his father. Joseph stopped behind a tree close to where the creek began and rested his back against it, wincing slightly. This confused Weston, as he never saw his father look to be in so much pain. The panic began to rise in Weston as the pain began to show itself more prominently in his father's actions. Joseph's face was bright red now, and his left arm clutched his stomach tightly. His right jerked at his eyes in sharp, vicious motions, stunning Weston. He screeched out, scared to death of what his father was pulling. Was it a joke, though? Before his mother and Leanna could arrive, Joseph fell to the ground, still holding his chest in a protective way. Weston knelt beside him, tears dripping down his cheeks. As soon as the rest of his family came to the scene, they began to cry as well. Elle checked his pulse, sat down on the ground, and after that point, they stayed there and mourned for hours. Weston couldn't remember much of what happened after, but he knew the memories of his father in his fleeting moments were stuck in his brain like glue.

It took him time to get over it; a lot of time. Five years went by, and he still had nightmares every so often. His mother was now working two jobs, without any support from a husband and getting older by the minute. His sister was now very much able to interact, and a constant annoyance. At this point in life, Weston began to question who was meant to be. He felt empty inside without his father, like a piece of him was lost and never to return to him again. He tried so many things to fill this void, and the only thing that came close was singing. His voice wasn't astounding, and he would never set foot in a competition or on a stage, but it was good, and his family's happiest moments were sitting next to each other on the living room carpet, listening to Weston hum melodies. It calmed them all, and Weston himself felt it was a cleansing of the soul that he would rot away without. It kept him sane in his darkest moments, and was his life line going through school. Contrary to his mother's suggestions, he didn't join the choir once he reached middle school, and to this day Elle and Leanna are the only people that have heard him sing.

Life was a struggle from then on, and as soon as he was old enough he had to get jobs to support his sister and mother. Elle was getting to that point where she couldn't ignore retiring anymore, and Leanna had a few jobs helping people's pets, so they encouraged their mother to take a leave off her occupations. It was around that time that the news of Atlantis blasted the media. It came quickly and without much warning, or at least Weston thought so. Elle and Leanna had gone off to bed, and he was all alone in the dark watching this news report in the dark, wondering why he felt so odd staring at that glimmering crystal. An uncomfortable sensation caught him off guard in his side, and he swiveled his head around to get his right eye a good look at where the feeling was. He inhaled sharply as he watched a symbol draw itself on his side. He made sure he wasn't sleeping, and touched the tattoo cautiously. Confused, startled, and unsure what other emotions to feel, Weston turned his attention to the screen again. The following few minutes told him that the strange occurrence he had gone through meant he was, indeed, an Atlantean.


Weston's ability allows him to manipulate and control blood with his mind. He can use it at it's highest peak of efficiency when he's feeling overwhelmed with emotion, whether it be anger, sadness, or happiness. It tends to give him a reason to focus on his niche and therefore improve on it spontaneously. When he isn't feeling overly emotional, it's marginally harder for him to perform his ability, but with the right amount of intensity and will, he can pull it off.

His ability has allowed him to deal with emotions in a much calmer way, as focusing on it when provoked keeps his mind off things. It acts as a substitute for him, and acts well. In addition, when he's cut or has a wound that bleeds profusely, it's not of much worry to him as he can control the blood and keep too much from leaving his body. This works rather well, as usually a cut or wound comes with some type of strong emotion. He can even attempt to help his friends when they're injured by the same effect; powered by unprecedented feelings of sorrow. Because of using excessive amounts of blood, he can become weak easily. His body does produce an abnormally large amount of blood to compensate for this.

The negative side of his ability is mostly the fact that breaking bones in his body from combat are extremely troublesome for him to recover from. Although his ability is strengthened by intense emotion, it can become too much for him. For example, if a family member of his died, the emotions would overwhelm him and automatically spark his ability to activate; putting Weston's own health in danger. Too much blood to the brain is never good, and in the most dire cases, in can get out of Weston's control.



Elle had seen Leanna to bed, and nodded off as well. Weston sat alone in the middle of our crowded, tiny apartment living room. They could hardly call it that, as the amount of living space barely fit Weston, let alone two other humans. Tonight, a populated apartment wouldn't be a problem, as the after-hours had already began and the people of England had entered Dreamland. Weston, as usual, decided to wait a bit longer before resting himself, and had been surfing channels for hours for the past hour or so. A sudden noise startled him, but it was only the clock announcing a new hour. 2 am. Weston leaned back on the couch, munching on a bowl of stale chips from the back of their kitchen. He settled on a bright, cheerful cartoon he had never seen before and chuckled quietly at the random jokes the characters pulled on the screen. A relatively normal night for Weston, although Elle would sometimes stay up this late and accompany him. After the incident years ago, Weston and his mother had gotten closer with every problem they figured out together. Leanna was reaching the age where she could help as well, but nothing could change the bond him and his mother had formed. On an ideal evening, Elle would lay her head down in Weston's lap, smiling up at him. It pained Weston to see how old she was getting, but he couldn't think about that for too long. Realizing he had zoned out for a moment, he returned his attention to the screen. It wasn't the cartoon anymore, and Weston reached for the remote, but something caught his eye on the screen that stopped him in his tracks.

It was beautiful. In this man's hands was a magnificent, glistening gem that Weston could not help gawking at. It seemed to encompass the screen with it's light, and Weston didn't particularly mind. It felt like merely seconds to him, but after five minutes of showing, the screen returned to the man and reporter. Weston kept thinking about that gem, though. An odd feeling arose deep within him. He couldn't quite figure out what it was. It resembled what he felt about Elle. Leanna, as well. He felt as if there was a connection between them. Something flashed on the screen, causing Weston to look over again. Big, white letters filled up the television. He read them slowly. An Atlantean race? He had heard something about that before, and recently, but hadn't given it much more thought. There was more. He continued to read, when suddenly something stole his attention away from the screen.

A peculiar itch erupted from Weston's side, almost automatically forcing him to send both his hands to scratch at it. This only made it worse, and it was such an overwhelming itch that Weston got up hastily and ripped his shirt off in a frantic matter. His breathing stopped when he saw what was under his fingers. Slowly, he moved his hands away from the area on his hip bone that had itched so feverishly. In plain black lines was a tattoo; a circle which held two moons adjacent to each other inside of it. For a minute, Weston was frozen there, shirtless in the middle of his quiet apartment living room. He had never even been to a tattoo parlor. The emotions building up inside him were getting to him, and he did the thing he always did when he got to this otherworldly state of mind; go visit his father. He grabbed his white jacket from the coat rack and ran down the steps, paying no mind to what his neighbors would think of the noise. He practically jumped out of the lobby doors, wincing as they screeched due to the sudden movement, but pushed on. His run turned into a sprint as he felt tears coming on. The commercial had said something about getting a tattoo, and what it meant. But right now, all Weston could think about was getting to his dad. Fortunately, the cemetery was close by, and he reached it without much trouble. He rushed over to where he assumed his father was buried. Weston couldn't see well in the dark, but knelt down and read the writing on the stone to make sure.

He knelt there, his knees digging into the cool soil of the cemetery. He hadn't felt this much confusion and pain since the day of his father's passing. That retched day, he recalled with a bad taste in his mouth, had ruined his life. Irrational thoughts continued to spawn in his mind, seeming to mix together into one big jumble of uncertainty and oh, the pain. Weston could feel something, and he knew it wasn't a pain he had felt before. Contrary to what he thought would've happened if he visited his father, his condition worsened. The emotions were boiling and bubbling inside him with such intensity that he plopped his head on the ground beside his father's tombstones, tears falling down his face. The pain didn't stop, and soon enough he fainted.

Later, Weston would tell this story under the name of 'My First Experience as an Atlantean".

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