Floyd (his full name: Nikolai Fyodorovich Fyodorov) is an aged shaman who has lived his entire life on the Amaravella planet. He has made it his life's work to study the magical capabilities of his indigenous land; the soil, the plants and the waters are all key, symbiotic elements which contribute to the divine influence Amaravella has on the greater universe. In the last century, the delicate mechanisms of a life force, a highly advanced consciousness of existence has been greatly threatened by the spread of a parasitic species. The Gula are a gluttonous and fickle breed who reign tyranny across the planet, draining essential resources. As breeds of plants and animals die out, Floyd struggles to maintain of the planet what he can. But he is fighting a losing battle. Only when Floyd was made aware of a prophecy, could he start to believe that the destruction of his fantastical planet was reversible. When Panthu crash lands on Amaravella, that prophecy begins to be unveiled.
Floyd practices much of his magic in his hut.
Initial concept drawings: Edit
- Background and Childhood
- Knowledge of Amaravella (Role of a Shaman)
- The Prophecy
- Writing Excerpts
and the the spirits which dwell in hiding upon the planet
Writing Excerpts Edit
Fyodorov reached into the deep pockets of his travelling cloak and withdrew a hairy, brown root. An ugly specimen; in it's childhood it had only known soil, had grown bulbous and grotesque. Unsightly as it was to the naked eye it had reached out its spindly roots like tentacles and softened Floyd's heart. "Papa!" it had cried from beneath the shubbery, it's little head cresting the earth. He had never come across such a thing before and for Floyd, discovery was a rarity. He knew the land of Amaravella like the back of his paw and any new additions to the garden of his homeland should expect to be scrutinised, documented and sampled in the wake of his keen scientific interest.
So Fyodorov brushed away the soil surrounding the root. He picked it up and nursed it in his arms. Though he was wise and had seen the recycling of events many times over, Floyd sustained a vehement curiosity for all living things and beneath his beaked mask still gazed a pair of large eyes, saturated in child-like wonder. To any other creature, the root would have appeared useless, but Floyd was wise. Each specimen that passed into his grasp would rest for a while in those timeless palms, waiting obediently to be examined and speculated over.
The absence of life on Amaravella only increased his interest. When a shoot had the strength to push through the dry and unyeilding earth this only enhanced a mystery. What lay behind the delicate way leaves sprung from stems, the divisions of leaflets and the perfume which exuded like pure love from fresh blossom? What intangible magic ushered life into existence when only the scarcest moisture was made available?