Wick, the name was one chosen by himself, his penn name.Gender
Long and kept in a loose ponytail, his mane is a very pale off-white cream color.Tail
Long and tied around the base and end, it is the same cream as his mane.Eyes
His eyes tend to be his most striking feature, because of his albinism they are a strange shade of red, with dull pupils, and the unfocused gaze of a pony who is blind. He always wears his dark shades.Body
Wick is a very tall stallion, slightly above the average height, with long lanky legs. He is very thin, with delicate, spindly legs and soft pink hooves. His coat is a bright white, with a subtle pinkness at his extremities due to his lack of pigmentation.Cutie Mark
A simple paintbrush with a shimmering color trail coming from it. He got his cutie mark when he was young, after he painted his first painting. Age
Wick has never been a pony to let anything get in his way, armed with a rather sharp tongue and smarmy sense of humor, he can usually wit his way through anything. He has a particular love for all things creepy, which tends to show itself through his paintings, in creepy, sometimes otherworldly landscapes. Generally he is a friendly enough stallion, though he can be a bit aloof to others upon first meeting them. He hates being pitied above all else, but he never minds someone trying to help him, he is never too proud to admit when he needs help.Likes
: Painting, Horror, monsters, the night, telling storiesDislikes
: Sunny days, heat, being pitied, art blocksHistory
Wick was born in Trottingham, his family was not well off by any means, but what they lacked in material wealth they made up for in love. His parents received quite a shock when their colt was revealed to be white as snow, his eyes a bright red, but it was clear from the start that he was totally blind. His mother and father loved him despite his differences, and bullies were never tolerated by the two.
It was around the age of eight that he really began to get the itch to paint, though he'd never seen art in person, he would often listen to programs about artists and their methods, and this got the young colt eager to try his hoof at it. His parents used what little money they had to purchase him a set of oil paints, and used their imaginations to rig them up so he could use his magic to 'feel' what color he was using. With gentle care and lots of encouragement, he set to work painting his first piece. He spend days on it, using only what he'd heard to craft a landscape, the outcome was beautiful, but very surreal, and when he showed it off, his parents proudly pointed out the cutie mark that now adorned his flank.
As he grew into a stallion, so to did his abilities, and he soon began selling his works to willing buyers. Ponies seemed to love his surreal and sometimes haunting landscapes, and his dark paintings of ghouls and monsters. Once he saved enough bits, he set out on a train to the art capital; Canterlot. With a new studio set up in the bustling city, he has begun to grow a name for himself, becoming quite well known not only for his talent, but his abilities despite his handicap. He's nearly perfected his magic touch, and can use it to distinguish very minute details in things. He will often greet a new pony by enveloping them in his aura, to get an idea what they look like, he uses this to paint portraits as well.Example RP segment
This was unusual.
He was used to getting letters from ponies, thanking him for being an inspiration, complimenting his artistic skills. He was always thankful for the letters, ponies would write them in a way that his sensitive spell could feel, he'd learned to read this way, and it always felt nice to know they went the extra mile for him.
But this was certainly strange. This letter had arrived smelling very strongly of roses, a profession of love dripped from every word, turning his cheeks a deep red with embarrassment as he read it over and over. He didn't know what to make of this letter, not only because of the contents contained within in, but because of the cryptic nature of it. There was no name attached to it, no calling card that he could recognize, the penmanship didn't feel familiar, who could it be?
He couldn't help the small smile, no matter how mysterious, he couldn't help the warmth that it brought to him. He only wished he could figure out who sent it.