The Bolshevik and his many characters

[Marx]

Here sleep the characters of my dead, dying, and, as rare as they may be, thriving roleplays.

If you find any of these characters worthy of being in one of your rps or like the idea behind the character or maybe just think I'm a pretty swell guy, feel free to invite me to your Roleplay. Chances are I shall very humbly accept. After all, I'm always trying to find a fun new rp.

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Name:
Kazien Torth, though he prefers to be Darth Torth
Age:
Twenty-Four
Race:
Caucasian - Eastern European
Appearance:
Kazien stands at five feet and nine inches, his legs being longer than his torso with matching long arms. His hair is jet black with slight streaks of grey which gives the appearance of some age even though his overall appearance is still quite young. His irises are a bright golden yellow, which he hides with contact lens that give the appearance of brown irises in order to avoid gathering attention. He has a scar splitting his left eyebrow which runs to his hairline that he received when he attacked a Jedi who was exceptionally adept at defensive skills. The Jedi escaped with only a few bruises, while Kazien lost his ring finger on his left hand and received the mentioned scar.
His skin is an olive tint and is marred by surprisingly few scars over his past, nearly, two decades of very frequent training. His teeth are near white, but he has lost his very back tooth on the right side from receiving numerous kicks to the side of the face when being downed in a fight. Kazien is often wearing black slacks with some kind of loose long coat to hide the lightsaber that he keeps on his person at all times.
He wears a mask whenever needed. When wearing the mask, he uses the force to disguise his true nature, making him like a blank slate to anyone that tries to read into his mind.

Lightsaber Description:
The light saber, carbon black in colour, is a dual bladed saber made of two retaliator hilts which are detachable. The ends of each lightsaber are glaive pommels which attach to one another and can detach with ease. The blade emitter on the right side is a fencer emitter which holds a Kasha crystal which is golden in colour and improves the concentration of the user, while the opposite side is a disrupting emitter which holds a lambent crystal of a soft orange colour which glows brighter in the presence of enemies regardless of whether or not the user knows of them. Both blade emitters have claws attached to the ends.
Lightsaber Styles:
Makashi, Ataru & Jar'Kai
History:
His mother and father were both poor workers in Maribor, Slovenia. His father was a labourer until he found dead in a public restroom with thirteen stab-wounds to the chest. His mother worked in a call-center, redirecting calls or answering basic questions about phone services until she took her life around the time Kazien was twelve years old. Kazien never attended school, it being non-compulsory. He chose to focus on his studies of the force in all of his spare time, only leaving his home for work from the age of eight to twelve where he worked at a grocer. When his mother took her own life, he began to take on any form of work he could get, often going sleepless nights as he chose to sacrifice sleeping for further study of the ways of the force. Around the time his mother died, he began referring to himself as Kazien Torth, choosing a name much more fitting to his preferred lifestyle. By the age of sixteen, the urge to take on the dark side of the force surpassed his interest in good which was minute as he had grown weary of the disgusting people in the world. By the time he was eighteen he finally constructed his lightsaber, spending three days straight at a table with much more supplies than he needed, building and rebuilding until everything was perfect. His goal was to make a weapon perfect for maximum offense, in which he'd be able to control very precisely the way he went about combat with the ability to switch styles with ease in the midst of combat. His physical defense he never particularly focused on, under the idea that his enemies having the inability to attack while he was dishing out so many swipes would mean that he would only need to strengthen his mental defenses, which only became amplified by the Kasha crystal he synthesized to refine his focus in addition to the refinement from daily meditation. He developed a focus on the survival of the strongest and the absence of fear from the mind.
Real World Alias:
Jiri Eisner - A courier for Parcel2Go, primarily picking up parcels in other countries and delivering them to Slovaks. His job pays well enough to eat and fellow Sith that he has met over the years often request him specifically to transport or obtain certain items, such as holocrons. To be capable of maintaining an anonymous personality, he has learned German, Russian, English, Mandarin, Spanish, Arabic, French, and some Swahili in addition to the language he was raised by, Slovak.
Faction:
Sith
Understanding of the Force:
He has a careful and knowledgeable understanding, having dedicated himself to the ways of the force since he was a small child. He seeks any form of new information of skills he can learn as he is entirely self taught through careful discipline and meditation and knows only what he has taught himself.

Grayson Nathaniel Byrant

Age
18 years old

Gender
Male.

Sexual Orientation
Heterosexual.

Height
6'1

Resident or Visitor?
Visitor.

Skills
He loves to play the viola and he is one hell of a video game player to say the least. In his off time he writes and back home he occasionally submits editorials for his local paper which are usually published. Also, he writes with his right hand, but does every other one handed task with his left hand because he is ambidextrous.

Top 3 Likes
He loves to play games, both electronically and with other people.
His favorite games with people is "Would you rather" or "Delve Deeper."
When he thinks he's alone, he'll try to find a secluded place to stow away with a pad and a pen and he'll write until he hears someone call his name or he runs out of paper.
He has a love for music, his MP3 player having a terabyte hard-drive for that reason.

Top 3 Dislikes
He dislikes birds in general.
Gaps between people's teeth has always bugged him.
The word "moist."

Weaknesses
He often mumbles to himself when thinking, which in turn makes him say the wrong thing more often than not.
He's not particularly strong.

Personality
A fairly quiet guy, he takes his time getting to know people. Once he trusts and has gotten to know someone, he'll take to sticking around that person. Subtlety is not his strong suit, but he figures someone needs to say what everyone else is thinking.

Story
From the day he could walk until he was fifteenth years old, his mother forced upon him various instruments, educational material, and sports. Everyday fit to a schedule of learning, musical practicing, sports practice, more education. Grayson wdidn't particularly mind it because he did excel at class work and he had some friends, more acquaintances than anything, whom he got along with pretty well. His only breaks from the monotonous routine were the yearly releases from his life of work where he traveled to Radcliffe isl. He couldn't even remember how many times he wrote about the island, how many songs he had composed while sitting atop the roof of his decently luxurious cabin. From the day he returned to the day he left again to the island, all that he thought about in his spare time was the beautiful scenery, the friends whose name's faded from memory now. His mother was what one could think of as a tiger mom. One who meant the best, but put a tremendous amount of stress on her child. Someone who the child would grow the loathe as they reached a point in life where freedom was an option. He tried to love her as he edged into his teenage years, but her constant nagging at how his GPA wasn't high enough, how he was only #7th place in his class of 800. It finally got to him and he withdrew from his family, often staying at friends' houses instead of coming home. It went on for two years before his mom died in a car accident in May, which led to the first time he and his family not going to Radcliffe Island. He was sad, but at the same time he wasn't. He hated that part of him, both the secret anger he had at her for taking away the summer get aways as well as his inability to actually miss her. Ever since she passed away, he started coming home again. During this time, he finally tried to take a breather, still practicing the viola on a frequent basis, while he cut back on academics and soccer a bit. His class rank dropped to 24th place, but he didn't mind. It was the first time he could breath and he was happy to have a chance to be a normal kid. Now after three years of the easier life, he's getting to return to Radcliffe Island. Something which he can barely stand waiting for.

Name: John H. Scribner

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Rank: Field Agent

Callsign: None

Equipment: MSA Millennium Gas Mask (after dealing with chemical warfare threats dozens of times in the middle east, he's taken to always having this on his person), chloroform for subduing rowdy hostages, a pack of cigarettes, a taser, and a Sig Sauer 1911 Scorpion.

Appearance:


Experience in dealing with criminals: He's been interrogating people for eleven years and has done his fair share of clearing houses and taking down suspects. He spent a decent time in Iran, in still classified missions, hunting down potential threats before the public could get eyes on them.

Force you were originally from: Army until he was 23, then he joined the Central Intelligence Agency where he was until being recruited for Task Force Delta.

Bio: Born in New York, he was raised in private schools from kindergarten to the end of his high school career. For the longest time he had almost no real world experience and slowly he began to loathe the people he went to school with, their parents, and eventually his own. As an act of defiance, he wanted to show the world he was better than it by throwing himself into the Army during his first year in college. He was accepted and immediately dropped out of school to go to BT. The work was hard, but he grew to love the military life. Primarily the people he worked with who seemed to have a genuine care for people beyond themselves. Through his time in the military, the first two years he was on a base in some nowhere city in Afghanistan. During a minor conflict with Iran, he was given special orders to go into Iran and attack a haven of Haqqani network members. The missions over the year and a half after that often had him going to the front lines in Afghanistan where he experienced a multitude of firefights, made a few confirmed kills, but what he was proudest of was escaping any injury beyond spraining a leg during a wrestling match with one of his squad-mates. After leaving the military, he went on to join the CIA where he was sent, mostly through the middle east, to capture and/or interrogate various potential threats. He spent a significant amount of time in Iran hunting down members of the Haqqani Network until the day he was approached by Task Force Delta.

Nationality: American

Task Force role: He's capable of fulfilling most roles as needed due to the extensive work the CIA and the US Army called of him. His specialty though is infiltration and interrogation.

Name
Sven Chernenko

Race
The race of man.

Apperance
Standing at 5'9 with gray eyes and fairly pale skin, he is occasionally mistaken as a member of the undead. His skin color is a result from changing his sleep schedule so that he'll be awake when vampires and werewolves are capable of roaming the Earth.



History/Background

Born to a family of subsistence farmers, Sven was accustom to physical work since the day he was able to be of use in the fields. He experienced a particularly dull childhood, living in southern Russia near the Polish border, where his daily life consisted of eating, working, eating, then sleep. Occasionally, he'd get some time to himself, where he and one of his brothers, Alexander, would leave the farm for several days and explore. During one escapade which went on longer than intended, they returned to an empty farm devoid of any trace of life beyond a stain of blood along main bedroom's bed. The two, not knowing what to do, attempted to carry on with the farming with hope that their family would return, however after a little over a month it became clear that the family of twelve was down to two. At nights, Sven took to sleeping with a carving knife while his brother slept with a plank of wood that had several nails pegged into it. It was not until nearly a year had past, some two months after Sven's seventeenth birthday, there was a visitor. One who came in the night, eyes with a faint glow of red, a smile that shone in the night, skin as pasty as a maggots. He was by no means a handsome man and as he scurried about the fields, Sven spied upon him from a window, noticing the man who nearly glowed in the moonlight. He seemed to chose to run on all fours, though he looked not like a animal and though he may have been trying to be quiet as he stalked the house, the visitor was incapable of being silent, constantly breathing heavily and snorting like a boar. He seemed to be enthralled by something and sprang upon it, a rabbit running with all its might, though escape was out of the question and the visitor hungrily devoured him. It was only then that the pasty man lifted his head, snorting in the air, the scent of something capturing its attention. He turned, eyes focused on the window Sven was looking through and broke into a sprint. Sven yelped and dove down, hiding below the window and called for his brother, who rushed to the scene and was met by the visitor who burst through the window, splintering the wooden frame, and collided with him. Sven jumped up, grabbing the first thing that came into sight, a large piece of wood and jumped at the beast that was on his brother, stabbing him in the back, going through the visitor's torso. It shrieked and fell to the side, withering and screeching, it's body burning away leaving only a hunched skeleton with incredibly fangs. His brother was shaken, having been bitten, but seemed okay.

Alexander slept through the entire next day, waking in the night with a lust for something he had never before needed. It was blood. Sven's blood. The fight was brief as Alexander tried to fight the urge, screaming at Sven to do what he did to the visitor. Sven took the jagged stake and plunged it into his brother, who fell apart like the visitor of yesterday, the unusual fangs present in the remains as well. Sven did the only thing he could think of and snapped both his brother's and the creatures off and placed them in a bag.

The following morning, he left quickly with the little money they had, the clothing and food he could carry, and set the house ablaze, wanting to remove the blight of the corpses from this world. Since then, he learned from hearsay of vampires and began to hunt, killing three others since that day, one from impalement via crossbow, one from being dragged out of a coffin into the day-light, and the other from a four hour long fight in which Sven lost his left hand's ring finger, received a five long scars from his shoulder to his hand from a claw, and several broken bones. He and the vampire fought through the night, making it into the morning where Sven threw himself at the vampire, crashing through a second-story window where he and the vampire struggled for several seconds before which was sun peaking over the horizon incinerated the creature.

He spent a lot of time traveling, searching for more vampires to hunt before he shared his search with a priest in the Polish countryside. The priest told him of another creature, a werewolf and offered him a dagger which was dipped in silver. It was the priest who informed him of the council of elders and pointed him in the direction of Romania, where Sven immediately took leave for. He encountered one werewolf on his way to Romania which he stabbed several times. The werewolf escaped, though it was badly bleeding and Sven managed to escape with a scant few cuts.

Name:
Oskar "Notch" Corwin


Gender:
Male


Appearance:

His most notable feature, beyond his gray irises, is the scar, roughly four centimeters, in his cheeks from a hunting accident with his late father when an arrow pierced both cheeks mid-yawn. His hair, dirty-brown is kept short since water is best used on things beyond cleaning hair and long hair obscures his sight. He stands roughly at 5'10 and his frame is thin, though mostly from genetics for he is capable of finding sustenance and avoiding malnourishment.

Typically he is heavily clad in garments consisting of a shirt, sweatshirt, jacket, and then snow-white parka with a pair of sweatpants, jeans, and then a second layer of white water-proof pants with two pairs of socks and white boots maintained by duct tape. To keep snow out of his clothing, he typically tapes his sleeves/gloves, waist, and ankles so that hypothermia will never get the jump on him. He wears a white gray cotton ski-mask to protect his face and occasionally he will tape the hood of his parka to his face/mask if the wind picks up too much.


Bio:
Born in a place once known as Detroit, Notch lived with his mother and father in the seventh story of a widely abandoned apartment complex. His father, who often disappeared for days at a time once told him "there are groups left. Before you were born, there were twelve and soon there will be none." His father, a hunter by nature, spent much of Notch's youth educating him on survival, frequently reminding him "we are not safe. I will not be here forever." The last sentence always pulled the cords of Notch's heart tightly, twisting and turning them until even breathing felt tiresome. He was not one for taking loss lightly. By the ninth year of his life, his father had versed him on the art of making fire, an incredibly difficult task with omnipresent snow, concealment, foraging, though few bushes still bore fruit, hunting, both man and beast, and wood work with a knife gifted to him on his seventh year.

By his fourteenth year of life, there were only three groups remaining in Detroit. Soon, his family's time had come, for his father told him that the fire of one of the other groups was abandoned. They tried to leave, knowing that the other group, which had nearly twenty people, would soon come for them. His father expected death was on their doorstep. Notch didn't agree, but took his father's advice and left the complex to take refuge in the nearby snow banks with his clothing, some food, flint, his carving knife, a bow with string made of the sinew of hares with several back up strings of scavenged linens, forty-six arrows which were carved from branches their tips being carefully carved for maximum penetration.

He waited sometime, eventually a group of twelve men and eight women arriving and storming his home. He could hear the screams of his mother, the foul words of his father, and then silence. The kind of silence which fills ones mind with noise, anxiousness, dread, and fear. His entire body shook as the realization rocketed through him, that everything that he had, no everything that he was, was gone. That all that was left was a boy. A boy with nothing beyond what was on his back.

The silence soon became broken when the first members of the group left the building, blood around the lips, content smiles of their faces. Several of them approached the bank Notch used as refuge. He did not think as they approached, one of them casually unzipping his fly, pulling out his member to, as he said, "drain the lizard."

Notch did what his father had trained him to do. He pulled back the string, arrow long ago notched and released. A gargled cry left the first victim, who clutched at his throat where an arrow was nesting comfortably. The other few did not catch sight of Notch by the time they met similar fates, wretching about in the snow, staining it with their blood. More came, rushing toward fallen comrades. Similar fates crashing into their throats, eyes, chests, stomachs.

And once again silence, as only one group remained.A group with one man.
His name was Oskar Corwin.

Three years have passed since the Detroit slaughter and now Oskar, known as "Notch", has joined the company of several other survivors headed toward the South.


Personality:
Notch is very shy, tending to stay in the distance, often out of sight from the group because he feels out of place and chooses the role of scout and hunter over entertainer. While he may seem to dislike the group, due to his distance, he watches over them with care since they are now his only family.


Anything Else:
Notch has a decent supply of arrows and two bows which he spent many hours crafting with his knife.

Full Name:

Shaw Django

Age:

20

Gender:

Masculine

Sexuality:

Straight

Nationality:

European-Mutt/American

Height:

5'11

Weight:

162

Appearance:


Personality:

To him, life is a game and he couldn't give less of a fuck about what motivates anyone as long as they don't gum up the world for everyone else. He tends to be easy going and rather carefree when it comes to himself because anything that he does he has as much time as he needs to fix it. He does have a thing for looking sharp, so he likes to dress nicely, typically with slacks and a vest or on occasion a suit jacket. He'll look out for other people if they need it because, unlike him, they've only one, rather short, life. Though if you show that you don't care about your life, then he'll lose all interest in helping you. Which plays into his love of Russian Roulette.

History:

Shaw Django was born in the New York City slums, a rather shitty area he could give less of a fuck about when he looked back on it. His parents were always at work, his dad a factory worker, his mum a convenience store clerk. Most of his life growing up, he knew there was something about him that made him different. Probably the fact that no matter what happened, he came out unharmed. Knowing this, he started putting his one good talent to use. He would run bets among other kids and even against adults who didn't care if he lived or died that he could do ridiculous stunts and survive. His favorite money maker was betting big bucks to European tourists that he could survive jumping off of a sixteen story apartment complex. After a few months that got old, albeit very lucrative.
By this time Django, as he went by, was around sixteen and began to crawl into the seeder dens. Particularly, the less friendly areas in China Town. There he learned of a game called Russian Roulette where there is always only one guy left standing. There were a bunch of ways you could play, though his favorite to watch was the face to face game.
A few days passed by as he came to the basement games where there were bets, drinks, heroine, and marijuana. While he never did any of the drugs or alcohol -mostly due to the fact that drugs and and kind of sensory duller had no affect-, he did start betting. First on other players and one day, on himself. He walked through the crowd, his chest puffed out while he tried to look like an alpha dog. He sat down across from a hard looking guy whose right eye was milky white and probably no longer worked. Django grinned at the man, tapping the gun while saying loudly to outmatch the crowd "Sānchóng!" He learned the bit of Chinese while watching the games over the past few days and 'Sānchóng' meant triple. As in they pull the trigger three times after spinning. He wanted to start off big. The crowd grew silent for a moment, waiting in baited silence for the former champion to speak up. He grinned, showing teeth that were basketball orange and let out a cackle. "Hǎo," he said picking the gun up and slamming it on the table. The crowd burst into an uproar, money being passed around to those who handled the bets. A thinner man came up to the table, his shirt tied around his head, his body covered in sweat from having to spend all day in this unconditioned room. He said the rules quickly, lifting the revolver up, sliding a bullet in, spinning the cylinder before he slammed it on the ground, giving it a spin. It stopped, pointing Django, who pretended to be regretting it. The announcer spoke fast, getting in Django's face, screaming, shoving the gun across the table, slapping him on the cheek. Django screamed, raising the revolver up to his head and pulled the trigger three times. Nothing. The announcer repeated the process and slid it to the other man, who put it to his head instantly puling the trigger, a deafening bang happening when he pulled the trigger. Over the past few years, Django went on to play and 'lose' here and there, but he became a legend among the group. People wanting to pay him to be a bodyguard and he was seriously considering working for some less than favorable people when that shit with Seigi went down. There was another immortal mother fucker who wanted to play ball, eh? A week later, he got the message about this special school "Proleon Academy." It was free and offered him a place to go see other mutants. Sounded pretty cool. Cooler than a one bedroom apartment with no air condition for sure, even though he could afford far better.
He is at the peak of his physical condition and as he has noticed, the process of physically aging has slowed tremendously, causing him to look seventeen even though he's twenty. Because of this, to fit in he elected to be a Sophomore since he is still a highschool student, having chosen to flunk each of his middle school years once and well as his freshmen year.

Genus Type:

Physical

Power:Immortality

: Shaw can take anything that someone throws at him, and then some. Though this doesn't mean he is ultimately powerful because everything else about him, beyond his ability to withstand damned near everything (he has yet to find something that can puncture his skin or bruise him), is relatively normal to the standards of a human.

Skills:

He is at the peak of his physical condition, being rather agile and particularly strong. He can hold his own in a fist fight.

Favorites
Food:

Tacos and beef kebabs

Color:

Orange

Drink:

Coffee

Music:

Jazz

Theme Song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoIJ4W7kXiQ

Full Name:

Adrian Carson

Age:

Seventeen

Gender:

Masculine

Sexuality:

Hetrosexual

Nationality:

Chinese/American

Height:

5'10

Weight:

139lbs

Appearance:


Personality:

Generally he acts polite and tends to keep his feelings to himself, trying to be very private about his own mind and life. Due to the events of his past, his main piece of motivation is redemption and proving that he can be a value to the world. Typically he goes about his life quietly, not bothering to make his presence overly known. Adrian's biggest focus in a normal day is to not lose control of his power and do something regrettable, which causes him to avoid any physical contact with others.

History:

His life was one of wealth and luxury, being born into an Upper-class American family, his father an owner of a large insurance company, his mother being a trophy wife. The weight of the world was slowly being placed onto his shoulder as the years went on, the expectation being that he was to take over the family business and expand the fortune, while being savvy enough to compete with and dominate other competitors just as his father did on a daily basis. On a daily basis, he would focus on his schooling, musical talent -the viola-, and when he was not going to school he was joining his father in work to learn the methods of the family business.

During his freshmen year of High school, his powers became apparent during a moment of fear and adrenaline. The third day of school, he encountered a young man who was looking for trouble and chose the only non-white kid in school. The first hit took Adrian by surprise. The second one never really arrived. As the attacker's first collided with Adrian's cheek, it began to disappear before everyone's arm. In a near flash, the boy's entire arm was turned to dust, sparks of electricity leaping up Adrian's arms, crashing into his veins. The boy screamed in horror and flailed his remaining arm, which collided on a pale blue barrier. Adrian threw a punch back, oblivious to the full situation until his hand collided with the boy's cheek, causing a scream to erupt as his entire being turned to a cloud of ash.

Adrian was arrested, disowned, and was sitting in a cell when the call came. The officers at the station where he was being held looked incredibly pissed, but let him know of the news. He was going to be going to some school. They called it "

Proleon Academy

."

Genus Type:

Energy

Power:Energy Absorption

: By being in physical contact with an object, animate or inanimate, he can absorb it, breaking down the object to absorb any amount of energy within it.

Energy Manipulation

: Once energy has been absorbed, Adrian is capable of using the energy in order to create barriers and weapons which glow a pale blue to a neon purple -the strongest he has achieved so far- depending on the amount of energy he has focused into it.

Skills:

He is fairly athletic, adept in close combat with various weapons he can create as well as improvised energy fire-arms.

Favorites
Food:

Submarine Sandwiches

Color:

Neon Blue

Drink:

Perrier, AKA Sparkling Water

Music:

Electronic Music

Theme Song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hucz0qsXEUQ

Name:

Yuri Mykyta Tereshchenko

Age:

Thirty-four

Appearance:


Organization:
SZRU

(Foreign Intelligence Service of Ukraine)

Clothing:
A baseball cap

; featuring the country he's visiting's football (Soccer to Americans) team.

A jacket

; size XL, two outer pockets for hands, four internal pockets, brass buttons, waterproofed material, color varies from tan to black depending on which coat he chooses

A long sleeve button up

; slits for cuff links, typically white, also has a black, green, red, and blue shirt.

An undershirt

; if winter then long sleeve, all other seasons illicit short sleeve or no undershirt, typical color is white

A pair of pants

; tailor made to cover his ankles, varies between gray/black slacks or blue jeans, two pockets, one button, a zipper, an additional internal button to ensure a secure place

A pair of shoes

; generally black leather dress shoes when wearing slacks, generally black running shoes or black waterproofed boots when wearing blue jeans, boots have a hollowed out space in heels, both boots and dress shoes have a spring-action knife beneath toes activated by applying unusual pressure with his big toe.

A shoulder holster

; lightweight suede colored to whatever jacket he chooses to wear, holds one pistol and one magazine, button snaps, only worn on occasions when necessary.

Weapon:

Springfield XDM Compact .45 with two 14-round clips

Major skills and talents:
Infiltration-

Made easier by meticulous research of culture, accents, languages, and extensive background information of whatever organization/person he's to encounter. Infiltration also entails dealing with disarming alarm systems, picking locks, breaking into electronic databases, and the planting of surveillance technologies.

Interrogation

- Yuri has developed strong interrogation techniques over the years while dealing with many members of Hamas and Al Qaeda in classified joint-operations with United States Intelligence agencies. His identity has remained unknown and he is completely unknown among both terrorist groups and most intelligence agencies.

Assassinations-

This plays in part with Infiltration, in which he often times will play the role of a member of a group and bide time until he encounters a head of the organization. Once found, his job typically entails the execution of an interrogation or assassination of said leader. Generally the men he is used to assassinate are the ones who hide behind screens and do not reveal their face in public, only being personally seen by close subordinates.

Typically

for each of his major skills, he has a partner to fulfill other roles he is not entirely adept in and he rarely performs solo operations, opting to performing infiltration with a partner to ensure safety should a cover be blown.

Bio:

"

Little needs to be said of the past because the past is not pertinent to the present nor future

." is often said by Yuri when questioned of his past.

Name: Roshnak the Gism-Rraus (Black Speech for Half-Breed)

Age: Old enough to recall the Eye of Sauron's destruction

Race: Partially Uruk-hai, the remainder is Olog-hai and Goblin

Skills: Hunter, Survivor, Leader, Beast Master, Capable with a bow and more-so with a sword, Incredibly Strong, capable of speaking some of Man's language.

Appearance:

Positive traits
Roshnak can see in darkness as clear as man can see in day, likely because of Goblin blood which may run in his veins.
He is Larger than most Orcs, standing Seven feet tall, likely because of Troll blood which may run in his veins, which makes other Orcs and Goblins fear and revere him.
He has a small force which he uses to conduct raids and attacks.
He has begun to understand man more, watching from afar at night, learning their ways.
While he is too large to ride Wargs, he has several as pets which his Goblins often ride to conduct quick raids.

Negative Traits
Since he has lived in caves for many years, his sight is poor in the light.
His value of his soldier's lives is little, since he regards the Goblins as sub-Orc and the massive supply of Goblins from both Moria and the caves of Mordor makes them expendable.
He has grown over-confident in his strength, believing he can be as powerful as he was when the Eye of Sauron was still a presence.
The fear he commands may one day come back to bite him.
His subordinates, Goblins, are not trust-worthy creatures and will likely sell him out if captured.


Bio:
Born in Mordor of unknown blood, he was named Rashnak and was given little time to think before his sword, Narthais, was handed to him. From what seemed like the dawn of his birth he was trained to fight, taught carefully, educated to an extent. In comparison to his clumsy brethren in the army of Saruman, he was much more intelligent, much more battle-savvy, and much stronger. Although his strength was a blessing of blood-lines and not of training. His origin is unknown for he knows nothing of his father nor his mother, if he even truly has a mother and while he has spent some time, no more than passing musings, contemplating his origin, he just assumes his father was a half-breed of Uruk-hai and Goblin (short, cave-dwelling Orc) and his mother was perhaps a troll, though he shudders at the thought of a female troll for the males are even more disgusting than Men with their pasty sweaty flesh. After the loss of the Eye of Sauron, he grabbed hold of several Orcs, goblins, and a single berserker who he had to beat senseless before having the Orcs carry him, and took to the caves where he felt accustom to and where he would chose to live until the dawn of the day of Orc. Since taking refuge in the cave, he and the goblins have expanded their territory into the mountains. The berserker he took hold of stays in chains in a special cave because Rashnak does not trust him for anything beyond fury and only intends on releasing him when the time is right, if it ever is. Currently Rashnak is hunting for ways to expand his numbers from a measly two dozen to an army's worth, but only time will tell if he can rally Orcs, Uruk-hai, the Goblins or Moria, and the Trolls (though that endeavor proves near impossible with the loss of Sauron).

Villain

Name:
Jeremiah Cores

Alias:
Jeremiah the Jumper

Age:
21

Sex:
Yes, please.

Powers:
Shape-shifting
Short-range Teleportation
His physical attributes vary greatly depending on what he shape-shifts into.

Weaknesses:
When he teleports, he is blind for a very short moment where he has to move based upon what he saw before he teleported.
He cares much more about amusing himself than being serious and because of this he tends to blow opportunities while he is in the mindset of Jeremiah/Lazarus.
Each

Appearance:
In the business world, he is Tom Barr, 57, C.E.O. of Barr Pharmaceuticals.

This is his appearance when among other villains or going about crimes without hiding his appearance.


Personality:
It changes drastically from person to person, so it should not be expected for there to be a single personality.

Worst thing they've ever done:
Taken over several corporations and collapsed a massive international bank who refused to be bought out, which in tern crippled a country's economy for sometime, during which through 'philanthropic' moves, he seized control of most companies located within said country. He did this while being Tom Barr. The worst Jeremiah/Lazzarus has done was steal from various jewelers and banks because he enjoys the thrill of it.





Hero

Name:
Adrian Wolfe

Alias:
Wolfe

Age:
24

Sex:
Masculine

Powers:
Ability to replicate, aka 'cloning.'
Extraordinarily strong legs and arms
Ability to grow claws from his fingers

Weaknesses:
His chest is unusually sensitive to pain
His clones become weaker as he produces more of them, each one being half as strong as the original
He tends to put his faith in people very quickly.

Appearance:


Personality:
Adrian is very outgoing, mostly looking to have fun in life and enjoy life as much as he can before he moves on from this world. When he deals with his allies, he tries to be great for moral outside of fights. When dealing with enemies of his fellow heroes, he will be very cautious and protective of his friends. Because his allias is actually part of his name, it is not very secret that he is a hero and most people close to him have long ago figured out his is a hero, though he likes the little bit of fame it brings him.

Name:

Sven Caldorous

Age:

Nineteen

Gender:

Masculine

Appearance:

History:

Born into Alethea as a first generation citizen, his parents immigrants, he has come into the world with almost nothing, his mother a seamstress, his father a farmer. For the first several years of his life there was little food that came his way because he was unable to earn it and his parents barely made enough money to feed him as well as themselves. By the time he was six years old, he took to being a pickpocket, learning how to move his hands quickly and smoothly as well as how to run fast when he was caught. With age, came talent and soon enough he was stealing more and becoming much better at it, rarely being caught. By day, he was a street performer known well for his juggling routine, in which he juggled knives, occasionally blind-folded. He frequently traveled to avoid suspicion and prosecution for when night came, he entered homes and stole valuables, as well as food, and then brought them to a system of fences well in touch with the guild of thieves, known as The Black Hands.

Over the years, he grew to become one of the best known thieves, taking it upon himself to steal for people now and not just himself. He particularly loved stealing from nobles, which became a hobby of his, where he would steal anything he could walk out with and then leave behind a broach of snake pinned to the nightwear of the head of a household. It was his personal touch that made him become well known and hated by the guard, which rarely managed to gain any traction on finding his whereabouts or even name and appearance.

On his nineteenth year of life, he was finally caught while escaping the castle after a particularly daring theft of the Emperor's crown. On his way out of the castle, while scaling down the side of the castle's wall, a guard spotted him and firing an arrow down onto him, going into his forearm and causing him to lose grip and fall into the lake adjacent to the wall. He pulled himself to shore and lost consciousness. By the time he came to, he was in a prison face to face with the Emperor. A rather uncomfortable encounter. For his talent in being almost ghost-like, he was given the choice of death or being given to Sahayle, where he would learn to be a mage and then be the Emperors servant until death. Sven tried to chose death before a life of servitude, but that option was revoked as soon as Sven tried to chose it.

Personality:

(I'd rather it be more developed in IC)
He is rather shifty, as expected of a thief. He has a sense of justice and of right and wrong and while he is a thief, he does have certain moral principles. Sven is known for always appearing to be joyful among others because he doesn't like to allow others to see him for his true self. He can be quite cheeky, as shown when he tried to chose death over servitude when confronted by the emperor.

Non-magical skills, talents and/or strengths:

Sleight of hand, quick reflexes, lock-picking, a lot of physical strength even though he is not overtly muscular, sharp eyes, the ability to make almost no sound, street smarts, and his performing abilities.

Weaknesses/fears:

He has a fear of his inevitable servitude and/or imprisonment, people naturally distrust him since it has become known that he is a thief, he has little book smarts, he fears being unable to enjoy his current lifestyle and being force to go back to being without food most of the time like when he was a child.

What they think about magic:

He held some intrigue in the magic of old when he read about them in books -what little of book reading he did- and often wondered about what wonders he could do with magic. He often dreamed of using magic in his performances and in his thefts, though now he has become rather annoyed with magic because he is being forced to learn it with -essentially- a blade to his back.

Other character notes:

On his left hand, he is missing his ring finger because it is policy for the guard to remove the ring finger of a thief.

[/spoiler]
Name:
Kennith Hannock

Callsign:
Oculus

Age:
27

Gender:
Male

Role:
Sniper/Scout

Standard Weapon Loadout:

Spoiler

M110 Sniper Rifle with an adjustable scope, compatible with the PADD system

FMG9 with a folding stock, creating minimal occupied space.

Equipment:

Spoiler

x3 incendiary grenades

A cybernetic right eye, fully compatible with his PADD system. Set to military standard with zooming function, night vision, and PADD functionality.

Bio:
Born in 2000, Kennith was raised by a single father, due to his mother passing away shortly after childbirth. His Father was a former Lieutenant Colonel of the US Army and as decommisioned after taking a .223 round to the back during a firefight from friendly fire. Growing up in a very strict household, Kennith was very used to living life in a very structured and efficient lifestyle. He joined the Boy Scouts and quickly took on the role of a leader, becoming well known in his community for his constant work even though he was only in his pre-teens at the time. By the time he was old enough to enter high school, he had already earned the rank of an Eagle Scout and was then shipped off to a military school to properly learn how to act as a future military man, as his father had groomed him since birth. Kennith quickly excelled, graduating in the top 5% of his class and was immediately enlisted into the U.S. Army at the age of 19.

In the military, he was rarely harassed by the Drill Sergeants due to his exemplary performance and the wide range of misfits that drew the attention away from him. Kennith was nearly immediately shipped out to the Middle East to sit in a military base in Korengal Valley, Afghanistan. Combat was a near daily occurrence due to this valley still being one of the most volatile regions in Afghanistan even after the lull in Taliban activities in the region. He spent five years in the valley before receiving shrapnel from a mortar in the right eye, chest, and jaw. He ran to the front lines of the base and joined in the fight, blood pouring from his wounds and he continued to fight with his brothers in arms until passing out from blood loss, only waking up in a military hospital in America the following day. Everything seemed normal enough, minus the stitches and missing eye that is.

He was offered to enter a new experimental rehabilitation program meant to give 'damaged' soldiers the chance to receive cybernetic implants to continue service. He was the ninth to receive a cybernetic eye and was the fourth to have a successful operation with a new, functioning eye. His new eye gave him the ability to focus, see in the darkness, and follow read outs on his PADD system. Eventually, they gave him an upgrade, the new eye almost entirely replacing his PADD system, now with an improved internal battery powered by the beating of his heart. His new capabilities made him a likely sniper and he took on the role with gusto, providing support roles, acting as a scout, and a recon man. The advantage especially being that he had no need for a spotter, thanks to his eye. His reputation as a multi-role cybernetic test-dummy grabbed the attention of a Seals recruiter who had him re-assigned to the Seals where he was put through hell week and survived with a new fire in his heart.

Info:
Enlisted in U.S. Army in 2019
First witnessed combat in January 2020
Corporal rank in 2021
Sergeant rank in 2022
Master Sergeant rank in 2024
Distinguished Service Cross in 2025
Purple Heart received in 2025
Lost right eye from shrapnel in 2025
Received cybernetic eye in 2025
One of the first soldiers to serve with a cybernetic implant
Re-entered combat duty as a Sniper in 2027
Re-assigned into U.S. Navy Seals 2028

Years of Service in the Navy Seals:
Three months

Other:
Kennith has a bit of shrapnel embedded in his right lung which causes him to have occasional coughing fits.

Name:
Jun Kojima

Age:
26

Gender:
Masculine

Species:
Human with various cybernetic implants

World of Origin: Describe the world, time-period, country, and culture your character comes from.
Earth - 2618 - The Japanese prefecture of the Unified Asian Nations

Culture has, in more ways that one, evolved and devolved through the centuries, especially as population among Earth has skyrocketed to nearly 14 billion people. Overpopulation was thought to be solved once colonies were established on other planets, though that proved unsucessful as transportation of more than several billion people was an impossible venture even with the supported funding of the EU (European Union), UAN (United Asian Nations), and the NAC (North American Coalition). World leaders began to sponsor radical population reductions throughout the world to combat the death of a planet, some much more extreme than others; Brazil's eradication of the lower class every ten years, the EU's euthanisation of any person with long standing illnesses or genetic deformity, the NAC's killing of any person over the age of forty. The only leaders who do not outright sponsor the execution of citizens are the leaders of MAC (Muslim African Coalition) and UAN, though MAC is too busy fighting wars with the EU over territory and living space to have enough funds or enough people to require executions. The UAN has put in place a special program aimed at anyone below the age of fifty where should you become a well placed member in the program, you life shall be filled with luxury. The program, known as The Khaos Theatre throughout the world, is a rejuvenation of the gladiatorial arenas of Roman times only now the gladiators compete with highly advanced technological weapons in arenas which are broadcast worldwide and are more respected than world leaders. The Khaos Theatre is entirely voluntary though there are still over two billion competitors at any given time with not only citizens of the UAN fighting for luxury, but citizens of other nations fighting for citizenship. Khaos contenders are given the choice of any piece of gear they could possibly imagine, from ancient pre-gunpowder amours and swords to future age weapons and gear crafted from a substance called 'hard light'. The chosen gear is then implanted under contender's skin via microchips which link in with nerves, causing them to glow a faint hue (of the contenders choice) which, when activated, near instantaneously creates the chosen gear out of perceived nothingness. Such has technology evolved that the virtual world has fused with reality to create near infinite possibilities, should one be bold enough to pursue them.

Appearance:

Jun's hear has always been particularly long, partially because he is not a fan of his forehead, and partially to hide a decent part of his glasses which he wears because he cannot afford to replace his left eye with an ocular implant like he did his right after years of sight loss which have since slowed to a halt. His skin is rather pale due to little time in the sun, both from a lot of time under armour and in in the city, which has little sunlight due to heavy pollution. Beneath his skin, there is a faint blue glow barely visible through his flesh which highlights where his implants are, which follow along his central nerves. He is not particularly tall, only standing at 5'9, though his speed makes up for his lack of an intimidating presence.

Taking inspiration from one of the most revered pieces of science fiction which inspired many of the technologies utilized in The Khaos Theatre, Jun designed a set of gear which replicates the style of Tron with a pair of light disks as his weapons of choice. Within his gauntlets are retraction pulsators which call the light disks back to him when activated. His sabatons have a gravitational field within them, allowing his feet to become attracted to whatever surface they are nearest, which is incredibly useful should one need to climb a vertical wall or lock onto the ceiling.

Abilities and skills:
Changquan: A style of Northern Chinese martial arts focusing on swift kicking and circular striking methods, meant to be a fast fighting style to overcome defense and to be a swift enough style that defense is found within its offensive style. A large focus though if acrobatic kicks and flips which require flexibility and balance.

Xingyiquan: A style of Northern Chinese martial arts which focuses on keeping the fists near the heart and the elbows near the ribs to keep the body on a vertical plain while maintaining a defensive posture with the intention of running through opponents with a single burst of strength.

Materialization: His armour's ability to almost instantaneously appear over his body with his light disks appearing either in his hands or attached to his hips.

Light Disks: His two weapons of choice, which are Frisbee shaped with open centers to allow him to both throw the weapon like a discus or use it as a close combat blade-like weapon.

Implants: His right eye is an implant which is capable of essentially giving him an HUD readout which overlays with his complete vision, allowing him to constantly keep up with readouts of his armour, weapons, time, longitude, latitude, altitude, wind speeds, temperature, moisture in the air, with a tracking function. His lungs, having been horrendously damaged from the heavy pollution have also been replaced and function much more efficiently than his lungs, allowing more thorough oxygenation with an advanced pollutant filtration system as well as the ability to hold reserves should he ever find himself unable to breath.

Tri-Lingual: Jun speaks Chinese and English, the two required languages of the world, as well as his native Japanese language.

Technological Aficionado: In his time, he is a very skilled technician with computational systems, many of which are plugged directly into one's mind or ocular implant, as well as the more traditional screen based systems which are displayed on glass panes with micro-thin processors within the glass. Computers of the 21st century would seem painfully inept and incredibly simplistic to Jun.

Weaknesses:
Degrading skill
While formally trained in both martial arts skills, his training has drifted with lack of continuity and his style is informal at best. He can, in combat, achieve a sudden burst of strength or a very controlled and quick series of attacks though his largest weakness is his incredibly lack of defense in most of his fighting styles.

The folly of the Frisbee
The light disks he uses are primarily meant to be thrown, meaning that if he whiffs his throw, he must wait for the discs to lose momentum and then return.

Blindness
His helmet, when worn reduces peripheral vision and should his right eye be damaged or go haywire, he only has his left eye which is borderline blind.

Fighting mostly against practice dummies
Anyone that understands how to properly fight could prove to be a challenge for Jun. The reason he survived as long as he did in the Khaos Theatre is due to the lack of skill or any semblance of training most other contenders have.

Boomsticks
One of his greatest weaknesses in any kind of combat situation would be a firearm. Firearms are in many ways his bane.

Unremarkable armour with electronic dependency
Though his armour is strong enough to take quite a bit of beating, being shot is still painful and enough persistence would eventually lead to breaking his armour, which he would later on have to repair. Also, any form of electro-magnetic pulse technology would wreak havoc on him.

Not the most sociable fellow
Jun is difficult to become well acquainted with due to his almost hermit like lifestyle outside of the Theatre. He has the natural problem of not having reliable allies, plus it's rather likely that people wouldn't be too comfortable around someone like Jun who has killed so many people.

A killer's conscious
Having killed so many people in his life, there is the emotional and mental toll that will always persist in the background of his thoughts. This is something he tends to mentally beat himself up over.

History:

Born to a family living in abject poverty in the year 2592, Jun was immediately thrown into a constant state of need where 'want' was out of the question. It was around his birth that the The Khaos Theatre became a reality and drew in hundreds of millions with the promise of a life of luxury to the top thousand competitors at the end of the first season. It was during the first season that Jun's entire family, minus his mother and mentally addled grandmother, were slaughtered competing in the arena. To this day, Jun still remembers seeing his father and uncle dressed head to toe in ancient samurai gear, fending off several other fighters before being eviscerated by a proton grenade. Jun was four at the time and hardly understood what that brief snippet of time meant. His mother soon died of grief as he called it, though it was closer to a suicide through his grandmother's medication. His grandmother shortly after died, leaving him to fend for himself as the age of six. He took the only avenue that made sense at the time. Seek admittance to the Khaos Theatre's training division. It was a subprogram to the event which was meant to take on young children, more often than not orphans, and turn them into the greatest fighters for the Khaos Theatre, which within its first five years of existence was already the number one form of entertainment on Earth and among the distant colonies. His training was severe, leading him through the military life from the age of six up to thirteen. Daily life was simple. Wake up at first light, wash up, eat, attend the martial arts of your choice, enter pre-arena practice, attend basic schooling, eat a very nutritious lunch, attend a second martial arts course or your assigned physician if it was your assigned day, eat dinner, then for the three hours before lights out Jun had free reign over what he did, and then the entire process repeated. Typically during his free time he would work with the latest technological programs in order to get any advantage he could have once they graduated from the program and had the opportunity to design their armour which they would either reign supreme in or die in. Nothing like getting to pick out your potential funeral suit at the age of thirteen. It was during the time of his graduation that he received his augmentations, the ocular implant and the new set of lungs. These two implants ate up all the money he had received from selling all of his late family's possessions but it was a vast improvement over death and blindness.
Fast forward thirteen years, Jun had become one of the top Khaos Theatre competitors under the call sign Rampart, being known for his twin light disks and rapid fighting style which tore through opponents. As the arena sport grew in popularity and its contender population grew to nearly 15% of the world's population, the threshold for winners grew as well, though fighters now had to fight nearly quintuple the original number of opponents that previous contenders battled. Jun, over the years has survived 12 seasons with this being his 13th, the dreaded unlucky number. It was the semi-final match before the grand finale in which one million would fight until only ten thousand remained. Today was just a warm up for the big game tomorrow for Jun though. There were one hundred rounds for the day, each with one million competitors with the top ten thousand moving onto the final round. Jun was in round two, which was beginning shortly and through the thick walls that held his assigned team for the giant game of a multi-team deathmatch he could hear a group of fans screaming "Rampart!". The match start was announced, a massive horn roaring over the sound of ten million screaming fans as the hundreds of doors opened, releasing team after team of competitors. Though the infamous fighter known as Rampart was no where to be found.

Personality:
Jun is a calm person whose life has been so incredibly filled with death and constant threat on his life that most things in life no longer break through his mental wall. Outside of the Theatre, he distanced himself from fans and took to living life in one of the penthouses of the Japanese Prefecture's tallest building as far removed from the world as he could be. His re-entry in the dome after his first victory was a product of his honor bound culture which demanded that if he were to enter this lifestyle, he would fully embrace it with every fiber of his being. Fighting through a battlefield for Jun was as simple as breathing. Walking down a city street, interacting with fans or just random people who attempt to strike up conversation with him in an elevator; That is a battlefield for him.

Jessie Katz - AKA; JK, Kat, Zee, Hood
Between 17 and 18 years old

Role:
Druggie and Dealer, but mostly he acts as a trigger man, though most gang members don't know he is one.
Personality:
Detached, Cold, Calculating, Careful, Efficient, Continually Aloof, Polite, Well Mannered, Off
Bio:
Jessie Katz grew up in a piss-poor home with a father who showed up when he meant to and had a hand ready for anyone who said otherwise. His mother was a beaten dog, believing that the abuse was her fault, the repeating occurrences of her saying "I walked into the door, I'm such a goof." Jessie never said much, lest he was looking for a beating. Jessie grew up learning to wait, to walk on eggshells when around others, and his most important lesson that he learned while in a broken home at the age of fourteen; A two-hundred and thirteen pound Caucasian male can only last forty-nine seconds before going limp like a rag doll and only thirty-two additional seconds before his major organs begin to shut down.
Jessie didn't stick around too long, the fire he started made it hard to go back and word had it his mother didn't get out. They were a part of his history that was heavy, far too heavy for him to have continued life with. It was that time that Jessie took to town hopping, trying to find a good place to settle down and once he did find a place that seemed good enough and had a person dim enough to want to house an 'abandoned' teenager. Now, Jessie goes to school dealing speed to the upper-middle class white kids and meth to the trailer trash. Beyond the Quail Trail though, there was a helluva lot more than most folks would ever know.


Secrets:
"... You expect something from me? Nah... You're looking at the wrong guy... What the fuck are you still looking at?"


Extra:
He always wears a hoodie or some kind of jacket, with blue jeans. In his jacket pockets there is always a pair of knuckle-less leather gloves.

Name:
Marcus Swain (Marc - 126)

Appearance:
Marc stands at 6'8, being slightly shorter than many of his fellow Spartans. While in combat armour though, he stands at 7''. His hair is short, nearly at a buzz-cut with the remaining hair being jet black. From the genetic enhancements put upon his body, though not much was needed due to his background as an ODST, he has very well defined muscle without it being bulky, allowing him to be very mobile. The enhancements did bring wear and tear on his body though, causing his skin to rupture and build scar tissue along parts of his chest and left thigh. It's not pretty, but a Spartan spends too much of their time in armor to worry about physical appearance. Being an Asian/Caucasian with little pigment to his skin, the time sealed away in his armor would've left his normal skin tone incredibly pale though his Asian background has prevented him from being ghostly white. His hands are burned from over-charging Covenant weaponry he would pick up in the field.

In Gungnir armour when anticipating direct and heavy combat.
In Orbital armour when anticipating the necessity of stealth and mobility.
Both armour sets come standard gray in order to prevent him from overly standing out.


Age:
31

Rank:
Petty Officer Second Class

Affiliation:
UNSC

Equipment:

• M7A
• HK9 Combat Rifle
• x4 Fragmentation Grenades
• Built in flashlight
• Titanium-A Kukri
• (situational) x3 Incendiary Grenades
• (situational) Jet Pack when wearing Orbital armour
• (situational) Hard Light Shield when wearing Gungnir armour

Biography
(beginning at the age of 17)
Marcus entered the ODST at the age of 19 after enlisting at the age of seventeen by lying about his age during the surge of needed troops at the height of war with against the Covenant. After clawing his way through battle fields, risking life and limb on a frequent basis in order to become noticed by his superiors. Once being placed in a special operations unit belonging to the UNSC Army branch, he almost immediately attempted to jump ship to the ODST, which were in need of soldiers after particularly heavy losses. Being an all-volunteer branch with a high casualty rate, they accepted him and nearly all others who applied. He was told he acted like a machine, only living to fight, on more than one occasion when returning from drops and he had become increasingly well known amongst the ODSTs for his ferocity in the field as well as his near constant cycling from the drop pods, to the battle field and then back to the ships for his next job. What began to draw focus was when his number of confirmed kills of Jiralhanae has reached around sixteen and his capability with Covenant weapons, primarily the Type-51, which has since been replaced by the Plasma Lancer. After four years of being an ODST, the offer was extended to him to join the Spartan IV program, which he did with gusto.

Miscellaneous:
He identifies as a Spartan even though he was originally an ODST.
Due to the strained relationship between ODST and Spartans, he has been rejected by many of his former ODST brothers.
He prefers using Covenant weaponry when he finds any, though he will never discard his M7A.

Christopher Swain

He also goes by his surname, Swain, and Chris as well.

Thirty-Six years old

Physical characteristics -

He is in fairly good shape, being a former part-time instructor for a Martial Arts class. He stands at 5'11 and has relatively large hands for someone his size while his feet are average sized. Since he was a child, he suffered from reoccurring headaches and an intolerance of dairy products.

Personality characteristics -

Being young, he has a bit of growing up to do, even though he is more level headed than most of the people his age. During his life before the event, he was a college student edging toward graduation with honors thanks to rigorous studying and dedication to his classes. He carries his intensity to other practices, especially with his new life and his new duties. The idea of being a burden does plague the back of his mind and often drives him to go above and beyond to prove himself. Swain is very comfortable with himself as a person, though he does listen careful to criticism and tries to follow peoples advice to the best of his ability, though he is always more than happy to sit with someone and just listen for awhile. When his youth doesn't get the best of him, he is able to stay very calm and focused and whatever is at hand while he tries to rationally think things through, but every now and then his age gets the best of him and he jumps the gun.

Skills -

Swains readiness to help and his ability to pick up on things has always allowed him to be a jack of all trades, though he is indeed a master of none. One of his specialties is basic fighting, especially with spears, which he taught with in his Martial Arts class. He is generally a good go-to guy if you need something done, want a hand, or just need to have someone listen to what's getting you down.

Biography - (I'd mostly like to develop during the rp, though I'll toss down the basics)

Chris grew up in a fairly quite home back in London and spent most of his youth either studying or playing around with his mates, before finally cracking down on his studies toward the end of secondary school. During the time to attend University, Chris set his focus on the land across the pond and found a school that matched him well enough to attend. Unlike his youth, the time at University was mostly dedicated to his studies as well as a martial arts class that he attended and after reaching a high enough level, began teaching novices for the head instructor. He was aiming for to major in Psychology with a minor in Sociology so he could return to the U.K. and attend Oxford where he aimed to pursue his Masters and hopefully Doctorate in Psychology. Needless to say, things didn't work out as planned.

(Ambrose Jyorin Swainne)
let it be known, Swainne does wear a shirt and doesn't have a muscular physique)

Name:

Ambrose Jyorin Swainne

Age:

Seventeen years old

Gender:

Masculine

Personality:

Swainne is a kind and loving young man who wishes to do no harm to others, though understands that it is an unavoidable part of his life. He struggles with social situations due to a solitary youth, being bed ridden with illness for six years and being schooled from home for much of his life, though he does try to make himself approachable enough, he will often find trouble initiating any form of conversation and may struggle to continue it. To those who show he kindness, he will quickly become loyal and protective. He holds a strong value of life, despite his magical demands and while he does have to take life to survive, he despises those who kill for pleasure.

Skills: (gardening,swimming,etc

Alchemy, Tailoring, dyeing, and archery

Weapon(s) of choice:

A wooden staff which he also uses as a cane.

Current alliance:

Without official alliance

Special power/magical art:

Trans-corpus praestigiae

Years of experience in Type of magical art:

8 years

Type of magical art:

Being capable of parting an alterable state (think soul or spirit, in a way) of himself from his actual body.

Cost of magic usage:
Due to the tremendous strain placed upon his body by performing such magics, his life span is slowly shortened while in his alterable state. In order to combat the loss of his own life, he must consume life, be it lesser or greater life.

Powers in character's possession:

Separation - Separating his, as he says, essence from his body
Essence Alteration - The changing of the essence form either air, tangible shade, or blood
Fusion - Fusing the essence to an inanimate object or a non-human being in order to control, manipulate, or hide among the aforementioned object/creature.
Absorption of life - Ambrose manipulates his essence form in order to leech out the life-force of the creature or, in extreme cases (though it has yet to be done), human in order to increase his life span
Reunification - Returning his essence to his body, be it by returning to his body, or by using his energies to bring his body to his essence form.

Bio:
The earliest memories Ambrose has are being trapped within his own body, bed ridden with a sickness that induced near fully body paralysis, only sparing his internal organs from the halted state the rest of his body was in. For most of his life, he had been blind and unable to hear, let alone feel as both his ears and eyes were also inoperable from the sickness. This left him alone to think and attempt to learn from himself as he explored the depths of consciousness desperate to find meaning in the void that was the first nine years of his life. It took nearly a decade of willpower to force himself to discover any shred of magical potential within his body, which let forth for the briefest of moments an apparition of himself which was not only able to hear, but see the world around him. It was the closest he had every been to freedom, though he could see his actual body frozen in place as he hovered above, an invisible being of air and faint magics. He traveled from the small house, phasing with ease around doors, which quickly led him to the outside where a hunger within him grew. It was the first sensation he had yet to feel and he was drawn to the nearby forest where almost on instinct, his form turned to a tangible shade which glided along the ground in a human-like shape before tackling and drawing the life out of an incredibly surprised boar. The new form that he had experienced had then broken and he was returned once again to his body, his fleshy prison. It took weeks before he attained the freedom once again and once again, he pursued wild-life and sapped life from it, this time lasting marginally longer than before, nearly seven minutes. The process repeated and he had began to notice his actual body looking healthier by the day as he began to leave his body more frequently. It took nearly four years after attaining his new powers before he had gained enough strength to overcome the sickness, though overcoming the severe muscular atrophy was another beast all together. He was lucky to have sight, though it had been damaged from years of disuse, as was his hearing. His right leg never managed to become fully functional as his left leg had become after months of physical training and he resorted to using a wooden stave as a support, which allowed him to finally begin exploring the world beyond his bedroom in his true body. Though this had little impact on the use of his alternate form. If anything, he began to use it more frequently until the effects of his using it became apparent when his health began to deteriorate. If he used it too often, it would kill him, if he used it too infrequently, his prowess would weaken, so he would have to find a balance between using it and how much life he would sap in order to continue life as a man by day and a specter by night (or whenever he chose, really).

Classes: (8)

Advanced Military Evocation

Alchemical Experimentation

Analytical Relativistic Necromancy

Common Alteration

Demonic Engineering

Essential Cabbalistic Research

Essential High-Energy Hermeticism

Paradoxical Demonology

Clubs:

Creative Writing

Name:
Ephraim Garth Carter (He'll never go by this name)
Eli Panic (an alias he's been running with for a majority of his life)

Gender:
Masculine

Appearance:
Overall, Eli is an unremarkable human. Two arms, two legs, a head. The whole shebang. He stands at around 5'7, his body fairly lanky with skin that sees just enough sun to have a noticeable tan. His face is highlighted by two unnaturally green eyes and a Cheshire cat grin that he flashes at every opportunity. His nails are kept in decent shape and he tends to be a bit anal about keeping crap from building up under them. His fingers are fairly long, being nearly an inch longer than most people's his size, which makes him think that he was always supposed to be taller, but thanks to something he stopped growing. He blames jello-cups, though his adoptive mum always insisted it was the cigarettes and coffee. What does she know though, eh? His usual get up revolves around a pair of worn black leather dress shoes, a faded set of blue jeans, a Hawaiian shirt, a black under-shirt, and a bucket hat. The color of the Hawaiian shirt and bucket hat are subject to drastic change at a moments notice. He also wears prescription glasses for reading, though he rarely remembers to take them off.


Species:
At a glance, one would shrug off Eli. He's just another human. Seriously who gives a fuck? Eli generally refers to himself as just another guy, when he talks to humans, but in reality he's something a tad more... off. He calls himself a Jumper, meaning that he can jump to any other dimension at a moments notice and return to Earth anywhere from so quickly that you wouldn't notice he left or he could jump and be gone for years at a time.
Jumpers are particularly bad at communicating with others because, as far as Eli has discovered, there are no other Jumpers, though he also was an adopted child at some point in time, so it's possible that his parents were Jumpers. The concept of time is very vague to Jumpers because they do not necessarily follow the course of time and as far as Eli has grasped so far, he has not physically aged a second since he reached adulthood.
Being a Jumper entails the ability to jump to any dimension at any given time, be it a random dimension or one of his choosing. All a Jumper has to do to make the leap to another dimension is think about another dimension and be there. If he wanted to be in the arsenal dimension where there is a gun shop on every street of every inhabited planet, all he would have to do is decide he wanted to be in the dimension with, as he likes to call it, "a metric fucktonne of weapons." The same thing applies to literally everything. There is even a dimension entirely populated by women. One that Eli visits far more than he cares to admit. Other than his ability to jump around dimensions like a rabid squirrel in a small room, he is incredibly like any other boring human.
One thing that Eli has yet to figure out is whether or not he can die. He's still debating if he's just stupidly lucky or actually immortal.

Age:
He has no idea.

Personality:
Eli likes to play the role of the fool and on the outside he often appears as an idiot. He acts recklessly, wanting to charge hail mary style into most things because he tends to be insanely lucky. When the situation calls for it, he has been known to take of a far more serious role and be there to help people, though he tries to hide this side of himself for the sake of not having to spend all of his free time trying to cheer people up. His own mood is nearly impossible to kill, for he always seems to be able to view the bright side of life, even when he's in a sticky situation like having to fight to the death against a twelve foot tall three armed insectoid in the ninth dimension. Though he is reckless, he still does care greatly for anyone kind enough to give him a mere second of their day and he does like to look out for people.
That all being said, his personality does tend to jump around and adapt to most situations he's in, but more often than not he sticks to his standard personality and mindset.

Name:

Minoru Kenshin Kuosawa

Age:

Twenty-two

Nationality/Ethnicity:

Japanese/Korean

Description:

Standing at 5'9 with a fairly slim frame, Minoru is at a high point in his physical form. His dyed dirty-blonde hair, often left unstyled, is kept at a distance long enough to cover his forehead, but maintained so that it never gets in the way of his dark brown, nearly black, eyes. His left eyebrow is split in two due to a scar through the center of it that runs up his head from a knife wound he received during a training exercise with the RoK Army. Typically while not out in the field, his body is covered in a suit with some light design on it which varies from flora to creatures of myth, followed by a button up shirt -white, always white-, and a black or crimson tie. Underneath his suit is a

tebori tattoo

he recieved while in Japan.

Occupation:

Unemployed, looking for work as a gunman

Side:

No side as of yet, he's brand new to the planet.

Starting Equipment:

A suit (the one within his picture), a metal zippo lighter, a pair of sunglasses, a watch, a silver fork, spoon, and knife, a wallet with ID cards and 55,000 Yen (700 USD), a stainless-steel tanto, and a piece of cleaning cloth.

Transportation:

Nothing beyond his feet.

Personality and Background:

Minoru's childhood was a blur of motion as he moved through schools within South Korea, making average marks consistently while putting forth little effort in his school work. Outside of class, he worked for an American, that formerly assisted RoK soldiers, as a errand boy and in turn got to spend time learning about weapons. Which was every boys dream, especially when your only other options were schooling or work in his father's seafood store in Seoul. The American taught him everything he now knows about weapons, such as maintenance, how to use them, repair them, and how to load one's own ammo. The American had an obsession with Japanese culture which, much like a virus, spread to Minoru and began to influence his life at an ever growing pace. The American began to teach him the basics of swordsmanship, he being an amateur himself, and Minoru began to learn more of the Japanese Bushido system and began to idolize it, dreaming of becoming a Japanese citizen one day and leaving Korea. His parents remained completely ignorant of the matter, partly due to his reluctance to tell them, but chiefly due to the fact that he was only home to sleep and would immediately leave the moment he prepared for the day to either school or the American's home. When he turned eighteen, he immediately entered the RoK Army and quickly became a respected soldier by his officers due to his incredibly strict discipline. When he retired from the forces, twenty-three months later, he left a Sang-byeong (American equivalent to a corporal) and immediately returned to the American's home instead of his parents, wanting to greet the man. Minoru learned that while away, his closest friend and pseudo-father figure had died of a stroke and left everything in his will to Minoru. Without consulting his parents, Minoru took to living in the American's home and quickly sold off everything he could and left the country once he had enough money to rent an apartment in Japan for at least a year.

When he arrived in Japan, he found a home in Tokyo and though it was essentially a roach motel, it was a home nonetheless. It only took him a matter of days to find work, though the work was not something he was particularly proud of. He began to work for the Yakuza, collecting gambling debts by force or in some cases carrying out a Yubitsume in which he cut off a portion of a debter's little finger. It as work that he thought was shameful, but he managed to make enough money to have two meals a day and afford an apartment which was enough for him. Often times, while hunting down gamblers he would end up in brawls with bodyguards or debters themselves and had been forced to maim or even kill people to get to his targets. This work lasted for a month over two years and over the time he had become very skilled in hand to hand fighting and spent most of his free time reinventing styles to match his street brawls. Minoru's distaste for the work managed to reach his Oyabun who in turn wanted to punish Minoru for his rudeness by performing a Yubitsume on him. Minoru, knowing that once one lost a portion of their little finger also lost a tight grip on their sword, immediately abandoned his home, taking what he could stuff into his pockets before jumping on the next ship to New Hyboria.

Misc:

Minoru holds a very idealistic, though occasionally misplaced, focus on honor, especially in regard to the outdated Bushido. He is against ritualistic suicide, believing that if he is to die, he is to die attempting to redeem himself instead of committing seppuku for failing. He is a strong believer in second chances and redemption, partially due to this new life on New Hyboria being his redemption (hopefully).

[Marx]

Name:
Johnathan "Cash" Hickson

Age:

Twenty-four

Appearance:

Personality:

"I like to think I'ma good 'nuff guy. I treat ladies right, let men go about their business. Usually I just keep quiet and move along, but if you really oughta know stranger, I'm ain't here to play 'round. Now get, I think I see some IPF comin'."

Affiliation:

Outlaw

Backstory:

Born in a backwater town called "Little Rock" a hundred or so miles from the gleaming city of Haven, Johnathan was raised an honest man. One who was expected to be humble and fear the god almighty who was watchin' down on 'em, his mama used to say. Being the boy of a farmer and a housewife, either you get a hankerin' to go about or you become so dulled that you stick around and let the cycle go full circle. As far back as Johnathan can remember, he thinks of his youth and how he always wanted to run for the dunes. Usually he thought of this as he sat against the windowsill, his forehead pressed onto the glass which was usually nearly as cold as the outside, which at night varied from the low twenties to the high negative thirties. In one ear, he'd wear an ear bud from his several decade outdated music player which would run through the music that he'd fallen in love with since he stole this device from his neighbor. Johnny Cash and AC/DC were the ones that stuck with him, the ones that made him want to kick up and get the fuck out. Exactly what he did a few weeks after he turned sixteen. "Mama, I ain't no son of god, I ain't no farmer, and all else, I ain't stickin' round here," was the last he said to his mother while his father was out tending to the fields. He fell onto the motorbike, kicking it to life and waited a brief few seconds to start up before he nuked the throttle and shot off leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

Since that day, he's takin' to, as he likes to call it, 'bank withdrawals' and 'lightening the train's load'. For a few months, he was considered a no name and was relatively ignored among the wastes (as he referred to the deserts), until the day he saw an offer to good to pass up. A steel serpent snaked through the sandy dunes, the IPF banner emblazoned on its side, lettin' the whole damn world know something was in it and whatever that something was, must've been good. Johnathan, or as he was better known now, Cash, sent his bike into full throttle auto-pilot along the side of the roaring metal beast with a belly lined with gold. "C'mon, honey," He mumbled, going into his backpack to pull out a set of electromagnetic locks and his fusion cutter all linked up to a large battery on his back. He slowly stood up, getting his balance while avoiding looking at the ground moving past his feet swift as lightening. And he jumped. His arms flailed through the air, the locks coming to life mid way, zipping toward the metal hull which his entire body slammed against. Using the locks, he would turn one off and then turn it back on, climbing his way onto the top of the train. Once he had his grip on the top, he went to his cutter, snapping his head down so that the black-out glasses would protect him from the forthcoming light. The plasma cutter seared away at the metal slowly, taking nearly ten minutes for him to cut a circular hole large enough for him to fit through. He gave it a few minutes to cool before sliding in to a mostly empty car. Though there was one piece that did catch his eye, all hooked up against the side of the car. It was known as a set of power armor. More specifically, a set of the mythical 'Jericho Battle Armor' which most people had never even seen. For Cash though, seeing it just wouldn't cut it. He wanted- No. He

needed

that suit.

A few days later, there was a known message shot across most news services, IPF stations, saloons, etc. A man was wanted for grand treason, grand theft, welding without a permit, assaulting a conductor, and antagonizing IPF forces. There was a picture accompanying the news feed of the location where the suit had once been. Now there was only a message burned into the wall, accompanied by a large hole a few meters to the left. It read: "So long and thanks for the sweet gear. Love,

Cash

."

The bounty for his head is currently the seventh highest on the boards, though the only detail known about him is his alias "Cash." Currently, the set of Jerricho Battle Armor hangs up on a wall in Cash's bar, "The Iguana" in the city of Vega, which is sixty-seven miles away from Haven. Only reason Cash hasn't bothered giving that power armor a run is because he can't for the life of him couldn't figure out how to get the damn thing to work.

Arsenal:

.44 caliber dual action revolver

The "Kriss". Fully automatic, modified to fire .44 caliber rounds

Name:
Sven Rothschild

Age:
16

Appearance:


From:
Verdanturf Town, Hoenn
His mother is a Nurse at the Poke-center and his father is a fisherman. He first became inspired to train pokemon after seeing a contest for the first time, when a ludicolo was dancing around giving the crowd a blast. Soon after, he grew excited about the prospect of training pokemon and would spend everyday of his freetime trying to capture pokemon until oneday he stumbled upon a Lotad who was trying to jump on his head. Soon after, he caught his other two pokemon and after nagging his parents relentlessly, he convicned them to let him go to the academy.

Sexuality:
Hetrosexual

Personality:
He's friendly and like to have fun, partly the reason why the first pokemon he caught is a future Ludicolo. He loves to goof around and get into mischief, which has gotten him in trouble with teachers a lot, but he always bounces back. If a situation calls for it, he will be very empathetic and he hates to see people sad.

Likes:
-Most genres of music, except honky-tonk country. His favorite is rock, both new and old
-Dancing. He's not the best, but he has fun
-Watching battles
-Helping people raise their pokemon
-Steak and Cheese sandwiches

Dislikes:
-Jugglers
-The color yellow
-Television
-Energy Drinks
-Alpha-males


Pokemon:

Lotad - Bozo
Male
Absorb, Bubble Beam, Raindance, Zen Headbutt

Bozo's name was justly given as he seems to believe his duty in life is to sit on Sven's head at any given opportunity. When he meets a new person, he will try to climb up onto Sven's head and hop onto the new person's head as his way of greeting them. He is Sven's closest pokemon because he was the first one Sven caught after Sven saw a Ludicolo perform in the former contest hall in his hometown.

Vulpix - Moot
Female
Will-O-Wisp, Overheat, Quick Attack, Fire Spin, Rest

Moot likes to do one of two things; explore or sleep. Whenever Notch is out, Moot will try to imitate the position of Notch's eye by blinking back and forth between eyes. When out of her pokeball, she tries to sleep in Sven's lap at any chance.

Duskull - Notch
Female
Meanlook, Curse, Calm mind, Shadow ball, Night Shade,

She is the counter to the happy Lotad, usually quiet and observing. She has a great affection for it's master as well at Moot. Whenever she is out of her pokeball, she will either always keep in touch with Sven's leg or stay directly behind Moot. She is incredibly timid, except when it comes to battling in which she completely comes out of her shell.


Extra:
His number one goal is to evolve Bozo into a ludicolo.
While at school, he mainly wants to focus on Pokemon Biology, Breeding 101, Ethology, Evolution, Pokemon Care 101 because while he is not a bad trainer, he doesn't enjoy fighting and most of his pokemon aren't over-enthusiastic about it.[/spoiler]



Name:
Alexander Reins

Age:
39

Appearance:

He often wears a long overcoat which extends to his knees during most of the year, only taking it off during summer. He always wears a vest with his six core pokemon on him and in his coat are many other pokemon, because he dislikes cramming them into the storage boxes.

History:
Born and raised in Viridian City, Kanto, Alexander spent most of his childhood traveling Kanto and climbing his way through the rankings, taking down gym leader after gym leader. He never went on to the elite four, finding them to not be worth the endeavor and would then travel to a new region to take on all the gyms and repeat the process, methodically crushing trainers and gym leaders alike. By the age of twenty-six, he had defeated every gym leader in the known regions and had moved on to attempting to capture every pokemon known to man. Since then he has taken up the job of teaching “capture techniques” in order to fund his searches for the rarer of pokemon and he has become known as one of the best teachers in the subject. Now he has taken up working in the pokemon academy because of a rumor of there being a very unique pokemon on the island. In his spare time he often toys around with pokeballs, having spent much of his time while traveling to examine the workings of pokeballs, so that he can make his more powerful or more capable than the modern series


Sexuality:
Hetrosexual, but is uninterested in any relationships

Personality:
He is very professional, but tries to be kind to his students as well. He is often very quiet outside of the classroom, choosing to focus on his life goal instead of social obligations. He is known to take on students for pet projects and gives them special attention.

Likes:
-Collecting pokemon
-Winter
-Exploring
-Sweets
-Battling

Dislikes:
-Timid people
-Summer
-Limiting the amount of pokemon he keeps with him
-Having to deal with other people

Species: Rhydon
Name: Kratos
Gender: Male

Moveset: Earthquake, Megahorn, Hammer Arm, Protect, Rock Smash, Strength
History: Kratos, named after the Greek god of war, was found by Alexander as a Rhyhorn that was busy chewing through electrical wires, trying to find mushrooms in a field. He was completely oblivious to any sort of pain from the shocks and continued digging until it found its snack, which turned out not to be mushrooms but a very displeased Parasect. Alexander noticed a Paras and dragged it over to the feeding Rhyhorn, who hungrily ate it up and then took to following Alexander like a puppy. Since that day, Alexander has always kept Kratos by his side.

Species: Scizor
Name: Shredder
Gender: Female

Moveset: X-Scissor, Iron Head, Metal Claw, Iron Defense, Swords Dance, Quick Attack
History: Alexander found Shredder, named after the main villain of his favourite cartoon, when he was exploring the Kanto safari and stumbled upon Scyther. Alexander immediately dumped all of his food on the ground and tossed a rock at the Scyther, causing her to go berserk and charge him. That is, until it stumbled on the food and then dropped to the ground, hungrily devouring all of it until her stomach was bound to burst. Once the Scyther seemed pleased, Alexander pulled out his pokeball and captured the Scyther -now Scizor-, no strings attached. Shredder typically stays out of her pokeball when Alexander is not indoors and follows behind him quietly.

Species: Vileplume
Name: Sandman
Gender: Male

Moveset: Sleep Powder, Petal Dance, Solar Beam, Mega Drain
History: Alexander caught Kratos in mid bite on a vileplume who managed to release spores which knocked out Kratos without any effort. Alexander was so impressed by this pokemon’s powerful spores that he captured him and nicknamed him Sandman because of how little effort he took to make other pokemon go to sleep.

Species: Galvantula
Name: Fuzz
Gender: Male

Moveset: Thunder Wave, Fury Cutter, Thunderbolt, Cut, Struggle Bug, Flash
History: Fuzz was found as a Joltik that was clinging to Kratos’s back trying to shock the everloving fuck out of him, to no avail. When Shredder tried to remove the feisty critter, she was shocked so severely that she was unable to move for nearly a week after. Alexander, one he was done laughing, caught the pokemon and raised it carefully so that it would make an excellent addition to his core team.

Species: Froslass
Name: Queen
Gender: Female

Moveset: Powder Snow, Taunt, Icy Wind, Headbutt
History: Discovered in a snowstorm while Alexander was exploring a series of mountain ranges with Shredder, Queen made herself known by freezing Shredder and trying to freeze him. Shredder managed to break free and attack the Froslass, beating it until it was unable to stand, though by that time Shredder was incredibly injured as well. Alexander couldn’t resist adding such a tenacious fighter to his arsenal and took her in.

Species: Scolipede
Name: Slick
Gender: Male

Moveset: Toxic, Giga Impact, Venoshock, Bug Bite, Schreech, Dig
History: Slick joined the team when Alexander found it and had Froslass freeze it. Though this was after it burst from the ground, poisoned Kratos and knocked out Sandman. Froslass managed to freeze him with relative ease by freezing a layer of poisonous liquid which he vomited on himself to poison anything he came in direct contact with. He is extremely rowdy and is only released from his pokeball when Alexander needs a ferocious force.

Extra:
He tends to have many more pokemon on him at all time, though the mentioned pokemon are his core group.

Scavenger Forager

Name:
Adrian White
Goes by Joker

Age:
Twenty-two

Height:
1.7 Meters ("5'7")

Weight:
62kg (137lbs)

Physique:
Adrian is thin with a semi-muscular build.

Ethnicity:
English/American

Skin Tone:
His skin is very lightly tanned from the little sun exposure he has on a daily basis.

Eye Colour:
Hazel

Hair Colour/Length:
Jet black
Short, though poorly cut due to Adrian maintaining his hair with a knife

Facial Hair:
Due to a lack of shaving equipment and a personal choice to not share razors, he's a thin layer of jet black facial hair.

Appearance:
Much like the picture, Adrian's ears poke out just slightly and his nose is slightly larger than normal. Though unlike the picture, his teeth are no longer white as snow, but have been touched with a faint yellow from lack of most hygiene products from the old world. On his right upper arm is a tattoo of a joker wielding a throwing knife and a hand grenade. His left palm has a long diagonal scar from accidentally catching a knife at the bladed end.

Strengths:



Weaknesses:

• Glasses - Adrian's vision is 46 21 and he wears glasses which if broken would leave him at a severe disadvantage. He does have a second pair of glasses, though they're a weaker prescription and have a warped frame.
• Unskilled in fire arms - Adrian has never shot a rifle in his life and due to the necessity of not wasting rounds, he has no intention on trying to learn.
• One for all - Adrian has an almost reckless tendency when with a group of people he cares for. Should things begin to go south, e.g. a horde of undead attack, raiders are in pursuit, etc. He will volunteer to go out and attempt to distract the hostiles in order to give his allies enough time to gain some distance.
• Insomniac - While Adrian is a quick thinker, a lack of sleep does dull his mind. He is unable to sleep while the sun is down and has trouble sleeping when he can see sunlight so more often than not, he operates on four hours of sleep.

Quirks:

• Adrian often rolls his joints, shoulders, and jaw. If he doesn't for a prolonged period, his joints/neck/back/shoulders/jaw begin to get stiff and ache.
• He also cracks his knuckles, wrists, neck, and back. When he doesn't for a prolonged period, the same as above happens.
• Adrian has an oral fixation and will often be chewing on something, be it a toothpick, cigar, bit of plastic, lollipop, etc.

History:
On July ninth, 1993, a day unlike any other to most of the world, a new human named Adrian White was brought into this world. This day was a big day for Adrian. His parents belonged to the lower-Upper class community in Vermont, having a fairly large pile of money sealed away in their bank accounts. He spent much of his youth having his love bought by his mother and father who were far too busy with their respective accounting and law firm to make time for him. Having a common interest with most young boys, Adrian wanted to learn to play with knives. Within days of expressing his interest, his father hired him a trainer who would practice with him four days a week after returning home from school. By thirteen Adrian won his first county-wide throwing competition, by fifteen a state wide competition, and by sixteen he placed third in a nation wide competition. When choosing a school for higher education, he wanted to keep local and was encouraged by his father to pursue a career in law. Naturally, he chose the University of Richmond, but education mostly sat on the back burner as he continued to pursue prestige in the knife and tomahawk throwing community. Each year he entered the World Knife and Tomahawk Throwing Championships and in his freshman and sophomore year he bombed in the competition, not even making it into the top ten. His junior year, due to nearly flunking some of his courses he chose to focus on his studies lest his father stop paying for his education. In his senior year he entered for what he feared may have been a last time. He placed second. Sure, it wasn't first. Sure, he wasn't the best. But second? That's pretty fucking good.

The outbreak happened shortly after Adrian received his degree and for awhile Adrian chose to stick in his home and wait, though his parents never returned home from work. They didn't believe that the outbreak would reach them. They were probably dead now. Adrian eventually left his home to search for survivors and spent much of his time hiding in the shadows, climbing on roof tops, avoiding any contact he could, even though he had every single tomahawk and knife that he owned on his person, as well as a bit of survival gear that he convinced his father to buy him a few birthdays back. Eventually, he stumbled into the Caravan and volunteered to be a scavenger (forager as they liked to call it). So far he's yet to lose anything. Still, there's plenty of way till they get to whatever haven it is they're supposed to be going to.

Equipment:

• SOG firestarter/sharpener.
• Six SOG black tactical tomahawks, each in a hard nylon sheath.
• Fifteen black Gil Hibben throwing knives, each with a nylon sheath.
• 3L (100 oz) camelbak which is usually stored within his back pack.
• A gray waterproof COVRT backpack. Within his backpack is a three spare pairs of socks, three plain white shirts, three pairs of underwear (boxer briefs), and a back up pair of BDU lightweight tactical pants. Each is sealed in a plastic Ziploc bag. He also has three bottle of 150 tablet extra-strength Tylenol to treat frequent headaches/migraines.
• A multi-tool consisting of a fork, knife, spoon, and can opener.
• Olive combat boots with steel toes.
• A custom-made black combat vest made to hold four tomahawks and ten throwing knives with ease of access.
• A lockpick gun which makes the process of breaking into things much faster and quieter.
• Fifty waterproof matches.
• Water-resistant durable stainless-steel analog watch.
• An air horn which was originally intended to be used to get attention from someone, which will now be used should he need to make/be a distraction.
• A black leather wallet with his I.D. cards and 342 USD (though it's rather useless now).
• A ASUS U36JC ultra thin laptop with a 33.7cm (13.3in) screen and a terabyte hard-drive. In the laptop there are around sixty movies, twelve modern games, every single pokemon game (played via emulator), nearly two hundred books, and around seventy gigabytes worth of porn.
• A pair of skull candy ear buds.
• A cleaning cloth for both his knives, his tomahawks, and his glasses.

• Agile - Adrian, before the outbreak, practiced parkour with his mates in his spare time. From this practice, he has become quite able to move quickly on his feet and overcome many urban obstacles he encounters.
• Blades-man - Prior to the outbreak, Adrian was a competitive knife and tomahawk thrower. Because of this, he is very skilled in a variety of bladed weapons and is able to put that skill to far more use in this new world filled with the undead.
• Realist - Adrian handles situations one at a time, taking on what's in front of him and judging it solely from the perspective of what will happen and not 'what if'. His judgement is rarely clouded by flights of fancy and because of that, he's able to maintain a composure and figure out solutions to more likely problems.
• Quick witted - Adrian is as quick in his mind as he is on his feet.

[Marx]

Name:
Maleo, Keeper of the Oasis

Race:
Beastman - Hybrid between man, stag, and peafowl

Age:
Between two-hundred and three-hundred, the keeping of age was always a trifle matter to Maleo.

Appearance:

Maleo stands at 8'7, weighing nearly five-hundred pounds. His hair leaf green and is incredibly long, draping down his back blending in with his greenish feathers. His antlers add an addition three feet to his height, making him technically stand at 11'7. His eyes are a vibrant gold, contrasting the greenish of his feathers and hair, as well as the brownish green of his skin.

Biography:
Once, many generations ago there resided an oasis in the Cerberus Desert inhabited by no more than a few shades wallowing in their lonesome. The oasis was withered and slowly blackening by the years until no more than a shrinking pool and a single dying tree remained. It was around that time that a wandering young human woman whose womb was filled with a soon to be born child she had shared with a beastman stumbled into the fading oasis. She crawled to the pool with her final breaths and drank from the water, giving birth to the child before succumbing to death. The shades, overcome by grief by the death of their first visitor in decades could do nothing but tend to the child, doing what they could to ensure the child's life. Years passed by in the blink of an eye, the shades having shared their magics with the young hybrid whom they had come to refer to as Maleo, an ancient word meaning 'Unity.' It was through the shades combined teachings that young Maleo began to use the three schools of magic to bring the forest back to life. It was years of tireless work to grow mere feet of greenery, though as time passed so did he disconnect with nature. The nature of the Oasis took on Maleo as its own and eventually the two became one, living in symbiosis. The forest slowly grew further and further, though what once took years now took mere months in Maleo's wizened hands. He had noticed by the time he was in his mid fifties that the aging process had long since stopped, his body aging more like a tree than a man. Maleo's growth did eventually stop when he was nearly nine feet tall, a monolithic being to say the least. The shades who raised him paid homage to him, each sacrificing their existence to infuse themselves within the forest. The shade of nature became one with the flora, encouraging their growth and vitality. The shade of warding bound itself to a tree, allowing all wards placed within the oasis to feed of of both its and Maleo's magic. The final shade of music dispersed into the animals, giving Maleo the ability to gift the fauna with the magic of melody.

Magical Abilities:
Warding Magics - Maleo has been a user of Warding Magics since he first discovered his oasis nearly a century ago. Since then, he has become skilled enough to easily deploy wards capable of lasting years at a time. The primary focus Maleo has with Warding is to both defend his land with a protective shield as well as to keep a very keen eye throughout his home. It is rare that so much as a leaf falls without him being aware. Maleo cares not about improving his warding abilities beyond the usage of sight and defense and as far as he is concerned, there is no other use for wards.
Druidism - Maleo's touch with druidic magics is as clear as his his appearance, nature itself having achieved a near oneness with his form. The oasis he resides in responds directly with his mind, his connection visible in all aspects, even by his very footsteps which briefly leave behind a glow. The oasis he resides in has taken on him in response to his desire to become one with it. The animals that reside within his grove have are immediately calmed in his presence and appear to have a much more vivid understanding of their world than most, due to Maleo sharing slivers of himself with all the beings which live in his grove. From the frogs and foxes to the lone hippogryph, Maleo is at peace with them, they respecting and intently listening to his every word. Maleo's connection is so great between his oasis that he believe that if he were to leave the embrace of his home, his body would immediately come undone. He also believes that his oneness with the forest is the reason for his tremendous life-span and the gift to keep track of time.
The Magic of Melody - When one enter's Maleo's oasis, one hears the melodious croaking of frogs, the sing-song chirping of birds, and the tuned chirping of crickets. This is no coincidence, but is a result of Maleo's magical prowess of nature combining with the musical magics. His animals typical noises form a disarming melody which causes peace to flow into those who enter the oasis and on the darkest of nights, one might even see their dreams among the fog. It is rare, but on occasion Maleo will join in with his animals, using the the flora as instruments and when he does, it is said that the flora grows, the power of music alone bringing life where there was none.

Other:
The moment Maleo does leave his haven, he will die as the Oasis he tends to has become as one with him as he has with it. He also believes that the oasis will wither and die if he leaves the grove without a druid to take his place.

Name:
Sven Iuro, the Spellsword of Cerberus

Race:
Hellan

Age:
22

Appearance:

Biography:
The past isn't important. What matters to Sven is only the current. Sven avoids mention of his past because of an extensive period in his life that he is not particularly proud of. Around the time he was fourteen years old, he had become adept with conjuring weapons from arcane energy and as a result, wanted to wield his new found magics. He found his practice for this magic by working as a hunter of sorts, though instead of fauna, he hunted men. He killed nearly a dozen men before the guilt of his actions led him to flee from his homeland in the Hyddick Confederacy to the Cerberus Desert. He soon became lost and found himself dehydrated and barely able to carry on, collapsing within an oasis. It was then that he was discovered by the keeper of the oasis, Maleo and was nursed back to health. In exchange for Maleo's kind services, he pledged his life to Maleo who merely waved a hand at the offer. Maleo sought no more than someone to assist him with matter beyond the forest, one of which was to ensure that those with bounties on their heads would leave the forest in peace. Sven made a home among the Oasis's canopy and in a way, Maleo became the father Sven never had to the point that Maleo would refer to Sven as "My child" when greeting him.
It was after becoming a servant of Maleo that Sven changed his way of life, vowing to no longer take lives and take to a life where he could use his Arcane prowess for something beyond slaughter. Eventually he found himself frequently competing in the arenas as well as acting as one of the main forms of law among the wasteland that was most of the Cerberus Deserts.

Magical Abilities:
The Arcanist - Sven's entire magic capacity is limited to Arcane, though since his childhood, his mind has been attuned to the intricacies of arcane magics. He primarily uses his arcane magic in the arenas of the Cerberus Desert, as well as for miscellaneous work. His magic can be incredibly offensive or defensive, building sudden arcane amour in time to absorb a blow to creating a bow from thin air, launching arrows or pure energy at his foes. Using his arcane talents, he has become an established duelist among the arenas with a startling record of zero kills and nearly seven-dozen victories by opponents forfeiting due to injury/fatigue.

Other:
Sven hates to draw blood, though because of his magical talents with the arcane, most contract offers that reach him involve violence. Often times he ignores requests and goes about his business of either helping Maleo, traveling to arenas, or pursuing criminal bounties.

Name:
Cannoth Yun'thor, the Forsaken Lich

Race:
Once, he was human. Now Cannoth is a shell of his former self.

Age:
Biologically? Mid-forties, perhaps? Cannoth does not keep track, undeath tends to do that.

Appearance:


Biography:
To Be Released once I feel the time of Cannoth has arised.

Magical Abilities:
Death's Embrace - Cannoth's second schooling of magic for him to enter, though unlike summoning, Necromancy became all consuming. It started simply enough with the rebirth of a dead pet, the family hound Wyer. Soon though, he began to bring undeath unto deceased kin, using their re-vitalized bodies to then call back their respective familiars, which he would study and allow his familiar Korath to record the names and knowledge of. His family, upon discovering his delving into the rebirth of their kin, began to plot to strike him down though he caught wind of their plans and learned to make use of curses, which were meant to bring death upon his family. Though he unintentionally cursed himself, bringing death upon himself while simultaneously calling himself forth from the grave, suspending him in undeath.
Sanguine Sorcery - Cannoth's strength in Necromancy spewed over into his dabbling of blood magics and as a result, his dabbling brought forth a creature disgusting to most mortals, though utterly enchanting to Cannoth. She is Hecuba, the Sanguine Concubine and what she lacks in beauty, she makes up for in cruelty. Cannoth can use her blood to re-vitalize himself and Hecuba herself can and will attempt to steal blood from those Cannoth does not wish to allow life.
The Call of a Summoner - Cannoth's family line runs true to a race of familiars known as the Librarians. Upon birth, each member of the Yon'Thor clan is assigned a familiar to be in their permanent servitude. Cannoth's familiar is the Librarian known as Korath, the Caller. Korath reads from his tome ancient hymms of madness which utilize the magic of music to filet the sanity of his targets. His words cut like knives, as do his blade like talons.

Other:
Cannoth will remain inactive until the time is right. Careful, young and old mages alike. Should you awaken Cannoth, a darkness with slowly begin to spread across the land.

&& Appearance:


&& Name:
Roran Hann of the Koiri tribe

&& Age:
33

&& Role:
The Warrior

&& Appearance description:
Standing at six feet and four inches, he is a beast of a man with a thin muscular physique allowing him both speed and thunderous strength gained from years of intense physical training. In his torso there is a pair of circular scars gained from a stampeding boar goring him on its tusks, though unlike the boar Roran escaped with his life. Across his face their is a deep scar running through his right eye which has effectively blinded said eye. His skin is rather tanned due to a lot of time out in the sun, coupled with his stance of garments. Roran will never wear cumbersome armour, believing it to only slow him down and limit his ability. He will never wear more than pants made of the hide beasts he has hunted, a partial mask of cloth, a shirt made of linen by the women of his village (though shirts are removed before battle because of the social and cultural placements unnecessary garment), a jacket made from a massive boar he hunted and slayed, and boots also made of the hide of his prey. Roran's hair will either freely hang or if he anticipates battle, tied behind his head in a ponytail.

&& Personality:
Roran is a strong personality with a distaste for the weak-willed or the meek. Being raised in a Patriarchal society with a heavy emphasis on proving your manliness in order to gain power has conditioned him to find weak men to be without worth. The thrill of battle is something that Roran seeks, the Koiri tribe viewing a death in the battlefield as the only appropriate death for a man. When problems arise before Roran, often times he will immediately decide to act with ferocity, believing that taking time to carefully think through something is merely a waste of everyone’s time. As a result, he is incredibly stubborn and is the last one to embrace change.

&& Biography:
Born to a family of twelve, Roran was the runt of the litter in a tribe of masculinity. His mother would cook, clean, and serve the community as it needed while he father was one of the most respected men in the tribe, being the blacksmith. Much of Roran’s youth was filled with beatings from his eleven older brothers who would use him to practice sparring. It was during his early years that he began to dedicate his life to learning combat in a hope of one day striking down his merciless brothers. He worked with his father in the forge whenever the opportunity made itself available and spent much of his time crafting his own personal axes and club, which were crafted to match his size and the strength he demanded of himself. During his coming of age year, fourteen summers having passed since his birth, the right to declare the future family head was available for all of his brothers. Some stepped out, choosing to not take part in the tribal tradition in which the participating brothers would fight to the death until only one remained. The brothers that stepped out left the tribe, knowing they would face exile for refusing to participate in such an important event. All who remained in the battle were Roran and his six oldest brothers, who payed no mind to Roran and immediately took to fighting one another. By the time only one older brother remained, he was weak from injuries and fatigue. Before Roran could make his final strike, his brother swung his sword catching Roran off guard and effectively blinding his right eye. Roran in a fit of rage easily severed his head with a single swing of his two-handed axe.
From that point, Roran being the future head of the household, took to his duties among the village. Primarily, the hunting of the boars. The boars of the Koiri woods were no normal boars though, weighing in at ten times that of any man with tusks as long as a man’s arm. It was as much an honor to hunt them as it was to be slain by them. Roran’s first hunt began with him taking to the north on a three day trek in pursuit of a boar which had slain four other hunters since the last winter. He came upon the beast by accident, it bursting from the brush with ferocity before crashing into him, its tusks goring his torso, though miraculously missing anything essential. What the beast did not anticipate was its tusks becoming stuck in the tree behind Roran, which allowed him the opportunity to draw his smaller axe and drive it into the thing’s head until its skull was split and its contents were spilled. He was discovered several hours later by a passing member of a friendly tribe, the Maus, and was nursed back to health before being sent home with several warriors carrying the massive boar to his tribe. He was celebrated as a king for the night and both the Koiri and Maus feasted in his name.
Word of an incredibly dangerous journey reached the Koiri tribal leader and when the news was announced to his tribe, Roran immediately volunteered, no Koiri man wanting to challenge Roran for the right to this journey. Roran took his leave immediately, weapons among his person with a fine coat made of the slaughtered boar. He announced before hitting the road that when he returned victorious, he would take the title of tribal master and unite the lands under his reign.

&& Weapons:
A two-handed axe which is meant to be thrown, a secondary axe which is used in close combat against unarmoured opponents, and a spiked club which is rather savage but quite effective.

&& Fighting style:
Might makes right; There is little defense to be found in a Koiri tribesman’s fighting style. The idea is to crush both defense and offense with overwhelming force, believing that there is no need for defense when the foe doesn't have time to attack. The style is incredibly savage and depends on a fighter’s endurance and brute strength, but for a Koiri tribesman, such strength can be found among the weakest male specimens and most of the women.

&& Specialties:
Roran is adept at leather-working and knows his way around a forge, being the son of a blacksmith and it is common for Koiri men to learn to work leather as a child). Cooking is not a specialty of his, though roasting meats and finding food which can be eaten raw among the woods are his specialties. Life on the roads and among the land is typical for Roran as he has had no experience within a town and has a limited understanding of the available luxuries in the world.

&& Misc:
Roran is among the party for entirely selfish reasons, knowing that should he emerge victorious from their travels he will have right to take the seat as his tribes leader and may even be able to take over a few rival tribes with reputation alone.

Name:
Adam "Joker" Reese

Age:
27

Gender:
Male

Appearance:

Standing at 6'1, he is often times one of the taller guys in the room. Typically in casual wear, he wears combat boots which add another half an inch to his height. Day to day, he wears his boots, a pair of jeans, a shirt and a jacket. On his chest and left arm, he has several circular scars from when a dear gorged him on its antlers. His hair is wheat blond and his eyes are a brownish-green.

Personality:
From the military, Adam has learned to take pride in what he does, to take jobs seriously, and to get things done fully. He's a very hard and dedicated worker who's capable of remaining wordless for hours on end due to his many years of hunting in the forests of PA. He takes good care of those he cares about and will always be willing to do the heavy lifting especially when someone is in a rough spot and needs a helping hand. He's not the type to ask for help and whenever he does ask for anything, it's usually a borderline life or death situation.

Skills/Job:
Joker is a capable and licensed pilot of small aircraft and helicopter due to his time in the air force. He is a capable shot, having hunted since he was an eight year old. Through military training, he has a foundation in survival skills. Hunting has taught him to blend into his surroundings and move with minimal sound. Joker is a retired USAF pilot and is currently working as a clerk in a pawn shop.

Equipment:
* .223 Remington Model 700
* 37 .223 rounds
* a pack of beef jerkey (half-eaten)
* .223 Ruger M77
* 60 .223 rounds
* SOG firestarter/sharpener.
* 1 bone knife
* 3L (100 oz)*camelbak which is usually stored within his back pack.
* A gray waterproof COVRT backpack. Within his backpack is a three spare pairs of socks, three plain white shirts, three pairs of underwear (boxer briefs), and a back up pair of BDU lightweight tactical pants. Each is sealed in a plastic Ziploc bag. He also has three bottle of 150 tablet extra-strength Tylenol to treat frequent headaches/migraines.
* A multi-tool consisting of a fork, knife, spoon, and can opener.
* Olive combat boots with steel toes.
* Fifty waterproof matches.
* Water-resistant durable stainless-steel analog watch.
* An air horn which was originally intended to be used to get attention from someone, which will now be used should he need to make/be a distraction.
* A black leather wallet with his I.D. cards and 342 USD (though it's rather useless now).
* ASUS U36JC ultra thin laptop with a 33.7cm (13.3in) screen and a terabyte hard-drive.
* A pair of skull candy ear buds.
* A cleaning cloth for his knife
Those listed in red are located in Joker's rusted-out diesel white Ford Powerstroke pickup truck


Background:
Truth be told, Adam had a bit of trouble with the law growin' up. He and has father would go out hunting on a bi-weekly basis which includes all the time out of hunting season and without tags. His daddy was put in jail for eight years when he was ten, the justice system chose to ignore Adam though. No need to kill a kid's future. He still went hunting some time later once he was old enough to drive, still hunting without tags and out of season, but he never got caught. People weren't all too fond of the local game warden, something that really played into his favor. By the time Adam turned eighteen, he decided to join up with the Air Force. He couldn't afford college and in a way, he was repaying his debt to society. Mostly, he just wanted to get the hell outta dodge. The whole experience was not nearly as exciting as recruiters made it out to be. Most of his first year was shit duty while he learned to fly. Second and third year were dedicated to flying smucks around and once he was shipped off to Afghanistan, shipping around supplies and corpses. Over time, he adjusted to the smell of corpses and tried to lighten the moods when on corpse pick up. That earned him the name Joker, a name that grew on him near immediately. A few years before patient Zero took a bite out of a bartender, Joker's term with the USAF ended and he went home, wanting to get back to his old life.
Currently, Joker is out hunting around 3 kilometers west of The Lodge and something he just picked up in his scope is making him want to get the hell outta dodge once again.

[Marx]

Name:
Ambrose Daeben
Age:
Eighty-nine, equivalent to a human twenty years of age.
Race:
Elven

Homeland:
The outskirts of Digrlauf, along the river.
Loyal to:
Ambrose is loyal to the King Djupskogr, though his loyalty is running thin.

Appearance:
Ambrose stands at 167cm , being much taller than other elves. His ears themselves are rather long as well, standing at 11cm. His body is lanky, though lined with tight thin muscles from his very physically active lifestyle. His face, much like most elves has sharp angles with long thin eyebrows and nearly no ability to grow facial hair. Unlike most elves though, he holds the trait common of nobles to have very sharp eyebrows lining their prominent brow. Though what is truly unique about Ambrose is not his height, but his albinism which has caused him to be born with hair white as snow, skin and eyes grey as the mountains.

Among the humans, they view him as an incredibly strange looking elf. The dwarfs that he has encountered often take a liking to him once they learn about his relationship with most elves, plus his skin and hair reminds them of the colors of their mountain homes. Among the noble elves, he is seen as an abomination, a disgusting being not worthy of his noble status. Among the common Elves, he is seen as an annoyance due to his natural colors being directly in conflict with the nature they immerse themselves in.
Pictures for reference:

Class:
Ranger/Hunter
Magic:
He believes he above average sensory abilities stem from magic and he is very interesting in finding out if he can expand his magical prowess, if he even has any.
Skills:
Wildlife Survival skills
Marksmanship
A level of blade mastery
Acute sense
Capable cook
Tracking
Hunting
Hide tanning & working
Blending in with certain environments
Amateur cartographer
Being almost entirely independent of society

Background: . . . . . . [ This area is one of the longer parts. Describe how your character became what (s)he is today. ]
Born to the noble Claben family, Ambrose was going to be groomed to become a capable leader of the Elven armies. Fate, as it were, had different plans for the newly born child for as he left the womb, his ash grey skin drew the eyes of the entire family. They were disgusted with the creature who in their eyes resembled a troll more than an elf. Especially one with blood as noble as the Claben family. The family who was said to have brought light in the darkest times of Elven history. They named their child Ambrose Daeben, not only stripping him of his family name, but also giving him a family name of 'darkness'. Their way of conveying their disgrace onto the newly born Elf.

Ambrose was reluctantly raised for the first twenty years of his life, ignored by his family as they were desperate to produce a new heir to the noble line which had been tainted by Ambrose's existence. Once he had gained enough knowledge to survive on his own without the helping hand of the loyal servants to the Claben family, he was swiftly asked to leave. Something which he viewed as the best thing he could have ever done in his entire life. Taking what little money he could, he left the haven of the wealthy and attempted to join the lowest caste, assuming at least they would accept him. He had never been more wrong in his entire life. The common Elves turned him away before he could have a chance to voice himself and it was only in the purchasing of equipment that he could find anyone who would be willing to listen to him for more than a few moments. Though those few moments gave him enough information to give him new purpose.

Taking to the fringes of the Digrlauf forests, he found asylum among the desolate marshes. It was close enough to the river that he could easily find clean water, while close enough to the woods that he could hunt. His life became consumed by simple survival for several months, leaving him a seasoned wilderness survivor after many months of life in one of the most unforgiving places in the Digrlauf lands. It wasn't until he spent several years in his isolation that he returned to the nearest outpost in the forests, Dirgaln. The elves among the outpost were not as hostile as Amborse had become accustomed to, though he was very aware of how odd they found him and his strange skin and hair. It was there that his life truly began, that he discovered the path of a Ranger, working for the city to hunt those with bounty, maintain law, and hunt creatures who sought to slaughter Elves. And since that day, nearly seventy years ago, Ambrose has found himself a dedicated Ranger, maintaining law and bringing almost an utter halt to any deaths from the wildlife and monstrosities that plagued the forests. It is from his duty as a Ranger that he has found purpose and from his reputation, among many Common Elves, he has grown beyond their old impressions and earned a great level of respect. Though it is no secret that the nobles would sooner wish him dead than allow him to walk among the innermost regions of Digrlauf.


Personality:
Ambrose is calm and collective, a result from his time removed from society. His patience has grown beyond that of most elves, him being capable of remaining near motionless for hours on end while tracking beasts. In social situations, he has been conditioned to hang back and merely observe, lest he bring attention to himself. And from his experience, most attention is negative attention. He is able to contain his anger, though occasionally it does slip out, often times if he has to get physical with someone/something. Overall he is out of touch with much of society, though he tries to pretend that he still holds on to some of the civility that is commonplace of Elven nobles, having come from a noble family.

Equipment: . . . . . . [ What does your character carry about? Remember that it has to make sense. You can't carry half an armory for any length of time. ]
When home or traveling to the city; Clothing of a noble, see reference picture
When in the forest; Clothing of a ranger - A hood, cloak, pants, leather boots, shirt, and jacket, all of which are dyed to blend into the woods
When in the mountains; Clothing of a ranger - A hood, cloak, pants, leather boots, shirt, and jacket, all of which are dyed to blend into the snow and rocks
A curved blade crafted by Elven smiths
A long bow with a quiver of boar's skin
A back pack of deer hide containing:
An Aged map with markings of areas of interest
Some dried venison, enough to hold him over several days
A wool blanket
A face mask of deer hide for when he is in the presence of anything toxic
A length of rope wound from tree fiber
A knife sheathed in boar's hide
A whetstone to keep his blades and arrows sharp
Leather pads which can be slid into his clothing for extra protection.

Alistair Jules



Nickname:
Among the staff, he only answers to Master Alistair. Among patients, he answers to Ali.

Age:
Nineteen years

Character Role(s):
Unknown - Potentially believed to be among the Suicidal, Homicidal, and Mentally Diseased group.

Personality:
Extremely clam, almost artificially so. It has been rumored that his inability to be phased is a result of a lobotomy, though no one has been able to find a scar, let alone lay a finger on his hair. Among patients, he acts like a big brother and being among the oldest to live within the facility, it was only natural for him to grow a fraternal role over all of those he knows. He is known to be very kind and very patient among the patients, though when in the presence of the staff, his personality changes drastically. He treats the staff as though they're servants and he is some extraordinarily wealthy young man. From the staff, he accepts no mistakes and has been known to, on rare occasions now, backhand doctors and nurses for forgetting to call him 'Master'.

History:
A tape is put into the recorder, a cigarette being snubbed in an ash tray adjacent A long thin finger presses down on the [REC] button, allowing several moments to pass before his warm voice breaks the silence. "Frankly, I'm baffled that Alist- I'm sorry, *cough* Master Alistair is still here. That kid has been here for nearly three years and yet we haven't figured out what the hell is going on in his head or how he got here. All they ever told me was that a Jules family made a very, very substantial donation to our facility in exchange for letting the boy stay here. That's the part that gets me though. No one's ever said what the hell he was sent here for. There's just the rumors that he killed a sibling or was just too much for a bunch of rich snobs to handle. But that's all we have to run off of. Just rumors. The boy never says anything that helps us learn anything and we've already figured out that there isn't any disorder that makes him so cut off from us. He just acts like an punk ass teenager. But I've started to think that maybe that's what he wants. He's hoping we're going to let our guard down on him. I've seen his eyes though. Those eyes are far less absent than he'd like us to think. I've seen him stare me down and pick me apart piece by piece. My money's on him being a killer. It's in his eyes. That's what it has to be... And with his growing popularity among the patients... Christ. He worries me to no fucking end." The man's voice comes to a pause, before adding a final click to the recording, that being his turning off the [REC] button. He quickly removed the tape, marking it 'Patient Alistair Jules, Unknown Orientation, REC #82'. A door to the small room opens up, a petite nurse stepping in with a mocking smile on her face. "Making another recording about the mystery boy, Hannock?" She mocked, walking toward him with her arms crossed. "Shut up Julie, you know as well as I do that kid's a monster." Julie shrugged turning her back to him, "You're the only one here that thinks that. Get it through your head. The boy's just another teenage brat." Hannock only sighed, opening up his personal locker which was nearly full with the recording tapes. "I pray to god you're right."

Tornir Danlat Burtanine, the hunter turned mercenary
Twenty-Six years in age
Tornir's general appearance:

Tornir's face:


His career as a hunter:
Having been a hunter from his youth until recent times, Tornir has built a reputation as a hunter of the mythical creatures known to turn men to ribbons. Originally Tornir began as a hunter of simple game, boar and deer, which he quickly excelled at hunting with bow and spear though his desire for a challenge quickly grew with his ability. Soon, he abandonded the work of a game hunter to pursue more rewarding contracts by magicians who sought ingredients only found among deadly beasts. Tornir rallied a party of five huntsmen, being so lucky as to find several experienced hunters, one which was lucky enough to have seen a Unicorn, the scar from it gorging him verified his tale. Tornir and his party took to the forest and within several months, the surviving three members of his party became a common name among apocrathies and alchemists. Tornir's hunts have led him to slay beasts from orcs and ogres, to hippogriff and man-eating serpents.

Upon leaving his hunting career:
Tornir abandoned the hunting profession after a poor hunt in which his only remaining fellow huntsman was slain by head-severing swing of a Minotaur's cleaver. Tornir, delevered the carcass of the minotaur to a young alchemist and spent his payment traveling to a small coastal town known as Rinthall which held infamy over its apparent lawlessness. The order within Rinthall was maintained by various guilds, most so by the Guild of Mercenaries which held both the most wealth and the largest force within the small coastal town. Tornir, seeing an easy way to make money threw himself to the Guild and was accepted with open-arms, only to be put to work by nights end. Tornir spent much of his time working as a personal guard for wealthy travelers or merchants moving through the Wallowing Swamps which surrounded Rinthall and were heavily inhabited by orcs and spiders the size of ponies. Tornir became well established among the guild for his ability as a marksman in low visibility as well as his ability to navigate and track in the wilderness.

[Marx]

Name: Yuri Mykyta

age: 19

appearance:

Replace the useless armour with clothing like this. He will always be wearing a pair of gloves when not using his abilities. It's like his mental barrier to remind him not to absorb things.

symbol:

The symbol is on his chest directly on top of his heart

abilities: Energy
Energy Absorption: By being in physical contact with an object, animate or inanimate, he can absorb it, breaking down the object to absorb any amount of energy within it. Though he can only absorb things by grabbing them.
Energy Manipulation: Once energy has been absorbed, Yuri is capable of using the energy in order to create barriers and weapons which glow a pale blue to a neon purple -the strongest he has achieved so far- depending on the amount of energy he has focused into it.
The Archon: A last resort in which he absorbs the energy of his own body, merging his own consciousness with raw energy. During that time his energy outputs will be at an all time high. Over a short period of time his form will burn through the energy from his self absorption and he will cease to be.

Location: Shanghai, China

short bio: (shall be revealed through posts) All that shall be revealed at this time is that he is on the run from more than one group of people from the country he arrived in.

Played by:
Marx

Name:
Vladen Sokolov

Nickname:
V, Vlad, Soko

Age:
16

Appearance:

Symbol:

The symbol is located on the back of his right hand.

Abilities:
Creation
Will be elaborated upon as the rp progresses.

Location:
Russia - Serbia - South of the Laptev Sea

Biography:
"It's been nearly two years since mother and father sent me from our home in the suburbs of Moscow to the land of ice and snow known as Siberia. They insist that they've done it so that I may study, may become the next great mind to lead our nation, may become rich and irresponsible with money much like my father. Though, they are no more parents to I, then I am son to them. Of course, they took me in, housed me, fed me, rescued me from a life of poverty. It's not necessarily all bad though. Life in Siberia is humbling, da. Out here though, there is no boundary I'm forced to bend to. There is nothing here to impede upon my life. Among the tundra and the forest, I am accompanied not by men, but by constructs of my design. I have a life of freedom to create, expand, perfect and then do over once more. The Russian Orthodox Church insists that I am a child descended from God, that my ability to create life with no more than a cursory glance and a thought is a sign that I am God incarnate. Personally, I find that insulting. God is not nearly as skilled as I am."