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.
Kazien Torth, though he prefers to be Darth Torth
Caucasian - Eastern European
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.
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.
Makashi, Ataru & Jar'Kai
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.
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
18 years old
Resident or Visitor?
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."
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.
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.
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
Rank: Field Agent
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.
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.
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.
NameBorn 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.
The race of man.
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.
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.
Oskar "Notch" Corwin
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.
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.
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.
Notch has a decent supply of arrows and two bows which he spent many hours crafting with his knife.
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.
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.
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.
He is at the peak of his physical condition, being rather agile and particularly strong. He can hold his own in a fist fight.
Tacos and beef kebabsColor:
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.
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 "."
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.
He is fairly athletic, adept in close combat with various weapons he can create as well as improvised energy fire-arms.
Perrier, AKA Sparkling WaterMusic:
Electronic MusicTheme Song:
Yuri Mykyta Tereshchenko
SZRU(Foreign Intelligence Service of Ukraine)
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 choosesA 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 whiteA 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 placeA 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.
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.Typicallyfor 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.
"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.
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.
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.
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).
Jeremiah the Jumper
His physical attributes vary greatly depending on what he shape-shifts into.
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.
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.
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.
Ability to replicate, aka 'cloning.'
Extraordinarily strong legs and arms
Ability to grow claws from his fingers
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.
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.
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.
(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.
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.
Standard Weapon Loadout:
SpoilerM110 Sniper Rifle with an adjustable scope, compatible with the PADD system
FMG9 with a folding stock, creating minimal occupied space.
Spoilerx3 incendiary grenades
A cybernetic right eye, fully compatible with his PADD system. Set to military standard with zooming function, night vision, and PADD functionality.
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.
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:
Kennith has a bit of shrapnel embedded in his right lung which causes him to have occasional coughing fits.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Druggie and Dealer, but mostly he acts as a trigger man, though most gang members don't know he is one.
Detached, Cold, Calculating, Careful, Efficient, Continually Aloof, Polite, Well Mannered, Off
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.
"... You expect something from me? Nah... You're looking at the wrong guy... What the fuck are you still looking at?"
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.
Marcus Swain (Marc - 126)
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.
Petty Officer Second Class
- 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
(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.
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.
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.
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)
Ambrose Jyorin Swainne
Seventeen years old
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.
Alchemy, Tailoring, dyeing, and archery
Weapon(s) of choice:
A wooden staff which he also uses as a cane.
Without official alliance
Special power/magical art:
Years of experience in Type of magical art:
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.
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).
Advanced Military Evocation
Analytical Relativistic Necromancy
Essential Cabbalistic Research
Essential High-Energy Hermeticism
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)
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.
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.
He has no idea.
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.
Minoru Kenshin Kuosawa
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 atebori tattoohe recieved while in Japan.
Unemployed, looking for work as a gunman
No side as of yet, he's brand new to the planet.
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.
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.
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).