WIP [+]

Name:
Jackdaw Missouri. He goes by 'Jack', however. Shorter.

Alias:
N/A

Age:
21

Appearance:
Jack's appearance has obviously been tailored from his rough lifestyle growing up, like most young men these days. A calloused and tough-fleshed person, Jack has light, chocolate-brown skin, obviously showing of his African-American descent and heritage. His eyes are a dark gray, with an obvious golden-amber hue amongst the middle of both eyebrows, circulating the iris; a natural, genetic mutation, he had thought at first. Something that stands out on his otherwise chiseled, defined face, is the multitude of sharp, livid-red scars dotting along the flesh. One such scar, long and jagged, goes down his left eye, while a smaller, yet no-less shallower scar dips along his fore-head, skirting over his left eyebrow, effectively creating an 'X'-like scar on the young man's visage. Jack's physique, much like his appearance has been defined by his lifestyle; muscular, yet defined and lean, giving him the build of a tough, strong, and fast man, body built from sprinting long distances with heavy loads, lifting heavy items, and rough-housing and fighting every day/other day.

His hair is short and black, matching his eyebrows, as in most cases. The young man's clothing tends to change with the day, but his 'main' outfit, constantly washed and dried out, is a tough, durable, leather brown jacket, unzipped, whilst the collar itself is buttoned around his neck. It's weathered, yet practical, obviously having seen better days. Similarly tough, weathered, and lightly faded-along-the-bottom dark jeans completes his lower body, the right pants-leg tucked into the metal-sewn combat boot. Underneath the jacket, he wears a non-descript black shirt, with dark green, padded, fingerless gloves completing the ensemble. Multiple high-caliber bullets were strapped to various strategic points on his clothing - a necessity for his high-powered revolver, which didn't hold magazines. However, it was all taken away when he was 'arrested'.

Abilities/Skills:
Jack's abilities are more that of a natural Meta-Human, rather than anything honestly 'funky', or 'crazy'. The group he traveled with - effectively called his 'family' - has always said that it made him seem like somewhat of an eagle, but Jack doesn't really care. Basically, his strength, speed, durability, agility, and the likes are all enhanced to a level superior to that of a human, and even some of the more basic Meta-Humans. Although he hasn't been stressed enough to flex it to it's absolute limiting factor, he can apparently lift more than a few tons without strain, sprint at the speed challenging that of a revving motorcycle - although motorcycles are more comfortable for him - and bend and flip through the air with the acrobatic prowess of multiple Olympic gymnasts put together.

However, one of his most defining traits is his unnatural reflexes, precision, accuracy, and hand-to-eye coordination. These qualities are supernatural, even to Meta-Human standards. He can hit a fly's wind from miles away, with a sling-shot and a small pebble...trust me, he's done it before. Due to this, his accuracy with any sort of fire-arm/ranged weapon is just...good. It's perfect. This also goes for close-combat, as his superior speed, and overwhelming reflexes and precision/accuracy allows him to easily take out opponents with swift, sharp strikes to critical areas. A downfall to his powers would most-likely be motion sickness; although his immune system is on-point, he can get sick easily whenever there isn't a sense of gravity around him; basically, levitation isn't his thing, and neither is space-travel, or floating around in a plane. If he's moving at a fast speed through the air, it isn't bad. Just...weightlessness hates him, and he hates it.

Backstory:
Jack's history isn't the most tragic, leading up to the present...but it is definitely filled with different hardships and trials. His original parents...well, naturally, he assumes that they were the classic biker and harlot couple, that had promptly left his butt in some rubble, back at Tower's Fall. The memories are hazy at best, but according to his real mother, they had found his starving body sun-baked to a slab of glass-shredded concrete, about half-way to death. They had taken care of him, nursing his small, child body back to health, good enough to let his Meta-Human factor heal the rest of the injuries and neglect over the course of the next few months.

They were the Talon Company, an infamous Mercenary company, former Deathtroopers of Presidium, and now a tight-knit, small group that travelled the world, doing often dirty and gruesome deeds for a hefty sum. Due to their lack of allegiance and general mystery, and their lack of Meta-Human prowess, the Talon Company wasn't hunted down by any of the new countries, seeing as their work was efficient, swift, and direct; taking out the Talon Company wasn't something you just did on a passing fancy; they were useful.

The two people whom had noticed him first, and officially raised him on the dusty trail, was Cassie Missouri and Reggie Missouri, the two Leaders of the Talon Company, and his new mother and father. Life growing up on the road was tough, and his parents, and the Company, expected much out of him - especially when they discovered the true power of his Meta-Human physiology. Despite hesitation amongst the women, the men trained him in the arts of stealth, close-combat, and especially fire-arms, as early as the age of 4, and due to his photographic mind and supernatural body, he rolled with the punches, becoming a skilled Talon Company Mercenary at the age of 12, where he began taking contracts with the rest of the men and women.

Years passed, with Jack over-all staying off the grid as a mercenary...and then, it was swift, it was bloody, and it was pure traumatizing. At the age of 20, one day before his birthday, they were taken out. Apparently, his father, Reggie, hadn't fulfilled a contract fully, for Vandal Savage - that is, taking out some rebellious forces heading Northwards towards Germania. He wanted Reggie and the Company to do it due to the lack of political and physical backlash it would cause Germania...but Reggie wasn't happy with the money. THe contract, albeit promised, wasn't fulfilled.

The Company was swamped by Germanian forces, and taken out.

Only Jack survived, taking out soldiers left and right...but with every bullet that entered a soldier's head, another five soldiers took their place. Without preparation, time, stealth, and night-time to his advantage, he had no chance to take out the forces. He didn't surrender...but he was knocked out.

When he awoke, he was in prison. How did he end up under Blockbuster's charge? He didn't know. Maybe a trade had happened whilst he was out? Regardless...he wanted revenge for his family's death. He wanted; no, needed to get out of this prison.

A bullet would enter Vandal's skull, and he would pull the trigger.

Sample Post:

Notes: My favorite beverage would have to be Sprite...who doesn't like Sprite?

WIP [+]

| Name: |
No Birth Name

| Alias: |
The Sloth/Sloth

| Age: |
Physically mid-20s, Actually 3

| Appearance: |

Sloth is a strange, somewhat intimidating creature that exists as a testament to the horrid experiments that go on when lawlessness reigns. His body is covered in thick fur, beneath which there are many scars from "tests" and torture.
| Abilities/Skills: |
Sloth is a meta, with enhanced strength and dexterity. He has the capability to maneuver his feet as he does his hands, and is very skilled in close combat, using a very barbaric form of wrestling.

| Backstory: |
Sloth was "born" in a dark, secluded lab in the Presidium. One of many experiments of the mad Doctor Thaddeus Sivana, he was intended to be part of a mutant human-animal hybrid army with which Sivana would stake his claim. Perhaps unfortunately, Lex Luthor caught wind of Sivana's plan, and his punishment was swift and brutal: Sivana was killed violently, and most of the experiments were destroyed. Sloth, however, being infantile at the time, did manage to escape.

From there, Sloth spent most of his very short life wandering the land, constantly in fear of being killed on a whim. For a short while, Sloth found an almost happiness in the jungles of the Gorilla Coast, where he fit in for the most part, and was able to survive on his own. Unfortunately, this was not to last, as he was found and chased out under threat of death, forced to wander once more.

Eventually, Sloth made it to the border of the former country of Mexico. Almost immediately, he was captured and forced into the camps of Pandemonium, too simple to understand what was happening to him anymore. Now he remains there, waiting either to escape, or to die.

| Sample Post: |

| Notes: |
I'm a real fan of Faygo Peach.

wip-magical character [+]

| Name: |
James, Jaredson
| Alias: |
Wrath
| Age: |
21
| Appearance: |
As it is he is two forms trapped in one, a fiery butterfly trapped in an earthly cocoon. Tall for his age and well built, his skin is constantly the red of someone freshly sunburnt and his hair is black and long like a Native American which match his eyes of blotted out jet. He wears scavenged firemans clothing in any city for its fire resistance and durability, seeming to be fit enough to bear the weight with ease. With such scavenging often comes a fireman's ax or bill hook to defend himself with.

| Abilities/Skills: |
Lets call homo-magi just for ease and call him a pyromancer for effect.
In truth he is decended from Trigon, but his blood is so thin over the decades to be laughable in comparison. All he is left with is a temper and an infernal heritage.
He can read from scrolls or cast ritualistic spells with time, knowledge and concentration. Sadly he lacks time, knowledge and concentration. His main power is his pyrokinesis/pyromancy which grows in strength with his temper, the one thing he has in spades. Where his father was the incarnation of wrath, a physically invulnerable and magically super-strong opponent. he is not, he is at the peak of the human condition but still highly mortal except for his invulnerability to heat. He has never tested the highest limits such as jet engines or lava, but it is sufficient for him to not fear his own power to hurt himself.

| Backstory: |

(Who are you? Where did you come from and how did you get thrown in prison.)

| Sample Post: |
"In you go, hot head."

"You really think thats creative?"

"No, the fact you are in a paper-mache' box over a pit of liquid nitrogen is pretty creative though."

This left James to stare a the floor in wonder and fear if such a thing was true or a mere ruse for compliancy, he couldn't afford to test the theory, yet.

| Notes: |
Flaming shots of fireball whiskey!

William Dagger, The Last Detective. [+]

Name: William Dagger

Alias: "The Last Detective"

Age: Forty-five years old

Appearance: William Dagger is a six-foot talk caucasian male. Small, almost unnoticeable scars make up most of his completion. Has black colored hair, and stays moderately groomed and well shaven. Wears his father's old grey GCPD Detective Uniform with a grey fedora, giving him an almost film noir appearance.

Abilities/Skills:

- Genius-level intelligence: Growing up, William was always a bright child and was home-schooled by his mother and father. Fluent in several different languages and has mastery-level comprehension of most subjects.
- Tactician: William is always ready for a fight, prepping for any and all situations and lays coming up with back-up plans and finding escape routes. Many would find his compulsion a mental sickness, but to those who have lied close to him find that he is your go-to guy.
- Expert Combatant: Having trained under regulatory SWAT protocol and basic military training since the age of nine, William is a deadly hand to hand fighter and capable gunslinger, even to some metahumans.

Backstory: William Dagger was born in a small town in Virginia, five years after the events leading to the eventual takeover of the United States by several super-villains. His father, a former detective and SWAT officer in Gotham City, joined the Army as a commanding officer at Fort Brutus just outside of the small country town years before. When everything came to an end, Fort Brutus placed marshal law over the small town and closed it off from the outside for sometime.

William's childhood was cut short at the age of nine when the gang known as "The Jokerz" began terrorizing the citizens still living near the fort. Young William was trained to protect himself and others, and found that he was mystified with the ideals of being a detective like Batman, The Question, and at one time his father. To protect and serve, but able to really make a difference and hopefully find the true source of evil and destroy it at it's core.

At the age of twenty, after years of painstaking training and coming into his own, William's mother was killed by The Jokerz. The manic gang had planted Joker Gas bombs all over town, and set them off just for the giggles. William's father was gunned down by even more Jokerz years later, who raided Fort Brutus by night and slaughter every soldier. Now with no one to protect the town, most people tried to caravan out towards Tower's Fall hoping to find some kind of safe haven there.

William took his father's old uniform and two of his revolvers and struck out on his own, looking for the Jokerz who had slayed his family. For twenty years, William couldn't find a single lead until a small desperate excursion to Joker Land finally gave him the information he needed. Leaving several bodies in his wake, "The Last Detective" was captured by several Deathtroopers and sent to Pandemonium. But luckily, that was exactly what he wanted.

Sample Post: Twelve Jokerz laid in a pool of their own blood, either dead, nearly dead, or laughing through their last breaths. One Joker still remained, the runt of the liter. William could remember his face, seeing him back near Fort Brutus with blood splattered all over his purple overalls and white face-paint all those years ago.

"You won't make me talk man!," the jittery bastard shouted. "I ain't ever gun' never talk to you man! I swear!"

"Works for me," William replied as he lifted his revolver over the clown's knee and fired. The bullet ripped through the Joker's leg instantly, unleashing a pained laugh from the psychopath. Blood red tears dripped down his eyes as he just kept on laughing. It seemed almost as natural as breathing for the lunatic.

"M...Mr. J says, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but bullets can always be pulled out!'," the Joker continued as he bellowed an even harder laugh. William hated this person,...no, this thing.

"Why did you do it," he questioned as he paced around the downed clown, spinning the chamber of his revolver. He didn't care what The Jokerz motives were. He knew why and how and when, but he just wanted to hear it from this bastard. He wanted the facts. Not just some hearsay bull there just to make him feel some sort of closure. He wanted it straight from the source.

"Mr. J also likes to talk about how snitches will get their intestines ripped out of their asses, so no. Nononononononononononono!"

William grunted and looked out from the small shack this group of gang members had been using for a base and noticed the spotlight of a military helicopter. No, paramilitary. Deathtroopers.

"Well lookie look!," the clown shouted in joy, "looks like I ain't haven't to answer not nothin'."

"Sounds about right," William replied as he slammed the chamber back into his revolver. One shot left.

"This is what is about to happen amigo. You are going to die! End of story! A masterpiece if I do say so myself!!"

"No."

The Joker stopped dead silent, even it's incisive laughter stopping in it's tracks. He looked up to William, who now had his revolver dead against the clown's temple. William Dagger knew what came next. He would end this pathetic bastard's evil existence, walk outside, and surrender. If he was lucky he would be sent to the work camps down in Mexico, or what was left of it. He would need an alias, in case he had family in other parts of the country who were still alive and unharmed for now. He'd been working on one for a while, but one name just came perfectly in mind.

The Last Detective.

Notes: Coffee and Angry Orchard Hard-Cider. Never at the same time though.

Alexander Mcleman [+]

Name: Alexander 'Alex' Mcleman
Age: 43
Appearance:

Alex bears a large burn scar that travels from his cheek down to his chest. His hair is what he calls 'strawberry blonde' but in fact, it is ginger. His hair is messy and usually left as it is when he wakes up. His beard matches his hair in colour but he tends to take more time trimming that than he does his hair. He can usually be seen wearing his fathers "Glasgow" T-shirt with a ragged jacket over it. He also wears old, slightly torn jeans that are upturned at the feet. On his feet he wears regular old boots. He stands at 5 foot 10 and weighs around 75kg. He bears a bit of muscle on his arms but not as much as he did in his youth.
Abilities/Skills: Alex is a master engineer, capable of creating, repairing and modifying weapons using minimal equipment. That being said, he is also quite good at utilizing these weapons and is a crackshot with a rifle. Alex also knows some hand to hand combat, but not enough to pose a major threat to someone who had been properly trained in it.
Backstory: (Who are you? Where did you come from and how did you get thrown in prison.)
Sample Post: (Be sure to show off your character's personality here and maybe some of their abilities. If you need an idea for this post, why not cover the day you were imprisoned.)
Notes: Irn-Bru, of course.

Unfinished

Hider [+]

WIP

Name: Jackson Darcone
Alias: He has been known to don the alias of “White Blaze”
Age: 21
Gender: Male

Appearance:

Jackson has a lean build to him, which means he doesn’t have a lot of muscle on him. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have msucle, just not as much of say, someone who works out constantly. He has white skin and a mixture of brown and blonde hair. It comes to be about neck length. His bangs cover most of his forehead. The sides of his head is shaved like a buzz-cut. He has soft green eyes that tell of where he’s been and who he is. His height and weight are average -- 5’7 and 150lbs respectively. His attire is pretty normal, given the circumstances. He wears loose yet fit black pants that are held snug at his waistline by a series of belts. He wears a brown-colored tank top. Over it is a black leather jacket that comes with a hood that also has several latches to hold various items. He also has a scarf-like item around his neck that he can use to conceal his face in case of events that he needs to do as such.

Abilities/Skills:

White Fire Manipulation:
Jackson is able to manipulate the hottest type of fire known to man and that is the White Flame. With it, he can utilize high temperatures to incinerate almost anything, reducing it to ashes. He is highly skilled in this skill, so he is able to control the white fire and choose which body part of a human being he wants to reduce to ashes. He is, however, only limited to organic and inorganic materials, but metal is suspect to it as well. Depending on the size of the object/person, it may take time for it/them to be completely reduced to ashes. There‘s also the aspect of whether said person can manipulate ashes.

Jackson can manipulate the white flames in such ways that he can increase the kinetic energy of atoms and molecules, causing them to ignite. This process creates heat and light, which would also be at Jackson’s disposal. However, he is also suspect to becoming lit like a Christmas tree if he isn’t careful.

Other such skills that Jackson can use while using his White Fire is that he can draw fire breath from his mouth and use it to attack his foes, release the white fire in the form of fireballs or heat vision. All of these come with minimal cost, so he uses them repeatedly. It’s actually the more common usage of his power.

Even though he has proved to be highly skilled with this ability, there are still feats that Jackson hasn’t even begun to tap into. He’s heard of people who have fully-mastered this ability that were able to actually use the white fire as means of purification. He knows of one type of fire power that does that and it’s called Holy Fire. He’s heard of people being able to remove evil or darkness from an object or person with as much of a single touch. It’s feats like those that make Jackson want to keep training and hopefully learn from such people so that he can learn the more advanced skills of his ability. Though, he is pretty close to being able to summon beings of fire and light. It’s just not there yet.

Backstory:

Sample Post: (Be sure to show off your character's personality here and maybe some of their abilities. If you need an idea for this post, why not cover the day you were imprisoned.)

Notes: (Anything else you wish to add. *wink wink*)

<Snipped quote by SuperTacticalDerp>

Personally, I have reservations over the skillset of your character, although his age lessens the blow somewhat, and also how Jackdaw obviously this is Batman born-again. We're not against characters in this RP eventually taking up the mantles of fallen legends - but personally I'm not sure I want it to be this obvious. However, it's a complete sheet, and also probably my favourite so far (and Wraith has expressed his love as well), so pending input from my colleagues on his power-level, and whether we're comfortable with near-expy characters, consider this an official Roman Approval.

Ew, formatting. Can anyone say "wall of text"?

But for some less superficial concerns, this is another 'good shot/skilled cqc combatant', with additional powersets. Someone who can make cool stuff from junk doesn't need to be a good shot or a martial artist, they just need the salvaged equipment of a deathcruiser to turn into a mini-nuke launcher that blows up a hammer imbued with a world-stone so that his teammate can grab it and harness the power of friendship and bitching one-liners to use purple to blow up Lee Pace.

What I'm saying is, Rocket Raccoon is cooler than this character right now.

<Snipped quote by Roman>

I didn't make it to be cool. I was making a non-superpowered character who just happened to be good at shooting. Sorry that my formatting isn't up to your standards but if it's that much of a bother that you need to be rude about it and actually say that you think Rocket Raccoon is cooler than my character then I'd prefer to just not be in this roleplay.

Bye.

Yeah I normally don't read Marvel but it caught my interest

<Snipped quote by Lord Wraith>

Not a marvel guy huh? REcently their stuff has been lacking in the interest level.

@Nightrunner and @TheMusketMan, post a character sheet when you've actually got an idea. Empty skeletons (you guys didn't even try and come up with a freaking name, or fill out your notes - not even character-dependent) are not appreciated. They're ugly and space-wasting.

<Snipped quote by Ves>

It's well-written, it appeals to me because you cheated and used something that references Fallout, and it's a cool concept. However, it's also ridiculously overpowered, especially when we're explicitly looking for low-tier or under-developed meta's, and it's contradictory to in-universe 'laws' that have already been set out. A meta of Jackdaw's level would be turned over to Lex or Savage or any major leader immediately, not brought up within an independent merc outfit, and after 'going rogue', definitely would not have lived through Deathtroopers to wake up in jail. You wouldn't have woken up.

Recommendations are to reduce your powerset (better-than-average human, perfect shot, or skilled cqc combatant, not all three) and to bring your character's history in line with the established in-universe laws.

<Snipped quote by Xenonia>

Frankly I find this character bizzare because it's a sloth but you've endeared yourself to Wraith and a character being 'weird' is not a good enough reason to reject it, so for now this is doing well. I'll review it again when it's complete, however.

<Snipped quote by knighthawk>

This is another case of 'the new regime wouldn't take the chance'. Not only does he stick out because of his red skin, he's also a descendant of Trigon, a supremely powerful being, and one whose children have caused considerable trouble in the past (cough cough RAVEN). Again, we're looking for non-obvious and low-tier/undeveloped meta's and magi's. This is neither.

Quoting takes hefty chunks from your character limit, so this adventure will continue in another post...

<Snipped quote by Roman>

I edited the powers to your satisfactory, but can you explain your problems with the history? He was a baby when he was found, under rubble, so Lex or anyone else wouldn't have been notified of his existence.

"A meta of Jackdaw's level would be turned over to Lex or Savage or any major leader immediately, not brought up within an independent merc outfit, and after 'going rogue', definitely would not have lived through Deathtroopers to wake up in jail. You wouldn't have woken up."

He never went rogue. He was a legitimate mercenary through and through; his father, Reggie - a significantly more skilled mercenary, had betrayed Savage by not going after the rebels, like Reggie had promised to do, and the Company was ambushed and taken out. Jackdaw was captured due to the combat enhancement he showed, and because he was the last of the Company; they wanted some sort of money out of this ordeal.

Sorry if I'm not making sense, but do you understand? Or do I need to re-evaluate everything?

Also, I was looking for a cool name for the mercenary group, and then I glanced down at my copy of Fallout 3 and decided I liked Talon Company. Plus, it goes well with Jack's future alias.