Made a few fixes, hope its acceptable. Though I would prefer to leave him without a last name, a way to signify that he belongs to no place
Name: Emeka
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Appearance:
Personality:
The world is a simple place for Emeka, either one takes or is taken from. If one is strong he is able to take, else one is weak and is eaten. That is why he prefers to be strong, he hates any weakness, and especially weakness he finds within himself.
When he needs something he is more than likely to simply acquire it and damn the consequences. Any naysayer may do so at the risk of pain and even death. Although he never goes out of his way to harm others, neither does he have any inhibition of solving problems with violence.
Brutally blunt he will tell one exactly what is on his mind. In fact he doesn’t care to lie after all lies are something the weak hide behind. In fact he is also good at telling apart lies, and usually enjoys breaking the arms’ of liars.
In some aspects he is like a wild predator, ruthless and cruel. Death is merely a means to an end, and not something to make a big deal out of. Driven by instinct and emotion, his actions are usually quick and decisive, the kind to shoot before asking questions. However this does not mean he is impetuous, like any predator, he knows to be patient and wait for the best opportunity.
Biography:
Fire, gunpowder and blood, the three constants that mar the landscape of Emeka’s past. Many would label him a monster at present, but he is a only a creature created by an equally monstrous environment that is the heart of Congo.
His descent began early in his life, with fire and the birth of hate on one summer’s night. There was only one emotion that passed through the young boy’s life as he watched his village slowly burn in that summer night. A young dark youth, barely seven years of age, lay sprawled on the ground. Tears streamed down his bruised face, he would scream if only his voice was not hoarse from it already. He watched as his home, his family and his life was reduced to ashes, and with it his innocence. The fire laughed at him with its crackle and sparks, just like the men who created it. Set by brigands on a whim even after they had taken all the villagers had. The brigands laughed and drank at the fire and burning bodies, dancing merrily around the spoils they had pillaged from it. Doubled over in pain, gasping for air. In that moment he grabbed the boy with his collar and pulled him up.
“Boy do you know why this happened to you?” he asked. “You may say that it was because we are bad men. That may be true. But there is a deeper truth, it is because you are weak, and it is the destiny of the weak to be eaten by the strong.”
“You may hate me with every fibre of your being. This is good. You will realize that hate is a powerful thing, it will give you strength like none other. So hate! Hate me! Hate my men! Hate the gods! But above all hate the weak you!” he said as a sick smile pulled across his face
These words would etch themselves into the psyche of the young boy, for he sensed the truth in those words. So he began to hate, and his tears dried with the heat of it. After all it was easier to hate then feel the sadness that pulled at his feet.
~
The sun was high and strong, it beat down on Emeka’s brow with an almost solid force. Sweated beaded down his forehead. His hands shook and his feet trembled. He stood wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he was taken. Now they were nothing more than dirty rags. Around him were a circle of men, staring down at him. It had been four years since he had lost his home. Four years he had to see Mwambe, his captor murder and slaughter. See him rise in power and become Warlord of Kivu.
Now he stood once more at a turning point at the base of Mount of Nyiragongo.His hands felt heavy, the weight of a revolver. The gun seemed far heavier than it looked, perhaps this was the weight of a life. He realized that he was staring at the red dirt, some of it darkened by drops of sweat. He looked up to see a man bound and kneeling before him. He knew what he had to do.
Behind him stood Mwambe, the leader of the brigands, his arm crossed. “Decide boy, it is either his life or yours. Are you strong enough to take, or will you be taken from yet again.” he said. The boy took respite in that little place in his head where hate had taken root. It soothed his nerves, and told him what he needed to do. After all it was not his fault the man had to die, it was the man’s fault he had been weak.
Slowly he raised his hands and pointed the gun to the man’s temple. The man had already resigned himself to his fate his eyes downcast. Then with a pull of his finger Emeka, shot the man. A final bang echoed through the camp, as the man slumped to the ground. Suddenly he felt the shaking in his hands stop…
~
The man laughed hoarsely “Fate is a strange thing, No? I remember a time when we were in similar situation , a lifetime ago… You have grown well little monster. Now it is time for you to take that final stepped”. The man eyed his captor wildly as he cackled, as madness took over him. The man was an imposing figure tall and muscled. Though wearing a leather jacket, scars danced across his arms like rivulets of rain across his ebony skin. His hair was scruffy, and long, but off all things, it was his eyes that struck fear into the old man's heart.
Emeka looked down on the cackling old man. How small he looked now, he didn't understand the fear he had felt as a child. “Oh yes old man, I will take! I will take slowly … and with great pleasure! Its time I teach you what I have learned of fire and of hate.” he said, his eyes burning with a mad glee. Then he walked out of the tent, leaving the old man bound inside.
Then with a flick of his hand he motioned to his men. Soon the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, the smell bringing a cruel smile to his face, one similar to another man so many nights ago. One story ends with fire and another begins anew.
Skills:
Intimidation
Fighter - Although not having any formal training, years of battle have tempered him into a natural fighter
Instinctual - Animalistic trait that lets him get a better sense of the environment around and subconsciously perceive the nature of things
Elemental Cores:
Heat, Air
Abilities:
Burning Claw[Fire] - Focus a fiery aura into one's hands or weapon, which is hot enough to melt through metals
Burst Step[Heat] - Combust the the sole of ones feat to create an explosive step, generating powerful bursts in speed. This skill also has limited applicability while mid air
Surge[Life][Passive] - Through a basic yet subconscious maintenance of life energy within one's body one has boosted power output of one’s musculature
Heat Sense[Heat][Passive] - The sixth sense when further appended with the element of heat, allows one to perceive heat in a small sphere around him, though clarity increases with increase in skill
Familiars:
Possessions:
Sex: Male
Age: 24
Appearance:
Personality:
The world is a simple place for Emeka, either one takes or is taken from. If one is strong he is able to take, else one is weak and is eaten. That is why he prefers to be strong, he hates any weakness, and especially weakness he finds within himself.
When he needs something he is more than likely to simply acquire it and damn the consequences. Any naysayer may do so at the risk of pain and even death. Although he never goes out of his way to harm others, neither does he have any inhibition of solving problems with violence.
Brutally blunt he will tell one exactly what is on his mind. In fact he doesn’t care to lie after all lies are something the weak hide behind. In fact he is also good at telling apart lies, and usually enjoys breaking the arms’ of liars.
In some aspects he is like a wild predator, ruthless and cruel. Death is merely a means to an end, and not something to make a big deal out of. Driven by instinct and emotion, his actions are usually quick and decisive, the kind to shoot before asking questions. However this does not mean he is impetuous, like any predator, he knows to be patient and wait for the best opportunity.
Biography:
Fire, gunpowder and blood, the three constants that mar the landscape of Emeka’s past. Many would label him a monster at present, but he is a only a creature created by an equally monstrous environment that is the heart of Congo.
His descent began early in his life, with fire and the birth of hate on one summer’s night. There was only one emotion that passed through the young boy’s life as he watched his village slowly burn in that summer night. A young dark youth, barely seven years of age, lay sprawled on the ground. Tears streamed down his bruised face, he would scream if only his voice was not hoarse from it already. He watched as his home, his family and his life was reduced to ashes, and with it his innocence. The fire laughed at him with its crackle and sparks, just like the men who created it. Set by brigands on a whim even after they had taken all the villagers had. The brigands laughed and drank at the fire and burning bodies, dancing merrily around the spoils they had pillaged from it. Doubled over in pain, gasping for air. In that moment he grabbed the boy with his collar and pulled him up.
“Boy do you know why this happened to you?” he asked. “You may say that it was because we are bad men. That may be true. But there is a deeper truth, it is because you are weak, and it is the destiny of the weak to be eaten by the strong.”
“You may hate me with every fibre of your being. This is good. You will realize that hate is a powerful thing, it will give you strength like none other. So hate! Hate me! Hate my men! Hate the gods! But above all hate the weak you!” he said as a sick smile pulled across his face
These words would etch themselves into the psyche of the young boy, for he sensed the truth in those words. So he began to hate, and his tears dried with the heat of it. After all it was easier to hate then feel the sadness that pulled at his feet.
~
The sun was high and strong, it beat down on Emeka’s brow with an almost solid force. Sweated beaded down his forehead. His hands shook and his feet trembled. He stood wearing the same clothes he had worn the night he was taken. Now they were nothing more than dirty rags. Around him were a circle of men, staring down at him. It had been four years since he had lost his home. Four years he had to see Mwambe, his captor murder and slaughter. See him rise in power and become Warlord of Kivu.
Now he stood once more at a turning point at the base of Mount of Nyiragongo.His hands felt heavy, the weight of a revolver. The gun seemed far heavier than it looked, perhaps this was the weight of a life. He realized that he was staring at the red dirt, some of it darkened by drops of sweat. He looked up to see a man bound and kneeling before him. He knew what he had to do.
Behind him stood Mwambe, the leader of the brigands, his arm crossed. “Decide boy, it is either his life or yours. Are you strong enough to take, or will you be taken from yet again.” he said. The boy took respite in that little place in his head where hate had taken root. It soothed his nerves, and told him what he needed to do. After all it was not his fault the man had to die, it was the man’s fault he had been weak.
Slowly he raised his hands and pointed the gun to the man’s temple. The man had already resigned himself to his fate his eyes downcast. Then with a pull of his finger Emeka, shot the man. A final bang echoed through the camp, as the man slumped to the ground. Suddenly he felt the shaking in his hands stop…
~
The man laughed hoarsely “Fate is a strange thing, No? I remember a time when we were in similar situation , a lifetime ago… You have grown well little monster. Now it is time for you to take that final stepped”. The man eyed his captor wildly as he cackled, as madness took over him. The man was an imposing figure tall and muscled. Though wearing a leather jacket, scars danced across his arms like rivulets of rain across his ebony skin. His hair was scruffy, and long, but off all things, it was his eyes that struck fear into the old man's heart.
Emeka looked down on the cackling old man. How small he looked now, he didn't understand the fear he had felt as a child. “Oh yes old man, I will take! I will take slowly … and with great pleasure! Its time I teach you what I have learned of fire and of hate.” he said, his eyes burning with a mad glee. Then he walked out of the tent, leaving the old man bound inside.
Then with a flick of his hand he motioned to his men. Soon the acrid smell of smoke filled the air, the smell bringing a cruel smile to his face, one similar to another man so many nights ago. One story ends with fire and another begins anew.
Skills:
Intimidation
Fighter - Although not having any formal training, years of battle have tempered him into a natural fighter
Instinctual - Animalistic trait that lets him get a better sense of the environment around and subconsciously perceive the nature of things
Elemental Cores:
Heat, Air
Abilities:
Burning Claw[Fire] - Focus a fiery aura into one's hands or weapon, which is hot enough to melt through metals
Burst Step[Heat] - Combust the the sole of ones feat to create an explosive step, generating powerful bursts in speed. This skill also has limited applicability while mid air
Surge[Life][Passive] - Through a basic yet subconscious maintenance of life energy within one's body one has boosted power output of one’s musculature
Heat Sense[Heat][Passive] - The sixth sense when further appended with the element of heat, allows one to perceive heat in a small sphere around him, though clarity increases with increase in skill
Familiars:
Possessions:
