Inspired by a friend, I got bored and decided to put up a page displaying most (excluding unaccepted characters) of the individuals I've crafted since I made my RPing start on The Escapist, waayyyy back in 2009. This page'll also fill up with the characters of new or currently existing RPs that I've applied in.
Skipping an entry for Phil, my first character. Avatar Adventures was very open, and played very fast and loose with character entries, and as such, one wasn't made for him.
Moving on to JD, a character of my very first (and currently most successful) RP, "Zombie High!"
Name: James Damaris Sparda
Age: 17
Occupation: Student
Favorite Subject: Technology, Engineering
Items in Bookbag: Doesn't have a bookbag; Usually leaves books and equipment in school
Personality: Has an Active, somewhat Happy personality, but is sometimes quick to change emotions.
Backstory: He came to Sly High because the subjects at his school were too easy, and they didn't interest him. But then he got a letter concerning the entrance exams for the specialized school. He couldn't miss this chance. But the thought of being in a school where only 7% of 3000+ students were African American (he was one of them) scared him a bit. But as his years there progressed, he coped with it, and eventually became one of the more popular kids of the school.
When heard about the spreading infection he thought ground zero would never be near his school, and brushed off the fact as nothing. Boy, was he wrong.
Next is ol' Jason. He currently holds the record for the character with the most fleshed out about him. The Society of Justice was a three-part superhero RP in which he was a main staple of the cast.
Name: Jason Jaime (pronounced Hy-me) Rojas
Hero Alias: Erebus. - Formally Keyholder #238967
Age: 17 yrs. old
Powers: (w/ The Key's power enabled) Enhanced speed, agility, and strength. Limited Invulnerability and an Increased jump ability.
Weaknesses: The armor dissipates after taking to much damage (noted by the amount of cracks shown on it) and The Key would have to recharge it for me to use it again. I'm completely vulnerable without the armor.
Weapons: I don't really need one when my armor is enabled, but I've had multi-weapon training when I was still with The Key Corps., and can use one whenever the armor dissipates.
Appearance (both civilian and hero costume): - My Civilian Wear: A black sleeveless hoodie over a black dress shirt (with sleeves usually rolled up, not pictured) with a blue tie casually knotted, black skinnys, and black and blue high-tops.
- My Hero Costume: The armor is mostly black, and somewhat skintight. Blue spikes are sprouted from my forearms and four long spikes stretch out in different directions from my faceless black head. My hands are clawed with the tips being streaked blue. When I take damage, blue cracks appear in the spot where the damage was inflicted.
- Or, you could just look at this.
Personality: I'm consider myself to be an easy going and happy guy; even though most people say that I always look and act like I'm about to murder someone. It's...a family trait.
Biography: Oh boy, where do I begin? Um okay. I was born into a cultist, elitist, extremist vigilante group called The Key Corps, named after an energy signature (The Key, of course) that's present in a small amount of humans. The Key itself can be a really small and insignificant, but when concentrated upon, and used to its full potential, it can create full suits of armor, weapons, and even modes of flight for the body. The people that have harnessed The Key's full potential are called Keyholders. If you haven't figured it out by now, I am a Keyholder. ...Anywho, Sometime last year, someone has unleashed some type of new energy signature into innocent civilians, a signature that's similar to The Key. The news has been spread amongst the ranks of the Corps, and we've been sent out to exterminate those with the "False Key", most of which, were just ordinary people, some even kids and old people. I couldn't bear to watch anymore of the meaningless slaughter, so I secretly disbanded from the Corps, in hopes to find this person (or people) and to expose and destroy them. In the process of bettering the world, someone found out my secret, and the Corps labeled me as a "betrayer to my people". Now they search for me with a hit on my head. Now with nowhere to go I decided to join with the S.o.J in hopes to lay low, and to put The Key's power to good use while finding the person that's unleashed the "False Key" virus upon the world. That...and I'd figured I could use some pay since I'm on my own and only have a 12th grade education.
Notes: ...You guys do pay right? Right?!
Name: Jason Jaime (pronounced Hy-me) Rojas
Hero Alias: Erebus
Age: Turned 18 last spring - D.O.B: May 28th
Powers: (w/ The Key's power enabled) Enhanced speed, agility, and strength. Limited Invulnerability and an Increased jump ability. With my time on the SoJ, I also learned how to generate and eject spikes from my armor.
Weaknesses: Through a scuffle with the illusion of my brother (...It's a long story...) I've learned that the armor is useless when facing other Keyholders. That, and the armor dissipates after taking too much damage (noted by the amount of cracks shown on it) and The Key would have to recharge it for me to use it again.
Weapons: The only weapons I use are the black spikes that occasionally sprout of my arms, wrists, or the ground. When I was still in the Corps, I was trained to used several different types of weapons. My favorite weapon was the Bo Staff. So sometimes I'll use a long spike as a makeshift staff.
Appearance (both civilian and hero costume):
- Civilian Wear: Most of the time I wear simple hoodies, t-shirts, jeans, and other casual clothes. Though, my favorite outfit consists of a black and blue striped hoodie (plain black T-shirt underneath), black skinnys, and black and blue high-tops. And sometimes I'll wear a pair of clear-lensed, black Wayfarers. Also, on an unrelated note, I also grew facial hair over the year!
- Hero Costume: The armor is mostly black, and somewhat skintight. Blue spikes are sprouted from my forearms and four long spikes stretch out in different directions from my faceless black head. My hands are clawed with the tips being streaked blue. When I take damage, blue cracks appear in the spot where the damage was inflicted (with one, un-recovering crack spreading across the mouth of my face mask. I...won't go into details about its significance here...)
Personality: Still the same easy-going and laid back Jason. I respect my elders, and I know my place.
Biography: So...what, you want me to put what I had before? Eh, whatevs. A long time ago, the four nations lived in harmony. Then everything changed when the fire nation attacked I was born into a cultist, elitist, extremist vigilante group called The Key Corps, named after an energy signature (The Key, of course) that's present in a small amount of humans. The Key itself can be a really small and insignificant, but when concentrated upon, and used to its full potential, it can create full suits of armor, weapons, and even modes of flight for the body. The people that have harnessed The Key's full potential are called Keyholders. If you haven't figured it out by now, I am a Keyholder.
Notes: I've taken some time (a lot of time) to retreat to my room for deep mediation and solitude. Please do not disturb.
Umm...you guys want me to make another file? Seems kind of redundant, but whatevs...
Name: Jason Jaime (pronounced Hy-me) Rojas
Hero Alias: Erebus
Age: Just turned 19 - D.O.B: May 28th
Powers: (w/ The Key's power enabled) Enhanced speed, agility, and strength. Limited Invulnerability and an Increased jump ability. With my time on the SoJ, I also learned how to generate and eject spikes from my armor.
Weaknesses: The armor is useless when facing other Keyholders. That, and the armor dissipates after taking too much damage (noted by the amount of cracks shown on it) and The Key would have to recharge it for me to use it again.
Weapons: The only weapons I use are the black spikes that occasionally sprout of my arms, wrists, or the ground. When I was still in the Corps, I was trained to used several different types of weapons. My favorite weapon was the Bo Staff. So sometimes I'll use a long spike as a makeshift staff. And speaking of Bo Staffs, Tommy got me one last Christmas. I use that one for training.
Appearance (both civilian and hero costume):
- Civilian Wear: Most of the time I wear simple hoodies, t-shirts, jeans, and other casual clothes. Though, my favorite outfit consists of a black and blue striped hoodie (plain black T-shirt underneath), black skinnys, and black and blue high-tops. And sometimes I'll wear a pair of clear-lensed, black Wayfarers. Also, on an unrelated note, I also grew facial hair over the year! It's like a really thin chinstrap goatee. I'll get rid of it if it becomes a problem.
- Hero Costume: The armor is mostly black, and somewhat skintight. Blue spikes are sprouted from my forearms and four long spikes stretch out in different directions from my faceless black head. My hands are clawed with the tips being streaked blue. When I take damage, blue cracks appear in the spot where the damage was inflicted (with one, un-recovering crack spreading across the mouth of my face mask. I...won't go into details about its significance here...)
Personality: Still the same easy-going and laid back Jason. I respect my elders, and I know my place.
Biography: So...what, you want me to put what I had before? Again? Geez. I was born into a cultist, elitist, extremist vigilante group called The Key Corps, named after an energy signature (The Key, of course) that's present in a small amount of humans. The Key itself can be a really small and insignificant, but when concentrated upon, and used to its full potential, it can create full suits of armor, weapons, and even modes of flight for the body. The people that have harnessed The Key's full potential are called Keyholders. If you haven't figured it out by now, I am a Keyholder.
My older brother. Jealous of our father's affection, and tries to take his anger out on me. He has red armor (his cracks are black), can teleport, and can grow shields to opposite my spikes. Approach with caution.
My younger sister. She was strong for her age, but that's all I remember from that last I saw her. With the Key Corps' strict training regimen, god knows how good she's gotten...
Ah, Charlie. A returning character that was part of a (unfortunately failed) reboot of a Pokemon RP we were transplanting from the Escapist.
Name: Charles "Charlie" Delacroix Age: 19 Gender: Male Hometown: Goldenrod City, Johto Region
Appearance: Charlie stands at 5'11, a fair skinned type of mixed pedigree (Father being French-Canadian, Mother being African-American), with dark brown eyes and abundantly voluminous, puffy brown hair, usually wrapped into a crude ponytail with one of his mom's frilly scrunchies. With a thin build on an averagely athletic frame, Charlie wears a short sleeved blue V-neck, with faded "urban camouflage" cargo shorts, worn blue hi-top sneakers, a pair of long, shin-length blue and white striped socks, and a black C-Gear.
Personality: Charlie likes to consider himself to be a bona fide hardass (as his father likes to say), cold and calculated in his ways. In reality he's a bit of a happy-go-lucky goofball that tends to take value in his friends, as well as headstrong and proud whenever it's necessary. He's also more eager to help then he realizes, and smiles a lot more than he thinks. However, unless initially greeting someone, he usually won't be one to start up a conversation (usually this is even harder for him if the person in question's in his age group). It's a trait he's working on changing.
Profession: Trainer
Talents: Between a mix of the things his father taught him and the things he's figured out on his own, Charlie has found himself to be a fairly experienced survivalist, knowing many tricks to living off of the land. He's yet to have a problem with making his own fires, finding civilization, locating fresh water, making makeshift shelters, and hunting for food. He's also pretty good at climbing trees.
Inventory: -5 Pokeballs (3 used; 3 bought) -3 potions (originally had 5; 2 already used) -Town Map -$700 in cash, which he usually keeps in an old leather wallet -Another outfit for colder climates (a grey knit sweater picked out and bought by his mother and a baggy, holey pair of faded blue jeans) -An extra pair of underwear -A multi-purpose knife/tool -A sleeping bag -Assorted toiletries (also packed by his mother, yet he rarely uses) -Carried in a medium sized duffel bag that doubles as his pillow.
Starter Pokemon: -A timid, female Cyndaquil, named Quinn.
Biography: A native to Goldenrod City, Charlie spent his whole life growing up there. He spent the entirety of his younger years waiting to be the appropriate age to be a trainer, and as he reached the optimum age of ten, he excitedly packed his things and rushed out the door...only to be promptly stopped by his overprotective mother, Dalia, and his stern, stoic, father, Samuel. Not quite ready to let their son go, they decided that he'd embark on his journey at an older age.
After school, he'd watch in envy as budding trainers entered hopefully into Whitney's gym, sometimes sneaking inside to catch a battle. If he didn't do that, he'd go outside the city, visiting the Day Care, admiring the pokemon left by their trainers (slightly happier whenever someone dropped off a Ponyta or a Mareep). While his mother worked as a manager at the Goldenrod Department Store, his father was one of the City's firefighters. Once he eventually (albeit reluctantly) completed school, his parents finally deemed him worthy (and old enough) to begin his journey as a pokemon trainer.
Upon giving him his duffel bag, multi-tool, C-Gear (he in return subsequently freaking out over how expensive it must've been to have it imported from the Unova region), and money as graduation gifts, they told him to work his way towards New Bark Town first, to talk to Professor Elm about his first pokemon. With one last hug from the both of them (and a plea to call often from his mother), Charlie excitedly began his trek, eager to start the long road ahead as a pokemon trainer. The trip was starting to form into a bit of downer, due to his lack of a companion (and all those poor youngsters he had to turn down when they found out he possessed no pokemon).
But despite the shortcomings, Charlie safely reached New Bark Town, where he obtained his first Pokemon, Pokedex, and Pokeballs from Professor Elm, re-re-deciding that his adventure starts here. However, Elm stopped him at the door (Charlie snidely remarking on how this happens way too much to him). He told him of one of his colleagues from the Kanto region, and how he was looking for trainers from regions other than his own for survey and how they'd match up against the Kanto League Challenge. Charlie frowned initially, seeing as he was looking more towards a gym battle with Whitney in his hometown, but quickly saw the positives in this rare offer, with new Pokemon and a whole different experience. He agreed finally, and with Elm's Lapras, the two began towards the region.
Bypassing Route 26 (Elm telling the budding trainer how he'd be able to come back here when he was much more experienced), the two successfully arrived in Pallet Town, where Charlie was shown and introduced to Oak. After the two Professors caught up, Oak told the trainer of the Kanto League Challenge, and of how they'd be much different than the gym leaders he's come to know in Johto. After which, Elm gave him a few last words of encouragement before departing.
Notes/Other: His father despises Fire-types and Electric-types due to his occupation (as he prefers and works with Water-types), and just doesn't know what his son sees in them. And despite their outputs on pokemon, neither parents ever owned one.
Morgan was a character that I (admittedly) didn't put a ton of attention and priority into. I dunno, could've been the character, could've been the RP itself, but I just couldn't get committed to him. I didn't drop the RP, naturally, but in retrospect I kinda wish I handled this particular character the same way I did with some of my others.
This was another Pokemon RP, by the way.
Name: Morgan Zakarias Age: 21 Sex: Male
Appearance: Of Caucasian decent, Morgan stands at 5'11'', with 155 pounds tacked on to a stocky, athletic frame. His usually low-banged dark brown hair has been cut completely as instructed by the military. Admittedly, it has become easier to see out of his light brown eyes without all the hair obscuring his vision. He suffers from minor astigmatism, causing him to wear a pair a black rimmed glasses. He's dressed in his modern naval working uniform, which consists of a light jacket, short sleeved shirt and pants, and black boots. The uniform is colored in a digital-style camouflage of varying navy blues and grays. Granted, He can't wait to get out of that uniform.
Personality: His time in basic training has hardened him in several ways. He's grown a fairly bitter demeanor, and tends to be loyal to causes he's attached to. Despite these, he's never had a problem with being social or making friends, quite enjoys a night of drinking, and wears the 'curses like a sailor' trope on his sleeve.
Profession: Enlisted Sailor, Petty Officer Third Class. Currently on reserve.
Talents: Of the many skills he's acquired through training, he's found his most prominent talent to be navigation. As he's learned both land and naval variants of the skill, the art stuck out in his mind the furthest.
Starter Pokémon: He was issued a young male Chinchou by the Navy, a stubborn little spitfire he dubbed Chase. - Its moves are Light Screen, Bubble, and Supersonic
Inventory: He carries a large navy blue duffel bag, issued to him, of course. It is filled with: Issued: - 5 Potions - 5 Antidotes - First Aid kit - Basic Camping Equipment - Tent - Sleeping Bag - Multi-Tool (Complete with Flint, Compass, basic tools, and others) - Camping Knife - 5 Military MREs of varying flavors - Extra undergarments - P$2500 Bought: - 3 Pokéballs - Civilian clothing (jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, sweater)
Hometown: Mauville City, in Hoenn. Completed his Basic Training in Slateport.
Biography: Morgan won't pause to tell people how he's been raised by a pro-military family. It's how his parents met, as a matter of fact. Growing up, the only real decision he was able to make was which branch he was able to choose after completing High School. With his fascination with the open sea (and the sole decision to avoid any branch his parents were involved in), he decided on the Hoenn Navy.
He couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief as he departed for Slateport, finally out the grasp of his suffocating parents. He actually found more freedom under the supervision of his many drill sergeants than he did his mom and pop. His 18 weeks of Basic Training passed much faster than he anticipated, and found himself at the mercy of his parents yet again only mere hours of graduating. Combined with some opinions from his fellow peers, and his own volition, he decided that he had to get away from these two. Pulling some strings, he managed to be assigned to a region previously unheard of: Gensia. He didn't care how he got there, just as long as he parents couldn't follow on his coattails.
With a hasty goodbye to his parents, Morgan boarded the only navel vessel en route towards Gensia. He was told that he would arrive in a city called Aquamar, and were to report to a naval base not too far from its port. The fairly simple instructions were just fine to him, and his nervousness towards seeing the new region was about par with his happiness towards some breathing room.
Notes: Just like his fascination with the wide expanses of the ocean, Morgan finds himself to be most fascinated with water-types.
Oh boy, Justin. Loved playing this guy. Honestly, he was a total asshole drama queen shitlord, through and through, but I enjoyed every little thing I got to do with him. He was just a blast to play as.
Name: Justin Case Alias: Somebody called him Brainstorm once. He obviously objected the name, but it stuck anyway.
Gender: Male Age: 19
Appearance: Justin is of Caucasian (or Italian?) decent. He's 5'9", and 125 lbs. Along with sporting an average frame on a equally average body, Justin has short cropped brown hair, light brown eyes, and no facial hair. No piercings or tattoos either. He has a thing for graphic tees, and tends to wear those the most. There's no real preference when it comes to other articles of clothing.
There's not much to his superhero ensemble, and at the moment, he's just fine with that. The getup consists of a pair of vintage bike riding goggles (similar to these, their lenses mirrored, to give at least some anonymity), a faded black bandana that he uses to wrap around/obscure his nose and mouth, a weathered leather jacket (in which he plans to put some sort of emblem on the back of it, but hasn't had the time or money implement his idea), a pair of loose fitting black military boots, and the pair of jeans and shirt he was wearing that day. He's never had the time (or the proper budget) to put any sort of real costume together, and he'd rather put money into adjustments and upgrades to his glove.
Personality: Justin could be best described as "too big for his britches". 'Arrogant', 'snarky', and 'careless' would be some of his defining traits. He tends to not care of other people's thoughts or feelings, and gets defensive when he's put on the spot or someone finds a flaw in something of his. But, why should he be nice? If other people can be dicks and get away with it, why can't he?
Alignment: He tries to be Good, but has a tendency to stray. Can be easily swayed if the situation presents itself.
Superpowers: Peak human intelligence (and exponentially climbing), and a resistance to most (if not all) forms of electricity and plasma. Along with such abilities, He's created a gauntlet/glove/something-or-other, called the "Awe: Mk. IV" (he named it himself, could you tell?). What could be best described as a "TASER Glove made from household materials", the Awe is capable of generating short bursts of electricity from the nodes placed along the fingers, fingertips, and palm. Justin actively makes attempts at improving of his invention, hoping to one day be able to generate enough electricity to use in a projective force.
Weaknesses: At the end of the day, Justin's still just a squishy, defenseless human. He's had no real combat training, and he's not all that durable. Not to mention a glass jaw. There's a reason why he's so mouthy. He might be quick witted, but he's not all that quick on his feet. All it takes is a person that person that can shrug off his Awe, and he'll crumple like it was his first day in 6th grade.
He doesn't like to admit it though.
Biography: I could start this at the beginning, talk about how Justin was born and raised in a dull part of Harlem, NY. About how he lived with his father, Joesph Case, who worked as a electrician. Instead, i'll just skip ahead, to the motivation.
School times were strenuous for young Justin. He was one of those cases where a bully and his cronies would find one unfortunate soul, and basically torment him or her with little to no relent. It was doubly bad for Justin, seeing as he had to deal with Cortez and his band of merry men in every class he had, and during every walk home too. And like those with a constant enemy, he began to grow used to the torment. To a point, that is. Cortez's abuse grew as he realized Justin's coping. But, whatever, right? Justin still graduated from his junior high school, top of his class. He might've gotten valedictorian if he weren't so distracted with not being this one guy's personal chew toy.
Then, high school rolled around. The first minutes of his first class, the first thing Justin realized, was his good friend Cortez, giving him a sly smile from across the room. Jesus, was he gonna have to deal with this guy for the rest of his life? Justin couldn't come to terms with that. He tried finding a way to distance himself from this guy, changing his classes, changing his lunch time, changing his school. But, those plans were simply scrapped. His parents wouldn't let him switch schools, and his guidance counselor didn't think it would be beneficial to have him drop out of his AP and Honors classes. He was stuck. And (finally) it made him angry. Granted, he had no thoughts of doing anything too drastic (murder? Why ruin my life over somebody else's faggotry?) but he did want to do something to the boy. Something that would put him away for awhile...or at least get the fucker off his back for a week. One weekend, he found a solution through a bout of web surfing. He found a few links, directions to making what they called a "stun glove". It made him smirk, there were so many variations to the concept, and yet, they were all so simple.
He soon got to work on his very own stun glove. A rough prototype was finished within the hour. A dull buzzing began to inhabit the quiet room, a sign that his creation was a success, or at least, that it could turn on. Without thinking, he tested the glove on himself, hoping to get some sort of shock out of it. To his surprise, (or more specifically, disappointment) the glove inflicted no damage. He tried it again, and again, and again. No result. So, he did the next best thing. If there was no damage being inflicted, then maybe he just need to enhance the voltage. So, Justin discarded the recommended AA battery, and used the battery from his dad's car instead. After a quick transition of reconfiguring a much needed jumper cable, the adjustment was complete. As he turned it on, the previously quiet hum of the device was now more of a loud drone. He rubbed his foil-tipped fingers together, felt the heat of electricity as bluish-white sparks jumped from his tips. He didn't even have to test it now, he could visibly see the results! Even so, there was still one variable he wanted to test out, and it lived right down the block.
With the car battery in tow, Justin made the short trip to the bully's house. Knocking on his door, Justin couldn't believe his luck as he watched Cortez open the door (maybe his parents worked on the weekend? Whatever, don't care). No more words were said on Justin's behalf. His pointer finger protruded, he jabbed straight at Cortez's chest. White-hot lightning exited from the glove, and entered the bully's heart. Call him crazy, but watching that kid jitter and shake as he experienced convulsions made him chuckle. Comeuppance was sweet, and karma was a bitch. He gave his nemesis one good threat before departing, the boy still collapsed over his threshold.
With his mission accomplished, you'd think the stun glove would've been retired to a spot in his closet, only to be reminisced on during a daydream. Instead, it became more of a pet project, Justin beginning to think how this venture of his could be improved on. Maybe extend the force of his electrical burst? Or perhaps make the cumbersome battery easier to carry? With these thoughts, he dubbed his stun glove the "Awe, Mk. I", and began conjuring suggestions for a Mk. II.
Fast forward about five years. Without Cortez's threatening distractions, 18-year-old Justin had graduated high school with ease, a fresh scholarship to the New York Institute of Technology tucked neatly under his belt. By the end of that school year, He had just finished working on his prized possession, the "Awe Mk. IV". He managed to work his custom battery pack into a seemingly inconspicuous bookbag, and found a new likeness for copper wires (luckily in some bountiful supply due to his father's occupation). However, he couldn't find a way to increase the Awe's current level of voltage, at least, not without gaining illegal substances or performing illegal acts. His budget was already lackluster, and with the additional fees that come with college (and his bad additude keeping him from holding on to a job), he couldn't think of a way to keep his project properly financed.
However, he came across an ad during one of his sessions of net surfing. A company of some sort, called Seraphim. They were looking for individuals with extraordinary talents, ones that were willing to to help clean the city of anonymous miscreants, their numbers apparently growing in size, and becoming too much for the local police to handle on their own. Granted, most of the ad didn't get a rise out of him, but the promise of a paycheck did. As he looked down towards his Awe, he began to think of such an opportunity. Could he be so willing to risk his life to make the living conditions safer for he and those around him?
"Ha! Hell no." The idea was quickly dismissed.
Some weeks from then, Justin was traversing his way through late night Manhattan, on his way home from a class. Mostly engrossed in his thoughts, Justin failed to notice what type of neighborhood he was walking through. He also failed to notice the shady looking person that had been trailing him since 125 St. Soon, the assailant was upon Justin, brandishing a knife and yelling about money. As Justin stammered in fear, the robber threw him to the ground. It was becoming harder for Justin to think straight as his heart thumped in his ears, but he did remember one thing: he packed the Awe before leaving for class. It was some stroke of luck, but one gloved palm to the face was all that was needed to subdue the man. Just like that, Justin had come full circle. He had created the first Awe to take care of a bully, and four versions later he had to use it for its original purpose. A moment like that could've been considered significant to someone else...but apparently, not to Justin. Truth be told, he probably didn't even realize it.
Catching his breath, Justin stood up straight. He couldn't stop thinking of how strangely easy that was. Continuing his trek home, he began wondering of how a yearly salary with Seraphim could benefit both his studies, and his projects.
The thoughts of a Mk V on an actual budget came to him lastly, and he wondered if the organization would even consider him if he put in a resume.
There was also Richard, the halberd-toting dragonmorph known better as Soarele Negru, The Black Sun.
Name: Richard de Bertrand Alias: The mage that commandeered his mind dubbed him Soarele Negru: The Black Sun.
Gender: Male Age: 30
Appearance: Augmented by the sorcery relentlessly pumped into him, Richard is a 6'2-inch tall Caucasian male. He's built like a quarterback, with steadily thinning brown hair, steadily graying pale skin, shimming yellow eyes, and a grim disposition. Upon entering the present day, he was wearing the colors of his kingdom. Blackened scale metal armor, sans, helmet, a white cross emblazoned over the breastplate. His altered form, the massive imposing dragon, is covered in rugged, sandpaper-esque, gray scales. A series of ascending sized black horns line his snouted skull, matching his sharp, blackened teeth, and black claws.
Personality: Fiercely loyal to his implemented "mission", unpredictable, impulsive, not in his right mind.
Alignment: Richard finds both sides of the spectrum in need of cleansing, and will not align himself with the filth polluting the world.
Superpowers: Trained from youth to serve his kingdom, Richard has the expert combat skills of the elite branch of knights he operated under. His weapon of choice is a straight-bladed halberd. Once a ordinary spear, it was enchanted by the sorcerer that abducted him. Now called the Whiteraze, the halberd is capable of igniting into white-hot flames with a thought, and can return to him if thrown. Also gifted to him by the wizard, was the Sigillum Dei Aemaeth, the occult diagram charred into his chest and back. With the marking driving his person, Richard is granted an immunity to fire and diseases, as well as the ability to mutate into a 9'6 tall dragon with a ten foot long wingspan. In this form, he can spew flames of varying temperatures, along with a poisonous and extremely flammable black smog, capable of suffocating the unprepared in minutes.
Weaknesses: As formidable as he may be in his human form, he his still human at the end of the day. He could be taken out by modern day weaponry. His dragon form, while impressively durable, isn't indestructible, and could also be subdued and suppressed with enough firepower.
Biography: Sometime during the early 1200s, medieval kingdoms were all the rage throughout Europe. And with kingdoms, came kings. And with kings, came the quest for power over the land. And this craving came the force, the tide turners. The armies, the way to police the land you have, while fighting over the land you want. Richard de Bertrand was a knight in one of these armies, happily battling his bordering countries in the name of his greedy, selfish king. And his god, of course. One particular skirmish, however, produced a unique variable. A deranged mage by the name of Emil Metodija separated Richard from his troupe with illusions, before subduing him and retreating to his lair with his prize in tow. See, Emil was in cahoots with one of the bordering countries, one of which Richard's army was besieging their way through at the moment. With this new specimen in his possession, Emil had a potential Trojan horse to use against the ones currently stomping their way through his homeland.
"This pawn could raze his own home in under a day..." The more he thought of a plan, the more spells and enchantments came to mind. Firstly, after laying the unconscious knight upon his operating table, he conjured a large tome, filled with magical incantations and spells. He flipped through a few pages, and homed in on his first charm. One to implant false visions into his mind and alter his sights. One to enchant the knight's favored weapon. Emil felt his task to be complete after that, but then had a thought. "He willn't last long like this. He needs..." He rummaged around his trunk of magical items. One "aha!" of realization later, he produced two artifacts. A medallion made of gold covered in polygons and words, a large polished rune forged from a malachite ore. "The seal of god..." He addressed the medallion as he pressed it into the knight's chest. As Emil muttered incantations, the medallion began to glow red hot, and seared into the unconscious warrior. "This will imbue you with ability to truly obliterate your kingdom. A precaution, however. In time, the beast within you will consume you whole." Removing the medallion left a smoldering burn that left the skin charred. As his skin began to lose pigment, he moved on to the the second artifact.
A second character I created for the RP, one that refused to side with the heroes or the villains, and instead favored destroying both sides.
The theme going in when I created Gabriel's personality was "Gabe wants to be hardcore, but his friends won't let him." He was your typical angst-filled, monotone character, but it was his relationships with the other characters that helped him evolve beyond that. He also has one of the longer sheets of my character pantheon, and if I had the time I could easily fill up a novel with the events leading up to the current events covered in the sheet and RP.
Fun Fact: During the development of the RP, there were plans of pairing him with one of the other characters, a loud, boisterous, rough-n-tumble girl named Freya. It would've been kinda one-sided, and a little stockholm syndrome-y (as Gabe would've been -at most times- kinda forced to be around her, and usually doesn't want much to do with people like her), but a little funny. Said character was made by @Lambi, and we were in the processes of getting the arc underway, but alas, the RP died out long before it could get to that point.
Name: Gabriel "Gabe" Emile Aeckerd Age: 21 Sex: Male
Appearance: Gabriel would consider his family tree to be somewhat complex. From what he's learned, he's about 50% Micronesian, 25% African-American, and 25% Native American. Because of this, Gabe possesses a fair reddish-tan/olive complexion, dark brown eyes and smooth black hair (of which he tends to keep in the form of a very low buzz cut). He stands at 6 feet 1 inch(es), sporting an average build on an athletic frame. Gabe tends to wear clothes that disregard the concept of order. His t-shirts, jeans, and jackets are usually worn, torn, dingy, and generally distraught. He prefers dark colors over most, and hates to accessorize.
Personality: Gabriel would be considered the type to not always "play well with others". If the situation doesn't call for it, he'll try his hardest to keep to himself. He also houses a hair-triggered temper. Not too keen on smiling either. If someone gets too disrespectful towards him, he wouldn't hesitate to throw the first punch. He is not the talkative type, and won't raise his voice past a quiet monotonic unless he's provoked emotionally. Despite all this, Gabe is capable of being friendly; he just needs to be around the right types.
Divine Parent: Demeter, the Goddess of the Harvest.
Demigod Abilities: As an imprint left by his otherworldly mother, Gabriel possesses the ability to control and manipulate all forms of plant life. As long as said plants are his immediate space, they're at his disposal. While he hasn't quite fully learned how to weaponize plants past the obvious vine whips and thorned clubs, he's quite versed with creating fruits, vegetables, and grains. They came to him on an almost subconscious level, most likely due to his mother's divinities.
Weapon(s) and Wargear: Gabriel's never been too versed on classes of weaponry, though he's remembered watching the dryads of Central Park use makeshift Bows, Arrows, and Daggers to fend off hostile creatures. He does, however, carry a young, potted sapling in his bookbag. As one might expect from a child of the Harvest, Gabe bends the sapling to his will, usually having it extend out of his bag to entrap or inflict damage upon his foes.
When no one's looking, he likes to tend to the sapling, keeping it healthy. Secretly, he hopes it'll be able to grow up into a full size tree, one day.
Enchanted Item(s): None.
One could say that Gabriel's lived a hard life. On a quiet night in April, a couple was admitted into a hospital in Queens, NY. At 10:20 pm, a beautiful baby boy was brought into the world. His mother blessed him with the first and last name of his father before he was placed in the nursery. Within the short time the parents were left alone, they seemingly vanished from the ER, the mother's name gone from the birth certificate. Fortunately, the hospital staff was able to find a next of kin. After a bit of notifying and paper signing, the fresh faced babe was turned over to the nearest relative: the father's mother.
Gabriel lived his young life filled with resentment towards his parents, learning of his father through his grandmother, but knowing nothing of his mother. His unguided anger became a core part of his attitude and mentality, and it kept him unfocused and careless towards school. His grandmother tried to put him on the right track, but her steady aging only feigned further ignorance from the boy. Despite his delinquencies, his strangely unhinged intelligence kept him from failing out of school. A third of a way into ninth grade, Gabriel's 15th birthday rolled around. Around 12 AM that quiet night, he had a strangely peculiar dream. He found himself wondering through a serene park, the scenario confusing yet immensely calming. A radiant being seemingly materialized beside him and embraced him, her touch felt warm and loving. Gabriel hugged back, and for once, he felt loved. It was one of the rare times where he smiled, and it didn't feel forced. He could barely make out her face, but the fragments he did see resembled someone from a very important part of his life. She spoke to him in a soft, affectionate voice, a said but a few words.
"Soon, you will see the world as I. It is up to you shape your destiny hereafter. You're a part of a much larger family now Gabriel. And a part of a much larger world..."
He awoke from the dream before he could question the occurrence, the sun outside his window barely risen. The words said to him in the dream replayed in his head. He was ready to shape his destiny. He didn't know how, exactly, but he decided that residing with his grandmother would get him nowhere (along with a thought that hung at a corner in his mind, a thought that assumed that his grandmother would be better off if she didn't have to worry about her delinquent grandson getting into trouble at school every other day). With his vigorous volition concreted in his psyche, he packed what he thought was necessary, gave his still sleeping guardian a quiet farewell, and departed from the smelly, dank apartment complex to watch the sun greet him as he began traversing out of Queens.
It was said that later in the day his grandmother was greeted by two stocky, hairy men who looked fairly uncomfortable in the pants they wore. They asked for Gabriel, and his grandmother suggested for the two to try looking for him at his school, where she assumed he'd be.
By the time he realized he was hungry, the sun was a fair's way into the sky, and Gabriel was in Manhattan. As he took note of his surroundings, he immediately began to take notice of things that were very out of the ordinary. Strange beings and entities walked among regular humans, beings that normal looking humans didn't seem to notice. Was this some type of joke? Did Gabriel mistakenly wander onto a movie filming? He was in this area just yesterday; it wasn't like this then. In hopes to clear his mind (and to prevent a scene of freaking out), Gabriel ducked into the park across the street from where he stood; Central Park, it was called. Unaware to him, he was being trailed by a tall, lurching shadow...
Two steps into the park, a subtle buzzing sensation began to ring through Gabriel's head. The buzzing/tingling feeling became much more prominent as he stepped onto the grass, and closed the gap between him and the plentiful trees and brush that inhabited the giant park. The sound rose to a point that it began to play over the sounds of chirping birds and outside pedestrians and cars. He turned his head to and fro, wondering where the noise was originating from. Was he near a beehive? The noises in his ear were more hurtful than helpful, and annoyed him profusely. With a hasty sigh, Gabriel sat down against the nearest tree, one that housed a very wide trunk. Plopping his backpack down beside him, he rested his head in his hands. Too much stuff was happening for him at once, too much stuff that he couldn't completely comprehend.
Before he could put another question to every strange thing happening, a lingering shadow rushed up to him, blending in with the overcasting shade of the leaves that hung from that massive tree. In the split second used to pull his head up past his shoulders, Gabriel was ripped from his train of thought as a graying monstrosity leaped at him from the shadow, fangs and claws bare. Unaware and unprepared, Gabriel received full extent of the attack, a heavy swipe from the beast tossing him away from his sitting position. His shirt was reduced to shreds where the attacked landed, blood leaking from the series of long gashes that appeared at his chest. He staggered to his feet, one hand at his chest, the other tightened into a fist. The massive hound kept a steady glare on his prey, sauntering back and forth, looking for an opening. It pounced again with maw agape, its teeth aimed for Gabriel's jugular veins. The boy expected the attack this time, intercepting the hound's jaws with outstretched arms.
The force of the lunge, accompanied by the hound's sheer size and weight was more than enough to put Gabriel on his back. The hound was now standing over him, trying its best to shake out of Gabriel's grasp. With every vicious jolt from the hound, Gabriel felt his grip begin to slip, the fear within him beginning to strengthen. As the two wrestled, the tree overcasting them began producing long vines from its branches, those of which began slink down towards the hound. Gabriel's strength faltered soon after, the vines becoming his saving grace as they speedily engulfed the large dog before hoisting it back into the thick canopy. He gave it one last look before grabbing his bag and hastily fleeing deeper into the park.
Afternoon rolled around in Central Park. After ensuring he was as far away from that mutated canine as possible, Gabriel took a seat at a nearby bench to catch his breath. He looked down at himself. His chest, stomach, and (what remained of his) shirt was caked with drying blood, dirt, and grass stains. The only thing running through his head was more questions. How did that dog get so big? How did that tree save him? Why was this all happening to him? As his mind continually reeled with queries, there was a being perched high in a tree behind him. She looked on cautiously, yet displayed a look of annoyance.
She dropped down from her hiding spot, and strode towards the confused boy, tapping him on a dirty shoulder. Gabriel jumped in fright, and jumped again as he turned to get a glimpse of the girl's peculiar look. Her ears were unusually long and pointed, her skin was a flushed color of green, her shoulder-length dark green hair was filled with twigs and leaves, and she wore clothing weaved from leaves of various sizes. She began to rant on about there being a hellhound wrapped and strapped to her tree, and wanting the son of Demeter to take it down. The title bestowed him upon stuck out in his mind, the "son of Demeter".
"You...know my parents?" He asked the young lady. She shrugged, replying that only a son of the Goddess of Agriculture and the Harvest could manipulate her tree in such a way. Her words left Gabriel slightly speechless. He summoned the vines? He was the son of a goddess? The girl saw his look of confusion and smiled.
"You're new to this, aren't you?"
"New to what?"
"Being a Demigod. I mean, you have to be one! Only a demi would be able to see Dryads and Hellhounds, and have the abilities that reflect that of their parents." She replied, now joining him on the bench. He was still going over what she said. So he was a Demigod now? He sighed. More questions and more confusion.
"Can you tell me more about Demigods? About...my mom?"
"Yeah...just get the hellhound out of my tree first." The wood nymph replied with a smile before introducing herself with the name Willow. Gabriel didn't really smile back, but her friendliness did cause him to warm up to her.
6 years pass. While attending and eventually graduating High School, Gabriel lived among the Dryads of Central Park. With their help, he grasped a better understanding of his abilities, and became ever more appreciative towards the nature around him. The buzzing in his head turned into fairly audible whispers that traveled on the wind. His time spent among the peaceful wood nymphs came at a price, however. Hellhounds, harpies, furies, and other horrors not only attacked him on his home turf, but at his school as well. He's watched many a dryad fall trying to protect him. He knew that the monsters were only coming for him, and the feeling of guilt ate at him. The night of his 20th birthday, he drove himself out of Central Park, to keep their lives safe from his curse. He found a sound happiness living in that Park, and being away from them caused his emotions to go back to its quiet, hostile, state. From a broken boy, to a broken adult, Gabriel aimlessly roamed the city, unsure and fairly uncaring of where his life went next.
One day, through his travels of vagrancy, Gabriel found himself on the outskirts of Long Island, and smack-dab in the middle of a conflict between two opposing parties. It wasn't a disagreement over him, so to say, Gabriel just seemed to have knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. To the untrained eye, one might mistake the scuffle to be some sort of gang war. To Gabriel, the fight looked more like something you wouldn't see on an everyday basis. A small group of individuals (most of which, looked to be in their teens) were engaged in fierce combat between an even smaller (and steadily shrinking) group of gorgons. Some of the kids used weapons of mythical origin, weapons that shone a brilliant gold-like color, while others used the elements to gain the upper hand. And then there was Gabe, dumbstruck while trying to fully assess the situation, unaware of the monstrous snake-woman that slowly approached behind him.
Before the monster of Grecian legend could inflict any damage upon the boy, it was stuck down by a volley of arrows. As the battle died down, he found himself being approached by the kids, and they began bombarding him with questions while they murmured amongst themselves. Where'd he come from? Could he see the gorgons? Was he a demigod? The last question fully acquired Gabriel's attention, and answering his own questions. It was no doubt that these kids were the half-godspawns he may have been subconsciously searching for. And with that, he decided to answer all their questions.
"My name is Gabe. My mother is one of the gods. Demeter, is her name." He told them, quietly. One of the teens (one which seemed to be the eldest), stepped towards Gabriel, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You should come with us, then. There's no safe haven outside of Camp Half-Blood for demis like us." The boy said, leading Gabriel and his group to the fabled camp. Gabe may not have known where he was being lead, but he figured he might as well go with the kids, and give himself a few nights of easy rest.
Notes: He doesn't like to admit it, but Gabriel has a natural talent for cooking. And according to previous acquaintances, he has a strange taste in music.
Dominic was another character that I had a ton of fun with. Or rather, I had fun planning out his development. The way this superhero RP was played, was that our characters received a pair of powers, chosen at random by the GM. The abilities Dom received just so happened to pair up perfectly with his personality, and beyond that I played with the idea of a individual who wanted to save everyone, and suddenly woke up one day with the power to do just that. It...also may or may have not started driving him crazy. We never got far enough to explore that, unfortunately.
Name: Dominic Salazar-Tate Age: 21 Sex: Male
Appearance: Dominic stands at 6'0", at around 150 lbs. He possesses the body of a runner, a thin stature on an equally thin, fit frame. While he may've taken his father's size and physique, it was clear that his genes are dominated by his mother's side of the family. As such, he shares traits that give the two a close resemblance, including his mom's olive-tan skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair. His sense of fashion, however, was a result of joint meddling from both parents.
He tends to dress in a business-casual sort of way, tops consisting of slimming button-down dress shirts, ties, vests, sweaters, and the like. Bottoms usually fluctuate between jeans and hi-top sneakers, and slacks with shoes. He tends to stay clean shaven, and will shorten his hair whenever it gets too shaggy.
Personality: Dom is considered to be the determined, proactive type. Not afraid to make friends, not afraid to speak his mind, and not afraid to stand up to oppression. Knows how to stick to a project, and will always see it to its end. His attitude makes him somewhat confrontational, and sometimes his bravery can make him a little hardheaded, diving headfirst into opposition without fully considering the consequences.
He'll usually wear a neutral (that ranges from 'anxiously attentive' to 'sleepily uninterested') expression. I mean, he's more than capable of being upbeat, cheery, and excited, but you'd hear it more in his voice then you'd see it in his face. If you get lucky, you might see a bit of smirk crack from his lips. However, when he's aggravated, you'd know. He's weird like that.
Biography: Silverhollow's just about all Dom knows. He's had the pleasure of living in Brightfields his entire life. He watched the turf wars flourish like a flame all around him, and could only look on in horror as the wars claimed the life of SHPD officer Horatio Tate, his father. From then on he was determined to do several things: help end the war, move his mother out of Brightfields, and join the SHPD.
Upon graduating from high school, Dom received a scholarship for Goldmar University, in Milennial. His mother, Maria Salazar, was more overjoyed than he was. He wanted to take up a major in Criminal Justice, with a minor in Criminology (if that was even possible). What he didn't want, however, was to leave his mother by herself in Brightfields, as he knew she was coming along in age.
"Don't worry about me mijo. You have to do this. For me. For your father." She reassures him. "When I come back, it'll be with a moving truck. I'm gonna get you outta here, momma. Then, I'm gonna clean up these streets." It was a vow he made to both his mother, and himself. Years pass, and even as he managed to move his mother to Stonefalcon, Brightfields is still deteriorating from the raging gang wars. And even as he nears the home stretch of his four-year course, he knows there's still work to be done. And once he's accepted on the force, nothing's going to stop him from his ambitions.
Notes: Back when Horatio was alive, he'd tell young Dominic stories about one of his co-workers, the hero-cop Detective Jack Hartfield. From what he remembers, Dom thinks very highly of the officer, even if he's never met him in person. Some might even say he's one of the reasons why Dom wants to join the force, and with good reason. "The guy sounds like a living legend, why wouldn't I want to work beside him?"
He also has an ever-so-slightest dash of Spanish accent to his voice. It's barely noticeable to those he rarely hangs around, but everyone on his father's side of the family (and some of his closer friends) seems to get a kick out of it. They'll tell him to "say something Antonio Banderas would say" and, occasionally, he'd (obnoxiously) oblige them.
Adrian was a short lived character part of a even shorter lived RP, a superpower RP with a battle royale-esque edge to it.
Name: Adrian Lieber
Age: 22
First Gender: Male
First Appearance: A pale, male Caucasian, standing at about 6'2", and weighing in at a whopping 155 lbs. "Long and Lanky" would be one of the ways to describe his body type, nothing but skin atop very tall bones. His hair is a sorta-light brown, shoulder length, and usually fairly disheveled. His brown, sunken in eyes are surrounded by long, dark bags, a price of his current, aimless lifestyle. He usually stays clean shaven, too (even though there's not much of a choice; he can't really get a mustache past peach fuzz, and he gets rid of it to avoid looking like an adolescent). When last seen, he was wearing a black and blue flannel shirt (his favorite shirt), dingy grey jeans, and old black hi-tops.
First Personality: Adrian'll never hesitate to tell you how much college has ruined his life. His degree is useless, his friends are gone, his tuition basically put him in debt, and he has nowhere to go. These things taught him how to hate. Not people, or his surroundings, but himself (and, well, college, to some extent). He's the butt of his own jokes, and he feels he deserves it. Some days he'll try and get his act together, try to bolster himself and say "today, i'll get shit done." By the end of that day, he'd find himself back a square one. Even then, he'll try to hide it in public. He'll socialize, he'll converse, he'll laugh and be a friend. But it doesn't hamper the self-loathing that boils from within. It's a pitiful facade slowly beginning to melt away like a candle, and inside lies a burning wick that just won't extinguish.
Joey's a character that's still in action today, currently taking part in the Roleplayer Guild's reboot of our "Elementals" RP saga. In comparison to the two renditions of the character, I will say I played him a bit riskier the first time around, doing much to play up his more roguish personality traits (with some subtle hints of mental instability thrown in for good measure). He's a bit more neutered in the reboot, more of a team player than he used to be. He's also one of the few characters of mine with official art of him (with the other being Jason).
Dirty and disheveled would be among a possible series of words used to describe the boy. He's about 5'11. Tan skin on a mostly skinny figure. He’s got strong arms and legs, though. Dark brown eyes. An unkempt bush of bouncy, brunette curls sit atop his head. Dirt marks and scars go hand in hand on decorating the boy's body, naturally. A sprinkle of dark freckles are noticeable along the bridge of his nose and cheeks. His crass, cockney accent does well to meld with his street urchin appearance.
Hands and feet are usually covered in wrappings or some sort. He’s almost fiercely against any form of footwear, actually. Feeling the dust and dirt kick up between his toes is a bit securing to him. His clothes could be considered rags; a short, sleeveless white shirt and thin, brown pants covered in dirt and dust. His hooded shawl could be considered the most unique article of his attire, the knee-length brown cape draping over his shoulders and fastening at his neck. A faded, blocky, zig-zagging pattern lies all along the edge of the tattered drape.
Equipment: Usually, if he isn't mindlessly twirling it between his fingers, he has a six inch dagger holstered in his belt. It has a ring near the blade by the hilt, hence all the twirling. Also usually tied along his belt, is a small sack containing the assorted forms of earth he can control. Sand, stone arrowheads, and all sorts of small rocks and pebbles are in this bag.
Demeanor: He's a bit of a shady figure. Can keep up in a conversation, but it would be wise to not trust all his words. He's had to lie, cheat, and steal to get to where he is today, and it's what he knows best. Friends were few and far between for the boy, yet he's managed to get by. But, he's reckless also. Foolishly so. His life experiences have made him careless towards the direction his life goes in. Along with the numerous ways he's been used; he knows of his expendable status, he just doesn't care at this point. If you can manage past those wondrous qualities, he’s quite a blast to be around. Jokes and snarks with the best of them. Unhesitant to flirt with any sort of female.
History: There's been no shortage of orphans inhabiting that island the mages were pushed to so long ago. However, there were the young ones that managed to find the righteous path, to fully embrace their abilities and to fall in line with all the other budding mages at the Academy. Joey never found this path. Not immediately, anyway. His parents, whoever they were, pulled the ol’ “baby in a basket (sans basket)” routine on a human owned monastery not too far from the nearest town, but at least several fortnights away from the nearest Academy. Little Joey was left on the doorstep with nothing more than a soiled diaper with his name hastily scrawled into it. Such an occurrence was a normal routine for the place, so of course he was taken in.
From there he grew up along the monks and nuns and the other assorted ragamuffins of that monastery. He was quite the quick handed troublemaker out of the kids in his age group, a mischievous little runt that was always ready to plan or play the next prank on one of his unsuspecting elders. No doubt he was the all time best at hide and seek. They were quick to give him his forty lashings whenever they found him, too. Despite this, he was always willing to lend a hand, that is, if he were getting something out of the task.
At some point in his seventeenth year, he overheard news of a public execution being held in town. It was two criminals; a mage couple. Now, he’s heard many stories and comments about mages up to this point. And none of them were good ones. They’ve been called demons, savages, heathens and false prophets. How they could manipulate flame with just a flick of the wrist, snatch the light right out of the sky, and how the earth would tremble at their will. Most of the religious folk thought that they all deserve nothing shorter than burning in hell. The news of the execution practically resulted in joyous celebration among the nuns and monks of the monastery. Naturally, Joey had to go into town to check it out, he wanted to see what these so-called demons looked like!
You could imagine his disappointment when he actually set eyes on the criminals once he reached the town square. They weren’t nearly as monstrous as he was thinking. Nope, instead they looked like old, tired folk, with faces and bodies covered in bruises and cuts. Lame. He looked on, disinterested. The announcement of their crimes went mostly unheard, but it was something the executioner said that really got Joey’s attention. He announced their names: Mikaela and Rohaan Dunst. “...Dunst?” Joey scoffed. It was an interesting coincidence, that he’d have the same last name as these two. As the two dropped from the gallows, and hung for all the town to see, Joey made his way back to the monastery, not giving much thought to that strange coincidence.
...That is, until he started making little rocks float by his fingertips one day. He couldn’t even tell how he was making it happen or why, but he knew he should knock it off before someone noticed and amassed a angry mob. He did pretty well at keeping it under wraps, and even felt he could suppress his newfound abilities. But, he was eighteen pushing nineteen by this point, and felt it was time to move away from the monastery. Though from there, he was so fast to fall in with the wrong crowds. Gangs, thieves, rogues, and other presumably violent ne’er-do-wells. He would do well to use his fists to find his way out of a scrap, rather than his abilities.
He would skip from town to town, ever so slowly heading in the direction of the Academy. He would swipe small trinkets and currencies from oblivious tourists and unsuspecting lodgers. If he weren’t sleeping outside in the dirt, it would be in the warm bed of a maiden he’d manage to sweet talk. If he'd get lucky, some odd job would fall into his lap during his travels, maybe help move things off a freighter, or play as an extra hand in a shakedown. The more he stole from the humans, the more he began to loathe their ways. The lot of them were selfish, ignorant, and oh so dumb. He realized the hate against mages seemed mostly for no reason, and it angered him a bit.
He managed to reach the Academy just a few weeks after celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday. He was surprised at how gracefully they let him in, that is, once he showed what little of his abilities he possessed. That was understandable. Living alongside the humans for so long, he could understand why it would be so hard to trust any of them. Yet, he would wonder if anyone would trust him.
Deej, Granny, and Sonia were the main characters of the third RP I created, "Welcome to Billboardsville!", where I had a dream that could only be explained as "the over-the-top anime goodness of Kill La Kill mixed in copious amounts of gritty gang violence!" The resulting RP had tons of potiential, but interest in developing the story fell by the wayside, and RPers followed suit. Who knows, maybe one day I could relaunch it on this website...
Name: Deegan James "Deej" Morrison Age: 18 Gender: Male
Appearance: Let's not beat around the bush here, Deegan is short. He's about 5 feet 4 inches, and about 110 pounds soaking wet. If you couldn't guess by his weight, he's also fairly skinny. His shoulders are weirdly broad for his size, though. He's got light brown skin, dark brown eyes, and black hair full of big, bouncy curls. Mostly wears colorful t-shirts, baggy khakis and cargos, and hi-tops. He wears a purple rosary around his neck, to remember his late brother by.
Personality: Deegan is impulsive. Likes to live in the moment, and will literally not think before he leaps. The death of his brother had made him reckless, much to the dismay of his parents. It also doesn't take much to excite him. He likes to run, but towards the fray, instead of away from it. He's a risk taker, just like his grandmother. He'll try anything once.
Special Talent(s): I'll be honest, Deegan isn't the sharpest brick in the masonry. But, the kid's got heart. He fights for his friends n' all that. He's a scrappy little fellow; pretty good at using his fists and feet. Due to his short stature and light weight, he can be very agile and flexible. He takes the expression "bouncing off the walls" in a very literal sense. He can get on a taller person's shoulder's in one leap.
Biography: Somewhere in the late nineties, the eldest daughter of the Sinclaire clan, Sierra, wanted to get out of the family business. With the promise of grandchildren, Shirley gracefully respected her decisions. True to her word, Sierra confirmed she was carrying twins by the end of the year. Twin boys, to be in fact. Deegan came out first, his brother Benji followed after. The family lived out most of the boy's young lives in Billboardsville, long before the issue of emerging gangs arose. The twins were inseparable during growth, brothers through and through.
As they reached middle school age, a Spanish gang known as the Conquistadors were slowly making themselves known in the Howie Towers housing complex just a block or so away from their house. The introduction of the gang made it a challenge to get from school and back on many occasion, but the two managed to get by. Except for one day. Benji was wearing blue one day, a color associated with one of the other established gangs, the Royals. Passing through Howie Towers, the two were confronted by about four older males, all brandishing some form of yellow on their persons.
One asked an expected question, "You a Royal?" They barely had any time to answer before they were assaulted. A flurry of fists, feet, bats, and knuckle dusters were brought upon the brothers. And even as they fought, it was clear the odds were stacked against them. And as Benji slipped into unconscious, his face bloodied and torn, an imposing figure of a man stepped through the crowd. The man, covered in tattoos, had a long yellow cloth covering his mouth. Deegan, equally mangled and driven by blinding rage, rushed towards the man, only to be driven into the concrete by the massive man's boot. "Tell your people of what occurred here today. Hate me if you must." And hate him he did. As the man kicked him away, he reached for Benji, holding him forth by the neck, like her just won a trophy. "This one...he will be the first." Down the line Deegan learned that the man was one of the Conquistador's lieutenants, called himself the "Matador". He never forgot that moment, and of the anger that stemmed from it.
He brought the news to his mother, injured, angry, ashamed. Distraught, and with no help from the police, Sierra collected her things, and moved from the city as fast as she could, with Deegan in tow. Three years later, and fresh out of high school, he received a call from his aunt, with the promise of making money working with his grandma. He didn't need another reason to come out, he saw this as an opportunity to get back at the Conquistadors or die trying. So he headed back to Billboardsville, scowling all along the way.
Appearance: Well, she's old, no doubt. Her whitish-gray hair has been mostly touched with a burgundy-brown hue, a shade that easily fades into her brown skin. She may have been thin and beautiful in her youth, but now standing at 5'9" and weighing in at about 230, she's formed into more of a roundish mass that most grannies take on at that age. She can usually be found in a business suit of sorts, obviously. She does have a place of business to run, after all.
Personality: Granny may be a very business-oriented woman, but you'd never guess that through her speech and actions. She's all sorts of sassy and bossy and loud and impersonal. She will not hesitate to throw her weight around, both figuratively and literally. Though, on a good day, she can be a very warm, loving woman. Too bad there haven't been much good days since Billboardsville went to shit. But hey, if everything goes according to her plan, then we might just see ol' Granny crack a smile again.
Talents: She's a world renowned cook, for starters. How else did you think she got her restaurant? It helps that she loves doing it, and it can be one of the few things that would keep her mind off of the ruin her city is falling to.
Also, she's built like a fucking brick wall. Seriously, don't let her age fool you, cuz she's as fast and strong as she is tough. I mean, the woman had to singlehandedly care for eight kids while running a gang and a popular restaurant. You think there haven't been times where she strong-armed herself out of a situation? There've been many folk who tried to walk into her restaurant and start some shit. And they were usually ushered out, by her, straight through the front window.
Not to mention, her years of business (both business, and "business") expertise have kept her mind razor sharp. Girl could write a book if she wanted. Instead she's gonna turn back to her younger days, and use that mind of hers to launch an assault big enough to set the whole town straight.
Biography: Hey, did you know that Granny Sinclaire ran a gang? Okay, yeah, I knew it too. But she didn't run all by herself. Hell, she wasn't even the head of the gang in its heyday. That title went to the late, great, Edward Sinclaire, a smooth talking salesman from up north. Every word he spoke was like dribbles of honey pouring into your ear. He walked into young Shirley's up-and-running establishment (then called Shirley's Soulful Sweets) and practically swept her off her feet with his words. With his slick words and extensive knowledge, he was just the thing needed to get the business booming. And as it seemed, as more and more money came in, business began to change. Soon they began receiving and shipping "flour" and "herbs" out to reliable buyers.
With Eddie's talk, came the fierce movement of drugs, weapons, and most other illegal supplies that could be bought. And to be honest, Shirley didn't care. All the extra business meant all the extra cash. In fact, she loved him even more for it. He was teaching her things she could've never learned through her own methods. As they built a impressive stable of movers, shakers, and moneymakers, their love for one another grew into a whirlwind. Almost literally too, like they popped out like 8 kids over a nine year span. 5 boys, and 3 girls. Soon, Shirley's Soulful Sweets became Sinclaire's Sweets, to represent the bond the two shared. But, these sort of crime stories never end well. Edward was gunned down in a act of gang violence.
The grief was almost overwhelming for Shirley. But she wasn't stopped. She had a restaurant to run! Contraband to move! Kids to raise! She couldn't mourn long. With the help of her eldest son and daughter, she got right back into the game and came just as hard, if not harder. As the new head of the Sinclaire Family, she had something to prove. And prove she did. The family held Billboardsville's underground in a tightly wound iron fist. Nothing got in or out of the city without her knowing. Some say the family grew ruthless under her rule, while she claimed to only increase productivity.
Years passed, and in her aging state, she decided to retire from the hustle and bustle of the crime underworld. And as kids drifted away, and her family flourished, she decided to put more of her focus into her restaurant. Her movers and shakers became her devoted cooks and cleaners. Her youngest child, Sonia, stayed behind with her mother, and helped manage the restaurant.
Name: Sonia Sinclaire Age: 30 Gender: Female
Appearance: Along with being the youngest of the Sinclaire clan, she's also the shortest at just 4'11". Match her small stature with the pair of bifocals and the bushy head of black hair she had to wear through youth, and you know she never had a fun time on school playgrounds. Luckily she's updated the look, her glasses small, sharp, square rimmed. Her bushy hair smoothed down to shoulder length. Due to years of her mother's cooking, Sonia definitely takes into a plentiful curvy shape. Not as chubby as you'd think, she'll proudly boast that she fills out in all the right places. She's usually a bit more on the casual side when compared to her mother, usually wearing form fitting jeans, blouses, and sneakers.
Personality: Business oriented, like her mother. But with none of the boisterous sass. She's quite timid, actually. Doesn't stop her from contrasting her mother's usual cold dispositions with her helpful friendliness. That, and she has a bit of a drinking problem. So there's that.
Talent(s): Sonia may be a smart as her mother, but at least she has the certifications to show for it. She has at least one Master's in Business Administration, and a couple of Bachelor degrees further covering the major.
Biography: Sonia wasn't around during the high point of her parent's criminal career. Born shortly after the death of her father, Sonia only had her mother to look to for guidance. It could've been the factor that kept the two so close. Sonia saw her mother as a strong, immovable pillar that kept their family up. As powerful as she was smart. Sonia wanted to be like that. And where she lacked in power, she more-than-made-up for it in intelligence. Even though she was overshadowed by her siblings, Shirley still managed to take notice of her daughter's prowess. And notice she did, making sure to keep Sonia on top of her studies, and guiding her every step of the way. Shirley was never one to let untapped potential go to waste.
Once Sonia completed her last degree, Shirley rewarded her with a position as CFO over the Sinclaire Sweets franchise, along with all the benefits that came with the position. Now as her mother's right hand, Sonia helps keep the restaurant moving, while keeping up with her mother's connections, and tending to the not-so-legal tender.
Eager to try out a Star Wars based RP, I created Ja'Ysr, a crippled Chiss Sith with a heavy childhood and a grim disposition. He was another one of those characters where I had a bunch of things planned for him, but never got around to them due to the short life span of the RP.
Name: Ja'Ysr Sivir Gender: Male Species: Chiss Age: 29
Appearance: Naturally for his kind, Ja'Ysr stands at about 6 feet 3 inches. His skin is a blue that almost seems to border ash grey, possibly as a side effect to his training under the sith. His hair is black, and buzzed short along his temples. Typically, his eyes are a solid red, save for the left one. Due to an grievous early aged injury, he was left without a left eye, and a scar that runs down his face (down his forehead, over the eye, and stopping just at his chin) as well as over the bridge of his nose. At the start of his training he was outfitted with an optical cybernetic implant for the missing eye. The cybereye resembles something akin to a black disk with red optics, grafted into his face where the eyelid once was.
He is clothed in a dingy gray jumpsuit, with mismatched light armor picked off of fallen soldiers and adversaries covering most of it. The ensemble is usually hidden behind his black hooded robe, one that usually comes off if the situation calls for it.
Possessions: Ja'Ysr was never one to overload himself with unnecessary items and trinkets. Other than his clothes and robe, Ja'Ysr carries what credits and personal information he deems would be needed, and his weapons. On the subject of weaponry, he carries a pair of DC-17 blaster pistols, ones holstered to the belt of his ensemble, as well as his lightsaber. The lightsaber in question has a hilt much longer than most, at about 3.5 feet. The blade however, is of a standard length with a silver glow.
Skills: He was learned in the dual combat styles of Form V. He has covered the basics of both sides of the form, Shien as well as Djem So, yet as he learned to counter blaster bolts, he also wanted to carry blasters of his own, to fully cover the art. Naturally, he began to lean more towards the Shien art due to these developments, as well as try and incorporate his blasters into his bouts.
While well versed in the Force, he rarely calls upon it for any forms of telekinesis or sorcery. Instead he hones his Force abilities into his speed, agility and dexterity.
As a Chiss, he has impeccable sight in low light to dark environments and situations, and his cybernetic eye grants him telescopic vision.
Personality: The path of the Sith molded Ja'Ysr from a young age, changing a scared, timid boy into a whirling dervish of a warrior. His demeanor is calm and obediently loyal for the most part, an emotion that almost seems to contradict his (sometimes eager) assertiveness. Yet, on the inside, boils a roiling anger that he was trained to hold onto, to use to strike down his enemies as well as anyone else that dares stand before. Sometimes it may lead to spontaneous outbursts.
Backstory: For the most part Ja'Ysr lived a life of constant moving. After witnessing the death of his parents through a bandit raid (the very raid that left his vision impaired and face scarred), he was left unwanted and unloved. He could only move from place to place, usually being forced into some form of slavery by a slave trader or bandit looking to make a quick credit from a poor boy's body. And for the most part, he felt helpless to the path his life seemed to take. Helpless, scared, and most certainly angry. Such anger was how he was ushered into the dark side of the force.
As a scene of public humiliation was lashed upon the boy by one of his traders, he retaliated by rushing into the man hard and fast enough to knock him off his feet. Ja'Ysr could only scowl and seethe and stifle screams as he managed to overpower the man and close off his windpipe with his bare hands. As soon as he realized what he had done, he was being quickly led away from the scene by an individual in a dark red robe. Whoever the individual was, she could easily see the rage the he held within, a rage that could easily manipulated into something much more powerful than what he could do on his own.
As he grew under his master's tutelage, Ja'Ysr hardened into a fine Sith apprentice. Even as he had much to learn under the title, his master always thought his potential was limitless. And with training, soon the search for power slipped in alongside his simmering anger and lust for vengeance. Such feelings were only accented once his master was fatally cut down in a battle that turned the tides for the Jedi empire. Subservient for his dark masters, Ja'Ysr carries out his authority as needed and seeks to help bring the Sith back to power.
Maybe giving Lian a "debut" date wouldn't actually be all that accurate. I mean, she was an accepted character in a futuristic Avatar RP (as the Avatar, no less!) but, due to how the story was supposed to play out, I never got to use her! Interest died off almost immediately, the RP lasting a mere 11 posts before stopping dead in its tracks. Alas, another disappointing venture.
Name: Lian Wei-Na Age: 19 Gender: Female
Appearance: Some would say her tomboyish looks would contrast her personality. She stands at about 5'0", with moderate brown skin, dull green eyes (somewhat obscured behind a pair of square rimmed prescription glasses), and glorious wild mane of dark brown hair that would reach down just a little past her shoulders if it were straightened. She has this sort of soft, pear shaped frame to her body, complete with wide hips, stocky thighs, and a pleasantly full derriere.
Her style of dressing has been mostly lifted from the strongly masculine side of her family. Sneakers, baggy jeans and gym shorts, t-shirts, jackets, and hoodies are usually among the preferred items of clothing. When she was snatched up she was wearing a denim jacket, sleeveless green shirt, dingy overalls (its straps hanging loosely at her waist) and some old canvas hi-tops.
Abilities: Lian was bestowed miraculous, wondrous powers upon her. Yet, these were abilities that she would've cursed upon another, rather than herself. The ancient spirit Raava dwells within her, and (alongside the typical glowy-eyed light show) has begun its outward manifestations through the form of beginner’s waterbending, much to Lian's dismay.
Equipment and Bionics: At the time of abduction, Lian was holding no more than the clothes on her back, a wallet full of Yuans, and a Future Industries smartphone. Said items were most likely confiscated by time of rescue.
Personality: Lian's never been one to act out around her parents (or most other elder figures, for that matter). Fairly obedient and doting (with the slightest twinge of resentment) around these sorts of people and her siblings. One would think she would always act this way, yet it's not the case around her similarly aged friends and acquaintances. She’s a bit louder, and not as stubborn as she is full of sass, deep seated self-loathing, and agitated rebuttals. There’s also a bit of pent up anger surging through her person (for several reasons), and she can be easy to erupt given the issue at hand.
Backstory: The Wei-Na family was one full of proud earthbenders. Arrogant, condescending individuals who considered their bending to be the be all end all in terms of elemental control. A family of wide shouldered pro-benders, construction workers, miners, metalbenders and magmabenders all alike. They were all fairly against the Avatar. Elders of the Wei-Na clan considered Korra a "plague that damn near destroyed the world across several occasions" and "should've been pacified the second she created the spirit portals and practically ruined the city". And as old-fashioned and ignorant as it sounded, said ideals were passed down and reinforced through the generations. They considered the Avatar’s death a blessing.
So enter Lian, this quiet little girl made only quieter by her parents as they realized she lacked any real earthbending potential. She swore she could almost hear them calling her a mistake. But, as if to spite the girl, they tried again, and again, and again for an ideal child. Soon Lian had a series of strong baby brothers, born one after another, and all showing wonderful signs of being powerful future earthbenders. Naturally, she was pushed out of the limelight faster than she could register, subtly neglected by her extended family members, and barely loved by her parents. She would fight a winless battle for their affections, and it would only leave her either angry at her own shortcomings, or resentful of her parent’s attitudes towards their daughter. But she’d never dare show it to their faces. So her angers resembled her family's, and her aggravations were turned towards the Avatar, much like everyone else's.
One particular bout of pent up frustrations sent her bolting out of the Wei-Na household one night, failing to hold back tears as she ran to a park. She seethed and fell to her knees as she approached a pond, grinding her teeth to stifle rage filled screams. She ripped at the grass, and stuck the earth, oblivious of the waves of water she was generating until they splashed at her. She paused, staring at the rippling water until she realized a pair of illuminant eyes were glaring back. She was quick to realize that the waves were her doing. And that those glowing eyes were her eyes. "No...Oh no..." She didn't have to have it explained to her. She knew what she was. What could she do? "I...I don't want this!" Could she go to anyone about this? Who could she tell? "My family...my parents..." Their neglectful actions would become full-on malicious. They would disown her for sure. "No...I..." She could barely breathe, exhaling ragged breaths.
At the height of her despair, she was abducted from that very park. Subdued and taken to some unknown location. The search her parents issued was half-hearted and barely lasted a month. They were quick to move past their daughter’s disappearance.
I consider Lammy to be my breakout character of 2015. Another one of those characters that I just enjoyed playing with, interacting with other characters, and fleshing out narrative wise. I've really been able to commit to him, possibly due to my intrigue to the D&D based settings and classes.
Name: Lamont "Lammy" LaSalle Age: 24 Sex: Male
Race: Human Class: Druid Alignment: Neutral Good
Appearance: It's been argued that Lammy's overall appearance reflects both his personality, and lifestyle. Moderately tan skin covered in dirty splotches, a disheveled, shaggy, black mop of tangled locks (with a seldom braid twisted in here and there) he considers "hair", an equally disheveled goatee, unnaturally bestial hazel irises that one could say sparkle in certain light, callous caked bare feet and hands, and a usually confused disposition. Standing at 6'2" and 155 lbs, Lammy's a tall, stringy fellow that looks like he needs a bath (and most likely does). Imagine if Tarzan was a slacker that could change into any animal he pleased. That's Lammy in a nutshell.
Equipment: Lammy doesn't carry much. No need for money or supplies when you can delve into animal instincts to hunt for food and resources. Other than that and the clothes he'll wear (his trusty, raggedy, dirt brown cloth pants and equally dirty vest), his 4 foot long ironwood quarterstaff (that he uses more as a walking stick than anything), and a carving knife, he tends to travel light. Really light.
Skills and Abilities: An established druid, Lammy is capable of transforming into multiple classifications of fauna. Whether it be a mighty bird of prey, a fearsome dire bear, or a lazy housecat, Lamont has the expanse area of the animal kingdom at his disposal. He can shift into at least two animals once a day, and since he's been on the road, he's been working on strengthening his abilities. Then again, the lazy housecat is his favorite animal to shift into. His sister always excelled where he didn't when it came to magic, so he's a little outclassed when it comes to that.
At his side is his trusty pet, a Red-tailed Hawk named Sheeva. He can communicate with her when he needs to, which seems like all the time. She apparently tells great jokes, and her sass knows no bounds.
Personality: His mom calls him lazy, but he considers himself "understandably uninspired". But no, he's mostly lazy. And a little aimless. He usually needs to be pushed in the right direction in order for him to get things done. That being said, his peculiar upbringing leaves him as a bit of a flower child. As the oldest sibling in a family of druids, Lammy's pretty in tune with nature. And if he's motivated enough, he'll always want to protect it.
Backstory: As noted prior, Lamont belongs to a family of druids. What started out as a adventuring duo sharing common interests, blossomed into a semi-popular family team gaining some groundswell in their hometown. As the kids got older, the mom and dad decide to settle down, with enough amassed funds (from successful quests) to convert their housing into a animal and nature sanctuary. The younger sister, Amaya, matured in a way differently than her older brother. Following in her parent's footsteps, she took up the adventuring mantle, and embarked on quests of her own. Lamont, on the other hand, opted on staying home to help tend to the sanctuary.
It was appreciated at first, but his mom and pop began to realize just how directionless their son had become. One day, Lammy's mother approached him with a short staff made of extremely durable ironwood. "I'm kicking you out~!" Her chipper serenade harshly contrasted such a drastic demand. Before he could properly protest, she began pushing him out the door. "Go out into the world, find you a really big job, and don't come back until you've completed it...or give me grandchildren...preferably both!" She smiled all the while, she meant well for her son.
...And then she promptly slammed the door shut. Lamont sighed. "D'oh well." The least he could do was fly into town. Maybe there was something on offer at the bulletin boards. With a sharp whistle, his trusty hawk companion Sheeva glided to his side. "C'mon Sheev. Let's go find ourselves a job." He said, quickly taking on his own hawk form before flying off.
That was two years ago. Not only had he found himself a really big job in that time, but he and his traveling companions completed it with flying colors. He's yet to have been back home in the time prior, but still plans on returning one day, to show his parents the spoils and souvenirs of his travels. He's on the road, passing through towns, taking on small jobs that worked best with his abilities. At times he'd think back to that very first job, and mull over some of the bigger events with a warm smile on his face. His thoughts would linger towards one of the party members, a lady paladin he grew smitten with. While she was a bit of a fish out of water, and didn't get all of his jokes, she was a fierce warrior whose loyalty towards her friends gave Lammy a new outlook on life. Not too bad looking, either. As the job completed and the party parted ways, Lammy found himself regretting never telling her how he really felt about her. On his travels, he always wondered if their paths would cross once more.
Ezra is a current character in another Pokemon RP by @WriterRaven that infuses the established Pokemon world with fresh ideas and concepts painstakingly created by Raven himself. Activity in the RP has been on a bit of a break as of late, but those still willing to tell the story (GM Raven, fellow writer and Co-GM @NeoAC, and myself) hang on to the idea of revitalizing the medium. I find there to be tons of potential involving this character and the new world created, so i'm keeping close tabs on this RP for the time being.
Name: Ezra Gerald Daly Age: 20 Sex: Male
Appearance: His active lifestyle and general upbringing have left the young man with a noticeably athletic physique. Thin, lean muscle, like a sprinter or swimmer, as opposed to a bodybuilder. And standing at a wide-shouldered 6 foot 2, it's kinda clear to see why. He's a sporty guy, so naturally you'll mostly see him in athletic shorts and running sneakers. A shirt is usually optional. He has a small, beaded necklace that is almost always on his person, dangling from his neck if not wrapped around his wrist. It has a wood carved charm that he fidgets with from time to time, one that resembles the crest of his ancestors (a stylized, curvy thundercloud, displaying both a sole raindrop, and a bolt of lightning). Being from Mystriver Isles, his skin is noticeably tan. His dark brown hair falls wavy and long, just a little bit past his shoulders. It’s usually in a ponytail of some sort. His eyes are brown, large, and usually doe-like and expressive.
Personality: At first glance, the guy's kinda talkative, like one of those loud, obnoxious personal trainers. Loves being in a conversation, but has a habit of saying wrong things at wrong times. And sometimes he might talk over someone, or change topic naively. He’s the kind of guy to hold several conversations at once. But, he means no wrong. If anything, he likes watching others succeed. He takes pride in looking as approachable as possible, so you'll see him smile a lot. His posture will usually be more relaxed than his figure would imply.
Profession: Ezra was raised to be a Warrior (and naturally it shows). Comfortable with making his parents proud and living up to their wishes, he won't stray too far from that particular career path. But, he also takes joy in training the bodies and minds of Pokémon and person alike.
Talents: An impressive swimmer, as are the most of the people living along the Mystriver coasts, Ezra loves being in water. Either through surfing up a wave, jogging along the shore, or marvelling at a thunderstorm. When he wasn't going through martial arts training, he would play on the beach with his free time, frolicking and tending to the multitude of Pokémon that would occupy the area. It was their natural habitat, after all, he just wanted to befriend all of them.
He picked up his family's affinity for Water and Electric types without a hitch, as well as his empath-like abilities. "It was cute," His mother would describe, "He loved bringing the little ones home. When he'd talk to them, they'd talk back! I’d like to think we all had that phase at one point or another, but Ezra held on to the habit far into his teens."
He was taught the Warrior Skill Shout Cure at his hometown’s Dojo, which his parents found fitting, given the boy’s chatty nature.
Starter Pokémon: Out of the many families of Pokémon inhabiting the isle, Ezra associated with a small clan of Oshawott the most. The youngest of the clan was the one that wanted to join him on his travels to the inland. A little female, just as sporty and talkative as her new travelling companion, named Brie. She knows Tackle, and Water Gun, possesses the hidden Shell Armor ability, and Ezra would describe her nature as Jolly.
Inventory: Ezra carries around large canvas rucksack, filled with the following items: - 6 Poké Balls, just about enough to have an entire party - 5 Super Potions - P$2500 in cash for small expenses - A week's worth of clothing, including at least one pair of jeans, and a dark blue pullover hoodie - Additional personal care items, including travel sized athletic supplements, tons of snacks, protein shake powders - A small first-aid kit for treating minor human injuries - A matte black PokéLink, a device that he's on almost constantly - You’ll most likely see it fastened to his bicep in some sort of sport band, with earbuds sticking out of it to keep him connected.
Hometown: Mystriver Isle City, Mystriver Isle, Sengun
Biography: As far back as the elders can remember, the Daly clan were always proud to be Warriors. Fiercely supportive, fathers and mothers would be encouraged by their predecessors to have their offspring embark down the Warrior path.
This was no different for Ezra’s parents, Hera and Jackson Jr. Seeing as they themselves once took up the warrior’s creed, it didn’t take much convincing to do the same for their only son. Rather than being unfairly forced into the lifestyle by two parents, he (alongside equally aged cousins and other family members) was gracefully and carefully eased into the creed, backed by the love and support of his extended family.
For as long as Ezra could walk on his own and form sentences, he was being trained in the field of martial arts. And, along with a formal education, he was taught the history lessons of the region by the his eldest living grandparents.
When the news of Sengun’s own Pokemon league hit the Isles, most of the elders thought it no different than a glorified tourist attraction. But it piqued Ezra’s interest well enough. He may have been to some of the other kingdoms in his youth, but with the idea of the league challenge presenting itself, he would now have a chance to see it all. He could meet new Pokémon, meet new people, and see just where his warrior skills lie amongst the dojos of the land.
Once his mind was made up, his parents could do nothing to stop him. And neither did they want to, seeing it as a chance for their son to dip his feet into the waters of the region. With a packed bag and little Brie at his side, he made for the next airship bound for Regala. A commercial concerning the league mentioned the region’s capital as natural starting point for league participants, and the Pokémon professors willing to assist newcomers.
Another Adrian, another demigod. Shame about the RP I created him for. One of the speedier RPs I've encountered in the past few years, but it died just as fast. Though, I could possibly understand why. Demigod-centered RPs are a dime a dozen on this site, and adding another to the pot definitely wouldn't be healthy for any sort of potential longevity. That, and i'm sure a little in-character disagreement (early in the RP, of course) left a bad taste in some of the other user's mouths. Ah well. I suppose I could find another Demigod RP to throw him into at some point. I was just getting ready to start on a personal character arc with him before the RP died off.
Name: Adrian Nicholson Age: 20 Gender: Male
Godly Parent: Agni, Hindu god of fire Brief description of godly parent: The Hindu minor god, Agni, is said to be a son of Dyaus and Prithivi; he is called the son of Brahma. An immortal considered a priest that rises before the dawn. He is represented as a red man, having three legs and seven arms, dark eyes, eyebrows and hair. He rides on a ram, and wears a poita (Brahmanical thread). Flames of fire issue from his mouth, and seven streams of glory radiate from his body.
Adrian stands at a solid 6 feet. Tan skin, green eyes, and shoulder length black hair usually tied into a bun or ponytail. Facial hair is usually shaved, though he'll let a goatee grow out from time to time. He's usually wearing something very loose, very casual. Maybe a hoodie and basketball shorts, maybe a t-shirt and baggy jeans. If he's not walking around barefoot, then he's wearing flip-flops. Let's be honest, to the uninitiated, he looks like a bum.
Skills/Powers/Weapons: Given his heavenly heritage, Adrian naturally possesses a control over flame. This includes conjuration, manipulation, and resilience. Alongside this remarkable ability, his body boasts feats of impressive speed and durability.
Strengths/Weaknesses: Anyone can tell you, fire is as destructive as it is helpful. And Adrian has these...tendencies. An abundance of flame (say, a wildfire) is uncontrollable in the boy's eyes. Not only that, but such an abundance brings out a urge in him, to keep the flame alive, to help it flourish and spread. In these episodes of arson, he tends to take on a look closer resembling his father. A red skinned, seven armed form, with flames pouring from his lips. With an axe of flame in each hand, he mindlessly lays waste to everything in his vicinity.
It was why he was at the Refuge, after all. He considered it a place to keep his abilities under control. He curses the existence of his godly parent and has no intention on practicing his religion, wishing he was never bestowed with such a "gift".
Other: He keeps these negative urges at bay through meditation, and through general camaraderie and social interaction. He figures if he can keep these urges out of mind and out of body, he can keep them under control. As a result he tends to present himself as approachable and friendly.
As of the time of writing, Quincy is my most recent character, created for a RP about a world in peril and defiant group of dragon riders ready to save it. Quincy's a bit of a problematic individual, impulsive and too honest for his own good. The things keep him from going full Justin Case would be his inferiority complex with his superiors, and his adorable sea monster Alejandra.
Quincy James “Jamie” Odell
Rider of Alejandra
APPEARANCE— Quincy’s about 5’11”. Thin, toned, athletic frame. Long, muscular arms. Black hair buzzed down, piercing light brown eyes. Fairly tan skinned, marked from head to toe in both fresh and fading scarring.
Clothing is a contradicting subject for Quincy. Spending most of his time in the warm waters of the coast, he usually won't be seen wearing much (if anything at all). If he absolutely has to wear clothes, it’ll most likely be something light and easy to take off. Sleeveless shirts are his favorite. Roomy trousers. A pair of boots that he can slip in and out of with minimal effort. He carries a sandy brown sack across his back, full of assorted clothing articles and other belongings (including a series of spears strapped alongside it.)
AGE— 22 Bonded for 9 years
GENDER— Male
HISTORY— Quincy spent a lot of his time growing up along the east side of Caerel, specifically inhabiting Tyndall Point and Fathom Bay. If you haven’t guessed by now, his mother and father were pretty close followers of the Sea Drakes. They weren’t riders, per se, but the two were close confidants of both Dragon and Rider alike. Instead, the two were researchers, studying the habits, schedules, appetites, and mating rituals of the particular breed.
The two slowed on their findings once Quincy came into the picture, but it didn’t stop the two from introducing their son into the world of the Sea Drakes. Unfortunately, they didn’t initially pique his interest the way his parents would’ve wanted. He thought they were handed the bad end of the evolutionary stick. “Can’t fly? Can’t breathe fire? What’s the point? They’re nothing more than glorified water snakes!” Despite his unsavory opinions, he’d only seen them from afar up to that point, and never really had any intentions on meeting them up close.
That is, until one particularly stormy night. Rider friends of the parents informed the two that a Drake was expecting an arrival soon. His parents thought it kind of cute that a Drake was planned to deliver a clutch on the same night as their son’s birthday, so they took him down to the beach to see the beautiful process in person. Naturally, Quincy didn’t understand what was so “beautiful” about a massive beast plopping out slimy eggs, but he reluctantly went along anyway. Two hours of watching a Dragon go through labor (in the rain, no less) was about as exciting for the boy as you’d expect. Didn’t help that the storm only got worse as the hours progressed. “Welp, thanks for nothing, mom and dad. Twas a mighty eventful thirteenth birthday.” As bratty as he could be, Quincy began storming off the beach. He didn’t get very far, however, as the storm reached a fever pitch. Winds blew him back, and a fierce stroke of lightning cut down heavy flora, pinning him underneath.
Before his parents could rush to help, Momma Sea Drake (having welcomed her eight, already hatching eggs into the world) had acted first, doing much to remove the heavy plant Quincy was stuck under. As soon as it was clear, one of the newly hatched Sea Drakes came to their mother’s side, curious and inquisitive. The lone female born out of a series of males.
That was years ago. Now, Quincy and Alejandra are just about inseparable. That plucky little Sea Drake took a liking to her now master, and his opinion of the Drakes have lightened up since then.
PERSONALITY— Brash and impulsive would be a few of the words used to sum up the boy’s usual demeanor. Has a tendency to talk light of a situation, to understate the dire circumstances of, well, just about anything. His mouth has definitely gotten him in trouble on several occasions. So, what’s the deal with this guy? Is it all some sort of defense mechanism? Or is he just a naive asshole? Who knows, might be the former, might be the latter. Either way, don’t let his foolhardy ways deter you. He has a strong sense of duty as well as a massive respect for his elders and superiors.
TALENTS/SKILLS—
Swimmer: Living along the beach and raising a Sea Drake has made swimming second nature for Quincy. He can hold his breath longer than most, and his vision has honed to perceive many things while submerged.
Athleticism: Kinda comes with being a skilled swimmer and Dragon rider, doesn’t it? Possesses impressive amounts of speed, stamina. Owns tightly coiled frame with a massive wingspan.
Staff Proficient: Quincy has an affinity for most weapons in the staff category, preferably ones that are thrown, like javelins and spears. Has thought of owning a trident, to really tie the whole “ruler of the sea” look together.
FLAWS/WEAKNESSES—
Fear of Heights: Ironic, given his initial preference of winged dragons. The phobia is to the point that it immobilizes him completely, and disorients and nauseates him.
Puckered Arsehole: See PERSONALITY. May or may not have a tendency to get into scuffles due to some of the stupid things he'd say.
EXTRAS—
Carries three light spears, all about 5 and three quarters feet in length, and tipped with sharpened Black Knight teeth. Uses them to fight, fish, and cook.
Has a sleeve tattoo from the top of his right shoulder, down to the elbow. A simple Drake-scale pattern with the slightest gradient of blue-green color to it, much like Alejandra’s.
APPEARANCE— About 9 and a half feet in length, and still growing. Scales are a delightful shade of sea blue/green that easily conceals her in some waters.
PERSONALITY—
Curious of the world around her, even to this day.
Playful with her Master. Enjoys swimming games with Quincy.
Protective, almost motherly so. Quincy calls it annoying, especially if she tends to him around others. He secretly loves it though.
