wip
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
STUFF: MORE STUFF
I M P O R T A N T S T U F F
More stuff goes here the stuffity stuff stuff.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
“They gave Pandora a box. Prometheus begged her not to open it. She opened it. Every evil to which human flesh is heir came out of it.
The last thing to come out of the box was hope.
It flew away.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake
You're sitting there, alone, huddled in a corner shaking with fear and terror, only slightly numbed by shock. Outside you can hear nothing but pure turmoil, the shrill screams of people being torn down in the streets to the rhythmic echoes of gunfire and pounding explosions. Hours earlier you were carefree, living in the city of splendor and going about your day. You were filled with hope, the war on your home soil was finally being won, life was good. Then, as if on the drop of a dime, everything fell to ruin. Every two out of three people fell to the ground, catatonic, a blackness creeping into their eyes and in veins that spider-webbed across their skin.
You'd later know to call these people, these creatures, the Feral—but for now you sit there and listen as these things of nightmare rampage across the city. Destroying everything you've ever known, your loved ones, your friends, literally ripping your hopes and dreams from you. Hope is fleeting, as the chaos outside seems to pick up to a roaring cacophony of noise. The metallic door begins to screech, you look up, peering into the bleak shadows of night at the profusely bleeding hand trying to desperately to get at you. The body connected to the arm lets out a guttural roar, you've seen first hand what these things can do. How fast they are, how strong, how they hunt with reckless abandon-trampling and spilling over one another to get at their prey. It's time to move.
As you head for the back, a disturbing though crosses your mind, one from earlier in the day. Watching from an alleyway as a horde of people.. no, they're not people anymore are they? A horde of these ferals, swarm down the street as a man perched atop a bus guns them down in the dozens. They keep getting back up, uncaring of their wounds, only truly stopped by being shot in the head, or at least crippled. But what's truly frightening was their speed, their carelessness. They were sprinting towards the bus, leaping and smashing into it, the force of all these bodies pile-driving those before them until the bus began to tip, and finally rolled over.
That thought scares you, a fear that settles deep into your bones. Yet, somehow, there's a deeper feeling sinking inside of you. A dark pit resonating from within you, because you know... It's only going to get worse from here. As you dwell on this thought, you can feel something stirring deep within you. Some sort of resonation of change, of power.
You'd later know to call these people, these creatures, the Feral—but for now you sit there and listen as these things of nightmare rampage across the city. Destroying everything you've ever known, your loved ones, your friends, literally ripping your hopes and dreams from you. Hope is fleeting, as the chaos outside seems to pick up to a roaring cacophony of noise. The metallic door begins to screech, you look up, peering into the bleak shadows of night at the profusely bleeding hand trying to desperately to get at you. The body connected to the arm lets out a guttural roar, you've seen first hand what these things can do. How fast they are, how strong, how they hunt with reckless abandon-trampling and spilling over one another to get at their prey. It's time to move.
As you head for the back, a disturbing though crosses your mind, one from earlier in the day. Watching from an alleyway as a horde of people.. no, they're not people anymore are they? A horde of these ferals, swarm down the street as a man perched atop a bus guns them down in the dozens. They keep getting back up, uncaring of their wounds, only truly stopped by being shot in the head, or at least crippled. But what's truly frightening was their speed, their carelessness. They were sprinting towards the bus, leaping and smashing into it, the force of all these bodies pile-driving those before them until the bus began to tip, and finally rolled over.
That thought scares you, a fear that settles deep into your bones. Yet, somehow, there's a deeper feeling sinking inside of you. A dark pit resonating from within you, because you know... It's only going to get worse from here. As you dwell on this thought, you can feel something stirring deep within you. Some sort of resonation of change, of power.
Garden of Shadows is a unique take on a viral, apocalyptic roleplay. The monsters are bigger, and meaner; Our characters powerful, and unique. The events to come, extraordinary and terrible. I've collected my favorite elements from a wide range of movies, games, and stories and compiled them all here. With superpowers comes odd, twisted mutation. With change, comes resistance, prejudice. With hate, violence, and the inevitable struggle to survive. All set in a world that will do it's absolute best to swallow your character into the darkness, to break them physically and mentally. A world that is shaped by your decisions, and ultimately, your goals.
The roleplay centers around a select group of people, affected by the Pandora Virus in such a way that they become something inhuman, something powerful—The Changed. A higher ascension of existence, our characters now have to struggle with their new powers, the social discrimination, and the cruelty of the world. How they approach their new found talents will shape the world, for better or for worse. Some may sympathize with The Pure, humans who are either unaffected, or have yet to be, by the virus.
In addition to this, over the course of the roleplay our characters will deal with survival against the Feral, The Nightmare, and The Twisted. The characters still very much require food, and water, and so do their followers if they have any. Settlements will need to find a way to benefit from others, through mutual alliance, or force. The world will also be subject to, what will at first seem like, paranormal events. However, there is a reason for everything, a root cause to all problems. Finding out those answers are also up to you.
However, in all of this, there is a goal. A driving plot, surrounding P̸͜͏͞r̨̡̛̛͞ǫ̸̀̕͟j̢̢̧͢͡ȩ̵c̵͘t̵͟͟ ̧F̛͡i̸r̸s̸͞t̡̡͜͝ ̷͟͜͞Ç͜h͟҉҉̴a̧̛͠ò̧s͘̕҉ . Sorry, I meant P̵̡̢r̴̛͡o̷j̸́e̵͟͜ç̶̕t̨ ̡͟F̀͜i̸̷r̵̕sţ ̷͜͜C̴h̨͟a͘͠o̴̴̧ś͠. Dammit. Anyways, that, and its subjects. How does this relate to what's happening the world now? Will it explain your powers? The Feral? The anomalic events? Will it explain why the sun set, on that first day, and never rose again?
The final piece of revelation I have for you is that the world is shrouded in darkness. After that first day, the sun didn't rise again. Instead, in its place loomed roiling banks of dark clouds. A perpetual brewing storm in abyssal shades of black and gray, filtering out nearly all of the light. Fortunately, the power plant is secure and the municipal lights are on. Sure, they may kill your night vision at times, but it's better than the eerie darkness that lays over everything right? However, the world is dark, but it's not pitch black, and with streetlights on, it's not so bad right now.
The roleplay centers around a select group of people, affected by the Pandora Virus in such a way that they become something inhuman, something powerful—The Changed. A higher ascension of existence, our characters now have to struggle with their new powers, the social discrimination, and the cruelty of the world. How they approach their new found talents will shape the world, for better or for worse. Some may sympathize with The Pure, humans who are either unaffected, or have yet to be, by the virus.
In addition to this, over the course of the roleplay our characters will deal with survival against the Feral, The Nightmare, and The Twisted. The characters still very much require food, and water, and so do their followers if they have any. Settlements will need to find a way to benefit from others, through mutual alliance, or force. The world will also be subject to, what will at first seem like, paranormal events. However, there is a reason for everything, a root cause to all problems. Finding out those answers are also up to you.
However, in all of this, there is a goal. A driving plot, surrounding P̸͜͏͞r̨̡̛̛͞ǫ̸̀̕͟j̢̢̧͢͡ȩ̵c̵͘t̵͟͟ ̧F̛͡i̸r̸s̸͞t̡̡͜͝ ̷͟͜͞Ç͜h͟҉҉̴a̧̛͠ò̧s͘̕҉ . Sorry, I meant P̵̡̢r̴̛͡o̷j̸́e̵͟͜ç̶̕t̨ ̡͟F̀͜i̸̷r̵̕sţ ̷͜͜C̴h̨͟a͘͠o̴̴̧ś͠. Dammit. Anyways, that, and its subjects. How does this relate to what's happening the world now? Will it explain your powers? The Feral? The anomalic events? Will it explain why the sun set, on that first day, and never rose again?
The final piece of revelation I have for you is that the world is shrouded in darkness. After that first day, the sun didn't rise again. Instead, in its place loomed roiling banks of dark clouds. A perpetual brewing storm in abyssal shades of black and gray, filtering out nearly all of the light. Fortunately, the power plant is secure and the municipal lights are on. Sure, they may kill your night vision at times, but it's better than the eerie darkness that lays over everything right? However, the world is dark, but it's not pitch black, and with streetlights on, it's not so bad right now.
Creatures of this sort have been depicted in many different ways, but the Feral are something different, yet familiar. They're fast, always sprinting with their heads bent low into the wind. They don't tire, they don't ache, they just run without care. They are strong enough to tear through the walls of a house, or rip down that metal screen door you always tried not to slam. However, the feral can't see well, so they're mostly attracted to noise. If you're being blatantly obvious, they will see you, so remember to stick to the shadows.
Interestingly enough, the feral don't seem particularly smart. They don't seem to grasp the concepts of navigation, rather seeing the path to their target as a straight line. They are wild, and become frenzied during the chase to the point where they will tumble and run over one another, or continually smash themselves into something until they a certain they've lost the hunt, or their obstacle is moved. Hordes of them can topple a bus, by continually throwing themselves against it. Together they could smash through a brick wall, or even scale several stories by climbing the gathering pile of their brethren.
The Feral are characterized with dark eyes almost entirely the color of coal. Their pale skin is spider-webbed with black veins, but otherwise they still resemble the people they once were. The feral also have near perfect regeneration, able to come back from any wound within about a day, less for minor wounds. You can slow them down by crippling them, but the only way to truly stop them is the same, classic strategies—destroy the brain or spinal column.
Interestingly enough, the feral don't seem particularly smart. They don't seem to grasp the concepts of navigation, rather seeing the path to their target as a straight line. They are wild, and become frenzied during the chase to the point where they will tumble and run over one another, or continually smash themselves into something until they a certain they've lost the hunt, or their obstacle is moved. Hordes of them can topple a bus, by continually throwing themselves against it. Together they could smash through a brick wall, or even scale several stories by climbing the gathering pile of their brethren.
The Feral are characterized with dark eyes almost entirely the color of coal. Their pale skin is spider-webbed with black veins, but otherwise they still resemble the people they once were. The feral also have near perfect regeneration, able to come back from any wound within about a day, less for minor wounds. You can slow them down by crippling them, but the only way to truly stop them is the same, classic strategies—destroy the brain or spinal column.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
There are two types of changed, the kinetic, and the somatic. Those that deal with the forces, or essences of nature, natural or not; or those that are affected physically or mentally. The lucky individuals to become changed, instead of something worse, have the unfortunate side-effect of mutation. These mutations always come in colors schemes of dark colors, most notably black, with vibrant details or trimmings. Almost the same way how natural predators are marked, such as how a deadly black snake will have bright markings to visually warn potential predators of how dangerous it is.
Those with kinetic powers of manipulation can feature neon colors in the form of glowing energy. For example, a changed that can generate an acidic coating on their skin may be covered in glowing bubbles of flesh, like blisters, that glow a vibrant green. One who could generate blasts of lightning may have their back and the outsides of their arms covered in black spikes, that gather the electrical energy in the air. Perhaps while doing this, bright blue arcs jump between the spikes, like a "Jacob's Ladder" electrical device.
The Somatic however, have enhanced physical capabilities, senses, or mentality. A changed of great strength may have their arms covered in a thick, black chitin acting like armor. One that could run at accelerated speeds may have strategic, aerodynamic fins and so forth. It will be up to you to create these creepy, otherworldly mutations.
A very important note, The Changed are not an instant genetic bomb like the Feral. These powers could take some time to manifest, the mutations wouldn't be so virulent as to cover their entire body. For the most part, The Changed still look like people, if a bit different and terrifying. The Changed will face trials in dealing with, and learning to control their new powers. Elemental or manipulation, also known as Kinetic, powers may only work sporadically, where a somatic may find their stamina depletes rapidly. And always, as the world turns, so do people fear changed and the unknown.
The Changed are affected in a somewhat small, but still similar way as the Feral are. That being, The Changed have minor powers of regeneration. Superficial wounds will heal within the hour and minor wounds after a few hours. Major wounds, depending on severity, will heal in about a day provided The Changed can live through them. Life threatening wounds will need to be properly tended as it's very possible the changed could die before they are able to heal. More importantly, the changed can transplant uninfected limbs, organs, and so forth. This means that the donor would have to be a pure, willing or not, as the Pandora Virus in the changed will genetically recode the transplanted item to what it remembers from the initial infection. This means that scars, disabilities, or other symptoms will remain a constant even with a transplant, as it will literally be as if whatever was transplanted was never lost in the first place. This includes skin pigmentation, birth marks, muscle definition, tan lines, and so forth.
Those with kinetic powers of manipulation can feature neon colors in the form of glowing energy. For example, a changed that can generate an acidic coating on their skin may be covered in glowing bubbles of flesh, like blisters, that glow a vibrant green. One who could generate blasts of lightning may have their back and the outsides of their arms covered in black spikes, that gather the electrical energy in the air. Perhaps while doing this, bright blue arcs jump between the spikes, like a "Jacob's Ladder" electrical device.
The Somatic however, have enhanced physical capabilities, senses, or mentality. A changed of great strength may have their arms covered in a thick, black chitin acting like armor. One that could run at accelerated speeds may have strategic, aerodynamic fins and so forth. It will be up to you to create these creepy, otherworldly mutations.
A very important note, The Changed are not an instant genetic bomb like the Feral. These powers could take some time to manifest, the mutations wouldn't be so virulent as to cover their entire body. For the most part, The Changed still look like people, if a bit different and terrifying. The Changed will face trials in dealing with, and learning to control their new powers. Elemental or manipulation, also known as Kinetic, powers may only work sporadically, where a somatic may find their stamina depletes rapidly. And always, as the world turns, so do people fear changed and the unknown.
The Changed are affected in a somewhat small, but still similar way as the Feral are. That being, The Changed have minor powers of regeneration. Superficial wounds will heal within the hour and minor wounds after a few hours. Major wounds, depending on severity, will heal in about a day provided The Changed can live through them. Life threatening wounds will need to be properly tended as it's very possible the changed could die before they are able to heal. More importantly, the changed can transplant uninfected limbs, organs, and so forth. This means that the donor would have to be a pure, willing or not, as the Pandora Virus in the changed will genetically recode the transplanted item to what it remembers from the initial infection. This means that scars, disabilities, or other symptoms will remain a constant even with a transplant, as it will literally be as if whatever was transplanted was never lost in the first place. This includes skin pigmentation, birth marks, muscle definition, tan lines, and so forth.
In this land of violence and despair, it's not unlikely that you'll eventually encounter other beings. A volatile thing, the Pandora Virus is bound to have plenty of offshoots of hard-coded, and variable strains. It's predicted that entire species of animals can fall prey to these mutations. You'll encounter people similar to the changed, but pushed beyond their humanity—The Twisted. At other times, things of nightmare will stalk you throughout the endless night, creatures so fearsome and terrible that it may not be worth the trouble to fight them.
Then there's the Protogenoi, so little is known about them. Are they like the Changed? The Twisted? Are they people of nightmare, or gods among men? Are they the scientists, or unfortunate subjects? And most importantly, are they to blame? What about the uninfected, unaffected humans—The Pure? Are they truly immune, or just safe for now? Is there a way to prevent that, and keep them genetically pure? Or are you looking for a way to ensure everybody is changed, one way or another, for better or for worse?
Then there's the Protogenoi, so little is known about them. Are they like the Changed? The Twisted? Are they people of nightmare, or gods among men? Are they the scientists, or unfortunate subjects? And most importantly, are they to blame? What about the uninfected, unaffected humans—The Pure? Are they truly immune, or just safe for now? Is there a way to prevent that, and keep them genetically pure? Or are you looking for a way to ensure everybody is changed, one way or another, for better or for worse?
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
"They gave Pandora a box. Prometheus begged her not to open it.
She opened it. Every evil to which human flesh is heir came out of it.
The last thing to come out of the box was hope. It flew away."
~ Kurt Vonnegut, Timequake
You're sitting there, alone, huddled in a corner shaking with fear and terror, only slightly numbed by shock. Outside you can hear nothing but pure turmoil, the shrill screams of people being torn down in the streets to the rhythmic echoes of gunfire and pounding explosions. Hours earlier you were carefree, living in the city of splendor and going about your day. You were filled with hope, the war on your home soil was finally being won, life was good. Then, as if on the drop of a dime, everything fell to ruin. Every two out of three people fell to the ground, catatonic, a blackness creeping into their eyes and in veins that spider-webbed across their skin.
You'd later know to call these people, these creatures, the Feral—but for now you sit there and listen as these things of nightmare rampage across the city. Destroying everything you've ever known, your loved ones, your friends, literally ripping your hopes and dreams from you. Hope is fleeting, as the chaos outside seems to pick up to a roaring cacophony of noise. The metallic door begins to screech, you look up, peering into the bleak shadows of night at the profusely bleeding hand trying to desperately to get at you. The body connected to the arm lets out a guttural roar, you've seen first hand what these things can do. How fast they are, how strong, how they hunt with reckless abandon-trampling and spilling over one another to get at their prey. It's time to move.
As you head for the back, a disturbing though crosses your mind, one from earlier in the day. Watching from an alleyway as a horde of people.. no, they're not people anymore are they? A horde of these ferals, swarm down the street as a man perched atop a bus guns them down in the dozens. They keep getting back up, uncaring of their wounds, only truly stopped by being shot in the head, or at least crippled. But what's truly frightening was their speed, their carelessness. They were sprinting towards the bus, leaping and smashing into it, the force of all these bodies pile-driving those before them until the bus began to tip, and finally rolled over.
That thought scares you, a fear that settles deep into your bones. Yet, somehow, there's a deeper feeling sinking inside of you. A dark pit resonating from within you, because you know... It's only going to get worse from here. As you dwell on this thought, you can feel something stirring deep within you. Some sort of resonation of change, of power.
You'd later know to call these people, these creatures, the Feral—but for now you sit there and listen as these things of nightmare rampage across the city. Destroying everything you've ever known, your loved ones, your friends, literally ripping your hopes and dreams from you. Hope is fleeting, as the chaos outside seems to pick up to a roaring cacophony of noise. The metallic door begins to screech, you look up, peering into the bleak shadows of night at the profusely bleeding hand trying to desperately to get at you. The body connected to the arm lets out a guttural roar, you've seen first hand what these things can do. How fast they are, how strong, how they hunt with reckless abandon-trampling and spilling over one another to get at their prey. It's time to move.
As you head for the back, a disturbing though crosses your mind, one from earlier in the day. Watching from an alleyway as a horde of people.. no, they're not people anymore are they? A horde of these ferals, swarm down the street as a man perched atop a bus guns them down in the dozens. They keep getting back up, uncaring of their wounds, only truly stopped by being shot in the head, or at least crippled. But what's truly frightening was their speed, their carelessness. They were sprinting towards the bus, leaping and smashing into it, the force of all these bodies pile-driving those before them until the bus began to tip, and finally rolled over.
That thought scares you, a fear that settles deep into your bones. Yet, somehow, there's a deeper feeling sinking inside of you. A dark pit resonating from within you, because you know... It's only going to get worse from here. As you dwell on this thought, you can feel something stirring deep within you. Some sort of resonation of change, of power.
Garden of Shadows is a unique take on a viral, apocalyptic roleplay. The monsters are bigger, and meaner; Our characters powerful, and unique. The events to come, extraordinary and terrible. I've collected my favorite elements from a wide range of movies, games, and stories and compiled them all here. With superpowers comes odd, twisted mutation. With change, comes resistance, prejudice. With hate, violence, and the inevitable struggle to survive. All set in a world that will do it's absolute best to swallow your character into the darkness, to break them physically and mentally. A world that is shaped by your decisions, and ultimately, your goals.
The roleplay centers around a select group of people, affected by the Pandora Virus in such a way that they become something inhuman, something powerful—The Changed. A higher ascension of existence, our characters now have to struggle with their new powers, the social discrimination, and the cruelty of the world. How they approach their new found talents will shape the world, for better or for worse. Some may sympathize with The Pure, humans who are either unaffected, or have yet to be, by the virus.
In addition to this, over the course of the roleplay our characters will deal with survival against the Feral, The Nightmare, and The Twisted. The characters still very much require food, and water, and so do their followers if they have any. Settlements will need to find a way to benefit from others, through mutual alliance, or force. The world will also be subject to, what will at first seem like, paranormal events. However, there is a reason for everything, a root cause to all problems. Finding out those answers are also up to you.
However, in all of this, there is a goal. A driving plot, surrounding P̸͜͏͞r̨̡̛̛͞ǫ̸̀̕͟j̢̢̧͢͡ȩ̵c̵͘t̵͟͟ ̧F̛͡i̸r̸s̸͞t̡̡͜͝ ̷͟͜͞Ç͜h͟҉҉̴a̧̛͠ò̧s͘̕҉ . Sorry, I meant P̵̡̢r̴̛͡o̷j̸́e̵͟͜ç̶̕t̨ ̡͟F̀͜i̸̷r̵̕sţ ̷͜͜C̴h̨͟a͘͠o̴̴̧ś͠. Dammit. Anyways, that, and its subjects. How does this relate to what's happening the world now? Will it explain your powers? The Feral? The anomalic events? Will it explain why the sun set, on that first day, and never rose again?
The final piece of revelation I have for you is that the world is shrouded in darkness. After that first day, the sun didn't rise again. Instead, in its place loomed roiling banks of dark clouds. A perpetual brewing storm in abyssal shades of black and gray, filtering out nearly all of the light. Fortunately, the power plant is secure and the municipal lights are on. Sure, they may kill your night vision at times, but it's better than the eerie darkness that lays over everything right? However, the world is dark, but it's not pitch black, and with streetlights on, it's not so bad right now.
The roleplay centers around a select group of people, affected by the Pandora Virus in such a way that they become something inhuman, something powerful—The Changed. A higher ascension of existence, our characters now have to struggle with their new powers, the social discrimination, and the cruelty of the world. How they approach their new found talents will shape the world, for better or for worse. Some may sympathize with The Pure, humans who are either unaffected, or have yet to be, by the virus.
In addition to this, over the course of the roleplay our characters will deal with survival against the Feral, The Nightmare, and The Twisted. The characters still very much require food, and water, and so do their followers if they have any. Settlements will need to find a way to benefit from others, through mutual alliance, or force. The world will also be subject to, what will at first seem like, paranormal events. However, there is a reason for everything, a root cause to all problems. Finding out those answers are also up to you.
However, in all of this, there is a goal. A driving plot, surrounding P̸͜͏͞r̨̡̛̛͞ǫ̸̀̕͟j̢̢̧͢͡ȩ̵c̵͘t̵͟͟ ̧F̛͡i̸r̸s̸͞t̡̡͜͝ ̷͟͜͞Ç͜h͟҉҉̴a̧̛͠ò̧s͘̕҉ . Sorry, I meant P̵̡̢r̴̛͡o̷j̸́e̵͟͜ç̶̕t̨ ̡͟F̀͜i̸̷r̵̕sţ ̷͜͜C̴h̨͟a͘͠o̴̴̧ś͠. Dammit. Anyways, that, and its subjects. How does this relate to what's happening the world now? Will it explain your powers? The Feral? The anomalic events? Will it explain why the sun set, on that first day, and never rose again?
The final piece of revelation I have for you is that the world is shrouded in darkness. After that first day, the sun didn't rise again. Instead, in its place loomed roiling banks of dark clouds. A perpetual brewing storm in abyssal shades of black and gray, filtering out nearly all of the light. Fortunately, the power plant is secure and the municipal lights are on. Sure, they may kill your night vision at times, but it's better than the eerie darkness that lays over everything right? However, the world is dark, but it's not pitch black, and with streetlights on, it's not so bad right now.
Blood Type: O-Positive & A-Positive
Creatures of this sort have been depicted in many different ways, but the Feral are something different, yet familiar. They're fast, always sprinting with their heads bent low into the wind. They don't tire, they don't ache, they just run without care. They are strong enough to tear through the walls of a house, or rip down that metal screen door you always tried not to slam. However, the feral can't see well, so they're mostly attracted to noise. If you're being blatantly obvious, they will see you, so remember to stick to the shadows.
Interestingly enough, the feral don't seem particularly smart. They don't seem to grasp the concepts of navigation, rather seeing the path to their target as a straight line. They are wild, and become frenzied during the chase to the point where they will tumble and run over one another, or continually smash themselves into something until they a certain they've lost the hunt, or their obstacle is moved. Hordes of them can topple a bus, by continually throwing themselves against it. Together they could smash through a brick wall, or even scale several stories by climbing the gathering pile of their brethren.
The Feral are characterized with dark eyes almost entirely the color of coal. Their pale skin is spider-webbed with black veins, but otherwise they still resemble the people they once were. The feral also have near perfect regeneration, able to come back from any wound within about a day, less for minor wounds. You can slow them down by crippling them, but the only way to truly stop them is the same, classic strategies—destroy the brain or spinal column.
Interestingly enough, the feral don't seem particularly smart. They don't seem to grasp the concepts of navigation, rather seeing the path to their target as a straight line. They are wild, and become frenzied during the chase to the point where they will tumble and run over one another, or continually smash themselves into something until they a certain they've lost the hunt, or their obstacle is moved. Hordes of them can topple a bus, by continually throwing themselves against it. Together they could smash through a brick wall, or even scale several stories by climbing the gathering pile of their brethren.
The Feral are characterized with dark eyes almost entirely the color of coal. Their pale skin is spider-webbed with black veins, but otherwise they still resemble the people they once were. The feral also have near perfect regeneration, able to come back from any wound within about a day, less for minor wounds. You can slow them down by crippling them, but the only way to truly stop them is the same, classic strategies—destroy the brain or spinal column.
Blood Type: B-Negative (Somatic Abilities)
Blood Type: AB-Positive (Kinetic Abilities)
Blood Type: AB-Positive (Kinetic Abilities)
There are two types of changed, the kinetic, and the somatic. Those that deal with the forces, or essences of nature, natural or not; or those that are affected physically or mentally. The lucky individuals to become changed, instead of something worse, have the unfortunate side-effect of mutation. These mutations always come in colors schemes of dark colors, most notably black, with vibrant details or trimmings. Almost the same way how natural predators are marked, such as how a deadly black snake will have bright markings to visually warn potential predators of how dangerous it is.
Those with kinetic powers of manipulation can feature neon colors in the form of glowing energy. For example, a changed that can generate an acidic coating on their skin may be covered in glowing bubbles of flesh, like blisters, that glow a vibrant green. One who could generate blasts of lightning may have their back and the outsides of their arms covered in black spikes, that gather the electrical energy in the air. Perhaps while doing this, bright blue arcs jump between the spikes, like a "Jacob's Ladder" electrical device.
The Somatic however, have enhanced physical capabilities, senses, or mentality. A changed of great strength may have their arms covered in a thick, black chitin acting like armor. One that could run at accelerated speeds may have strategic, aerodynamic fins and so forth. It will be up to you to create these creepy, otherworldly mutations.
A very important note, The Changed are not an instant genetic bomb like the Feral. These powers could take some time to manifest, the mutations wouldn't be so virulent as to cover their entire body. For the most part, The Changed still look like people, if a bit different and terrifying. The Changed will face trials in dealing with, and learning to control their new powers. Elemental or manipulation, also known as Kinetic, powers may only work sporadically, where a somatic may find their stamina depletes rapidly. And always, as the world turns, so do people fear changed and the unknown.
Those with kinetic powers of manipulation can feature neon colors in the form of glowing energy. For example, a changed that can generate an acidic coating on their skin may be covered in glowing bubbles of flesh, like blisters, that glow a vibrant green. One who could generate blasts of lightning may have their back and the outsides of their arms covered in black spikes, that gather the electrical energy in the air. Perhaps while doing this, bright blue arcs jump between the spikes, like a "Jacob's Ladder" electrical device.
The Somatic however, have enhanced physical capabilities, senses, or mentality. A changed of great strength may have their arms covered in a thick, black chitin acting like armor. One that could run at accelerated speeds may have strategic, aerodynamic fins and so forth. It will be up to you to create these creepy, otherworldly mutations.
A very important note, The Changed are not an instant genetic bomb like the Feral. These powers could take some time to manifest, the mutations wouldn't be so virulent as to cover their entire body. For the most part, The Changed still look like people, if a bit different and terrifying. The Changed will face trials in dealing with, and learning to control their new powers. Elemental or manipulation, also known as Kinetic, powers may only work sporadically, where a somatic may find their stamina depletes rapidly. And always, as the world turns, so do people fear changed and the unknown.
In this land of violence and despair, it's not unlikely that you'll eventually encounter other beings. A volatile thing, the Pandora Virus is bound to have plenty of offshoots of hard-coded, and variable strains. It's predicted that entire species of animals can fall prey to these mutations. You'll encounter people similar to the changed, but pushed beyond their humanity—The Twisted. At other times, things of nightmare will stalk you throughout the endless night, creatures so fearsome and terrible that it may not be worth the trouble to fight them.
Then there's the Protogenoi, so little is known about them. Are they like the Changed? The Twisted? Are they people of nightmare, or gods among men? Are they the scientists, or unfortunate subjects? And most importantly, are they to blame? What about the uninfected, unaffected humans—The Pure? Are they truly immune, or just safe for now? Is there a way to prevent that, and keep them genetically pure? Or are you looking for a way to ensure everybody is changed, one way or another, for better or for worse?
Then there's the Protogenoi, so little is known about them. Are they like the Changed? The Twisted? Are they people of nightmare, or gods among men? Are they the scientists, or unfortunate subjects? And most importantly, are they to blame? What about the uninfected, unaffected humans—The Pure? Are they truly immune, or just safe for now? Is there a way to prevent that, and keep them genetically pure? Or are you looking for a way to ensure everybody is changed, one way or another, for better or for worse?
Sometimes it's pointless to add in rules when most people should know what they are doing in the first place, but alas, if we do not then we are only hindering the roleplay itself.
» Treat one another as you want to be treated
Yes we are going all religious on this one, but this should cover the majority of attitude based problems. Respect your GM and any Co-GMs, treat your fellow players with the decency that they deserve, and understand that our primary concern is the progression of this roleplay and the comfort of the players. Any individual who challenges that will be removed from the RP.
» Powerplaying, Metagaming, Godmodding, etcDon't do it. If you do not understand any of these terms then please read this page: [Common Rules of Roleplaying]
» Posting and CollaborationsThis roleplay will be moving along at a pace of about 1 or 2 posts per fortnight, leaving enough time for each player to comfortably respond with a decent post. Any collaborate posts should keep in consideration the number of players that are involved and the times at which these players are available. If you are having difficulty completing the post see if there is a way to separate your characters so that your efforts don't hold up the group as a whole.
» Writing HorrorIn this roleplay it is possible that we will be exploring mature themes. The rules revolving around maturity are intended to be loosely interpreted. However, the key here is to always keep it tasteful. Avoid explicit words, over-the-top scenes, and moments of passion. Always keep your writing tasteful, and employ the most useful tools at your disposal: Implication and Fade-to-Black.
» Discord [Garden of Shadow Discord Server]We do have a Discord server set up for people that wish to chat. It's easy to join and will help connect you with your fellow players. Guild/RP rules will apply there so don't do anything to jeopardise your chances in participating.
» Inactivity and Dropping PlayersYour own activity is your own concern. We may write out players that are unnecessarily inactive after a given amount of time. If something should come up please inform us ahead of schedule.
Character Name:
Simple, choose a name for your character.
Gender:
Pick a gender of your choice
Age:
Age must be a minimum of 18. We don't want any issues with minors.
Blood Type:
Which blood type is your character? B-negative for Somatic; physical, mental, or sensory enhanced. AB-positive for Kinetic; Elemental, Manipulation, or other similar powers.
Mutations:
List the types of mutations that the character has. Remember that there are two types based on your character's blood type so be sure to not mix up the two.
Appearance:
What does your character look like? Describe their mutations in detail.
Personality:
How does your character act? You don't have to be incredibly specific, but a general overview will be fine. It's also understood that characters will deviate from their personality at times.
Biography:
What was your character's life like before the outbreak? How did they get to be where they are now? How did the events of The First Day play out for them? Since this section can get pretty long, it's alright to put it in a hider.
Equipment:
What kind of armaments is your character packing? Any snazzy devices?
Proficiencies:
These are the skills and trades your character has. What sort of mutative benefits do they have? Do they have any trade skills or craft knowledge?
Limitations:
Balance this against your characters proficiencies, what are their down falls? Do they have mental problems, phobias, physical limitations? Also, the drawbacks and weaknesses to their powers.
Companions/Friends/Relations:
Pretty self-explanatory. If your character has any important relations with NPCs, or other characters list them here.
Simple, choose a name for your character.
Gender:
Pick a gender of your choice
Age:
Age must be a minimum of 18. We don't want any issues with minors.
Blood Type:
Which blood type is your character? B-negative for Somatic; physical, mental, or sensory enhanced. AB-positive for Kinetic; Elemental, Manipulation, or other similar powers.
Mutations:
List the types of mutations that the character has. Remember that there are two types based on your character's blood type so be sure to not mix up the two.
Appearance:
What does your character look like? Describe their mutations in detail.
Personality:
How does your character act? You don't have to be incredibly specific, but a general overview will be fine. It's also understood that characters will deviate from their personality at times.
Biography:
What was your character's life like before the outbreak? How did they get to be where they are now? How did the events of The First Day play out for them? Since this section can get pretty long, it's alright to put it in a hider.
Equipment:
What kind of armaments is your character packing? Any snazzy devices?
Proficiencies:
These are the skills and trades your character has. What sort of mutative benefits do they have? Do they have any trade skills or craft knowledge?
Limitations:
Balance this against your characters proficiencies, what are their down falls? Do they have mental problems, phobias, physical limitations? Also, the drawbacks and weaknesses to their powers.
Companions/Friends/Relations:
Pretty self-explanatory. If your character has any important relations with NPCs, or other characters list them here.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
M A K I A H K A P L E N - M E A D O W S
F e m a l e ● T w e n t y - T h r e e ● A B - P o s i t i v e M U T A T I O N S
● Enhanced Durability and Heat Resistance
Kiah has dark, sooty black scarring that's cracked and split, resembling cooled magma rock and the molten glow beneath. This scarring travels from her hands, up to her forearms and fades out just past her elbows. It also covers her feet,shins, and creeps just up towards the middle of her thighs. There is also scarring around her eyes, with finer cracks, and irises that glow like white hot coals.
The scarring is hard as a rock, offering her good resistance to external forces, but can be broken off. When a section is broken off, the revealed area glows dull orange, like lava. Thanks to the Changed's regeneration abilities, the rocky covering can grow back quickly, but takes a little longer to thicken up, and harden. An additional benefit to her condition, Kiah is highly resistance to heat and flame where the scarring covers her.
Kiah has dark, sooty black scarring that's cracked and split, resembling cooled magma rock and the molten glow beneath. This scarring travels from her hands, up to her forearms and fades out just past her elbows. It also covers her feet,shins, and creeps just up towards the middle of her thighs. There is also scarring around her eyes, with finer cracks, and irises that glow like white hot coals.
The scarring is hard as a rock, offering her good resistance to external forces, but can be broken off. When a section is broken off, the revealed area glows dull orange, like lava. Thanks to the Changed's regeneration abilities, the rocky covering can grow back quickly, but takes a little longer to thicken up, and harden. An additional benefit to her condition, Kiah is highly resistance to heat and flame where the scarring covers her.
● Playing With Fire
Makiah has the ability to generate and control fire. Kinectically, she can emit bursts of flame, and bend it to her will. She can also control natural fire, which is considerably less taxing than generating it herself. As she uses her power, she heats up, becoming hotter and hotter. She can create an aura of intense heat around herself, making her body too hot to touch. She can intensify this into an actual aura of flame itself, becoming a living human torch.
Makiah has the ability to generate and control fire. Kinectically, she can emit bursts of flame, and bend it to her will. She can also control natural fire, which is considerably less taxing than generating it herself. As she uses her power, she heats up, becoming hotter and hotter. She can create an aura of intense heat around herself, making her body too hot to touch. She can intensify this into an actual aura of flame itself, becoming a living human torch.
A P P E A R A N C E
With shoulder-length, raven black hair Kiah is almost the spitting image of her sister. Sharing many traits with her mother, her face is softer and rounder, but has the same button nose and pert mouth as Natalie. Though, she does have her father's eyes; large, and ocean blue, they have her mother's warmth. Fortunately she wasn't gifted with her mother's height, standing a little taller at 5'6 (170cm), and weighing a reasonable 136 lbs (61.6 kg).
Kia's complexion is relatively clear, and has a moderate tan. Though, since her mutations have awakened her tan lines have seemed to have evaporated into a full body tan, perhaps that has something to due with her affinity to heat. Also, her skin is always noticeably hot, also due to her mutations. She has a small waist, a slender figure, and a pair of compact B-cups.
Kia's complexion is relatively clear, and has a moderate tan. Though, since her mutations have awakened her tan lines have seemed to have evaporated into a full body tan, perhaps that has something to due with her affinity to heat. Also, her skin is always noticeably hot, also due to her mutations. She has a small waist, a slender figure, and a pair of compact B-cups.
● Butterfly Bow tattoos on either side of her pelvis, near the top of her hip line.
● Pierced ears and bellybutton.
● Pierced ears and bellybutton.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Kia is an ambitious risk-taker who knows how to have fun. Before the end, she was no stranger to a club with pounding music, a bar flowing with drink, and always seemed to have headphones in her ears. Always moving, always tapping her feet or strumming her fingers, she's self-diagnosed herself with A.D.D. She's prone to her impulses, and often isn't as observant as she could be if she just slowed down.
Kia can also be known to be rather flirty, at least in a comfortable situation. She cares about people, she's quick to trust, and she always tries to find the good lurking within everyone. Always the optimistic, she lives her life riding the silver-lining.
Kia can also be known to be rather flirty, at least in a comfortable situation. She cares about people, she's quick to trust, and she always tries to find the good lurking within everyone. Always the optimistic, she lives her life riding the silver-lining.
R E F L E C T I O N S : P A R T T W O
Arcturo's haunted, blue eyes stared at the dim screen of his phone, reading the brief message—"Alive." Suddenly, he was a sobbing mess. The emotional trauma of the evening had been too much for him. He stood, spurred into action, but stopped dead in his tracks as the windows behind him shook in their casings. A new sense of dread washed over him, running down his spine. He took another drink, feeling the cold ice press against his lips. He cursed quietly to himself, he had never been a big drinker but tonight he was done with etiquette. He pulled the bottle from his desk, taking a healthy swig before plopping down in his chair. Alive. They were alive, his daughters. That was something, right? But.. what hope could there be for them? He had seen what was happening outside. The cold truth of it was, they were all going to die.
He glanced down at the still open book, at the large pink lettering spellings his second daughter's name—Makiah. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before defeat settled in him. What else was he to do? What else could he do? Good people were being slaughtered in the street, trained men and women with weapons. And what did he have? Nothing but a handgun he'd never had to use, Hell he didn't even know how to use it. Fear clutched his heart as he caught the barest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, a shadow moving in front of his office window. He stared, and stared, but it didn't return. Another swig from the bottle, and he turned the page.
Makiah, screaming at the top of her glee filled lungs, riding on his shoulders. He could almost feel her tiny little legs, almost hear her laughter. Her sister was there too, just a stricken with happiness at seeing the fun her sister was having. Arcturo wiped a tear from his eye, thinking back at what a Daddy's girl Makiah had been. Another picture on the page, the Fourth of July. Makiah was showcased in her little griller's outfit, putting on a grand show of being such a big cook.. well, Daddy's little helper as he had called her. A second picture, capturing Kiah sharing the holiday cheer with their dog by filling his bowl with pink lemonade. The chuckle that resounded from Arcturo however, was dead and lifeless.
The pages were soundless are he carefully perused through them, taking in all the memories he'd collected over the years. The girls had always given him a hard time about being "That Dad." The kind that seemed permanently attached to a camera, or a record—How he wished he had some of those home movies with him now, to forget this insanity. Still, the pictures took him back. Makiah giving her best "Big Girl" face, shouldering a pink backpack on one side and ready for her first day of high school. Distantly, he could hear the way he chuckled at her as she hid her anxiety.
The pages moved faster now. Makiah in choir, standing in long red robes and her mouth agape as she held a shrill note; Makiah all dressed up in a red marching outfit, with one of those ridiculous hats with the fluffy plumes on her head as she huffed away at a saxophone; Makiah winning third place in a state sponsored art contest, she had sculpted a T-Rex. The memories flashed by, Arcturo's hands moved faster, as if he was afraid he wouldn't have time to finish. Makiah and her sister, dressed up for Halloween and both a little more provocatively than he would have liked.
Christmas. Makiah had been so full of life, getting her first car. She'd nearly shattered his ribs with her hugs. He remembered Natalie had gone with him, to help him pick it out. Nobody knew Makiah better than her sister. They shared a bond that he could never match, but his little Ki had loved him. He stopped on a picture of Makiah up on stage, playing Wendy in a play about Peter Pan. His thumb traced over the image, feeling the odd texture of the protective sleeve. Next to that, a picture of them all singing, one of the few his wife had captured. Nat had complimented his voice, saying he sounded like "A wood chipper eating a cat".
This was it.. No more plays, no more games, no more performances or songs, no smiles, no more hugs. No more chances to guide or teach them, to fix what he did wrong. There was no more time. The thud of something slamming into the wall running the length of the corridor outside his door. A low growl, and then suddenly the loud wails of somebody in terror.. somebody dying. Arcturo reached into his drawer, pulling out the pistol and aiming it at the door. He took another swig of whiskey, his head spinning. He remembered to thumb down the safety, his index hanging over the trigger.
Once more he glanced down. Makiah smiled up at him, surrounded by her pretty friends, arms laden with bags. She was a shopper, just like her mother. She'd always been a popular girl, always hanging around with the "in" crowds. Despite the fact that she had made decent grades, she didn't try hard for college. Instead she had argued a rather well put together case about how getting a job early on was better than student debt. Fortunately, she knew how to manage her money well. She had moved herself out, and even helped out Nat by giving her a place to stay after her latest breakup. Makiah was never a floozy, at least not that Arcturo knew about, but she had sense enough to put her job before her love life. He wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually lived with anybody else besides Nat.
Her turned the final page. The last picture had all of them, the whole family, excluding the old dog. Elliora had gotten a new lapdog, some fluffy mongrel he couldn't remember the name of, a pom-pom or something close to that. Makiah had been devastated after Mac Grooger passed away, the first dog which she in her young age had taken the liberty of naming. However, upon meeting the newest addition to their family and being over come with joy, she'd promptly named him Sergeant Waffles, The Destroyer of Worlds.
His lips moved ever so slightly, uttering the barest traces of sound. For the first time in his life, he was praying, to what ever god was listening as he typed out a reply. The barrel of the gun wavered unsteadily, pressed against the side of his head. His finger sliding smoothly in position over the trigger. This is it, he thought, I'm all out of time. He pressed send, and pulled the trigger.
He glanced down at the still open book, at the large pink lettering spellings his second daughter's name—Makiah. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before defeat settled in him. What else was he to do? What else could he do? Good people were being slaughtered in the street, trained men and women with weapons. And what did he have? Nothing but a handgun he'd never had to use, Hell he didn't even know how to use it. Fear clutched his heart as he caught the barest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, a shadow moving in front of his office window. He stared, and stared, but it didn't return. Another swig from the bottle, and he turned the page.
Makiah, screaming at the top of her glee filled lungs, riding on his shoulders. He could almost feel her tiny little legs, almost hear her laughter. Her sister was there too, just a stricken with happiness at seeing the fun her sister was having. Arcturo wiped a tear from his eye, thinking back at what a Daddy's girl Makiah had been. Another picture on the page, the Fourth of July. Makiah was showcased in her little griller's outfit, putting on a grand show of being such a big cook.. well, Daddy's little helper as he had called her. A second picture, capturing Kiah sharing the holiday cheer with their dog by filling his bowl with pink lemonade. The chuckle that resounded from Arcturo however, was dead and lifeless.
The pages were soundless are he carefully perused through them, taking in all the memories he'd collected over the years. The girls had always given him a hard time about being "That Dad." The kind that seemed permanently attached to a camera, or a record—How he wished he had some of those home movies with him now, to forget this insanity. Still, the pictures took him back. Makiah giving her best "Big Girl" face, shouldering a pink backpack on one side and ready for her first day of high school. Distantly, he could hear the way he chuckled at her as she hid her anxiety.
The pages moved faster now. Makiah in choir, standing in long red robes and her mouth agape as she held a shrill note; Makiah all dressed up in a red marching outfit, with one of those ridiculous hats with the fluffy plumes on her head as she huffed away at a saxophone; Makiah winning third place in a state sponsored art contest, she had sculpted a T-Rex. The memories flashed by, Arcturo's hands moved faster, as if he was afraid he wouldn't have time to finish. Makiah and her sister, dressed up for Halloween and both a little more provocatively than he would have liked.
Christmas. Makiah had been so full of life, getting her first car. She'd nearly shattered his ribs with her hugs. He remembered Natalie had gone with him, to help him pick it out. Nobody knew Makiah better than her sister. They shared a bond that he could never match, but his little Ki had loved him. He stopped on a picture of Makiah up on stage, playing Wendy in a play about Peter Pan. His thumb traced over the image, feeling the odd texture of the protective sleeve. Next to that, a picture of them all singing, one of the few his wife had captured. Nat had complimented his voice, saying he sounded like "A wood chipper eating a cat".
This was it.. No more plays, no more games, no more performances or songs, no smiles, no more hugs. No more chances to guide or teach them, to fix what he did wrong. There was no more time. The thud of something slamming into the wall running the length of the corridor outside his door. A low growl, and then suddenly the loud wails of somebody in terror.. somebody dying. Arcturo reached into his drawer, pulling out the pistol and aiming it at the door. He took another swig of whiskey, his head spinning. He remembered to thumb down the safety, his index hanging over the trigger.
Once more he glanced down. Makiah smiled up at him, surrounded by her pretty friends, arms laden with bags. She was a shopper, just like her mother. She'd always been a popular girl, always hanging around with the "in" crowds. Despite the fact that she had made decent grades, she didn't try hard for college. Instead she had argued a rather well put together case about how getting a job early on was better than student debt. Fortunately, she knew how to manage her money well. She had moved herself out, and even helped out Nat by giving her a place to stay after her latest breakup. Makiah was never a floozy, at least not that Arcturo knew about, but she had sense enough to put her job before her love life. He wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually lived with anybody else besides Nat.
Her turned the final page. The last picture had all of them, the whole family, excluding the old dog. Elliora had gotten a new lapdog, some fluffy mongrel he couldn't remember the name of, a pom-pom or something close to that. Makiah had been devastated after Mac Grooger passed away, the first dog which she in her young age had taken the liberty of naming. However, upon meeting the newest addition to their family and being over come with joy, she'd promptly named him Sergeant Waffles, The Destroyer of Worlds.
His lips moved ever so slightly, uttering the barest traces of sound. For the first time in his life, he was praying, to what ever god was listening as he typed out a reply. The barrel of the gun wavered unsteadily, pressed against the side of his head. His finger sliding smoothly in position over the trigger. This is it, he thought, I'm all out of time. He pressed send, and pulled the trigger.
E Q U I P M E N T
● Cigarettes and lighter.
● Smartphone.
● Hello Kitty brand pepper-spray.
● "Lady Mary Jane".
● Rolling papers.
● Smartphone.
● Hello Kitty brand pepper-spray.
● "Lady Mary Jane".
● Rolling papers.
P R O F I C I E N C I E S
● "Hello, Thank you for choosing..." Without any real technical, or practical trade skills, Kiah's only real work force benefit comes from talking to people. Five years of customer service will do that, and teach you how to get what you want: Like diffusing a situation, especially when your ass is on the line.
● "Inter-Store Triathlon." Being near the bottom of the corporate ladder meant Kiah got her hands dirty with plenty of grunt labor. Jogging with product boxes, bending and lifting, and scaling ladders equaled her work provided entry level gym membership. At least it helped keep her muscles in shape and provided a good core workout. This and getting her cardio in at the gym, or through early morning jogs, means she's in better than average shape compared to the rest of the world.
● "Those are rookie numbers." Little did she know, her strategic planning ability sure is likely to come in handy nowadays. Working as a manager in retail meant she had too much work and not enough time, along with planning the everyday normal things; Her outfit for the night, How she was going to do her makeup, If she had time to run errans, What to eat for dinner, If she was going to miss any of her favorite shows, Calculating how much money she had in the bank. Crunching all these numbers, and perfecting all of these plans has oriented her brain to strategic thinking. How to use facts, how to manage her time, her resources, and most importantly—Remembering every detail.
● "Inter-Store Triathlon." Being near the bottom of the corporate ladder meant Kiah got her hands dirty with plenty of grunt labor. Jogging with product boxes, bending and lifting, and scaling ladders equaled her work provided entry level gym membership. At least it helped keep her muscles in shape and provided a good core workout. This and getting her cardio in at the gym, or through early morning jogs, means she's in better than average shape compared to the rest of the world.
● "Those are rookie numbers." Little did she know, her strategic planning ability sure is likely to come in handy nowadays. Working as a manager in retail meant she had too much work and not enough time, along with planning the everyday normal things; Her outfit for the night, How she was going to do her makeup, If she had time to run errans, What to eat for dinner, If she was going to miss any of her favorite shows, Calculating how much money she had in the bank. Crunching all these numbers, and perfecting all of these plans has oriented her brain to strategic thinking. How to use facts, how to manage her time, her resources, and most importantly—Remembering every detail.
L I M I T A T I O N S
● "Vice City." Nobody's perfect right? Well, neither is reality, work, or all of the struggles that come with adult life. Kiah like to spend her nights out, clubbing, bar hopping, or just perusing around the town. Her nights were late, and her mornings came much too early. She's the kind of person to lay in bed for ten extra minutes, debating whether to call into work or not. The one thing that really helped her feel leveled out is something she shares with her sister, Good ol' "Lady Mary Jane". Kia is also a smoker, and a frequent drinker.
● "Do Not Operate When..." There are two major downsides to Kiah's powers. The first is the cooling of her body, much like snuffing out a candle flame. She's particularly vulnerable to excessive cold temperatures, the kind that negates her body temperature, despite how hot she usually is. Water is a double-sided coin: On one hand she'll warm standing water, fortunately well below boiling point. On the other, cold water will have the same effect as cold temperatures, sapping away her body heat until she shuts down completely. The second downside is that fire is a raging, destructive force. It can be hard to control, the more intense the fire the harder it is to stop. This fact is even more true when her emotions are running wild, she can become a conflagration instantaneously, even subconsciously.
● "The Grass is Always Greener..." Despite the rocky road life can be with her sister, Kiah is what you'd call an optimist. Always trying to have a positive outlook, always trying to find that silver-lining. She hasn't been wholly exposed to the cruelty of the world, or she looks away. She's got a good heart, but that only means she takes the negative harder.
● "Little Inferno." Due to her outlook on life, it's not often that Kiah finds herself truly down in the slumps, or very angry. But, when she gets truly pissed... well, that's when things can get out of control. Iconically, anger and fire go hand-in-hand, and she's a living example of that. Like a lit match on a dry plains swept with wind, she'll become the kind of inferno you've only heard about.
● "Stoking the Fire" Makiah not only has a limit to her powers just as the other changed, but they can come in two forms. When she goes beyond that limit, she'll start to suffer symptoms akin to a heat stroke. Signs of delirium, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, fatigue, and an accelerated heart rate. Ignoring these signs will lead to cardiac arrest, followed by her heart weakening to a point where it will give out completely. The second, more dangerous version of this is her unleashed state. If her emotions are running rampant, the inferno she causes will start to consume her, burning her away until she is nothing but ash.
● "Do Not Operate When..." There are two major downsides to Kiah's powers. The first is the cooling of her body, much like snuffing out a candle flame. She's particularly vulnerable to excessive cold temperatures, the kind that negates her body temperature, despite how hot she usually is. Water is a double-sided coin: On one hand she'll warm standing water, fortunately well below boiling point. On the other, cold water will have the same effect as cold temperatures, sapping away her body heat until she shuts down completely. The second downside is that fire is a raging, destructive force. It can be hard to control, the more intense the fire the harder it is to stop. This fact is even more true when her emotions are running wild, she can become a conflagration instantaneously, even subconsciously.
● "The Grass is Always Greener..." Despite the rocky road life can be with her sister, Kiah is what you'd call an optimist. Always trying to have a positive outlook, always trying to find that silver-lining. She hasn't been wholly exposed to the cruelty of the world, or she looks away. She's got a good heart, but that only means she takes the negative harder.
● "Little Inferno." Due to her outlook on life, it's not often that Kiah finds herself truly down in the slumps, or very angry. But, when she gets truly pissed... well, that's when things can get out of control. Iconically, anger and fire go hand-in-hand, and she's a living example of that. Like a lit match on a dry plains swept with wind, she'll become the kind of inferno you've only heard about.
● "Stoking the Fire" Makiah not only has a limit to her powers just as the other changed, but they can come in two forms. When she goes beyond that limit, she'll start to suffer symptoms akin to a heat stroke. Signs of delirium, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, fatigue, and an accelerated heart rate. Ignoring these signs will lead to cardiac arrest, followed by her heart weakening to a point where it will give out completely. The second, more dangerous version of this is her unleashed state. If her emotions are running rampant, the inferno she causes will start to consume her, burning her away until she is nothing but ash.
R E L A T I O N S
● Natalie Kaplen-Meadows is Makiah's sister, who is two years older.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
N A T A L I E K A P L E N - M E A D O W S
F e m a l e ● T w e n t y - F i v e ● B - N e g a t i v e M U T A T I O N S
● Enhanced Speed and Reflexes
Nat's never really been much for athletic routine, that was always her sister's thing. So it comes off quick ironic that her mutations grant her inhuman speed. Specifically, the ability to achieve speeds higher than any human could, or should. Not just in the physical sense either, but her reflexes, her reaction times, and her overall speed of though. This also alters her perception of time, dilating it to the point where she can see things in slow motion, or even at a near standstill.
At first glance, this seems like a passive, natural reaction. She could potentially respond to things faster than a normal human being could with her accelerated process of through and neural signals. However, if she were to concentrate on exactly how fast she needs the world to move, she can control this dilation. When moving at high speeds, she can also perceive things at high speeds, only slowing as needed when an obstacle presents itself through her brain's sub-conscious system of detect, identify, and respond. Ultimately, when moving at high speeds, this would feel almost as if there were no change at all, rather moving as a reaction than a processed thought.
● Shock Absorption and Energy Release
Nat has two very important mutations that coexist with her powers, without them she wouldn't be very useful at all. The first is the overall density of her body, she's not exactly heavier or lighter, nor is she really anymore durable than she regularly is. What this does is orients her body to be able to absorb, and release the force of excessive impacts (e.g if she throws a high speed punch). What this means is that her body converts the pressure from force and velocity into heat and steam, which is released from her back.
The bony plates protruding from her back along her spine not only offer her the same protection a regular bone would, but also serves as a way for her to vent this buildup of heat energy, in great clouds of steam. Without this the friction generated by her body would lead to spontaneous combustion. She also has smaller rows of similar bony protrusions along the outsides of her forearms between her wrists and elbows, and along the back of her calves between her ankles and knees.
● Nature's Velcro
Nat has a slick, oily black substance creeping up her hands, forearms, feet, and shins. Her skin in these areas is very soft, cool, and slippery—Much like that of an amphibious creature. More importantly, this change in texture comes with another important benefit. Her hands and feet are covered in hundreds of tiny, microscopic hairs called setae. Each seta splits off into hundreds of even smaller bristles called spatulae. These hairs, lying more at a horizontal angle, increase the Van der Waals forces between themselves and a surface. In Nature, this allows a creature such as a gecko to climb porous surfaces. Natalie can't climb surfaces, but these setae give her considerably more traction and grip.
Nat's never really been much for athletic routine, that was always her sister's thing. So it comes off quick ironic that her mutations grant her inhuman speed. Specifically, the ability to achieve speeds higher than any human could, or should. Not just in the physical sense either, but her reflexes, her reaction times, and her overall speed of though. This also alters her perception of time, dilating it to the point where she can see things in slow motion, or even at a near standstill.
At first glance, this seems like a passive, natural reaction. She could potentially respond to things faster than a normal human being could with her accelerated process of through and neural signals. However, if she were to concentrate on exactly how fast she needs the world to move, she can control this dilation. When moving at high speeds, she can also perceive things at high speeds, only slowing as needed when an obstacle presents itself through her brain's sub-conscious system of detect, identify, and respond. Ultimately, when moving at high speeds, this would feel almost as if there were no change at all, rather moving as a reaction than a processed thought.
● Shock Absorption and Energy Release
Nat has two very important mutations that coexist with her powers, without them she wouldn't be very useful at all. The first is the overall density of her body, she's not exactly heavier or lighter, nor is she really anymore durable than she regularly is. What this does is orients her body to be able to absorb, and release the force of excessive impacts (e.g if she throws a high speed punch). What this means is that her body converts the pressure from force and velocity into heat and steam, which is released from her back.
The bony plates protruding from her back along her spine not only offer her the same protection a regular bone would, but also serves as a way for her to vent this buildup of heat energy, in great clouds of steam. Without this the friction generated by her body would lead to spontaneous combustion. She also has smaller rows of similar bony protrusions along the outsides of her forearms between her wrists and elbows, and along the back of her calves between her ankles and knees.
● Nature's Velcro
Nat has a slick, oily black substance creeping up her hands, forearms, feet, and shins. Her skin in these areas is very soft, cool, and slippery—Much like that of an amphibious creature. More importantly, this change in texture comes with another important benefit. Her hands and feet are covered in hundreds of tiny, microscopic hairs called setae. Each seta splits off into hundreds of even smaller bristles called spatulae. These hairs, lying more at a horizontal angle, increase the Van der Waals forces between themselves and a surface. In Nature, this allows a creature such as a gecko to climb porous surfaces. Natalie can't climb surfaces, but these setae give her considerably more traction and grip.
A P P E A R A N C E
If not for their age gap, Nat could almost be her sister's twin. Sharing the same theme of features inherited from their mother, Nat has a softer face but with more angular sculpting compared to her sister's rounder structure. She has the same button nose and pert mouth, but her eyes lack the warm of their mother. Rather, she has her father's hard stare, an icy coolness reflected in those ocean blue pools of color. Her hair is a stark contrast to her pale complexion and bright eyes, being a black so dark as if to seem all color has been washed out—The same as her sister.
Nat fairs a bit better in the womanly department, standing a little taller and leaner at 5'8 (176cm) and weighing 124 lbs (56.2 kg). Her chest is also a tad larger, as Nat sports a duo of firm C-cups. Nat, being the girl she is, does sport a bit of ink and a few piercings here and there.
Nat fairs a bit better in the womanly department, standing a little taller and leaner at 5'8 (176cm) and weighing 124 lbs (56.2 kg). Her chest is also a tad larger, as Nat sports a duo of firm C-cups. Nat, being the girl she is, does sport a bit of ink and a few piercings here and there.
● Yin and Yang tribal band inked around her left bicep.
● A Blue Lily tattooed on the back of her right shoulder.
● Rose and Compass tattooed on the left side of her torso and hip.
● She had a semi-colon tattoo on her wrist, but that has been covered by her mutation.
● Pierced ears and tongue.
● A Blue Lily tattooed on the back of her right shoulder.
● Rose and Compass tattooed on the left side of her torso and hip.
● She had a semi-colon tattoo on her wrist, but that has been covered by her mutation.
● Pierced ears and tongue.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
Nat is a hardhearted, self-centered realist. To her, the world is a cruel place that doesn't give two shits about her, so she might as well make the best of it. Her activities seem to end her up on the wrong side of the law, or at the least running from it. She's a shutout, hiding herself deep within layers of calm coolness and cold apathy. If not very trusting at first, Nat is very loyal and will stay that way as long as you do right by her and her family.
Speaking of family, there's only one person Nat really cares about in this world—You guessed it—her little sister. Though one may not realize what deep affection Nat has for her sister, Anybody who fucks with Makiah is going to see the violent side of Nat real quick. Though she cares less for her loser parents, Nat hasn't completely disowned them.
Speaking of family, there's only one person Nat really cares about in this world—You guessed it—her little sister. Though one may not realize what deep affection Nat has for her sister, Anybody who fucks with Makiah is going to see the violent side of Nat real quick. Though she cares less for her loser parents, Nat hasn't completely disowned them.
R E F L E C T I O N S : P A R T O N E
An office becomes shrouded in haunting gloom as the glow of evening turns into the veil of night. A haggard face, pale with day old stubble, stares at a thick book that he had drawn from one of the many shelves lining the room. Ice rattles in a stout glass as he tries to sooth his nerves with the foul brew of straight whiskey, there was no time for mixers tonight. A sad smile plays across his face as he leans back in the well kept leather chair, its oiled hinges not letting off a single squeak. Still, that would have paled in comparison to the chaos erupting outside. He glances to his phone, still no response from his wife. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as gunfire erupts outside. His shaking hand moves across the hard cover of the book, peeling the cover back slowly. As he does, the world outside seems to fade away.
His eyes settle on a picture, simple titled "Natalie". A young girl, dressed in a bright sundress, a daisy in her hair, and smiling back at him over her shoulder. He remembered that day fondly. An outing at a local park, eating ice cream, feeding the ducks, and toting around their new born: Natalie's sister. He glanced through the pictures of the early years. Birthdays, friends, her first bicycle, An array of different photos each invoking a hundred different thoughts of memories. And each one pained him, wrenching and twisting his heart into knots.
The first day of high school. He could still remember kissing his daughter goodbye, and trying to sooth the rather envious youngster in the background of the photo. Makiah had insisted she was old enough for high school too. Arcturo smiled in fond remembrance. More pictures flashed by; Natalie trying out soccer, softball; Natalie driving her first car; Wearing a shiny black dress adorned with sequins at prom; Natalie smiling with her rather uncouth friends.
She had always seemed to find her way into the rougher crowds, as if she just... belonged. Acturo knew she had started smoking early, started experimenting with drugs and getting into trouble. He'd done the same thing at that age, who was he to judge? She didn't come from poverty, she wasn't spoiled, she didn't steal from them and she didn't act like some tweaked out addict. She was a little temperamental, but level headed for the most part. He had always trusted that he'd be there to guide her onto the path of being a successful, functioning adult. He'd told himself the same thing all the times they fought about her particular choices, her shady friends, her sneaking out at night. Even this, made Arcturo smile. She was more rebellious than he had ever been.
It seemed now he'd never get the chance to finish guiding her. The world was falling apart and he couldn't even bring himself to step outside. It was pure madness out there, the only thing that awaited him was death, and surely for his family too. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked back a sob, taking another drink from his glass, turning to another page. Natalie's first boyfriend, a punk really. A small laugh echoed from within him, she reminded him so much of himself sometimes—His first girlfriend had been a shock to his parents too. She'd always defended him, said he treated her right, respected her. Arcturo had this inkling that the poor boy found out the hard way not to get on Nat's bad side.
Another page. Natalie on stage, rocking out to.. what was it, bass guitar? She looked so happy, and she was smiling right at him, picking him out of the crowd. That thought alone made his heart flutter quietly. Her "Rocking Out" wasn't really a career, and he had wished she'd at least tried to get into college, but he supported her. He never was one for the heavy, ear splitting kind of music she liked. And he felt so out of place in a crowd of teens all sporting chains and piercings and rebellious hairstyles. But, Nat would always be his little girl and he'd done everything he could to make her happy. Even if that meant he wasn't around enough.
It was only now, sitting in this silent room punctuated by the reverberating echoes of hollow booms, the cacophony of people yelling and screaming, that he regret not spending more time with his family. For not strengthening his relationship with his little Natalie. Ironic really, he'd always thought that stereotype wouldn't apply to him, and yet here he was, sitting in an office alone and missing his family. Still, he'd managed to make it to most of the games and performances, never missed a birthday, that had to count for something. He had been a good Father, right?
The book whispered softly as the pages brushed against each other. Natalie smiling with her sister, hanging on her with one arm. Ever the visage of the older sister, the protector. Natalie had always been really close to her sister, and Arcturo was glad for it. They'd have each other long after he and his wife had passed away. At least, he had always hoped that it would be that way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Natalie, always so strong and fierce, always so quick to resolve problems her way. The sadness of his smile became an overbearing weight on his heart. A pain so deep, and so empty, he felt that his heart may actually break apart.
He glanced again at his phone. "New Message."
His eyes settle on a picture, simple titled "Natalie". A young girl, dressed in a bright sundress, a daisy in her hair, and smiling back at him over her shoulder. He remembered that day fondly. An outing at a local park, eating ice cream, feeding the ducks, and toting around their new born: Natalie's sister. He glanced through the pictures of the early years. Birthdays, friends, her first bicycle, An array of different photos each invoking a hundred different thoughts of memories. And each one pained him, wrenching and twisting his heart into knots.
The first day of high school. He could still remember kissing his daughter goodbye, and trying to sooth the rather envious youngster in the background of the photo. Makiah had insisted she was old enough for high school too. Arcturo smiled in fond remembrance. More pictures flashed by; Natalie trying out soccer, softball; Natalie driving her first car; Wearing a shiny black dress adorned with sequins at prom; Natalie smiling with her rather uncouth friends.
She had always seemed to find her way into the rougher crowds, as if she just... belonged. Acturo knew she had started smoking early, started experimenting with drugs and getting into trouble. He'd done the same thing at that age, who was he to judge? She didn't come from poverty, she wasn't spoiled, she didn't steal from them and she didn't act like some tweaked out addict. She was a little temperamental, but level headed for the most part. He had always trusted that he'd be there to guide her onto the path of being a successful, functioning adult. He'd told himself the same thing all the times they fought about her particular choices, her shady friends, her sneaking out at night. Even this, made Arcturo smile. She was more rebellious than he had ever been.
It seemed now he'd never get the chance to finish guiding her. The world was falling apart and he couldn't even bring himself to step outside. It was pure madness out there, the only thing that awaited him was death, and surely for his family too. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked back a sob, taking another drink from his glass, turning to another page. Natalie's first boyfriend, a punk really. A small laugh echoed from within him, she reminded him so much of himself sometimes—His first girlfriend had been a shock to his parents too. She'd always defended him, said he treated her right, respected her. Arcturo had this inkling that the poor boy found out the hard way not to get on Nat's bad side.
Another page. Natalie on stage, rocking out to.. what was it, bass guitar? She looked so happy, and she was smiling right at him, picking him out of the crowd. That thought alone made his heart flutter quietly. Her "Rocking Out" wasn't really a career, and he had wished she'd at least tried to get into college, but he supported her. He never was one for the heavy, ear splitting kind of music she liked. And he felt so out of place in a crowd of teens all sporting chains and piercings and rebellious hairstyles. But, Nat would always be his little girl and he'd done everything he could to make her happy. Even if that meant he wasn't around enough.
It was only now, sitting in this silent room punctuated by the reverberating echoes of hollow booms, the cacophony of people yelling and screaming, that he regret not spending more time with his family. For not strengthening his relationship with his little Natalie. Ironic really, he'd always thought that stereotype wouldn't apply to him, and yet here he was, sitting in an office alone and missing his family. Still, he'd managed to make it to most of the games and performances, never missed a birthday, that had to count for something. He had been a good Father, right?
The book whispered softly as the pages brushed against each other. Natalie smiling with her sister, hanging on her with one arm. Ever the visage of the older sister, the protector. Natalie had always been really close to her sister, and Arcturo was glad for it. They'd have each other long after he and his wife had passed away. At least, he had always hoped that it would be that way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Natalie, always so strong and fierce, always so quick to resolve problems her way. The sadness of his smile became an overbearing weight on his heart. A pain so deep, and so empty, he felt that his heart may actually break apart.
He glanced again at his phone. "New Message."
E Q U I P M E N T
● Cigarettes and lighter.
● Smartphone.
● Black pocket knife.
● Wallet.
● Multi-tool.
● Smartphone.
● Black pocket knife.
● Wallet.
● Multi-tool.
P R O F I C I E N C I E S
● "Hey, FUCK YOU." Natalie isn't exactly the most calm person. In fact, she can be a tad hotheaded and violent at times. Always quick to action, she's learned how to fight the hard way. "Scrappy" is the right word when thinking of her personal style. She fights fast, and dirty. Fighting to her isn't about class or elegance, it's about winning. Sometimes it's better to win before the fight even starts, Which is one of the reasons she carries a pocket knife. Fortunately she's only had to use it a handful of times.
● "Criminal Scum." Nat's own personal take on "Rules were meant to be broken", she's no stranger to winding up in places she shouldn't be. Usually this involves a bit of street style acrobatics. Breaking and entering is sometimes an art, and Nat's been at it for years. Fortunately all this fence hopping, slithering through crawlspaces, and running from the law have helped keep her in decent shape. She's practically an amateur free-runner.
● "Maiden of the Green Lady." In some regards Nat couldn't be more different than her sister. Especially with the things she does and the people she associates with. Like frequenting obscure hangouts playing grunge music and serving drinks like "Dead Butterflies", with hazy air full of smoke and moshing bodies dressed in muted colors. The kinds of places with back rooms where you can go to just, "chill out", and possibly lose your shoes while you're off on some wonderland trip in your own head. Fortunately, being a connoisseur and a merchant of the Green Lady has made Nat a likable person in these sorts of crowds. She knows what she's doing in the rougher parts of American culture.
● "Criminal Scum." Nat's own personal take on "Rules were meant to be broken", she's no stranger to winding up in places she shouldn't be. Usually this involves a bit of street style acrobatics. Breaking and entering is sometimes an art, and Nat's been at it for years. Fortunately all this fence hopping, slithering through crawlspaces, and running from the law have helped keep her in decent shape. She's practically an amateur free-runner.
● "Maiden of the Green Lady." In some regards Nat couldn't be more different than her sister. Especially with the things she does and the people she associates with. Like frequenting obscure hangouts playing grunge music and serving drinks like "Dead Butterflies", with hazy air full of smoke and moshing bodies dressed in muted colors. The kinds of places with back rooms where you can go to just, "chill out", and possibly lose your shoes while you're off on some wonderland trip in your own head. Fortunately, being a connoisseur and a merchant of the Green Lady has made Nat a likable person in these sorts of crowds. She knows what she's doing in the rougher parts of American culture.
L I M I T A T I O N S
● "Sin City." The world is shit, at least to Nat. Everything sucks, so why bother with dieting, recycling, or all that other pointless bullshit? Nat would much rather sit stoned off of her ass watching retro cartoon shows, bad movies, and chowing down on a pile of munchies. Since she works from her phone, she gets to live the sort of lifestyle that would condemn her to hell. Smoking, drinking, gambling, the only thing she doesn't do is "That Hard Shit".
● "Faster than a speeding..." Unfortunately for Nat, her speed isn't as glamorous as television makes it out to be. Though her body has mutated in a way to deal with the extra force of her movements, she can easily surpass these shock absorbers and cause great physical trauma to herself. Additionally, she has to stop using her power to ventilate the built up heat and pressure from the excessive friction she causes. Straining her body's capacity to deal with this buildup will cause her to heat up considerably. Her body will enter an "overheated" state, where she will need to stop using her powers for some time, ventilate, and rest.
● "Vibrato." Should Nat choose to ignore her body's warning signs that she is overexerting herself, she will begin to break apart. When she's approaching the lethal threshold, she'll start to suffering symptoms such as angina, muscle spasms, shortness of breath, dizziness, numbness, and body tremors. In fact, these tremors are a guaranteed sign. As she pushes her limits, her body will vibrate uncontrollably, until she literally destabilizes and breaks apart into dust. Stopping and letting her body recalibrate is the only way to reverse this state. It may be necessary to manually slow her down, such as through cold temperatures or sedatives. This state also negates any additional grip or traction she gets from the setae on her hands and feet.
● "You got a FUCKING PROBLEM?" Nat in two words is simple, and crass. Though she's an averagely smart gal, if maybe a bit more streetwise, she's not exactly the most sensitive or refined. She lacks those finer people skills most people have. More importantly, she's a very straightforward thinker. She can be easy to predict, and quick to action. She doesn't think about how or what would be the best way to punch you in the face. Just that she's going to punch you in the face.
● "Faster than a speeding..." Unfortunately for Nat, her speed isn't as glamorous as television makes it out to be. Though her body has mutated in a way to deal with the extra force of her movements, she can easily surpass these shock absorbers and cause great physical trauma to herself. Additionally, she has to stop using her power to ventilate the built up heat and pressure from the excessive friction she causes. Straining her body's capacity to deal with this buildup will cause her to heat up considerably. Her body will enter an "overheated" state, where she will need to stop using her powers for some time, ventilate, and rest.
● "Vibrato." Should Nat choose to ignore her body's warning signs that she is overexerting herself, she will begin to break apart. When she's approaching the lethal threshold, she'll start to suffering symptoms such as angina, muscle spasms, shortness of breath, dizziness, numbness, and body tremors. In fact, these tremors are a guaranteed sign. As she pushes her limits, her body will vibrate uncontrollably, until she literally destabilizes and breaks apart into dust. Stopping and letting her body recalibrate is the only way to reverse this state. It may be necessary to manually slow her down, such as through cold temperatures or sedatives. This state also negates any additional grip or traction she gets from the setae on her hands and feet.
● "You got a FUCKING PROBLEM?" Nat in two words is simple, and crass. Though she's an averagely smart gal, if maybe a bit more streetwise, she's not exactly the most sensitive or refined. She lacks those finer people skills most people have. More importantly, she's a very straightforward thinker. She can be easy to predict, and quick to action. She doesn't think about how or what would be the best way to punch you in the face. Just that she's going to punch you in the face.
R E L A T I O N S
● Makiah Kaplen-Meadows is Natalie's sister, who is two years younger.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
Don't forget thermodynamic energy exchange
Fire burns at 3,542 degress Farenheit.
Burning pain at 111 F, First degree burns at 118f
Second degree burns at 131 f
Pain receptors overload and become numb at 140f.
At 162 f human tissue is destroyed on contact.
250 f - Cotton Ignites
Third Degree Burn with Water
150 - (2 second)
140 - (6 second)
130 - (30 second)
Fire burns at 3,542 degress Farenheit.
Burning pain at 111 F, First degree burns at 118f
Second degree burns at 131 f
Pain receptors overload and become numb at 140f.
At 162 f human tissue is destroyed on contact.
250 f - Cotton Ignites
Third Degree Burn with Water
150 - (2 second)
140 - (6 second)
130 - (30 second)
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
English is DUMB.
I lie down, you lay me down, she'll lie down, he'll lay her down, I'd lain there all day, She's (has) lain there all day, I am lying down, She's (is) lying down.
I lay the book down, I (have) laid the book down, He'll lay the book down, I've laid the book down, He's (has) laid the book down, I'm laying the book down, He's (is) laying the book down.
I lie down, you lay me down, she'll lie down, he'll lay her down, I'd lain there all day, She's (has) lain there all day, I am lying down, She's (is) lying down.
I lay the book down, I (have) laid the book down, He'll lay the book down, I've laid the book down, He's (has) laid the book down, I'm laying the book down, He's (is) laying the book down.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
An office becomes shrouded in haunting gloom as the glow of evening turns into the veil of night. A haggard face, pale with day old stubble, stares at a thick book that he had drawn from one of the many shelves lining the room. Ice rattles in a stout glass as he tries to sooth his nerves with the foul brew of straight whiskey, there was no time for mixers tonight. A sad smile plays across his face as he leans back in the well kept leather chair, its oiled hinges not letting off a single squeak. Still, that would have paled in comparison to the chaos erupting outside. He glances to his phone, still no response from his wife. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as gunfire erupts outside. His shaking hand moves across the hard cover of the book, peeling the cover back slowly. As he does, the world outside seems to fade away.
His eyes settle on a picture, simple titled "Natalie". A young girl, dressed in a bright sundress, a daisy in her hair, and smiling back at him over her shoulder. He remembered that day fondly. An outing at a local park, eating ice cream, feeding the ducks, and toting around their new born: Natalie's sister. He glanced through the pictures of the early years. Birthdays, friends, her first bicycle, An array of different photos each invoking a hundred different thoughts of memories. And each one pained him, wrenching and twisting his heart into knots.
The first day of high school. He could still remember kissing his daughter goodbye, and trying to sooth the rather envious youngster in the background of the photo. Makiah had insisted she was old enough for high school too. Arcturo smiled in fond remembrance. More pictures flashed by; Natalie trying out soccer, softball; Natalie driving her first car; Wearing a shiny black dress adorned with sequins at prom; Natalie smiling with her rather uncouth friends.
She had always seemed to find her way into the rougher crowds, as if she just... belonged. Acturo knew she had started smoking early, started experimenting with drugs and getting into trouble. He'd done the same thing at that age, who was he to judge? She didn't come from poverty, she wasn't spoiled, she didn't steal from them and she didn't act like some tweaked out addict. She was a little temperamental, but level headed for the most part. He had always trusted that he'd be there to guide her onto the path of being a successful, functioning adult. He'd told himself the same thing all the times they fought about her particular choices, her shady friends, her sneaking out at night. Even this, made Arcturo smile. She was more rebellious than he had ever been.
It seemed now he'd never get the chance to finish guiding her. The world was falling apart and he couldn't even bring himself to step outside. It was pure madness out there, the only thing that awaited him was death, and surely for his family too. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked back a sob, taking another drink from his glass, turning to another page. Natalie's first boyfriend, a punk really. A small laugh echoed from within him, she reminded him so much of himself sometimes—His first girlfriend had been a shock to his parents too. She'd always defended him, said he treated her right, respected her. Arcturo had this inkling that the poor boy found out the hard way not to get on Nat's bad side.
Another page. Natalie on stage, rocking out to.. what was it, bass guitar? She looked so happy, and she was smiling right at him, picking him out of the crowd. That thought alone made his heart flutter quietly. Her "Rocking Out" wasn't really a career, and he had wished she'd at least tried to get into college, but he supported her. He never was one for the heavy, ear splitting kind of music she liked. And he felt so out of place in a crowd of teens all sporting chains and piercings and rebellious hairstyles. But, Nat would always be his little girl and he'd done everything he could to make her happy. Even if that meant he wasn't around enough.
It was only now, sitting in this silent room punctuated by the reverberating echoes of hollow booms, the cacophony of people yelling and screaming, that he regret not spending more time with his family. For not strengthening his relationship with his little Natalie. Ironic really, he'd always thought that stereotype wouldn't apply to him, and yet here he was, sitting in an office alone and missing his family. Still, he'd managed to make it to most of the games and performances, never missed a birthday, that had to count for something. He had been a good Father, right?
The book whispered softly as the pages brushed against each other. Natalie smiling with her sister, hanging on her with one arm. Ever the visage of the older sister, the protector. Natalie had always been really close to her sister, and Arcturo was glad for it. They'd have each other long after he and his wife had passed away. At least, he had always hoped that it would be that way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Natalie, always so strong and fierce, always so quick to resolve problems her way. The sadness of his smile became an overbearing weight on his heart. A pain so deep, and so empty, he felt that his heart may actually break apart.
He glanced again at his phone. "New Message."
His eyes settle on a picture, simple titled "Natalie". A young girl, dressed in a bright sundress, a daisy in her hair, and smiling back at him over her shoulder. He remembered that day fondly. An outing at a local park, eating ice cream, feeding the ducks, and toting around their new born: Natalie's sister. He glanced through the pictures of the early years. Birthdays, friends, her first bicycle, An array of different photos each invoking a hundred different thoughts of memories. And each one pained him, wrenching and twisting his heart into knots.
The first day of high school. He could still remember kissing his daughter goodbye, and trying to sooth the rather envious youngster in the background of the photo. Makiah had insisted she was old enough for high school too. Arcturo smiled in fond remembrance. More pictures flashed by; Natalie trying out soccer, softball; Natalie driving her first car; Wearing a shiny black dress adorned with sequins at prom; Natalie smiling with her rather uncouth friends.
She had always seemed to find her way into the rougher crowds, as if she just... belonged. Acturo knew she had started smoking early, started experimenting with drugs and getting into trouble. He'd done the same thing at that age, who was he to judge? She didn't come from poverty, she wasn't spoiled, she didn't steal from them and she didn't act like some tweaked out addict. She was a little temperamental, but level headed for the most part. He had always trusted that he'd be there to guide her onto the path of being a successful, functioning adult. He'd told himself the same thing all the times they fought about her particular choices, her shady friends, her sneaking out at night. Even this, made Arcturo smile. She was more rebellious than he had ever been.
It seemed now he'd never get the chance to finish guiding her. The world was falling apart and he couldn't even bring himself to step outside. It was pure madness out there, the only thing that awaited him was death, and surely for his family too. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked back a sob, taking another drink from his glass, turning to another page. Natalie's first boyfriend, a punk really. A small laugh echoed from within him, she reminded him so much of himself sometimes—His first girlfriend had been a shock to his parents too. She'd always defended him, said he treated her right, respected her. Arcturo had this inkling that the poor boy found out the hard way not to get on Nat's bad side.
Another page. Natalie on stage, rocking out to.. what was it, bass guitar? She looked so happy, and she was smiling right at him, picking him out of the crowd. That thought alone made his heart flutter quietly. Her "Rocking Out" wasn't really a career, and he had wished she'd at least tried to get into college, but he supported her. He never was one for the heavy, ear splitting kind of music she liked. And he felt so out of place in a crowd of teens all sporting chains and piercings and rebellious hairstyles. But, Nat would always be his little girl and he'd done everything he could to make her happy. Even if that meant he wasn't around enough.
It was only now, sitting in this silent room punctuated by the reverberating echoes of hollow booms, the cacophony of people yelling and screaming, that he regret not spending more time with his family. For not strengthening his relationship with his little Natalie. Ironic really, he'd always thought that stereotype wouldn't apply to him, and yet here he was, sitting in an office alone and missing his family. Still, he'd managed to make it to most of the games and performances, never missed a birthday, that had to count for something. He had been a good Father, right?
The book whispered softly as the pages brushed against each other. Natalie smiling with her sister, hanging on her with one arm. Ever the visage of the older sister, the protector. Natalie had always been really close to her sister, and Arcturo was glad for it. They'd have each other long after he and his wife had passed away. At least, he had always hoped that it would be that way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Natalie, always so strong and fierce, always so quick to resolve problems her way. The sadness of his smile became an overbearing weight on his heart. A pain so deep, and so empty, he felt that his heart may actually break apart.
He glanced again at his phone. "New Message."
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
Arcturo's haunted, blue eyes stared at the dim screen of his phone, reading the brief message—"Alive." Suddenly, he was a sobbing mess. The emotional trauma of the evening had been too much for him. He stood, spurred into action, but stopped dead in his tracks as the windows behind him shook in their casings. A new sense of dread washed over him, running down his spine. He took another drink, feeling the cold ice press against his lips. He cursed quietly to himself, he had never been a big drinker but tonight he was done with etiquette. He pulled the bottle from his desk, taking a healthy swig before plopping down in his chair. Alive. They were alive, his daughters. That was something, right? But.. what hope could there be for them? He had seen what was happening outside. The cold truth of it was, they were all going to die.
He glanced down at the still open book, at the large pink lettering spellings his second daughter's name—Makiah. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before defeat settled in him. What else was he to do? What else could he do? Good people were being slaughtered in the street, trained men and women with weapons. And what did he have? Nothing but a handgun he'd never had to use, Hell he didn't even know how to use it. Fear clutched his heart as he caught the barest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, a shadow moving in front of his office window. He stared, and stared, but it didn't return. Another swig from the bottle, and he turned the page.
Makiah, screaming at the top of her glee filled lungs, riding on his shoulders. He could almost feel her tiny little legs, almost hear her laughter. Her sister was there too, just a stricken with happiness at seeing the fun her sister was having. Arcturo wiped a tear from his eye, thinking back at what a Daddy's girl Makiah had been. Another picture on the page, the Fourth of July. Makiah was showcased in her little griller's outfit, putting on a grand show of being such a big cook.. well, Daddy's little helper as he had called her. A second picture, capturing Kiah sharing the holiday cheer with their dog by filling his bowl with pink lemonade. The chuckle that resounded from Arcturo however, was dead and lifeless.
The pages were soundless are he carefully perused through them, taking in all the memories he'd collected over the years. The girls had always given him a hard time about being "That Dad." The kind that seemed permanently attached to a camera, or a record—How he wished he had some of those home movies with him now, to forget this insanity. Still, the pictures took him back. Makiah giving her best "Big Girl" face, shouldering a pink backpack on one side and ready for her first day of high school. Distantly, he could hear the way he chuckled at her as she hid her anxiety.
The pages moved faster now. Makiah in choir, standing in long red robes and her mouth agape as she held a shrill note; Makiah all dressed up in a red marching outfit, with one of those ridiculous hats with the fluffy plumes on her head as she huffed away at a saxophone; Makiah winning third place in a state sponsored art contest, she had sculpted a T-Rex. The memories flashed by, Arcturo's hands moved faster, as if he was afraid he wouldn't have time to finish. Makiah and her sister, dressed up for Halloween and both a little more provocatively than he would have liked.
Christmas. Makiah had been so full of life, getting her first car. She'd nearly shattered his ribs with her hugs. He remembered Natalie had gone with him, to help him pick it out. Nobody knew Makiah better than her sister. They shared a bond that he could never match, but his little Ki had loved him. He stopped on a picture of Makiah up on stage, playing Wendy in a play about Peter Pan. His thumb traced over the image, feeling the odd texture of the protective sleeve. Next to that, a picture of them all singing, one of the few his wife had captured. Nat had complimented his voice, saying he sounded like "A wood chipper eating a cat".
This was it.. No more plays, no more games, no more performances or songs, no smiles, no more hugs. No more chances to guide or teach them, to fix what he did wrong. There was no more time. The thud of something slamming into the wall running the length of the corridor outside his door. A low growl, and then suddenly the loud wails of somebody in terror.. somebody dying. Arcturo reached into his drawer, pulling out the pistol and aiming it at the door. He took another swig of whiskey, his head spinning. He remembered to thumb down the safety, his index hanging over the trigger.
Once more he glanced down. Makiah smiled up at him, surrounded by her pretty friends, arms laden with bags. She was a shopper, just like her mother. She'd always been a popular girl, always hanging around with the "in" crowds. Despite the fact that she had made decent grades, she didn't try hard for college. Instead she had argued a rather well put together case about how getting a job early on was better than student debt. Fortunately, she knew how to manage her money well. She had moved herself out, and even helped out Nat by giving her a place to stay after her latest breakup. Makiah was never a floozy, at least not that Arcturo knew about, but she had sense enough to put her job before her love life. He wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually lived with anybody else besides Nat.
Her turned the final page. The last picture had all of them, the whole family, excluding the old dog. Elliora had gotten a new lapdog, some fluffy mongrel he couldn't remember the name of, a pom-pom or something close to that. Makiah had been devastated after Mac Grooger passed away, the first dog which she in her young age had taken the liberty of naming. However, upon meeting the newest addition to their family and being overcome with joy, she'd promptly named him Sergeant Waffles, The Destroyer of Worlds.
His lips moved ever so slightly, uttering the barest traces of sound. For the first time in his life, he was praying, to what ever god was listening as he typed out a reply. The barrel of the gun wavered unsteadily, pressed against the side of his head. His finger sliding smoothly in position over the trigger. This is it, he thought, I'm all out of time. He pressed send for the last time.
He glanced down at the still open book, at the large pink lettering spellings his second daughter's name—Makiah. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before defeat settled in him. What else was he to do? What else could he do? Good people were being slaughtered in the street, trained men and women with weapons. And what did he have? Nothing but a handgun he'd never had to use, Hell he didn't even know how to use it. Fear clutched his heart as he caught the barest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, a shadow moving in front of his office window. He stared, and stared, but it didn't return. Another swig from the bottle, and he turned the page.
Makiah, screaming at the top of her glee filled lungs, riding on his shoulders. He could almost feel her tiny little legs, almost hear her laughter. Her sister was there too, just a stricken with happiness at seeing the fun her sister was having. Arcturo wiped a tear from his eye, thinking back at what a Daddy's girl Makiah had been. Another picture on the page, the Fourth of July. Makiah was showcased in her little griller's outfit, putting on a grand show of being such a big cook.. well, Daddy's little helper as he had called her. A second picture, capturing Kiah sharing the holiday cheer with their dog by filling his bowl with pink lemonade. The chuckle that resounded from Arcturo however, was dead and lifeless.
The pages were soundless are he carefully perused through them, taking in all the memories he'd collected over the years. The girls had always given him a hard time about being "That Dad." The kind that seemed permanently attached to a camera, or a record—How he wished he had some of those home movies with him now, to forget this insanity. Still, the pictures took him back. Makiah giving her best "Big Girl" face, shouldering a pink backpack on one side and ready for her first day of high school. Distantly, he could hear the way he chuckled at her as she hid her anxiety.
The pages moved faster now. Makiah in choir, standing in long red robes and her mouth agape as she held a shrill note; Makiah all dressed up in a red marching outfit, with one of those ridiculous hats with the fluffy plumes on her head as she huffed away at a saxophone; Makiah winning third place in a state sponsored art contest, she had sculpted a T-Rex. The memories flashed by, Arcturo's hands moved faster, as if he was afraid he wouldn't have time to finish. Makiah and her sister, dressed up for Halloween and both a little more provocatively than he would have liked.
Christmas. Makiah had been so full of life, getting her first car. She'd nearly shattered his ribs with her hugs. He remembered Natalie had gone with him, to help him pick it out. Nobody knew Makiah better than her sister. They shared a bond that he could never match, but his little Ki had loved him. He stopped on a picture of Makiah up on stage, playing Wendy in a play about Peter Pan. His thumb traced over the image, feeling the odd texture of the protective sleeve. Next to that, a picture of them all singing, one of the few his wife had captured. Nat had complimented his voice, saying he sounded like "A wood chipper eating a cat".
This was it.. No more plays, no more games, no more performances or songs, no smiles, no more hugs. No more chances to guide or teach them, to fix what he did wrong. There was no more time. The thud of something slamming into the wall running the length of the corridor outside his door. A low growl, and then suddenly the loud wails of somebody in terror.. somebody dying. Arcturo reached into his drawer, pulling out the pistol and aiming it at the door. He took another swig of whiskey, his head spinning. He remembered to thumb down the safety, his index hanging over the trigger.
Once more he glanced down. Makiah smiled up at him, surrounded by her pretty friends, arms laden with bags. She was a shopper, just like her mother. She'd always been a popular girl, always hanging around with the "in" crowds. Despite the fact that she had made decent grades, she didn't try hard for college. Instead she had argued a rather well put together case about how getting a job early on was better than student debt. Fortunately, she knew how to manage her money well. She had moved herself out, and even helped out Nat by giving her a place to stay after her latest breakup. Makiah was never a floozy, at least not that Arcturo knew about, but she had sense enough to put her job before her love life. He wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually lived with anybody else besides Nat.
Her turned the final page. The last picture had all of them, the whole family, excluding the old dog. Elliora had gotten a new lapdog, some fluffy mongrel he couldn't remember the name of, a pom-pom or something close to that. Makiah had been devastated after Mac Grooger passed away, the first dog which she in her young age had taken the liberty of naming. However, upon meeting the newest addition to their family and being overcome with joy, she'd promptly named him Sergeant Waffles, The Destroyer of Worlds.
His lips moved ever so slightly, uttering the barest traces of sound. For the first time in his life, he was praying, to what ever god was listening as he typed out a reply. The barrel of the gun wavered unsteadily, pressed against the side of his head. His finger sliding smoothly in position over the trigger. This is it, he thought, I'm all out of time. He pressed send for the last time.
OP
Little Kitsune Cloud Dreamer
Member
Seen
8 yrs ago
“The difference between justice and vengeance is perspective.
My perspective is to smile and nod.”
NAME
Rory Sonels
CALLSIGN
Magpie
ALIAS
Lock (His Vanguard Alias)
GENDER
Male
D - O - B
December 3rd, 2648 (27)
ORIGIN
Tenbington, Central European Territories
PERSONALITY & MOTIVATIONS
Rory is something of an enigma when it comes to his particular line of work. A fun-loving, adrenaline-seeking debonair with a sarcastic flair. Working basically as a gun for hire has given him the people skills he needed to get through life and put himself on top for his area; and doing it in a stolen rig meant learning how to run, fight, or talk his way out of a plethora of situations. If a lot of that talking involves an equal amount of drinking, well, that's just how the cards are dealt. He's very certain that he's not an alcoholic. A smoker, a gambler, a flirt, but never an alcoholic. He considers himself more of an enthusiastic drinker, a connoisseur of fine, adult beverages.
When it comes to "the line of duty", it seems all fun and games with Rory. He enjoys what he does and he finds immense pleasure in taking down a mark. War is hell for some, the backlash can be even worse, but Rory doesn't care. There's only one thing sweeter than that rush of adrenaline, and that's winning. As long as he comes out with all of his fingers and toes, he probably had a good time. Even if that means he lost and kicked around a fair bit. He's usually one to try and rise to the occasion, he loves a good challenge, but you can't win every time. Where's the fun in that?
Rory is definitely a people-person, even if everybody doesn't find him charming. He doesn't care what people say about him, and it's more than likely he doesn't care about what people say about others. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy some good gossip, he'd just rather see things for himself and make his own opinions. There's good in everybody, even if it's hard to see. He doesn't care if somebody is as cold as ice, reserved, and seems to have a permanent scowl—He'll still offer them a dance or a drink. He has a good sense of morality, and tries to do right by others. Even if his definition of loyalty is a tad loose, comparatively.
Coming to New Anchorage means new experiences, new friends and foes, and a chance to be a part of something a bit bigger. Despite being relatively quiet about his past, when asked Rory tells everyone that he just got tired of the "merc life" and wanted something steadier. Sometimes he tells them it was wanderlust, or that he had a growing sense for adventure, that he wanted to see new horizons.. well, he says a lot of things.
When it comes to "the line of duty", it seems all fun and games with Rory. He enjoys what he does and he finds immense pleasure in taking down a mark. War is hell for some, the backlash can be even worse, but Rory doesn't care. There's only one thing sweeter than that rush of adrenaline, and that's winning. As long as he comes out with all of his fingers and toes, he probably had a good time. Even if that means he lost and kicked around a fair bit. He's usually one to try and rise to the occasion, he loves a good challenge, but you can't win every time. Where's the fun in that?
Rory is definitely a people-person, even if everybody doesn't find him charming. He doesn't care what people say about him, and it's more than likely he doesn't care about what people say about others. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy some good gossip, he'd just rather see things for himself and make his own opinions. There's good in everybody, even if it's hard to see. He doesn't care if somebody is as cold as ice, reserved, and seems to have a permanent scowl—He'll still offer them a dance or a drink. He has a good sense of morality, and tries to do right by others. Even if his definition of loyalty is a tad loose, comparatively.
Coming to New Anchorage means new experiences, new friends and foes, and a chance to be a part of something a bit bigger. Despite being relatively quiet about his past, when asked Rory tells everyone that he just got tired of the "merc life" and wanted something steadier. Sometimes he tells them it was wanderlust, or that he had a growing sense for adventure, that he wanted to see new horizons.. well, he says a lot of things.
EFFECTS OF POLARIS SHIFT
Rory doesn't refer to the effects of his Polaris Shift as suffering, but rather experiencing. Before he took over this particular neural combatant it had been piloted by a woman by the name of Nadia Kinnet, who had named her machine "Jackdaw", a source of inspiration for the current call sign of "Magpie". Rory has a hard time recalling who he was before he became a pilot, what he liked, what his mannerisms were. Maybe he was different, or maybe he was the same, but the fact remains that he shares many things with Nadia.
At times certain events, situations, sounds, smells, and so forth will trigger something inside Rory's mind, invoking something of a vision. He'll see a part of Nadia's life, whatever memory is associated with the triggering event, and it will play as if he was experiencing the memory through Nadia's eyes. Fortunately these events tend to be very brief, ranging from a quick glimpse to perhaps a minute. They can be frequent however, though Rory isn't certain why.
It's something of a conundrum for him. Nadia was also a lover of dance, sharing his particular taste in music, she was a drinker, a smoker, a gambler, and a vivacious coquette. She loved fun, and piloting her Jackdaw. They are so similar, that Rory isn't quite sure how to look at the situation. Is he becoming her, or is it coincidence? Should he be having an existential crisis? Oddly enough, there was another pilot before Nadia. Rory's had glimpses of her life where she's dealing with quite literally, the same issues he's having now. Though even when Rory is looking through Nadia's eyes, he's never seen whatever it was that she did when the same event happened to her. It's actually rather hard to notice when she's experiencing her Polaris Shift.
In fact, the only reason he really knows at all is because Nadia's said as much. At any rate, the whole experience interests him greatly, and he's taken to writing them down when he has the privacy, and time to do so. Especially when it comes to trying to pin down changes in himself, similarities, and the differences between himself and Nadia. Writing things down has become even more important to him since he realized he has gaps in his memory and no longer remembers certain events. These holes are chunks of Nadia's memories. These acquired memories seem to reflect what was happening in her life around the time of the memories Rory has lost.
At times certain events, situations, sounds, smells, and so forth will trigger something inside Rory's mind, invoking something of a vision. He'll see a part of Nadia's life, whatever memory is associated with the triggering event, and it will play as if he was experiencing the memory through Nadia's eyes. Fortunately these events tend to be very brief, ranging from a quick glimpse to perhaps a minute. They can be frequent however, though Rory isn't certain why.
It's something of a conundrum for him. Nadia was also a lover of dance, sharing his particular taste in music, she was a drinker, a smoker, a gambler, and a vivacious coquette. She loved fun, and piloting her Jackdaw. They are so similar, that Rory isn't quite sure how to look at the situation. Is he becoming her, or is it coincidence? Should he be having an existential crisis? Oddly enough, there was another pilot before Nadia. Rory's had glimpses of her life where she's dealing with quite literally, the same issues he's having now. Though even when Rory is looking through Nadia's eyes, he's never seen whatever it was that she did when the same event happened to her. It's actually rather hard to notice when she's experiencing her Polaris Shift.
In fact, the only reason he really knows at all is because Nadia's said as much. At any rate, the whole experience interests him greatly, and he's taken to writing them down when he has the privacy, and time to do so. Especially when it comes to trying to pin down changes in himself, similarities, and the differences between himself and Nadia. Writing things down has become even more important to him since he realized he has gaps in his memory and no longer remembers certain events. These holes are chunks of Nadia's memories. These acquired memories seem to reflect what was happening in her life around the time of the memories Rory has lost.
PERSONAL HISTORY
"Growing up wasn't bad, never knew my parents but I had good home. I was provided for."
"I'm no genius, but I guess I'd always had a knack for this sort of thing. Code was just something I understood, as well as a kid could anyways."
"It wasn't a bad gig. I was good at it, it paid well, and it gave me a steady life in an otherwise chaotic world, ya know? I was real lucky."
"Why'd I leave? Wanderlust, I didn't want to be a corporate jockey forever. I was still young, I wanted to see the world."
"I spent some time as a freelancer, selling my services. Which mostly involved a lot of fighting, a lot of taking care of other people's problems. I learned a new set of skills, ones I was good at and enjoyed far more."
"D.V? It was a sweet deal, paid a lot, let me do what I was good at. Got to see the world a bit, shoot at different people. It was a fine job, but I was just another cog in the machine, It didn't feel like I was making a difference."
"And so, Here I am."
Actually, Rory was privileged enough to have both of his parents, who loved him very much, and a younger brother named Samuel. His mother, Rosette, was a full-time, stay at home caretaker, who dutifully watched over her children and taught them the necessary life lessons to survive. His father, Arlen, worked for a company that had been folded into Paragon as a neural combatant engineer, a job that was in high demand in the eastern European territories and paid well. They lived in Tenbington, a rural area saturated with hills and sparse thickets, but close enough to the megacity of Berlin, Germany, to not be troubled by the rougher sorts that lived out in the wilderness. His father would stay in the city during the week, and come home on the weekends when his work permitted it, which was often enough. Neither Rory nor his little brother held any real resentment towards their father for his absence in their life, other than those periods of childish misunderstanding that most children would have. They grew up in a stylized farmhouse their father had spent some time restoring, in a community where most of those who didn't have fields to tend typically traveled to Berlin during the weekdays to work. Rory, and Samuel had plenty of friends, and the area was usually safe enough for them to run amok and play after their pseudo-school lessons. Rory had always been a popular child, and it was during this period of his life his knack for electronics was discovered.
"I'm no genius, but I guess I'd always had a knack for this sort of thing. Code was just something I understood, as well as a kid could anyways."
Wanting the best life for her children, Rosette convinced Rory's father to apprentice him in the city to further what she referred to as his "gift". Rory didn't hesitate at the opportunity, and shortly thereafter bid his family, with lots of hugs and kisses, farewell. He was quick to settle into the routine of his new life. Apprenticeship didn't pay, but it did provide give him a roof to live under, a bed to sleep in, and two meals a day. More importantly, he began learning the skills he'd need to further his career as a prospective programmer, even if that meant sweeping the shop and doing the dishes.
Quinton Wyrick, the man Rory apprenticed under, ran a moderate business near the edge of Berlin. He knew some minor things about mechanical engineering, you have to know how to put whatever your programming together, but his real trade was the processes and scripts than ran behind-the-scenes. Unlocking frozen data drives, reconfiguring electronic modules, or even creating new system functions. From time to time Quinton was even called upon by the local garrison of soldiers, under the Paragon banner of course, to assist when their current staff was having trouble with something that fell into his skill set. Despite their numerous offers, Quinton never went on with them full-time. Over the course of six years, from the age of eight to fourteen, Rory learned everything that Quinton had to teach him. However, much to Quinton's disappointment, Rory accepted an internship at Interex Incorporated, a company that revolved around neural combatants. He'd be just like his Dad, working patriotically for his country.
Quinton Wyrick, the man Rory apprenticed under, ran a moderate business near the edge of Berlin. He knew some minor things about mechanical engineering, you have to know how to put whatever your programming together, but his real trade was the processes and scripts than ran behind-the-scenes. Unlocking frozen data drives, reconfiguring electronic modules, or even creating new system functions. From time to time Quinton was even called upon by the local garrison of soldiers, under the Paragon banner of course, to assist when their current staff was having trouble with something that fell into his skill set. Despite their numerous offers, Quinton never went on with them full-time. Over the course of six years, from the age of eight to fourteen, Rory learned everything that Quinton had to teach him. However, much to Quinton's disappointment, Rory accepted an internship at Interex Incorporated, a company that revolved around neural combatants. He'd be just like his Dad, working patriotically for his country.
"It wasn't a bad gig. I was good at it, it paid well, and it gave me a steady life in an otherwise chaotic world, ya know? I was real lucky."
Interex Inc would prove to be the stepping stone that changed the path Rory's life was taking, for better or for worse. After getting his way through a stack of paperwork that was taller than he had been at the time and being assigned his very own quarters, Rory found himself enjoying the corporate life. It wasn't what he had expected, in fact it was a stark contrast to the leisurely pace he had gone at with Quincy. It was fast, it was hectic, and there was a substantial amount of pressure on him to succeed, to meet everything that was demanded of him. The process was almost grueling, but it was a challenge he was determined to meet. His two year internship left little in the way for personal time, and that meant he didn't get to see his family as often as he liked. However, he was accelerating his skills at a rapid pace, chewing up the administration's lessons and spitting out results, some of which were better than expected.
He wasn't the top programmer by any means, but he wasn't far behind. It wasn't until his final test as an intern that he really proved himself. It had been a seemingly simple test. The applicants were to devise a neural net system of operations from scratch, from the core functions to the module components. Their only objective was to "Ensure the pilot's survival" in a simulation, one that the applicants were not told the details to. Rory passed with flying colors, even though the simulation was rigged to ensure the virtual pilot's destruction. Rory placed second, which wasn't bad for a nobody from the territories. From there he found himself not only landing a job as a Computer Systems Engineer, but also passing meeting the required aptitude to become a pilot himself. Which only furthered his understanding of neural combatants and gave him a new appreciation for those who piloted them. Two years later, at the ripe age of eighteen, he found himself as one of the youngest Sysadmins within the company, and a remarkable NC pilot. That same year he left the company, and became a wanted fugitive as far as Paragon was concerned.
He wasn't the top programmer by any means, but he wasn't far behind. It wasn't until his final test as an intern that he really proved himself. It had been a seemingly simple test. The applicants were to devise a neural net system of operations from scratch, from the core functions to the module components. Their only objective was to "Ensure the pilot's survival" in a simulation, one that the applicants were not told the details to. Rory passed with flying colors, even though the simulation was rigged to ensure the virtual pilot's destruction. Rory placed second, which wasn't bad for a nobody from the territories. From there he found himself not only landing a job as a Computer Systems Engineer, but also passing meeting the required aptitude to become a pilot himself. Which only furthered his understanding of neural combatants and gave him a new appreciation for those who piloted them. Two years later, at the ripe age of eighteen, he found himself as one of the youngest Sysadmins within the company, and a remarkable NC pilot. That same year he left the company, and became a wanted fugitive as far as Paragon was concerned.
"Why'd I leave? Wanderlust, I didn't want to be a corporate jockey forever. I was still young, I wanted to see the world."
False. Rory was perfectly happy with his desk job. Even his role as a combatant pilot was mostly to allow him to test code, despite pretty good marks in the simulators. While he was busy pushing the boundaries of neural combatants and writing letters to his family, somebody else was busy terrorizing the countryside. He had been focused on his current project, studying the effects of the Polaris Shift. Interex wanted to see if there was a way to minimize, or reduce the effects, and was curious about Rory's particular symptoms from piloting his NC. However, Rory's letters to his family had gone unanswered for over a month, which was unusual even with the company screening to ensure he wasn't releasing trade secrets. He was denied leave to go visit them, his team's work was too important for a social call. Another month passed before news made its way to Rory's desk. His hometown was gone, burnt to the ground, and everybody in it. An age old story that had been told too many times.
Rory demanded leave, he wanted to find his father who should have been in the city. Again he was denied, so he took matters into his own hands. His NC wasn't under the same operational safeguards as the computer systems within the company were. With help from his NC's amplified communications module, another company prototype, Rory broke into Interex's systems. He had intended to simply piggyback of the Interex systems and into the citizen registry, but he never got that far. Before he knew it, he was reading what the administration considered classified files, and then he understood. He was denied leave because they'd already known, and he was too valuable of an asset to lose. Of course they had known, how could they not? They'd also kept the last correspondence from his father away from him. There was no information on what it had actually said, but Rory had a pretty clear idea. Arlen Sonels was deceased, cause of death: Suicide. Rory was outraged.
Rory had gotten careless near the end of his careful intrusion, but by the time the breach was detected and security personnel were en route to his location Rory was already making his way out of the testing bay. Knowing his pursuers integral systems inside and out made isolating what he'd just done relatively easy. A few lines of code that looped and multiplied itself was all it took to freeze up Interex's systems and require a mainframe reboot, which unfortunately for them meant their doors were locked and their connection to the outside world was momentarily interrupted. That was all the time Rory needed to resync, and use his very recently upgraded credentials to leave the city with his NC. Fortunately, he wasn't very far from the edge of the megacity to begin with.
It would be another year before Rory exacted his vengeance. Since he knew the Interex systems so well, he was able to craft a carefully coded virus specifically designed to penetrate their security systems. A virus that would release sensitive information to their biggest competitors and enemies, an event that would ultimately see Interex shutdown and put out of business.
Rory demanded leave, he wanted to find his father who should have been in the city. Again he was denied, so he took matters into his own hands. His NC wasn't under the same operational safeguards as the computer systems within the company were. With help from his NC's amplified communications module, another company prototype, Rory broke into Interex's systems. He had intended to simply piggyback of the Interex systems and into the citizen registry, but he never got that far. Before he knew it, he was reading what the administration considered classified files, and then he understood. He was denied leave because they'd already known, and he was too valuable of an asset to lose. Of course they had known, how could they not? They'd also kept the last correspondence from his father away from him. There was no information on what it had actually said, but Rory had a pretty clear idea. Arlen Sonels was deceased, cause of death: Suicide. Rory was outraged.
Rory had gotten careless near the end of his careful intrusion, but by the time the breach was detected and security personnel were en route to his location Rory was already making his way out of the testing bay. Knowing his pursuers integral systems inside and out made isolating what he'd just done relatively easy. A few lines of code that looped and multiplied itself was all it took to freeze up Interex's systems and require a mainframe reboot, which unfortunately for them meant their doors were locked and their connection to the outside world was momentarily interrupted. That was all the time Rory needed to resync, and use his very recently upgraded credentials to leave the city with his NC. Fortunately, he wasn't very far from the edge of the megacity to begin with.
It would be another year before Rory exacted his vengeance. Since he knew the Interex systems so well, he was able to craft a carefully coded virus specifically designed to penetrate their security systems. A virus that would release sensitive information to their biggest competitors and enemies, an event that would ultimately see Interex shutdown and put out of business.
"I spent some time as a freelancer, selling my services. Which mostly involved a lot of fighting, a lot of taking care of other people's problems. I learned a new set of skills, ones I was good at and enjoyed far more."
Within a year after leaving Interex Incorporated, Rory found himself picking up a position in a freelance group operating out of the northern African continent—Vanguard. His primary role was to perform system maintenance, and debugging. However, the group's leader, Wes Nyland, didn't want a member who couldn't fight, especially one with an NC. So for the second time in his life, Rory found himself apprenticed under Wes, learning the trade of warfare. He became "Newt", the group's name for newbies and once again he found himself with a heavy work load. He was expected to perform the duties he was hired for, while doing the cleaning and picking up after for the other eleven members, and learning how to fight. His combat training wasn't limited to just piloting his combatant either, but also his personal skills.
Wes' reasoning was "And what happens when they drag your sorry ass out of the cockpit, huh kiddo?". So for the next six years Rory was a member of Vanguard. He learned strategy and tactics, how to be an effective combatant pilot, and he even geared his programming knowledge into something he could utilize in the field. More importantly, he was taught how to defend himself. Wes took a liking to Rory, and taught him the art of being a covert soldier. How to take down a mark quickly and efficiently, with precision and stealth. Together with Wes Rory learned how to use guns, though he was best with pistols, how to fight with knives, and hand-to-hand combat. He learned how to blend in with the shadows, and how to move through silently. Vanguard outfitted Rory's NC with an automatic weapon and a shield—A pain he'd experienced before, readjusting to the changes of his NC.
By the time Rory hit twenty-five, he was second only to Wes himself and was established as Vice-Captain for the group. He'd even earned himself a proper name years prior, "Lock", one given by the group as a whole under the pretense that "No lock could keep him out." He'd seen comrades come and go, simply leaving or having fallen during battle. He'd killed officials and brigands alike, and had been paid handsomely for it. He'd snuck in to "secure" estates and compounds and come out whole. He found life as a freelancer enjoyable, especially the freedom that came with it. But when a representative backed by Denver-Vegas found interest in his particular skill sets, Rory found the money to be made there hard to say no to. He bid his goodbyes to Vanguard, packed his things, and went off to seek new horizons. This time under the wing of the Denver-Vegas corporation. For the next two years, Rory found himself once more a corporate drone.
Wes' reasoning was "And what happens when they drag your sorry ass out of the cockpit, huh kiddo?". So for the next six years Rory was a member of Vanguard. He learned strategy and tactics, how to be an effective combatant pilot, and he even geared his programming knowledge into something he could utilize in the field. More importantly, he was taught how to defend himself. Wes took a liking to Rory, and taught him the art of being a covert soldier. How to take down a mark quickly and efficiently, with precision and stealth. Together with Wes Rory learned how to use guns, though he was best with pistols, how to fight with knives, and hand-to-hand combat. He learned how to blend in with the shadows, and how to move through silently. Vanguard outfitted Rory's NC with an automatic weapon and a shield—A pain he'd experienced before, readjusting to the changes of his NC.
By the time Rory hit twenty-five, he was second only to Wes himself and was established as Vice-Captain for the group. He'd even earned himself a proper name years prior, "Lock", one given by the group as a whole under the pretense that "No lock could keep him out." He'd seen comrades come and go, simply leaving or having fallen during battle. He'd killed officials and brigands alike, and had been paid handsomely for it. He'd snuck in to "secure" estates and compounds and come out whole. He found life as a freelancer enjoyable, especially the freedom that came with it. But when a representative backed by Denver-Vegas found interest in his particular skill sets, Rory found the money to be made there hard to say no to. He bid his goodbyes to Vanguard, packed his things, and went off to seek new horizons. This time under the wing of the Denver-Vegas corporation. For the next two years, Rory found himself once more a corporate drone.
"D.V? It was a sweet deal, paid a lot, let me do what I was good at. Got to see the world a bit, shoot at different people. It was a fine job, but I was just another cog in the machine, It didn't feel like I was making a difference."
Mostly true. Western Digital, the company Rory found himself a part of, specialized in providing a supportive role in warfare.Located within the desert mountains in the western U.S territories, Their NC's focused on sensory, informative, and disabling equipment. If they'd recognized the prototype module in Rory's NC from the Interex information leak all those years ago, they didn't say anything. In fact, they were quite eager to see what they could do with it while incorporating Rory's abilities in the field of battle. What they had come up with was much better than what Rory had expected.
Slowly, over the course of several months they changed and upgraded his NC, creating a new sort of hell for his body to go through. Rory was certain its identification numbers would alert Western Digital to the fact that his NC was technically stolen. If they knew, they probably didn't care, because it was never mentioned. His machine was given a fresh set of tags, marking it as a product of the Denver-Vegas corporation. Rory gave it the name of "Magpie", finding inspiration from his ironically stolen memories of the previous pilot's call sign, "Jackdaw".
Rory's run with Western Digital ended prematurely, and as far as the Denver-Vegas corporation is concerned, Rory's dead. Somebody else wanted what Western Digital had, and they had the force to take it. The facility was by no means small, or unsecured, but the invading force was large, and fast. Rory's relived that night many times, but much of it has blurred together. He remembers the chaos, people dying around him as he climbed into Magpie, the smell of smoke and burning bodies. In the end, resistance was futile, a fact that Rory was quick to realize as the unmarked invading NCs poured into the facility. He never did find out who had attacked, there were no emblems or insignias that he saw.
He made his way north, trying to lay low while piloting an almost four-story mechanical tank on legs. He passed through small towns and hamlets, many of which were practically ruins, where he did odd jobs for money before moving on. Eventually he stopped somewhere far north, in the town of Four Points. He lived there for a few months, renting a room and doing whatever jobs he could get his hands on, many of which were grunt labor. He used that time to make repairs to Magpie, using stock metals to fill the holes and pits from the fighting at the Western Digital facility. He even gave it a fresh coat of paint. He wasn't sure what he was going to do next, but Magpie might as well look good doing it.
He was at the local drinking hole, they called it a bar but that was stretching it quite a bit, when a stranger let him know about New Anchorage, formly known as Smith's Rest. Still, it wasn't until three nights later, after some "decent" drinking, that Rory decided "What the hell," and submitted his information. Within the month, he found himself loading Magpie on-board a train headed for New Anchorage and making friends in the bar-car.
Slowly, over the course of several months they changed and upgraded his NC, creating a new sort of hell for his body to go through. Rory was certain its identification numbers would alert Western Digital to the fact that his NC was technically stolen. If they knew, they probably didn't care, because it was never mentioned. His machine was given a fresh set of tags, marking it as a product of the Denver-Vegas corporation. Rory gave it the name of "Magpie", finding inspiration from his ironically stolen memories of the previous pilot's call sign, "Jackdaw".
Rory's run with Western Digital ended prematurely, and as far as the Denver-Vegas corporation is concerned, Rory's dead. Somebody else wanted what Western Digital had, and they had the force to take it. The facility was by no means small, or unsecured, but the invading force was large, and fast. Rory's relived that night many times, but much of it has blurred together. He remembers the chaos, people dying around him as he climbed into Magpie, the smell of smoke and burning bodies. In the end, resistance was futile, a fact that Rory was quick to realize as the unmarked invading NCs poured into the facility. He never did find out who had attacked, there were no emblems or insignias that he saw.
He made his way north, trying to lay low while piloting an almost four-story mechanical tank on legs. He passed through small towns and hamlets, many of which were practically ruins, where he did odd jobs for money before moving on. Eventually he stopped somewhere far north, in the town of Four Points. He lived there for a few months, renting a room and doing whatever jobs he could get his hands on, many of which were grunt labor. He used that time to make repairs to Magpie, using stock metals to fill the holes and pits from the fighting at the Western Digital facility. He even gave it a fresh coat of paint. He wasn't sure what he was going to do next, but Magpie might as well look good doing it.
He was at the local drinking hole, they called it a bar but that was stretching it quite a bit, when a stranger let him know about New Anchorage, formly known as Smith's Rest. Still, it wasn't until three nights later, after some "decent" drinking, that Rory decided "What the hell," and submitted his information. Within the month, he found himself loading Magpie on-board a train headed for New Anchorage and making friends in the bar-car.
"And so, Here I am."
INFLUENCE & RELATIONS
Wes Nyland - Rory's mentor in Vanguard. The last time Rory saw him, Wes was still Captain of the freelance group operating around the North-African, and Middle-Eastern regions.
Quinton Wyrick - A man Rory apprenticed under as a child to learn the art of programming in the megacity of Berlin, Germany. Quincy's status is unknown to Rory.
Quinton Wyrick - A man Rory apprenticed under as a child to learn the art of programming in the megacity of Berlin, Germany. Quincy's status is unknown to Rory.
APPEARANCE
Over the course of his life, Rory's physique has become strong, but toned rather than bulky, despite having somewhat broad shoulders. His training in Vanguard, and subsequently with Western Digital gave him the speed, endurance, and stamina he needed to be more than just an effective soldier. When it comes to his physical prowess, he's no superstar, but he's definitely above average, which is something he tries to maintain. His slim form is suitable to his line of work, including the fact that he's not overly tall (5'6). Though, despite his time in the sun, his body barely holds a tan, so his skin reflects his Caucasian nature, with only the barest hints of a brownish tinge.
He keeps his charcoal black hair at a short-medium length, but he fails to do anything stylish with it. Typically this means pulling it away from his face, maybe locking it down with some hairspray. Despite his cordial nature, Rory's eyes lack the warmth most people would expect, being a cool, muted blue-gray, emphasis on the gray. Otherwise, he's nothing too special. He keeps himself clean shaven, and has an averagely decent looking face, all the right planes and angles without any too prominent features. He keeps himself well groomed.
His personal style as evolved into vests, collared shirts, and sleek pants, at times accompanied by a sharp jacket or a poppin' peacoat. Otherwise, he's been known to just wear simple shirts and pants, even jeans. He's no stranger to neckties, and has a fur-lined jacket he favors. Unfortunately, New Anchorage is no place for dress shoes, so instead he's deferred to well polished, black dress boots—Practical, and stylish.
He keeps his charcoal black hair at a short-medium length, but he fails to do anything stylish with it. Typically this means pulling it away from his face, maybe locking it down with some hairspray. Despite his cordial nature, Rory's eyes lack the warmth most people would expect, being a cool, muted blue-gray, emphasis on the gray. Otherwise, he's nothing too special. He keeps himself clean shaven, and has an averagely decent looking face, all the right planes and angles without any too prominent features. He keeps himself well groomed.
His personal style as evolved into vests, collared shirts, and sleek pants, at times accompanied by a sharp jacket or a poppin' peacoat. Otherwise, he's been known to just wear simple shirts and pants, even jeans. He's no stranger to neckties, and has a fur-lined jacket he favors. Unfortunately, New Anchorage is no place for dress shoes, so instead he's deferred to well polished, black dress boots—Practical, and stylish.
TRAITS
Programmer - Rory has a deep and complex understanding of Net++ and what his capabilities are within the code's structure. Though he can't disrupt the neural net or its link to the pilot, he can cause all sorts of mayhem when it comes to the NC's modules and system functions. Primarily, he's quick to shutdown an NC once he's tethered and able to desync from Magpie. His notable battlefield abilities in this department are creating misinformation, and gathering enemy intelligence such as unit positions, and key targets or assets.
Irregular - Rory's something of a special operator. During his time in Vanguard, he was taught how to infiltrate and take out key targets, obtain information, or sabotage key systems. He's actually very good at what he does, and has years of experience in this particular line of work. Along with this, he's also good with close quarters, and short range combat. He's best with a pistol, knows his way around a tactical knife, and is exceptional at hand-to-hand combat. A part of this training is waiting, and knowing when to move. Rory usually has the patience to wait for a rock to die of old age.
Agile - An attribute that goes hand-in-hand with his orientation towards being sneaky. Rory, being moderate in strength, is better at being quick and quiet. He may not bench-press NC modules, but he can move like a whisper at a steady pace. Even his close quarters training is geared towards using his greater mobility to defeat his opponents. He can also go most places people can't, and with much more ease than most would find in traversing difficult obstacles. Climbing, Scaling walls, falling from above average heights, and so forth.
Sociable - Rory's found that having friends, camaraderie, and general social interaction makes life a lot less lonely. He enjoys the company of others, especially those who enjoy his. Even more so if it involves any of his vices; Drinking, Smoking, Gambling, or Dancing, although not many people know his style for the latter. Talking to people, it's usually something he's good at. Despite his honest nature, he knows when a solid lie, or misdirection is required.
Irregular - Rory's something of a special operator. During his time in Vanguard, he was taught how to infiltrate and take out key targets, obtain information, or sabotage key systems. He's actually very good at what he does, and has years of experience in this particular line of work. Along with this, he's also good with close quarters, and short range combat. He's best with a pistol, knows his way around a tactical knife, and is exceptional at hand-to-hand combat. A part of this training is waiting, and knowing when to move. Rory usually has the patience to wait for a rock to die of old age.
Agile - An attribute that goes hand-in-hand with his orientation towards being sneaky. Rory, being moderate in strength, is better at being quick and quiet. He may not bench-press NC modules, but he can move like a whisper at a steady pace. Even his close quarters training is geared towards using his greater mobility to defeat his opponents. He can also go most places people can't, and with much more ease than most would find in traversing difficult obstacles. Climbing, Scaling walls, falling from above average heights, and so forth.
Sociable - Rory's found that having friends, camaraderie, and general social interaction makes life a lot less lonely. He enjoys the company of others, especially those who enjoy his. Even more so if it involves any of his vices; Drinking, Smoking, Gambling, or Dancing, although not many people know his style for the latter. Talking to people, it's usually something he's good at. Despite his honest nature, he knows when a solid lie, or misdirection is required.
INVENTORY
Rory's prone to keeping cigarettes and alcohol on hand, along with a boot-knife and a pistol tucked in the small of his back. He rarely takes off his Datatool. In the field he usually carries two pistols, two knives, and two smoke grenades, and (two) climbing hooks with toggled thermal-tips. Lucky number two, baby.
MANUFACTURER
Denver-Vegas
TYPE
Medium (Image)
SQUAD ROLE
Support
ARMAMENTS
Personal Force-Shield Generator (Left Shoulder) - Probably one of the most important Modules in Magpie's arsenal. The force-shield generator practically ensures Rory's survival by intercepting projectiles, thermal beams, and absorbing explosions to an extent. It can take a good amount of abuse before failing entirely and requiring time to recharge.
Leg Thrusters (Upper Legs, Rear)- Magpie's has thrusters built into the legs to provide extra speed and mobility for a limited time. These thrusters can be angled, to help achieve a stable balance, especially when Rory is attempting to tether to an enemy combatant.
Projectile Tether (Right Arm) - Rory can fire a thick, tether cable from the underside of Magpie's right wrist. It travels at a high velocity and utilizes a thermal-tip to punch trough an enemy combatants armor and shields. Unfortunately, it has a shorter range of about 100 yards (300 feet), meaning he has to be danger close to use it. The tether can be reeled back in, and can be fired from the under-barrel attachment of Magpie's gun. Additionally, the tether delivers a single, powerful electrostatic shock upon establishing a connection. Usually this disables Rory's opponent long enough for him to desync and access his datatool.
Amplified Connection Module (Right Shoulder) - A module with the sole purpose of syncing with Rory's datatool and increasing it's power and performance. Through use of the tether, the module establishes a link with enemy combatants, and allows Rory to manipulate and insert code through his datatool. All three of these devices must be working in harmony for him to achieve access to another neural combatant in such a forcible way.
Stealth Field Generator (Left Shoulder) - Dubbed the Chameleon's Cloak, this particular module can be activated through Magpie's left forearm. Rather than mystically make his NC invisible, the SFG module captures surrounding imagery and reflects it through the opposite side of his armor, creating near perfect camouflage.
Paramagnetic Coating - A specialized, clear coating that's bonded with the Magpie's alloy plating, the Paramagnetic coating is an electroluminescent paint with different combined layers. The Chameleon Cloak assigns colors electrical signals of varying strength and wavelengths, these energize the paramagnetic coating, rotating the atoms based on the electrical signal and combining different layers. This effectively creates a pattern pixel by pixel, allowing Magpie to achieve its camouflage.
Twin-barrel Thermal Rifle (Right Hand) - Magpie's primary offensive weapon, the rifle creates a rapid succession of thermodynamic beams, or lasers. The Magpie's right fist compresses together to form a hollow, square plug, which can be inserted into the rifle's port, giving the weapon the ability to utilize Magpie's anti-matter core for energy. Rory can "eject" the weapon and use Magpie's right hand if needed. There are specialized clips along Magpie's back to hold the weapon when not in use.
Scutum Shield (Left Hand) - Quite literal, Magpie's shield is a thick slab of metal, meant as a second line of defense should Magpie's shields go down. Optionally, it can be swung with enough force to make it an impromptu melee weapon. It may not be as good as a sword, but it can still be used to bash somebody to death.
Leg Thrusters (Upper Legs, Rear)- Magpie's has thrusters built into the legs to provide extra speed and mobility for a limited time. These thrusters can be angled, to help achieve a stable balance, especially when Rory is attempting to tether to an enemy combatant.
Projectile Tether (Right Arm) - Rory can fire a thick, tether cable from the underside of Magpie's right wrist. It travels at a high velocity and utilizes a thermal-tip to punch trough an enemy combatants armor and shields. Unfortunately, it has a shorter range of about 100 yards (300 feet), meaning he has to be danger close to use it. The tether can be reeled back in, and can be fired from the under-barrel attachment of Magpie's gun. Additionally, the tether delivers a single, powerful electrostatic shock upon establishing a connection. Usually this disables Rory's opponent long enough for him to desync and access his datatool.
Amplified Connection Module (Right Shoulder) - A module with the sole purpose of syncing with Rory's datatool and increasing it's power and performance. Through use of the tether, the module establishes a link with enemy combatants, and allows Rory to manipulate and insert code through his datatool. All three of these devices must be working in harmony for him to achieve access to another neural combatant in such a forcible way.
Stealth Field Generator (Left Shoulder) - Dubbed the Chameleon's Cloak, this particular module can be activated through Magpie's left forearm. Rather than mystically make his NC invisible, the SFG module captures surrounding imagery and reflects it through the opposite side of his armor, creating near perfect camouflage.
Paramagnetic Coating - A specialized, clear coating that's bonded with the Magpie's alloy plating, the Paramagnetic coating is an electroluminescent paint with different combined layers. The Chameleon Cloak assigns colors electrical signals of varying strength and wavelengths, these energize the paramagnetic coating, rotating the atoms based on the electrical signal and combining different layers. This effectively creates a pattern pixel by pixel, allowing Magpie to achieve its camouflage.
Twin-barrel Thermal Rifle (Right Hand) - Magpie's primary offensive weapon, the rifle creates a rapid succession of thermodynamic beams, or lasers. The Magpie's right fist compresses together to form a hollow, square plug, which can be inserted into the rifle's port, giving the weapon the ability to utilize Magpie's anti-matter core for energy. Rory can "eject" the weapon and use Magpie's right hand if needed. There are specialized clips along Magpie's back to hold the weapon when not in use.
Scutum Shield (Left Hand) - Quite literal, Magpie's shield is a thick slab of metal, meant as a second line of defense should Magpie's shields go down. Optionally, it can be swung with enough force to make it an impromptu melee weapon. It may not be as good as a sword, but it can still be used to bash somebody to death.
OBSERVATIONAL NOTES
Magpie began as an effective war machine, but when Rory first climbed into the cockpit it had been recycled into a prototype mech. Rory, with the help of Vanguard, and then Denver-Vegas, has since turned back into a machine fully capable of achieving its potential. Rory's kept it a neutral, unassuming brown-gray color, not unlike that of dried mud, in an attempt not to draw particular attention to himself. Though it's an under-average combatant, having only a single rifle of average strength, it's real potential relies on getting up close and personal, where Rory can fully achieve his role as battlefield support.
Magpie is light-weight, and on the smaller side of medium combatants. It relies heavily on it's modules and lacks any real powerful, destructive armaments. Magpie's only raw power comes from the strength and achievable velocity of its limbs, giving it the ability to grapple and hold enemy NCs in place, or bludgeon and smash them into an inoperable state.
Magpie is light-weight, and on the smaller side of medium combatants. It relies heavily on it's modules and lacks any real powerful, destructive armaments. Magpie's only raw power comes from the strength and achievable velocity of its limbs, giving it the ability to grapple and hold enemy NCs in place, or bludgeon and smash them into an inoperable state.
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