@Sir Lurksalot
Here's something i cooked up. Check and critique please.
Here's something i cooked up. Check and critique please.
Name: Peter Atkins
Alias: Willie Pete
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Nationality/Place of Birth: U.S.A.
Base of Operations: Primarily South America&Middle East
Occupation: Professional Mercenary, Revolt Instigator, Hired Thug.
Appearance: In one word, brutish. To elaborate - to the outside observer, Atkins is built like a two-story brick shithouse - a sturdy seven feet tall long-armed frame draped with powerful muscles characteristic for a man successful in his line of work for prolonged periods of time. His face, posessing of sunken blue eyes, aquiline nose and a powerful jaw with a vicious-looking underbite bit is rugged and somewhat handsome by standards of a certain part of world's female population, despite being severely pockmarked in the aftermath of a childhood illness. Perhaps surprisingly, such bulky physique hardly obstructs his mobility - Willie Pete's steps have an energetic and youthful spring to them and when required, he moves with predatory grace that oft catches people unfamiliar with him off guard. Upon his wide back, there is a tattoo, saying in a plain font with big black letters "I AM A GOD OF HELLFIRE", along with thirteen tally marks.
Skills: Where to start, where to end. Atkins is a professional military man and while his personal discipline and hygiene have waned over the years of work outside of formal organized units, the important bits are all still there. Thanks to his background and job, Peter is very fit physically, capable of reliably engaging in unarmed and armed close quarters combat with a great variety of opponents and emerging victorious, properly employing a variety of mundane and exotic firearms and personal weapons, effectively operating as a member or a leader of a small unit, treating usual wartime injuries, providing basic first aid, and technical maintenance of aforementioned weapons and military technology. Really, there's no limit to the peppering of various skills that every career soldier absolutely must posess, including being able to discern hidden weapons and killing intent of his interlocutor with naught but a glance, successfuly negotiate with african warlords through brute force and rugged charm and eat shit that no self-respecting first world citizen would ever touch with a ten foot pole without vomiting it back up.
Abilities: Willie Pete stands for White Phosphorus. It sticks to everything it hits like shit to a blanket, it burns at the temperature of about 2500 degrees celsius, on open air, underwater or anywhere else you can imagine it in and even if a person survives having his legs burned to the bone he will still probably die from the poisoning. Atkins is full of that nice stuff. In fact, majority of his body's volume and considerable weight is aforementioned WP, constantly burning, compressed within his flesh under great internal pressure - talk about required secondary powers, right?
As a result of his peculiar condition, Peter is highly resistant to extremes of temperature and is very durable - a lot of his tissues and organs are simply missing, having been dissolved to make space for more WP and as such a lot of injuries that'd kill a normal man would only hinder Peter if they seriously violate his structural integrity. It is really a wonder how the man manages to actually exist or why he still needs to eat from time to time or why the hell do his wounds and lacerations heal over time and how the hell does he keep up his physical strength when most of his muscle is, ostensibly, white fuckin' phosphorus. It just works, what can a guy say.
What else - oh, right, as it was stated, the WP inside him is contained under great pressure in order to make space for as much of it as possible. As a result, whenever Atkins receives a deep enough wound or a cut, out comes a horrible gout of compressed WP, shooting out for as far as fifty or seventy meters and coming on and on for about half a minute before the leak is sealed by the body and the pressure is restored, making melee engagements with him highly unadvisable. This quirk of his physiology tends to leave both the zone of engagement and the entirety of opposition charred to a cinder or to the bone, which is but one of the many, many reasons Atkins doesn't really has a future beyond that of a D-list mercenary. As a sort of consolation prize, however, Atkins can also tense up and willingly force the napalm from his throat and eyes - this allows him to spew out an intense stream of burning death capable of reaching as far as 120-150 meters, almost as if he had a tiny flamethrower tank in his head!
Bio: Still working on it. The general gist is that he originated from a not very successful family, enlisted with Marines, eventually made it to some special forces due to personal merit, loyalty and ruthlessness and eventually got into a big pickle - namely, during a black op in brazil, he was captured by one of the surviving doctors of the secret projects of Nazi Germany, who then experimented on him and his unit in horrific and horrible ways, gifting Atkins with his power as a result of one of the painful trials. He proceeded to burn down the entire hideout on absolute accident and escape and even managed to get back home and report of his failure. Sadly, the government decided that acclimatizing a fucked up, shellshocked and suddenly empowered black operative who didn't officially exist anyway was too much work and they simply discharged him the fuck out of the force. After a brief period of bitterness and alcoholism, Atkins found that he couldn't really live outside of the battlefield and the thrill of combat was as vital to him as air is to the rest of humanity. This is when he took up his alias and began his mercenary career.
Other:
Musical theme
Alias: Willie Pete
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Nationality/Place of Birth: U.S.A.
Base of Operations: Primarily South America&Middle East
Occupation: Professional Mercenary, Revolt Instigator, Hired Thug.
Appearance: In one word, brutish. To elaborate - to the outside observer, Atkins is built like a two-story brick shithouse - a sturdy seven feet tall long-armed frame draped with powerful muscles characteristic for a man successful in his line of work for prolonged periods of time. His face, posessing of sunken blue eyes, aquiline nose and a powerful jaw with a vicious-looking underbite bit is rugged and somewhat handsome by standards of a certain part of world's female population, despite being severely pockmarked in the aftermath of a childhood illness. Perhaps surprisingly, such bulky physique hardly obstructs his mobility - Willie Pete's steps have an energetic and youthful spring to them and when required, he moves with predatory grace that oft catches people unfamiliar with him off guard. Upon his wide back, there is a tattoo, saying in a plain font with big black letters "I AM A GOD OF HELLFIRE", along with thirteen tally marks.
Skills: Where to start, where to end. Atkins is a professional military man and while his personal discipline and hygiene have waned over the years of work outside of formal organized units, the important bits are all still there. Thanks to his background and job, Peter is very fit physically, capable of reliably engaging in unarmed and armed close quarters combat with a great variety of opponents and emerging victorious, properly employing a variety of mundane and exotic firearms and personal weapons, effectively operating as a member or a leader of a small unit, treating usual wartime injuries, providing basic first aid, and technical maintenance of aforementioned weapons and military technology. Really, there's no limit to the peppering of various skills that every career soldier absolutely must posess, including being able to discern hidden weapons and killing intent of his interlocutor with naught but a glance, successfuly negotiate with african warlords through brute force and rugged charm and eat shit that no self-respecting first world citizen would ever touch with a ten foot pole without vomiting it back up.
Abilities: Willie Pete stands for White Phosphorus. It sticks to everything it hits like shit to a blanket, it burns at the temperature of about 2500 degrees celsius, on open air, underwater or anywhere else you can imagine it in and even if a person survives having his legs burned to the bone he will still probably die from the poisoning. Atkins is full of that nice stuff. In fact, majority of his body's volume and considerable weight is aforementioned WP, constantly burning, compressed within his flesh under great internal pressure - talk about required secondary powers, right?
As a result of his peculiar condition, Peter is highly resistant to extremes of temperature and is very durable - a lot of his tissues and organs are simply missing, having been dissolved to make space for more WP and as such a lot of injuries that'd kill a normal man would only hinder Peter if they seriously violate his structural integrity. It is really a wonder how the man manages to actually exist or why he still needs to eat from time to time or why the hell do his wounds and lacerations heal over time and how the hell does he keep up his physical strength when most of his muscle is, ostensibly, white fuckin' phosphorus. It just works, what can a guy say.
What else - oh, right, as it was stated, the WP inside him is contained under great pressure in order to make space for as much of it as possible. As a result, whenever Atkins receives a deep enough wound or a cut, out comes a horrible gout of compressed WP, shooting out for as far as fifty or seventy meters and coming on and on for about half a minute before the leak is sealed by the body and the pressure is restored, making melee engagements with him highly unadvisable. This quirk of his physiology tends to leave both the zone of engagement and the entirety of opposition charred to a cinder or to the bone, which is but one of the many, many reasons Atkins doesn't really has a future beyond that of a D-list mercenary. As a sort of consolation prize, however, Atkins can also tense up and willingly force the napalm from his throat and eyes - this allows him to spew out an intense stream of burning death capable of reaching as far as 120-150 meters, almost as if he had a tiny flamethrower tank in his head!
Bio: Still working on it. The general gist is that he originated from a not very successful family, enlisted with Marines, eventually made it to some special forces due to personal merit, loyalty and ruthlessness and eventually got into a big pickle - namely, during a black op in brazil, he was captured by one of the surviving doctors of the secret projects of Nazi Germany, who then experimented on him and his unit in horrific and horrible ways, gifting Atkins with his power as a result of one of the painful trials. He proceeded to burn down the entire hideout on absolute accident and escape and even managed to get back home and report of his failure. Sadly, the government decided that acclimatizing a fucked up, shellshocked and suddenly empowered black operative who didn't officially exist anyway was too much work and they simply discharged him the fuck out of the force. After a brief period of bitterness and alcoholism, Atkins found that he couldn't really live outside of the battlefield and the thrill of combat was as vital to him as air is to the rest of humanity. This is when he took up his alias and began his mercenary career.
Other:
Musical theme
