Player Name:
Sir Lurksalot

Primary Character:
Champion... eventually.

Secret Identity:
Duncan MacAodhan

Status:
Solo, though that'll probably change with time

Age:
22

City:
Halifax, Nova Scotia

Day Job:
Diesel Mechanic at a local shipyard

Powers:
Immense Physical Prowess- Duncan is, for lack of a better way of putting it, really goddamn strong... and fast... and pretty tough to boot; able to match the physical feats of even Kryptonians under a yellow sun, though he lacks all the more fancy bits such as flight, crazy eye-lasers and the tactile telekinesis necessary to lift massive objects and not have them shatter under their own weight.

On paper, this makes him an absolute nightmare of an opponent to square off against. In practice, well...

As a guy who spends almost every hour of every day trying his damnedest to hide his abilities, he's never really tested what he can actually do with them. As such, he has no real idea what he's capable of, what his limits are or if he even has any, only the knowledge that if he does throw hands at the average person for whatever reason, they are most definitely going to die in the most gruesomely spectacular explosion of gore imaginable... and that knowledge alone is enough to make him stuff his hands in his pockets and seclude himself in a corner for most social gatherings.

Weaknesses:
While Duncan possesses Kryptonian levels of physical ability, he is still very much human; He can't fly, he still needs to breathe, possesses no form of crazy eye-lasers or freezing breath and can't survive solely off sunlight. As such, though his physiology makes him all but invulnerable to physical attacks, he is still vulnerable to poison, high voltage, or a good old fashioned drowning (or being strangled or thrown into space, depending on the opponent).

There's also the matter of just how much restraint Duncan has to exercise in his daily life. It takes an awful lot of control and effort to throw a punch effectively when you know that if you put just a teensy bit too much 'oomph!' into it, you will undoubtedly turn the other guy into scattered bits of hamburger meat. Add to that, his increasingly worrying dependence on alcohol, a pack-a-day habit, no small amount of unstated, harshly surpressed self-loathing and the fact that he hasn't had to really exercise or physically exert himself in any way since he was a teenager and we find ourselves with the unusual paradox of a man who could arm-wrestle with god-like aliens being literally as out of shape and weak as he is capable of being.

...And that's not even getting into the fact that, as previously stated, he has no idea what the fuck he's doing.

Skills:


Appearance:
To read what Duncan is physically capable of, you might picture some sort of hulking mountain of a man with bulging muscles and a jawline chiseled from granite... to actually meet the man however, you'd be disappointed and maybe a little confused- MacAodhan is not a large man. In fact, compared to what immediately comes to mind when you think 'Superhuman', he is downright tiny, standing at only 5'6" on a good day and lacking the bulging, musclebound body of proper superheroes in favour of a lean, though dense and chiseled physique closer to that of a Olympic runner, if anything, though his broad shoulders and some stubborn stains of grease on his hands make a fairly decent indicator of his blue-collar background, to which he also owes the habit of shaving his brown hair into a buzzcut, to cut deal with the heat in his workplace.

Lacking much in the way of an actual superhero costume (again, actively trying not to be a Superhero), when he does feel the need to nut up and do something somewhat heroic, Duncan simply throws on his workboots, gloves, jeans and a denim jacket over either some plain wifebeater or t-shirt, topping it all off by tying a simple black rag over his face, leaving only his hazel eyes and a bit of skin exposed and putting on an old ballcap he got from some local minor-league sports team or another.

BRIEF Bio:
Despite what one might might assume when encountering literally anyone even remotely associated with superpowers and tights, Duncan's tale is... rather mundane. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia with a Fisherman for a father and a mother who ran a local diner, the boy in question up grew extraordinarily normally; playing videogames, staying at his grandparents' when his mom was busy at the shop and his dad was out at sea and helping his granddad out in the garage fixing cars and the occasional boat.

And then one day when he was fifteen, he got hit by a truck.

After about a good ten seconds of screaming and another thirty spent wondering why he wasn't dead, he extricated himself from the big-rig's engine-block that had wrapped around both him and the streetlight he'd been leaning against only to find that not only was he not dead, he was perfectly intact. All things considered, that's some pretty heavy shit to lay on a fifteen year old. So it's not all that surprising that when the (very) drunk trucker half staggered, half fell out of his truck at the sight of him, and sirens began echoing in the distance, the kid ran the hell out of there. A few days of trial, error and a lot of Wikipedia later, and the boy had a pretty good idea what all that was about: He was a Metahuman, a one-in-a-million carrier of a superhuman gene that may or may not activate under extreme stress (Like, for instance, getting hit by a truck while waiting for the bus). Frankly, it sounded a lot like a bunch of pseudo-science crap you'd find in an old comic book, but lacking any other explanation for his sudden... talents... it was one he'd have to accept.

Along with the many quietly uncomfortable, life-changing implications that went with it.

Now, usually, when someone finds out they've got crazy superpowers, things usually go in one of two predictable ways; one, they become a spandex-clad boy-scout that dedicates every moment of every day to having the brightest smile, rescuing cats from trees and giving lectures about the dangers of "The Reefer" and sex before marriage or two; going full ham, burning orphanages, kicking puppies and generally being real goddamn edgy just for the sake of it. But to his credit, when the young lad began to realize that he could easily snap a human being like a twig if he didn't exercise absolute restraint at all times, he quickly chose the rarely considered, oft-forgotten third option.

"Yeah... No. Fuck this."

And so, despite the call to adventure literally screaming directly into his ears, Duncan tried his best to carry on as normally as he could- getting average grades, shoveling his grandparents' driveway in the wintertime, wearily trying and failing several times to find a way to have a meaningful relationship despite his 'gifts' and working through his apprenticeship as a diesel mechanic at the local shipyard after highschool. Even while the distance and rigid self-control his situation necessitated made him a pariah and the subject of scorn and open mockery from a rapidly shrinking circle of friends, something he would never admit would lead him quite heavily to the drink when he was alone with his thoughts.

To his credit though, his dogged determination not to be a Caped Crusader seems to be working; he has a pretty decent job, making Journeyman wages, his uncle set him up with a pretty decent place in a decommissioned lighthouse just outside of town and he still gets to hang out with his (very Gaelic) grandpa after work most days, tinkering in his garage, watching the game or just sitting around trading the kind of wit that makes his (very Acadian, very Catholic) grandma stifle a laugh and pretend to be offended. Often strategically, so as to drown out his dad's groaning something along the lines of "Oh God, there's two of them..." and his mum's (un)subtle attempts to pry about when exactly he's gonna meet a damned girl, already.

It's not perfect, and there are some days when Duncan finds himself down, jaded and perilously alone with the drink... but it is a good life, all in all. He has a roof over his head, he has satisfying work and most importantly, he has a family that loves him. What more could a guy like him really ask for?

As it turns out, destiny has a few answers to that question.

And he is not gonna like many of them.

Story Arcs:
What sort of stories do you see putting your heroes into? For example, here’s what it might look like for Superman...

Supporting Characters:
This is where you’d list anybody of note from your Story Arcs. I’ll continue to use Superman and what’s above as the example…

Secondary Character:
This is simply where you put down who you want as your secondary character be it original, cannon inspired, or reimagined cannon.

Additional Notes:
Anything else you think we should know?