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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
F R A N K C A S T L E


"Si vis pacem, para bellum."
F R A N C I S D A V I D C A S T L E M I L I T A R Y V E T E R A N N E W Y O R K
O R I G I N S:


Frank has been back state-side for a few months from a long career of high-profile military service. He's been having trouble adjusting, and his kids grew up far too quickly while he was in enemy territory, and his wife had gotten used to his absence. What he saw and did has lingered with him, and it taints his interaction with the civilian world. It's hard to reconnect, and he's resistant to therapy, and reticent to his family.

Last week, Frank and his family stumbled across the aftermath of a mob-orchestrated execution.

His wife and kids didn't make it; Frank himself was only barely clinging to life when emergency responders arrived, and sunk into a coma. As the only potential living witness, he's had round-the-clock police detail posted outside his room - bodyguard assignment waiting for Frank to wake up, so he can be taken into protective custody and his testimony used in New York's war against the mob.

Today, Frank woke up.

S A M P L E P O S T:

Give an example of how you would write your chosen character. Try to focus on simple actions and a sampling of dialogue.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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kid deadman? he's got a brother (cleveland) and an ex-girlfriend (lorna)
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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
S . T . A . K . E .




"Just when you think the world's getting boring again...something new happens."
J A S P E R S I T W E L L S H I E L D I N T E R R O G A T O R N E W Y O R K
O R I G I N S:


The Sitwell's have generational history of service in the name of the United States of America; but you won't find them decorated in the annals of history, their names carved into memorial plaques, or even remembered at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In his day, Jasper's grandfather - Jason Sitwell - was instrumental in the suppression of the mutant pandemic, working under the banner of a clandestine branch of the U.S. Government known as the Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage and Law-Enforcement Division. In Jasper's time, the organization has evolved, and so has its name, the branch referred to now as the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate.

Either way, the Sitwell's have always, and likely will always, work for SHIELD, and their family's legacy is a colorful story of dubious service in the name of the greater good of the nation.

But you'll never hear about that.

Just like you won't hear about what Jasper's going to start working on next.

S A M P L E P O S T:

"Mornin' Sitwell."

Jasper lifted his sleep-heavy head and turned away from the droning buzz of the coffee machine to look at his colleague. The face was briefly familiar but he couldn't for the life of him place a name. How many people had he seen come through over the years? Between his father's and his own tenure, the numbers must have ranged in the thousands.

"Good morning, agent." He eventually replied, using a professional posture and brusque, authoritative tone to cover the fact that he had no idea who he was talking to. The coffee machine stopped buzzing and Jasper lifted the mug to his lips, taking a deep sniff of the steaming coffee before sipping gingerly. It burnt his tongue, but it tasted good, and held the promise of making him feel a bit more awake by the time he drained the cup.

"Much on your plate today?" The mystery agent asked as Jasper shuffled over and allowed him access to the coffee. Jasper sipped more from his mug, thinking on the stack of manila folders he'd walked away from yesterday, and was imminently about to walk into.

"The usual." He replied, to which the agent gave a solemn nod. ‘Sitwell’ was a familiar name to many in the organisation, and while Jasper’s official role was as one of their leading interrogation agents, in truth he was something of a general dog’s body; he had the breadth of knowledge to assist on nearly any assignment, and the network to navigate himself only to the ones he found interesting.

He’d been navigating himself less and less recently. SHIELD had become, for lack of a better word, boring.

“Well, have a good day.” Jasper said, after a lengthy pause between the two that had long become awkward. He retreated from the canteen back towards his office, wishing the front walls were made of something considerably more opaque than the partially-frosted glass that was currently in place. He’d already finished his coffee by the time he sat down, and wondered how many folders he’d peruse before boredom bid him to fetch a refill.

Not that many, as it would turn out.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.


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Jasper was leaning back in his chair, head resting and eyes closed, trying to sense the caffeine from his second coffee permeating through to his bloodstream. He felt like if he focused on it very hard, he could will his body to metabolize it faster. In actuality, he was slowly falling asleep, while the caffeine struggled in vain against a thirty-plus-year career that was sadly culminating in routine and tedium.

Three sharp raps on the glass front wall roused Jasper from the cliff-edge of slumber, and he jerked forward sharply, spinning his chair to face the door and opening the folder he held in his hand. The door was pushed open, and around the edge peered the face of a young agent, skin tanned, hair black and buzz-cut, and a neatly-trimmed goatee adorning his well-set jaw.

"Good morning, Marty." Jasper said, beckoning Martin Reyna into his office proper. Agent Reyna had been with SHIELD for only just over a year after a respectable career with the FBI, but Jasper had to admit he'd done well acclimating in his short time, and they'd formed an odd kind of friendship that was half peer-to-peer, half mentor-to-mentee. "Got something for me?"

Martin stepped in, leaning on the glass as he flicked open a manila folder of his own, glancing briefly at the contents before looking back to Jasper.
"Maybe. How familiar are you with your grandfather's research?"

Jasper leaned back, taking a deep breath as he cast his mind to the annals of history. His grandfather, Jason Sitwell, had been instrumental in the 60's when the mutant pandemic first rose to public notice, then public concern, then public panic; his early foray into the suppression of the so-called 'X-Gene' paved the way for the invention, and then refinement, of SHIELD's present-day X-Inhibitor Serum. The problem was, Jason Sitwell had invented it, and his son - Jasper's father - Colin Sitwell had perfected it. By the time Jasper got through probation and signed on as Agent proper, the formula was stable, with minimal side-effects, and had begun to enter mass-production; there simply wasn't anymore work to be done on it, and Jasper's skills were ultimately better suited elsewhere.

"Not greatly." Jasper admitted with not a small pang of shame for not being more diligent in his studies about his own family's legacy. "I have the basic gist of it, I suppose. I wouldn't say I'm any more of an expert on it than the lab boys, though."
"Well, I went to the lab boys already, and they're stumped, so here I am with you."
"They just fobbed you off like that?"
"Little bit. They said they'd look into it but had other priorities."
"They probably do. Plus, you're still green. What's this about?"

Marty pushed himself off the glass and walked up to Jasper's desk, passing him the folder he'd been leafing through. Jasper tossed his own for-show folder onto the mismatched pile of identical papers in front of him, and began to peruse Marty's as he explained.
"We had a girl come in for her regular inhib dose yesterday, and within minutes of inoculation she went into grand mal seizure."
Jasper stopped reading and looked up at Marty from beneath his brow.
"Well that's never happened before." He said.
"I know. I looked through the early research - what I was cleared to look at, anyway - and while early iterations had plenty of side effects, seizure was never one of them, even at the lowest incident rates. And since then, the serum's only gotten better. Side-effects these days barely amount to more than a slight headache and cottonmouth."
"So you've got the mother of all outliers." Jasper concluded, handing the file back. "Or, more likely, she lied in her pre-screen and reacted poorly to a serum-smack combo platter."

Marty rolled his eyes.
"You don't think that's the first thing we checked? Bloods were clear. Too clear, I'd say, like her blood was formulated in a lab for perfectly level everything."
Jasper just raised an eyebrow. Marty looked at his feet.
"It's just weird, is all."
"How's the girl now?" Jasper asked, careful not to let on that his curiosity had been piqued. Marty would sniff it out, and then he'd never hear the end of it.
"She's fine. In observation at the inoculation center, but fine. MRI didn't show anything abnormal or any lasting damage. Again, she was just...clear."
"So what you have is a healthy girl with one anomalous seizure, and you want my weight on that instead of on..." he gestured broadly at the messy stack of potential cases and assignments that covered, edge-to-edge, his workspace, “...any of this?”
Jasper could see the blood rushing to Marty’s cheeks as his face fell and he became sheepish, embarrassed. Still looking at the floor, he only managed to mumble out:
”Yes, sir.”
“Hmmm.”

Jasper rubbed his chin. It was certainly odd, but not necessarily odd enough to warrant follow-up. Still, it was his family recipe, so to speak. If it was suddenly dysfunctional, or worse, dangerous, things would spiral pretty quickly, and he'd be completely unable to avoid being smack-bang in the damn center of it.

Better to get ahead of the curve.

"Alright. Let's go take a look. At the very least, we can grab some to-go bags for the lab boys."
Marty looked up, smiling.
"I hoped you'd say that. I've already commissioned a humvee."
"Nice and inconspicuous." Jasper said, his dry tone immediately deflating the grinning junior agent as he stood and threw on his blazer. "Good thinking."
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Biokinetic grafting
Skin-shedding shape-shifting
Hooks?

hyperhuman powerset focused around talking to, manifesting, and manipulating/commanding the dead would be in the setting. Maybe it's a kind of HZE-driven dominion over Uber/Unterseele, through the 'higher' Einseele? He'd be able to talk to the deceased to glean info others can't (Uberseele), temporarily animate dead flesh and have it perform a simple single command (Unterseele), and probably something around witnessing or experiencing moments of death when interacting with still-fresh corpses.
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D R . S O L O M O N ' S A L L Y ' W I N T E R S
D R . S O L O M O N ' S A L L Y ' W I N T E R S
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
"This is the shape and the point of the tooth: nothing has ever lived that will not die."
▅▅▅▅▅
P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N
P R O F I L E I N F O R M A T I O N
________________________________________________________________________________________
NAME: | Dr. Solomon Isaac Winters
_______________________________________________________________________
STATUS: | Active
_______________________________________________________________________
INDEX DATE: | TBD
_______________________________________________________________________
DATE OF BIRTH: | 1973/10/11
_______________________________________________________________________
ALIAS(ES): | The Occultist
_______________________________________________________________________
RESIDENCE: | Damascus, Virginia
_______________________________________________________________________
CITIZENSHIP: | American, Canadian
_______________________________________________________________________
CLEARANCE LEVEL: | Special Agent

B A C K G R O U N D
B A C K G R O U N D
________________________________________________________________________________________
Solomon was born an only child to his mother and father after several years of misfortune in their attempts; he was a pale and sickly child, but well-loved, his parents each grateful for his presence. Raised in a mining and logging town deep within the Appalachians, he was no stranger to spooky stories told around bonfires nestled in the trees, quickly familiar with folktales and rumours and the myriad monsters that made their homes among the mountains. Alongside local myths, however, were far more mundane fears; the industry of the town came with its due share of injury and accident, sometimes monthly, weekly, or even daily incidents. Solomon's father, a lumberjack himself, was witness to much, and was careful to instill Solomon with caution, not willing to risk his only son against the same tragedies that befell many of his neighbours. All in all, Solomon grew up a pallid, morbid, but ultimately happy child.

It was only when Solomon started speaking truth to long-circulating town rumours, divulging secrets none had told him, and reciting final words he had no explainable reason to know, that his parents - and the town residents at large - became concerned with his behaviour, and eventually his psychology.

The town doctor was ill-prepared to handle a case like Solomon's. While well-equipped to handle the physical trauma and respiratory issues that plagued the town's logging and mining workers, there was little literature, training, or even precedent available to manage the mental difficulties that visited upon the young Winters child. Solomon withdrew socially, shunned by his peers for his odd behaviour and his conversations with invisible partners, and talked about in hushed whispers by the adults of the town. The medication prescribed by the doctor floundering for a treatment plan only served to flatten his emotions and numb his perception of, and participation in, the world around him, only pushing himself further beyond the social fringes. When Solomon was discovered one winter break in the woods, kneeling in the snow with his hands on burst-open carcasses and bringing unnatural, sluggish movements back to dead animals, he was condemned utterly.

Solomon's battered adolescent body lay in the snow on the brink of death from combined injury and hypothermia beyond the passing of midnight before he was finally found and returned home to his parents. The day after, an emissary darkened their doorstep to instruct that Solomon was no longer welcome in the town. It had been decided that at best he was odd and unsettling, and a potential danger to others; at worst, he was actively dabbling in dark and heretical things beyond human understanding, and would deliberately bring monstrous consequences upon them.

Solomon was taken away a week later by H.E.L.P. after a desperate letter of appeal from his parents to their headquarters in Canada, seeking somewhere Solomon could not only be safe, but also understood. He spent the rest of his adolescence in the organization's care, effectively a foster child, and came to learn that he was no dark wizard, nor possessed by the devil; he was a Hyperhuman - a distinctly unique Hyperhuman - and H.E.L.P. were keen to assist him in understanding his own nature, so that they could understand it better in turn.
R E C R U I T M E N T
R E C R U I T M E N T
________________________________________________________________________________________
Between his natural interests in the morbid and the occult from his early years, and his growing understanding of his own abilities in his adolescence, Solomon spent much of his time with in H.E.L.P.'s care researching magic and the supernatural, poring over old tomes and studies of the paranormal. By the time he reached eighteen, he was already considered something of a specialist within the organisation's officials, and following a university course graduating with a Bachelor's in Mythology & Occult Sciences, and then a Master's degree, and then completing a Doctorate, the freshly-honoured Doctor Solomon Winters was by default the foremost expert on magic, the occult, and all things paranormal within H.E.L.P. - and most of the country, if not the continent - and his own personal research into the supernatural that his academic studies didn't cover wasn't about to slow down.

When Solomon started seeking out actual real-life encounters with those things that exist outside the veil of humans and Hypes, he was alternately warned off, or laughed out, considered broadly as an intelligent but off-putting man, who wasted his talents on fanciful stories meant to frighten children. When Solomon actually did come face-to-face with a beast from beyond the pale - and managed to have the good sense to record his encounter for concrete, empirical evidence - he was suddenly the only man worth talking to about the supernatural, and was quickly inducted officially into H.E.L.P. to share his knowledge within the organisation - and allow the organisation to supress it as necessary.
C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U
C A R E E R W I T H T H E B U R E A U
________________________________________________________________________________________
Solomon has worked with H.E.L.P. and H.I.T. for over thirty years, and for such a long career, his rank within the organization - Special Agent - doesn't reflect the sheer breadth of his experience and service. What it does represent is the reaction his superiors and comrades-in-arms invariably have to his aloof, vaguely-absent, off-putting personality and behaviour, as well as the unsettling nature of his abilities, and his obsessive study and research into aspects of un-reality that the organization doesn't necessarily consider worth the time-and-resource-investment that Solomon continues to put into, and demand for, his inquisitions.

As a result, while Solomon is a well-respected agent among most within H.E.L.P., and a well-recognized name to most who work for the organization, he's also an incredibly 'internally-mobile' one; he's been shipped around and transferred between many units, offices, and task-forces across both H.E.L.P. and H.I.T., more than nearly any other individual within the operation, and is passed over for promotions and more senior positions. He struggles to make friends, and is absolutely incapable of playing the political network game to his advantage; it is only the sheer tenure of his service, the breadth of niches filled by his occult expertise, and the unique utility of his particular abilities, that cause him to only be shuffled, rather than disciplined, demoted, or fired entirely.
P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N
P H O T O I D E N T I F I C A T I O N
_________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________
P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N
P H Y S I C A L D E S C R I P T I O N
_________________________________________________________
RACE: | Caucasian
_________________________________________________________________
SEX: | Male
_________________________________________________________________
HEIGHT: | 6'3"
_________________________________________________________________
WEIGHT: | 161lbs
_________________________________________________________________
HAIR COLOUR: | Brunette (going grey)
_________________________________________________________________
HAIR LENGTH: | Short-cut
_________________________________________________________________
EYE COLOUR: | Grey
_________________________________________________________________
HANDEDNESS: | Left
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T S, & W E A K N E S S E S
_________________________________________________________
H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || NECROMANCY
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || Esoteric
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || Biological
__POWER SCALE || 4
__THREAT CLASSIFICATION || Δ

Solomon's hyperhuman Einseele, or 'OneSoul', has a unique resonance (even among fellow Hypes) with HZE ions, granting him a peculiar dominion over the lingering Überseeles ('Oversouls') and Unterseeles ('Undersouls') of the deceased, and even partial communication with those of the still-living. This dominion allows Solomon to interact with the dead (and sometimes the living) in a handful of ways:

• Through focus, Solomon can conjure up the Überseele of the dead and communicate with the lingering consciousness contained within, able to ask questions, share memories, and with the more recently-deceased, engage in full two-sided conversation;
• By making physical contact with deceased bodies, Solomon can funnel his dominion into simple commands to the Unterseele of a being, animating the dead flesh into carrying out his command;
• Through a combination of resonance with the Über- and Unterseele in tandem, Solomon can dip into a being's memories and emotions, feeling them for himself. Using the same method, he can also experience the final living moments of a recently-expired corpse.

L I M I T A T I O N S & W E A K N E S S E S

• While Solomon can connect with the Überseele of a living being to experience their memories and thoughts, he cannot influence them, nor can he command the Unterseele.
• Solomon's Unterseele commands require a corpse, and physical contact with said corpse; he cannot animate dead-flesh from distance.
• Commanded dead-flesh is still subject to real-world physics, and isn't imparted with any additional durability or strength, so can be fended off accordingly by those capable.
• The Überseeles of the more recently-deceased, or those of individuals who were particularly strong-willed in life, can manifest to Solomon independently of his summons, which can distract, frighten, or overwhelm him with voices and thoughts he didn't willingly conjure.
• Due to the Einseele inherent to Hyperhumans that unifies and balances the Über- and Unterseele, Solomon's abilities do not work whatsoever on other Hypes.
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The messenger arrives, when he does, in the early hours of the afternoon astride a great white steed with mudded legs.

To undertake the solemn task the court had thrust upon him, the messenger - rotund, boastful, magisterial - had demanded from the royal stables nothing less than the finest animal, and had gotten it; the steed was a kingly stallion, strong and healthy and when he galloped his hooves were a thunderous chorus outpacing anything else among the palace’s nobles. But the beast is too powerful and too prideful to respect the pompous man sat upon its back, and the stable-hand who has escorted them has done well thusfar to soothe and ply his charge with vegetables and sugar; still, the horse tosses his head and huffs as they canter, disgruntled but so-far tolerant.
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The court messenger arrived in the early hours of the afternoon, sat astride a great and powerful white steed with mudded legs and accompanied by a weary stable-hand, riding an equally-weary nag.

When he had been charged with his solemn delivery, the messenger - a rotund, boastful, magisterial man - had descended upon the royal stables and demanded nothing less than their finest animal. Their finest animal was at war, attending the needs of their finest soldier, but what remained was a kingly and unruly stallion who held too much pride to respect the men that attempted to sit upon his back; yet he had been somehow goaded into allowing the pompous courier to ride him, plied and soothed with vegetables and sugar-cubes by the stable-hand. Still, the horse tossed his head and huffed as the pair cantered toward their destination, disgruntled and patience wearing thin.

Donahue watched their approach from where he toiled in the field, resting against his rake. He had spent the morning tilling his soil, preparing for a fresh crop to be planted. Winter was some months away still, but he still felt the first bites of cold in the air, and the food stores in their current state did not compensate for the lack of coin with which he would otherwise feed himself.
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