[CHAR] War Never Won (Modern Fantasy, Action RP)

How To Make A Warrior

Hi there! My name’s Bel! I’m a friend! Or am I? Hoho, I’ll never tell! That’s irrelevant anyhow, because now we’re here to learn about Warriors!

Warriors are War’s little playthings, running about smacking each other so the old “deity” gets a good chuckle, AHAHA. They’re loads of fun indeed, but they require a very particular set of ingredients to work right!

First, you need a person. This person can really be any person, though it’s typically a person with a bit of a “unique history” of sorts, something that really sticks out. War loves to make his playthings extra special you see, only the finest in persons will do.

The next thing you need is a Warbrand. Warbrands are these nifty little swords that are filled with War’s incomprehensible power! They’re incredibly well engineered, and most would say they’re even quite stylish! Though simple and practically useless in today’s age, a Warbrand has the potential to TRANSFORM! Yes, you did hear me right, transform! If given to the right person, a Warbrand will bend, twist, and contort into whatever its user desires, to a certain extent that is! Of course it will only turn into one or two things, but that comes later. First, let’s talk about just what makes a Warbrand work!

War (the figurative concept not the dashing gentleman we all know and love), originates from some form of sensation. The sight of death. The sound of agony. The taste of blood. The smell of immolation. The feeling of pain, or even the mere instinct to fight. These sensations are what your Warbrand expands upon to make a Warrior into the strong and vicious creations we know them to be! Although, just how much these sensations are involved in a Warbrand’s final form are typically varied, but it’s always there if you look hard enough.

Warbrands can develop into two kinds of items. The first is of course, a weapon! A sword, an axe, a little shiv covered in bleach, the world’s your oyster in the world of weaponry! The second item, a machine! A machine of war of course, no microwaves in wartime, but you get the idea. These machines “augment your combative capacity” to turn you into a truly fearsome being! Warbrands also have power, but this power is complementary. The powers are meant to support the weapon, not to stand on their own. After all, War wouldn’t find any fun in someone who cheated with “magic”.

Once you have your person and your weapon there is one final piece of the elegant Warrior puzzle. Warbrands on their own are lethal to humans. Their power is too malicious, they attack anything they can get their hands on. However, the select few who survive their initial touch of the Warbrand’s violent aura develop what we in the business call a Saving Grace. This grace is what holds you together, what drives you to fight. The love of a family member, the desire for vengeance, even the malicious contempt towards death itself. This will to survive manifests itself in a form of blessing, a symbol that marks your body and holds you together. This is the symbol that brands itself upon the Warbrand blade, and the power that inevitably turns the Warbrand submissive. Once the Saving Grace is in play, the Warbrand will bend to your will, and change itself to become the weapon you need it to be. From there, it’s all fun and games.

You now have your warrior. All its parts and pieces are assembled. Go now, have fun, and make sure to break something!

Character Sheet

(clear all parentheticals before submitting plz)
Name:
Age:
Appearance (Description necessary, picture welcome):
Sensation (The six senses, (Sight, Touch, Smell, Taste, Sound, Instinct). Each character will take inspiration from one of these senses.):
Warbrand (Describe its appearance and abilities, you do not need to unveil any “secret moves”, but if you do choose to use something along those lines it has to be brought to me first. Pictures are also acceptable here if you feel it necessary):
Saving Grace (The thing that holds your character together, this is typically an idea or personal motivation that drives your character. It may take symbolic form in a totem or item, and will mark itself as a symbol on your body. How you choose to express this with your character is up to you.):
Personality (FILLING THIS OUT PUBLICLY IS OPTIONAL BUT PLEASE WRITE IT DOWN PRIVATELY FOR YOUR OWN EYES IN A GOOGLE-DOC OR SOMETHING, displaying your character’s personality through roleplay itself is highly encouraged):
History (Optional to some degree. Please at least include a brief synopsis of your character’s life before they were gifted a silver sword.):
Other (Any other details you deem necessary):
(Your character sheet doesn’t need to be highly detailed if you don’t feel it necessary, however if your character sheet does lack a certain amount of detail/proof of writing competency I may ask you for a writing sample to be sent to me via PM.)

ROSTER:
-Tony Marcello (Touch)
-Len Yafuk (Instinct)
-Terry Walsh (Smell)
- SIGHT (Open)
-Tobias Ren (Sound)
- TASTE (Open)

[RyuShura]

Name: Terry Walshe
Age: 19

Appearance: Took the time to draw a short sketch of the character myself.

Hider

Description: Terry seems to be carry about an unending plague, a pale girl who doesn't seem to stop coughing into her handkerchief and addresses people with a sore and worn apologies. She is always sick with or to something. Flu, nausea, joint pains, migraines; you name it. Add in a laundry list of allergies and you'd have a life of being bed ridden like Terry. Luckily, with advancements to medication able to alleviate her, the young girl is able to live a somewhat regular life. At least what was once normal. Her body is naturally very frail, lanky and modest at most in regards height. She despises the thought of going outside. But at the same time, absolutely loves it. Rarely spending her time sleeping or idling, when her body allows her of course, her amber lit eyes are sunken with deep bags which seem to never go away because of her constant activity. Whenever she can, Terry leaves the confides of her cluttered room to take pictures of nature to help sooth her crumbled psyche. Her signature outdoors attire is a thick black and blue raincoat, olden film camera slung around her neck, and labeled pill-container sectioned with all the necessary medication tucked in her bag. Her departures often lead first with a hope that a simple debilitating fever is the worst of what she would inevitably contract.

Sensation: Smell

Warbrand: Her weapon in it's natural form appears in a puff of mist from her hands, the signature guard-less silver shortsword. Her skill with the weapon seems more granted than practiced, as though it is guiding the fragile girl during her haphazard swings. But one shouldn't take this lightly. Terry is a horrible warrior by nature, however, the weapon has found ways to turn her into a very capable killer.

Even in the base form, the weapon is noxious and steals the very oxygen and life from the air, leaving those around to be wracked in slow, hellish pain as they gradually get choked out. The slightest nick from the blade will also leave the wound overcome with a violent and festering disease. When fully transformed, the warbrand turns into an odd beaked-mask of sorts, resembling the infamous plague doctor's mask. At first one might question the nature of such a 'weapon', but would realize quickly to avoid the plumps of smoke bellow from the sides when she exhales. Serving also to sedate the troubled girl, it manifests her darkest emotions. Not only does the vile substance cover an area around the thin girl in obscurity, the mysterious black gas rapidly corrodes and rusts all it grazes and touches. With just one tiny breath, one would be wracked with unimaginable pain, their bodies viciously rotted from the inside out within mere moments.

The range is rather small when trying to cover a wide area. This is because there is a set amount of gas to her disposal. About the volume of a 15 x 15 square foot room. It bends to her will and she can guide it in streams or unleash it in a short shockwave.

Saving Grace: A photo of her friends in the children's hospital kept in a dull bronze locket. The guard on her warbrand dons the symbol of a dove, Terry's favorite bird and the sign of peace and innocence.

History:

Hider

Up until the beginning of January 14th, 7 years ago, Terry had never set foot a mile outside of a hospital. She was quite literally raised in an emergency ward, having learned everything and nothing at all while stuck within the white-bleached walls. Since she was born, her life was one of tenuous peril, a constant fight for survival. It was discovered that she had an orphan disease that would claim her life if not treated immediately and with capital procedure. Since then, it's been nothing but taking painful shots, chugging bitter pills, and adhering to a laundry list of complicated medical advice. Having been sent far away from her hometown in Europe for specialized treatment not found there, the young girl has rarely seen her parents, and the only family she had growing up were the doctoral staff and ailing children at the institute in America. She felt lost, and alone at first. But the others, poor children undone by fate just like her, helped Terry see a brightness in their tragic lives. They would share stories of the 'outside world' and of their dreams, instilling within her an ambition and hope, an uplifting feeling that she strove indebtedly to pass in return. Together, they found a way to push away all the pain and find reasons to smile. Because in their world, something as simple as a smile meant strength.

Unfortunately, this world was not that simple.

Since her graduation from the medical ward, Terry has spent every waking moment trying to embrace the precious life that was robbed from her, never forgetting what she learned in that solemn institution. Her incredible talents fostered during her isolation earned her quick fame and it looked like she was headed down a path towards happiness. But perhaps it was never supposed to be.

Not only a week after Terry had settled into her new life of budding fame, she discovered the Warbrand by grim chance. Just as soon as she had a grip of her own life, it slipped from her fingers and she lost control of everything again. As always, a greater being pushed her fate towards Tragedy. Terry found herself at the mercy and whim of a suddenly announced god of 'War'. Even more frightening was the grisly blade that was now bound and watched over her. Despite her unwillingness, the weapon would not allow her any respite or consideration. It found a way to consume her. The weapon transformed and latched onto her like a leech, injecting her with powerful neuroleptics so that she would be subdued, just like how the doctors would when she was wracked in incredible pain. In a way, this might have been a way of mercy, warping her mind and forcing a different 'Terry' to act upon its ceaseless bloodlust. Overnight, she became an aspect of pure chaos and extinction, one that knew nothing of friend or foe. Just like how War would've wanted, she carved a painful scar into the city and its inhabitants. Awakening in the center of the brutal destruction caused by the corrosive smoke that turned everything into black dust, Terry, in a teary wail, went to isolate herself from everything and everyone.

Her actions would cause great guilt to build up in her, affecting her addled body more and more. Rarely does Terry ever leave her gloomy room, and never does she let anyone know. Her secret ventures outside are short-lived and the few instances of happiness she has left. With her beloved hobby, she is able to remind herself of who she is and resist the dark urges from the Warbrand. But the awful thing does not take well to not being properly sated. It inflicts her with malady as surrogate, tearing her apart, but leaving her just whole enough to perpetuate. She has since become a shell of skin and bones due to the long-drawn punishment, wracked with suffering every waking moment of her life. Though she will always deny such a thing, smiling on in the face of others.

Only once her mind was cracked and the Warbrand was able to reclaim its ‘puppet’, did she find solace; her mind made numb to the pain of everything. If only for a moment.

Until then, she will endure.

...

[Crabs]

Len Yafuk

(Art is 100% property of Mohzart on deviantart)

Appearance: Len is a tall man, standing at 6'2", and is broad-shouldered and well-tempered. He has a steely, even gaze, and a permanantly furrowed brow- likely the side-effect of constantly trying to remember something. His arms are very burly, as are his legs. Overall, he's built like a tank, and looks like he's taken plenty of blows, but put out even more. His even blue eyes, slightly bent nose, medium-length black hairs, and his bushy black beard are the most prominent features on his otherwise forgettable face. On his skin though, normally covered by many layers of loose clothing and likely more than one jacket, masses of pale, long scars trace across his body. Perhaps he's hiding something, maybe he isn't. It's not likely he'd remember anyway.

Age: 27

Sensation: Instinct

Warbrand: “The Pinch”; Once Len wills it to, the warbrand becomes rippling sheets of metal that fold into two very large multipurpose pincers that can withstand an unimaginable beating. On top of that, the warbrand possesses the uncanny ability to take on the properties of naturally occurring matter and organisms. The pincers also have a basic form of shapeshifting built in, allowing them to alter their length, density, sharpness, etc. to an extent. The weapon is simple, but truly versatile and strong in the hands of an experienced fighter.

Saving Grace: Back when Len was a child, he dreamed of becoming the king of a country he dubbed “Utopia” - the perfect place to live. As he grew up, his childish dreams became fantasies, and his fantasies evaporated into distant memories. This old hope is represented as a crude, tattered flag of a non-existent country on the left side of his chest. Thought faded and ruined, the flag still pulses dully with its old colors.

Personality: Sorry, you will see it in the roleplay! ;o

History: Six years ago, to the day, Len started losing memories. Like pennies down a well, they just disappeared. First, the insignificant memories, things he'd never need to remember or look back on fondly. His life slowly slipped away, without him even noticing. He eventually realized what was happening, but never thought it would go to the extent it did. He thought it was normal to not remember what happened on his 18th birthday, to not remember his grandfather's name, to not be able to think up the face of his mother. After all, there was plenty on his mind he had to remember, anyway. Soon, though, even important memories started draining away. His birthday, his parent’s names, where he grew up, the passcode to his phone.

But there was a way to restore the memories: action and conflict would bring in a torrent of the things. These episodes of recollection are a drug for Len. Whenever he gets in a fight, when his adrenaline is pumping, his muscles flaring, a huge portion of his memories come back, flooding his brain with euphoria and a lust for lost information. As soon as the fight is over, they slowly fade away again, like the tide on a beach.

When his warbrand appeared, he fully accepted the path of war, knowing exactly what it would mean. It would be a cure. Maybe, constant battle, constant assault, anything.. maybe it could stop the mental hemorrhaging. He embraced his fate, and he knew there was no running from it. There was no mistaking the fact he could feel battle in his bones, calling him, waiting for his passion and fury. He could feel it. He knew, without feeling, without learning, how to fight for his life. Len knew the only thing he could do was embrace his instincts and surrender himself to the path of War.

[TheLoneRook]

Name: Thomas (Tony) Marcello
[img inbound]

Age: 23

Appearance: Tony stands at 6”2’ sporting raven’s black hair cut neat and steady steel grey eyes. His frame is slim yet well defined, his face chiseled in sharp lines and hard angles. He’s often caught in dress attire, be it a suit or just slacks with a nice shirt and vest. A symbol of a ring sporting north and south points and winged edges rests against the back of his neck. He holds himself with a casual demeanor, favoring his right arm in most situations. Though he dresses well, his torso is littered with bullet wounds and scars, including a massive twisted cut that runs down his left arm.

Sensation: Touch

Warbrand: Upon activation, Tony’s silver blade turns to gold and becomes “Lockbreaker”. Lockbreaker is at first glance a simple longsword, its hilt gilded in gold and locked to the sheath by an intricate mechanism, an ornate sapphire resting in the center of the lock itself. Lockbreaker’s power is either overwhelming or completely null, as drawing it unleashes its full strength, but that strength cannot be restrained even by Tony. In addition, Lockbreaker grants Tony the ability to seal or unseal. This power is very vague in its capacity, and its uses aren’t entirely understood even to Tony.

Personality: it’sasurprise.jpeg

History: Before the blade Tony’s life was...unethical. Born into a family of crime, he learned to live life by making his own way. His family started with bank robberies, then went on to white collar work once they could afford to flee the country. He was raised on the idea that if you want something you have to take it, and for a long time that was his only credo. At the ripe age of 16 his father was caught due to a slip in the accounting, his parents along with their entourage of accomplices took life sentences, Tony took juvy. He cleaned up for the sake of survival, keeping himself afloat off his family’s rainy day fund still hidden in offshore accounts. He worked for a tailor to keep up appearances, bought a small apartment in Jericho just nice enough to seem feasible for his pay. Without his family and without the only thing he’s ever known he began to fall into a slump, that eventually grew even darker. Then he was handed the silver sword.

Other: Tacos

---

CWI Investigative Report

Civilian #001

Name: Beelzebub (Does NOT want to be called by this name)

Age: Unknown

Height: 5'5"

Weight: Unknown (Subject destroyed scale before stepping on it.)

Noticeable Features: Gray skin, red eyes, hair seems to alternate between pink and gray color, depending on mood. Symbol identical to that of Tony Marcello's Warbrand tattooed on chest. Subject claims that she's had said mark since birth.

Abilities: Psychic Manipulation, Superhuman Strength, supposed Teleportation (unconfirmed).

Warbrand: Subject denies that the object in question is a Warbrand, but the weapon appears to be a sewing needle that upon command will expand in size into a 5 foot broadaxe. Subject stores the needle in her ear, where one would expect an earring to be placed.

Background: Subject has no confirmed history or records of any kind.

[DEBRIEF]

Subject was apprehended on March 12th, 2014, along with known Warrior Terry Walsh. Subject did not resist arrest, and was brought in for questioning. During the course of the interview, the subject asked that the officer in the recording booth disable the cameras. The officer complied, and was then detained by a fellow officer immediately. Once the cameras were brought back online, the subject was gone. Eyewitness reports say she was escorted out of the building by three officers of unrelated position and rank, accompanied by her associate Walsh.

[uPDATE]

April 20th, 2014. A painting was left at CWI Headquarters. A note with the painting reads "A gift" and the corner of the painting is signed with the name "Azel"

---

CWI Investigative Report

Civilian #002

Name: Azazel

Age: Unknown

Height: 6'0"

Weight: 183lb

Noticeable Features: Symbol identical to that of known Warrior Tony Marcello on tattooed on left wrist.

Abilities: Transformation into a red creature (based on eyewitness reports)

Warbrand: Subject denies possessing a Warbrand, and no objects on his person could be described as weapons.

Background: Subject has no confirmed records or history of any kind.

[DEBRIEF]

Subject was supposedly killed after assisting known Warrior Gloria Willowbrook in a card hit. During his autopsy, medical examiners could not find the gunshot wounds that had been seen at the scene of the incident, his body in seemingly perfect condition. Subject then regained consciousness, and left the the medical examiner's room, the medical examiner having fainted. Subject asked numerous CWI officers where he was, wearing no clothes and yet seemingly unaware of this fact. Subject was detained and brought in for questioning.

Subject refused to answer any questions until his belongings were returned to him. Suspicious of his intentions, CWI officers inspected his belongings. The bag he had on his person when "killed" contained only materials used in painting. Officers returned the bag to the subject, considering it of little consequence. Reports are scarce in the events that followed, subject was said to have killed every officer who had seen him that day before exiting headquarters. All officers suffered mass lacerations to the chest, some were even eviscerated. Subject left a painting in the room where he was questioned, supposedly depicting the "red being" that he was reported to have turned into.

[RedXCross]

TOBIAS REN CS

Tobias Ren | 33 | Male

Standing at an above-average six feet, Tobias appears… hollow. Yes, that’s probably the right word for it. With the sunken eyes of an overworked man and a paling complexion, Tobias is the last person you want on the cover of your “healthy choices” magazine. Regardless, if you were to ask him he would claim there was nothing wrong. His figure is slim, but not fragile like a young tree, and his hair is always kept at the perfect length to both stay out of his face and also keep him from appearing ragged. Despite all his efforts, however, the first thing anyone ever notices about him is his sunken, pale eyes that give him a gaunt aura, and the iron supplements he’s been taking has done little to make them better.

Tobias tends to prefer dark, long-sleeved clothing and pants even during the heat of the summer. His skin is very sensitive and tends to burn far too quickly, so he’s taken to a strange, elegant wardrobe that, as usual, does little to assist his personality. The truth of the matter is that, for some reason beyond his knowledge, he would always be somewhat unnerving to the people surrounding him. He even tried to disguise it behind fortune and riches, with golden earrings and rings, but that just didn’t seem to help much either.
An ill-looking man in perfect health who can turn the room bleak on a joyous occasion.

SENSATION: Sound

WARBRAND:

“There’s a simple elegance to this piece of silver.”

Yes, in its usual form Tobias hasn’t found the heart to do anything "extra" with the metal. In fact, he’s so enamored with it that he doesn’t wrap the hilt or anything, meaning that by the end of a fight usual he’ll find his own blood on his palm from gripping it too hard. He keeps it in a simple dark sheath at his side until the time to fight once more, and he seems to have a decent technique albeit lacking instinct. The character “Ω” sits as his symbol on its side, and even in its sheath the symbol remains open to the world, but he never explains why.

When it transforms, the blade itself becomes deceptively thin. Thin enough that you can barely see it when its sharp edge is facing you. It also gains a few feet in length and a beautiful hilt with the guard in the same “Ω” shape. A round, gleaming gem of sorts sits right where the hilt meets the blade. And that, in truth, is where the danger comes from. The gem resonates to sound, and it can even store that potential energy as it hears songs throughout a day. The more passionate the better, for when he swings the blade, the strongest sounds can cut straight through the air, rip people’s eardrums apart, or even just knock people off balance enough that he can deliver the final blow. For you see, the most passionate singers also share the most passionate screams, and Tobias’ Warbrand uses all of that sound frequency to cut straight through it and its opponents as well.

SAVING GRACE:

Tobias nearly gave up on the world once, deeming it a cruel and unjust place that was devoid of any sort of happiness, and that was when he first heard a church choir around the corner from his affluent home. Voices singing loud, singing in joy and in sorrow, through laughter and tears. Those songs gripped him as child, and still resonate down deeply to his soul. He knows he must live on to keep hearing their voices, and he will keep fighting as long as those songs can keep playing.

As such, a treble clef is traced faintly on the back of his neck, and as he encroaches madness he often finds himself sitting on the steps outside that church once more.

HISTORY:

Tobias grew up literally eating off a silver spoon. He was the youngest of six children of the Ren estate, which was a lucrative title built up over the years as his father became quite the successful merchant. Named a duke (more as a title than anything else), Tobias’ father, Isaac, spent a lot of time busy with his work or chastising his children on their behaviours, assuring that they were demonstrating behaviour fit for an aristocracy.

Thankfully for Tobias, being the youngest meant he was likely not inheriting anything, and so he was able to find some free time to wander his streets and his neighborhoods, though even then his appearance as the “Pale Boy” did little to help him make friends. When he was nine or ten, a boy from around the neighborhood and someone that his father had pushed Tobias to befriend had taken him and a gesture of good will he made (an offering of some cool marbles he’d collected) and tossed him into the mud outside his house. When the boy invited him over later as an “apology”; Tobias was met by a group of boys twice his size, and the rest is pretty easy to figure out.

It was this day that led him to the stairs of that church, that brought him to the first real song that he loved, and that drove him to pursue music with burning intensity.

His mother was pleased about this. She herself was a concert pianist, and she was overjoyed by the dedication he put towards learning the instrument. She had tried with many of her other children but they just didn’t seem to care the way he did. What she often loved was that he “was no prodigy for sure, but he continued to try and try again”.

Eventually, thanks to hours of dedication and a large check from his father, Tobias went off to school to study music professionally, with his father’s only caviat being that he picked up some kind of sport.

Somehow fencing became the go-to option.

He studied at a school in Jericho City, doing several degrees and studying several subjects into the theories of sound and music. He was so dedicated that colleagues and friends alike joked that a war could break out and he would find a way to keep working right into it.

In fact, that was literally what happened.

Catastrophe hit the university all at once it seemed, when the place was quickly evacuated when two figures caught in an incredibly lethal duel literally caught several people in their cross fire – and the fact they were shouting things like “burn this place down if we have to” didn’t do too much to make people worry less. And while the rest of the place was being evacuated, Tobias was in his usual corner of the library listening to a recording of a 18th-century composition while writing his paper on Reconstructing Beethovens Tonal structure when the two figures literally smashed through the library shelves.

And for a moment, he froze. Many feelings collided all at once when he heard the beautiful note that sung from the clash of steel, but also realized the actual potential destruction they could bring to the beautiful world of sound around him.

He was about to step in when another man pulled him away. The police force had appeared to intervene with minimal success as Tobias watched centuries of music going up in smoke.

A terrible image came to him: one of the library burning, of the church burning, of the beautiful songs turning to screams of despair as this spirit of anger and hate tore through a world that held so much beauty for him. No, he could not stand it. Tobias resisted the pull of the police, marching right back towards the doors of the library where he could hear the conflicting beauty of the song of battle wrapped in bloodlust.

He stopped at the door for a moment, as if to ask “what the hell are you planning to do? What’s the point of doing this for a song?”

And that was when he met War. The deity leaned against the doorway with a casual grin, as if he could see the thoughts that were swirling in Tobias’ mind down to that second.

The debate took a completely different turn when War pulled a silver blade from his side and threw it so it stuck into the ground directly at Tobias’ feet. For some reason, in that moment he remembered a boy he had offered to share marbles with, and the sounds they made clattering against the ground. The sound of battle was so intriguing, like the fruit from the tree of knowledge – forbidden yet tantalizing. He also thought about how there was always someone waiting to stomp out joy in all its forms – and if he was to keep those songs alive, he would have to stomp out those joy -stompers.

Tobias never envisioned himself as a warrior, never thought that battle could make a song in itself. He just knew that after he picked up that blade, studying music just didn’t seem to cut it like the strange, disjointed sound of two warriors locked in combat.

OTHER:

The armor in the art is likely not actually his attire? But like, pictures are hard to find.

Art by len-yan on DeviantArt.