VILLAIN ROSTER
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3 yrs ago
"Nothin' personal hun - Just business as usual."
Name:
Marie Helene Lockhart
Nicknames:
"The Scarlet 'Skarlett' Butcher"; "The Crimson Huntress"; "The Red Menace"
Age:
31
Birthdate:
May / 17th
Gender:
Female ♀
Nationality:
French
Appearance:
Height:
5'10"
Weight:
161 Lbs
Fashion Sense:
Marie's trademark "Crimson Huntress" attire is what most people think when they hear the bounty hunter's name. She wears a crimson torso jacket, with golden outlines and dappered in heavy-duty belts on her sleeves, as well as a matching corset and ankle-high dress. Under it, she wears stripped baggy clothes with heavy duty shin armor the same red-and-gold coloration and fancy looking heels to boot. But most importantly of all, she never leaves without wearing her iconically fancy, long-brimmed, crimson hat, complete with three long feathers dangling from the top.
She is known to wear both equally flamboyant clothing or casual loose-fitting clothes when she's free from her work.
Distinguishing Features:
Multiple scars ripple across Marie's back and mid-rim - as well as her upper arms and thighs - from her many dangerous encounters. These mostly range from stab wounds, scratch marks, minor bullet wounds, and laser burns. Remarkably, little to no blemishes plague Marie's face - with any potentially being covered up by make-up.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
Within the crowded horde of bustling civilians, a lone man - shrouded underneath a dark beige trench coat - walks diligently past the distracted masses through the dark. The bearded man was disguised underneath a smoky grey fedora, alongside glare-proof glasses that sealed his anonymity, smoking a cigarate underneath his hairy muff. He firmly held onto a jet-black, silver-lined briefcase in his right hand. One might assume that he was on his way to an important business meeting of some kind, or perhaps on his way to a seal a shady deal with some seedy folks. And in a way, both answers would work in this case.
According to various sources, his client had been recently reported to be found within a tiny old bar, snuggled up between two well-known department stores and apartment complexes. It had already taken him three days just to get a grasp on the client's location and it's already been a solid half-hour since he was debriefed on the location. After all, his client was a busy gal. She was always following where her next paycheck was.
The grizzled man then proceeded to enter the red-lit bar as he opened the rickety doors. He eyed his entire surroundings, trying to spot his client. At first, he could only see nothing but a few lone stragglers, some of which were already eying him as soon as he entered. Most simply brushed the man off and continued to what they were doing, but a few droopy-eyed, mean-looking folk continued staring with inquisitive notions. He didn't mind it too much. He was rather used to getting them. He slowly made his way towards the counter and signaled a bartender to come.
"'Ello there," the bartender asked casually with a hint of scottish in his voice towards the new customer," How can I help ya?"
"I'm lookin' for someone." the man spoke in a moderately raspy voice as he sat on a metal stool, "Have ya seen a gal wearing a red coat with a large hat enter here recently?"
Just as the bartender began to look around for anyone matching the description, they would hear a certain feminine voice answer them.
"Ya lookin' for me?"
The coated man cocked his head to the right to identify the culprit. Sure enough, it came from the same person he was hoping to see - Marie H. Lockhart - a mysterious blonde woman covered in red who was eying him mischievously with her slowing amber-colored eyes. She was seated by a table farther to the back of the bar, with her legs casually perched up on the table. He couldn't help but be drawn in by her exquisite looks, already becoming mesmerized by her eyes alone. He had to struggle a bit to bring himself back to reality. He rose from his seat and began to walk over to her seat.
"I mus' be." the man would answer as he took his seat opposite of her's, "Ya must be the legendary bounty hunter I've been hearin' about, yeh?"
Marie smirked as she sipped on a hard glass of chilled whisky.
"The one n' only." she confidently replied before looking back at the man, "Got somethin' ya want me to do?"
"Ah, save it for now," the man chuckled as he attempted to make himself comfortable. He took off his hood to reveal his hardened face and blond beard, "No need to dive straight in on a night like this. We oughta enjoy it a bit, don't ya say?"
"Sorry, hun. I ain't interested." the huntress snarkily blurted out as if she figured out what he was going to say next.
"You break my heart, love." the man sarcastically responded, casually going along with it, "But nah, that's not where I'm goin' with it. If ya don't mind, I'll just be askin' ya a few questions just so I get to... well, get to know yeh a little bit more. After all, there's so much that stories can tell someone about someone. Think of it as an "on-the-fly" job interview of sorts - ya dig?"
Marie gave an amused chuckle as she took another swig of her glass of whisky, exhaling loudly as she plopped the shot on the table with a thunk.
"I suppose I got sum' time for that." she replied with a sigh, "How many questions do ya have lined up?"
"Just a few." the man replied as he readied his notepad and clicked his pen, "It shouldn't take too long. Wanna do it now?"
"Shoot." Marie responded with a flick of her head.
With that the bearded man proceeded with the first question.
"Yer fightin' a worthy opponent who yer about to defeat, but then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat ya. How would ya react?"
"Beat 'em to a pulp like any other scoundrel." the huntress replied with a hint of intensiveness, "Don't matter if they worthy or not, their efforts will go up in smoke."
The man nods and writes a quick summary before continuing with the next question.
"Ya just lost a fight. Waddya gonna do 'bout it?"
"Get up n' try again." Marie answered, "Come up with a good strategy, ready the appropriate weapons, and kick the livin' shit outta them next time."
"A good friend of yours abandons yeh and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength or some other force. How do ya feel about that?"
"Feelin's mutual. Course, if it means that they wanna kick my ass, I wouldn't give 'em a chance in hell. I'd kill em at their place before they'd even get the chance to formulate a plan against me."
"Where do ya go when you die?"
"Straighta Hell. God doesn't want me up there and really I don't mind it. I'd much rather to be dancin' with the devil then to act all goodie-two-shoes with Jesus - 'less he can supply me with a lifetime supply of wine and booze that is, heh heh."
"One more question for ya," the man mentioned before flipping his notepad, "This may sound a lil' dumb, but bare with me 'ere. Would you consider ya'self a... bad person?"
Marie's left eyebrow rose questioningly at his statement.
"Define 'bad'." she asked cautiously as she took another swig of whisky.
"Both the underground and the public Media considers ya as a malevolent, blood-thirsty, killa'. Ya killed many in yer time and I bet you're ready to slash a few throats and bust a few brains out right 'bout now. Where do ya think you stand in the moral circle? Ya kill to kill, or ya got reasons to kill?"
Marie slowly plants the bottle back on the table as she flips over her legs.
"I reckon' ya knew why I've gotten myself in this line of work." she replied somewhat disappointingly at his question, "Yeah, I get one hellova rush when it comes to fightin' and muderin', but at the end of the day it's all about the money, darlin'. I don't give a damn on what ya want me to do, so as long as the price is larger than the competition. It's what makes the world go 'round really. Course that doesn't mean I form any opinions 'bout it personally, and I'll admit there's a few lines I don't wanna cross. And believe me, I've done some reaaaaaally fucked up shit in the past. But overall, I just go where the money flows. Give me a target and a price, and if I consider it worth my time, I'll get you results and more if possible."
The man continued to write his notes before withdrawing it into his heavy coat.
"Much obliged, Ms. Lockhart.", he replied humbly as he began to get up from his seat, "Expect to hear from my boss in a few days time. I think you'll enjoy what he has planned for ya."
Marie's gaze pierced into his as she tipped her hat in a teasing manner.
"Don't disappoint me, hun." she replied with a playful wink, "And don't keep me waitin' for too long... or ya might see me comin' for yer boss next."
According to various sources, his client had been recently reported to be found within a tiny old bar, snuggled up between two well-known department stores and apartment complexes. It had already taken him three days just to get a grasp on the client's location and it's already been a solid half-hour since he was debriefed on the location. After all, his client was a busy gal. She was always following where her next paycheck was.
The grizzled man then proceeded to enter the red-lit bar as he opened the rickety doors. He eyed his entire surroundings, trying to spot his client. At first, he could only see nothing but a few lone stragglers, some of which were already eying him as soon as he entered. Most simply brushed the man off and continued to what they were doing, but a few droopy-eyed, mean-looking folk continued staring with inquisitive notions. He didn't mind it too much. He was rather used to getting them. He slowly made his way towards the counter and signaled a bartender to come.
"'Ello there," the bartender asked casually with a hint of scottish in his voice towards the new customer," How can I help ya?"
"I'm lookin' for someone." the man spoke in a moderately raspy voice as he sat on a metal stool, "Have ya seen a gal wearing a red coat with a large hat enter here recently?"
Just as the bartender began to look around for anyone matching the description, they would hear a certain feminine voice answer them.
"Ya lookin' for me?"
The coated man cocked his head to the right to identify the culprit. Sure enough, it came from the same person he was hoping to see - Marie H. Lockhart - a mysterious blonde woman covered in red who was eying him mischievously with her slowing amber-colored eyes. She was seated by a table farther to the back of the bar, with her legs casually perched up on the table. He couldn't help but be drawn in by her exquisite looks, already becoming mesmerized by her eyes alone. He had to struggle a bit to bring himself back to reality. He rose from his seat and began to walk over to her seat.
"I mus' be." the man would answer as he took his seat opposite of her's, "Ya must be the legendary bounty hunter I've been hearin' about, yeh?"
Marie smirked as she sipped on a hard glass of chilled whisky.
"The one n' only." she confidently replied before looking back at the man, "Got somethin' ya want me to do?"
"Ah, save it for now," the man chuckled as he attempted to make himself comfortable. He took off his hood to reveal his hardened face and blond beard, "No need to dive straight in on a night like this. We oughta enjoy it a bit, don't ya say?"
"Sorry, hun. I ain't interested." the huntress snarkily blurted out as if she figured out what he was going to say next.
"You break my heart, love." the man sarcastically responded, casually going along with it, "But nah, that's not where I'm goin' with it. If ya don't mind, I'll just be askin' ya a few questions just so I get to... well, get to know yeh a little bit more. After all, there's so much that stories can tell someone about someone. Think of it as an "on-the-fly" job interview of sorts - ya dig?"
Marie gave an amused chuckle as she took another swig of her glass of whisky, exhaling loudly as she plopped the shot on the table with a thunk.
"I suppose I got sum' time for that." she replied with a sigh, "How many questions do ya have lined up?"
"Just a few." the man replied as he readied his notepad and clicked his pen, "It shouldn't take too long. Wanna do it now?"
"Shoot." Marie responded with a flick of her head.
With that the bearded man proceeded with the first question.
"Yer fightin' a worthy opponent who yer about to defeat, but then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat ya. How would ya react?"
"Beat 'em to a pulp like any other scoundrel." the huntress replied with a hint of intensiveness, "Don't matter if they worthy or not, their efforts will go up in smoke."
The man nods and writes a quick summary before continuing with the next question.
"Ya just lost a fight. Waddya gonna do 'bout it?"
"Get up n' try again." Marie answered, "Come up with a good strategy, ready the appropriate weapons, and kick the livin' shit outta them next time."
"A good friend of yours abandons yeh and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength or some other force. How do ya feel about that?"
"Feelin's mutual. Course, if it means that they wanna kick my ass, I wouldn't give 'em a chance in hell. I'd kill em at their place before they'd even get the chance to formulate a plan against me."
"Where do ya go when you die?"
"Straighta Hell. God doesn't want me up there and really I don't mind it. I'd much rather to be dancin' with the devil then to act all goodie-two-shoes with Jesus - 'less he can supply me with a lifetime supply of wine and booze that is, heh heh."
"One more question for ya," the man mentioned before flipping his notepad, "This may sound a lil' dumb, but bare with me 'ere. Would you consider ya'self a... bad person?"
Marie's left eyebrow rose questioningly at his statement.
"Define 'bad'." she asked cautiously as she took another swig of whisky.
"Both the underground and the public Media considers ya as a malevolent, blood-thirsty, killa'. Ya killed many in yer time and I bet you're ready to slash a few throats and bust a few brains out right 'bout now. Where do ya think you stand in the moral circle? Ya kill to kill, or ya got reasons to kill?"
Marie slowly plants the bottle back on the table as she flips over her legs.
"I reckon' ya knew why I've gotten myself in this line of work." she replied somewhat disappointingly at his question, "Yeah, I get one hellova rush when it comes to fightin' and muderin', but at the end of the day it's all about the money, darlin'. I don't give a damn on what ya want me to do, so as long as the price is larger than the competition. It's what makes the world go 'round really. Course that doesn't mean I form any opinions 'bout it personally, and I'll admit there's a few lines I don't wanna cross. And believe me, I've done some reaaaaaally fucked up shit in the past. But overall, I just go where the money flows. Give me a target and a price, and if I consider it worth my time, I'll get you results and more if possible."
The man continued to write his notes before withdrawing it into his heavy coat.
"Much obliged, Ms. Lockhart.", he replied humbly as he began to get up from his seat, "Expect to hear from my boss in a few days time. I think you'll enjoy what he has planned for ya."
Marie's gaze pierced into his as she tipped her hat in a teasing manner.
"Don't disappoint me, hun." she replied with a playful wink, "And don't keep me waitin' for too long... or ya might see me comin' for yer boss next."
Backstory:
Marie Helene Lockhart was born in Cannes, France to a rather intense family.
Her father, Gustav Lockhart, was a high government official of the city, with some direct ties to the French President himself, however managed an international illegal weapons program known as "Project: Morphius" on the side for additional revenue. His program sold a special breed of weapons, known by the company as "Weapon-Morphs", a term used to describe the ability to transform one weapon into another just by the flick of a switch. Gustav had spent nearly a decade in trying to get the concept off the ground but through the success of his first prototype specimen (a machine-gun to claymore sword), he eventually founded an entire blackmarket demand for them. They had been sold throughout the entire world, from the United States, to China, Russia, and even places like North Korea. To him, he was only in it for the money - a mindset his daughter would eventually inherit as her own.
Marie's mother - a lawyer - meanwhile, wasn't much of a part in her life, as she died unexpectedly during childbirth. Her relationship with Gustav began to strain months prior to her giving birth, mostly along the concerns that her husband was too fully absorbed in his work and dealing in such illegal activities and feared that he wouldn't help in taking care of their future baby. Of course, her husband never really listened to her - stating how it was the prime factor in keeping them afloat - but despite the moral quarrels, the business did indeed help them remain wealthy and secure. And covering the fact that he was also a part of French politics as a beloved individual to the 1%, they seemed to have little to fear.
However, when Gustav's wife died, he was utterly devastated by this sudden turn of events. He wished he could've spent more time with her and perhaps even had listened to her in some way. But on the flipside, now that she's out of the picture, all he had to comfort him was his daughter and his job. So to balance both parties to his benefit, he took care of Marie the only way he knew how...
By turning her into a powerful agent of his own, of course.
And so, through countless years of training, Marie became a powerful asset for her father. She was trained by him and by several other private trainers in all of the finest weaponry that her father could give her, and was used as a living weapon against all who dared oppose the operation. She was even given a special chip (known as the "Hammercore Augmenation Chip" or "HAC") that allowed her to create a tiny pocket dimension - a hammerspace - in order to accompany the vast array of weaponry at her disposal while also minimizing the threat of them being stolen. c And despite the tough training regiments and abuse from her father, Marie surprisingly didn't loose her sense of wit and humor. She felt the intense thrill of the hunt and bloodshed, doing her job to the best of her capabilities. This was all she knew... this was all she felt.
But it wouldn't come to last.
Tired of being anchored to her father's company, she attempted to abandon the company altogether. However, her first attempt was unsuccessful, thwarted by her father himself. Gustav told Marie that she was a company asset and that she was to remain here until the very end. This when when she finally began to fill in the dots; to acquire a clearer picture of her role beside her father. She was being treated like an object, not a human being.
She was essentially a slave.
And thus, this led to the eventual assassination of her father, throwing the company into disarray as she darted into the night, alongside a good chunk of the weapon-morphs with her. There she went into hiding, traveling over to the United States, and eventually resurfaced as a bounty hunter living under various fake "aliases". As with "Morphius", the weapons were eventually stolen by a variety of gangs and other black market companies who wanted to cash in on the success. In fact, some of Marie's targets utilized her company's weapons and took them for herself after defeating them. Such weapons included "Owl's Blight" and "Neptune's Might".
Now she goes where the money is, just trying her best to survive in a cruel, harsh, world, while also enjoying every single minute of it.
Abilities:
- Weapon-Morphs: Marie has access to a variety of weapon-morphs that she has both created and taken from her various opponents. These can morph to a variety of different weapons, usually having 2 - 3 of said forms in the form of ranged and close-combat forms. These range from pistols that turn into knives, or axes that turn into machine guns, or any other whacky combinations that are each suited for accomplishing a particular task or niche.
- Hammerspace: And how can Marie accomplish in carrying such an arsenal and whip it out on the fly? That's where her trusty "Hammercore" Augmentation Chip (HAC) comes in handy. It allows the bounty hunter to tap into a portal to another dimension where she keeps those weapons in storage. So if one weapon doesn't work out for one situation, she can rummage through her little "pocket dimension" and grab another within her collection. However, using it too many times in rapid succession runs the risk of malfunctioning the HAC, which can jam or render it inoperable for an extended period of time, so Marie has to utilize it sparingly and give it a few minutes (3 - 5 posts long) before she can safely activate it again. It's also has a safety lock that prevents any live organisms or characters from entering the hammerspace, if by any chance they could fit in there as it's rather small in comparison.
- Incredible Agility: Marie's training has allowed her to utilize her acrobatic physique to her advantage. She is quick on her feet and reflects, a tactic she uses to overwhelm her opponent and in some cases utilize to initiate stealthy strike to her oblivious adversary.
Equipment:
- Lock & Load - (Flintlock Pistols - Sickles): Acting as her first-responders, Lock & Load are Marie's primary go to weapons in most situations. On the surface, they look like a high-tech versions of the flintlock pistols of old - being that they look, fire and reload more efficiently - but they can morph into deadly sickles used for hacking and slashing at opponents. Being that her blades are short-range, Marie prefers to get up close and personal before whipping them out.
- Blunderlass - (Cutlass - Blunderbuss): Another first responder, the Blunderlass is great in issuing major damage at medium-close ranges.
- Axelburst - (Battle Axe - Machine Gun): A heavy brawler weapon. Chunky, yet efficient.
- Guncelot - (Gunlance - Rocket Launcher - Grenade Launcher): Heavy ranged weapon - somewhat clumsy to wield, but issues powerful explosive damage to armored targets.
- Hammer of Judgement - (Battle Hammer - Light-Chaingun): Heavy ranged weapon - excellent for crowd control.
- Owl's Blight - (Scythe - Sniper Rifle): Silent light-weight weapon - great against small groups and singular opponents.
- Phoenix Busters - (Gauntlets - Flamethrower): Gauntlets great in physical power, with flamethrowers to keep the distance between Marie and her enemy.
- Neptune's Might - (Trident - Claw - Laser Cannon): An exotic weapon retrieved from an "Atlantian" - superb ranged weapon with an incredible amount of power to boot. However, one shot from its cannon form renders said form inoperable for the rest of the battle.
- Whip-Slash - (Extendable Spiked Chain Whip): A non-hybrid weapon, this chain whip is often used to incapacitate and capture foes when they are vulnerable. The chain's rear facing hooks allow the weapon to grip into the opponent's flesh with ease.
- Taser: Marie carries a small taser on hand to stun her foes up close without revealing her colorful arsenal. Great for stealth missions or acquiring targets alive.
- Rocket Heels: Marie's heels have built in rocket thrusters that allow her to fly in the air for a limited amount of time. These are often used for short-distance travel or to escape tricky situations.
Other:
- Despite her French heritage, Marie primarily speaks in your traditional southwestern accent. Occasionally her home accent may show up here and there, or she may blurt out a french swear, but otherwise it's almost nonexistent.
Themes:
Ruiner Hyper Bastard
Member
Seen
1 day ago
"Hey man, need a light? Ehehheheheh."
Name:
The Butcher, Devourer of Kings, Scourge of the Lowest Pits, Castigated Ape of the Backwater Plane, Taker of Tongues and Bloodhungery Forevermore... or Big Trev
Age:
A little hard to tell given the vagueries of Hellscape's laws of space/time, but Trev maintains a "personal history" of 112 years. Flesh cage appears to be in their mid-twenties.
Birthdate:
Says on his ID that he was born on 10/30
Gender:
Two Knives
Nationality:
Dead
Appearance:
Height:
7 foot 4
Weight:
420 Pounds of pure, undiluted, 100%, Prime Grade A brick shit house
Fashion Sense:
Due to the unfortunate realities of having more muscle mass than Jesus and all of his disciples combined, Trev wears whatever he can get and dredges the Big and Tall section for anything that'll look halfway decent. This amounts to a lot of plain t-shirts, jeans, and big ass boots.
Has killed for sick ass clothes before and will kill again.
Distinguishing Features:
If one were to peep under the mask, they'd find a strangely mundane face. Normally strong, masculine features that would appear intimidating have been blunted by a youthful rounding of the face, leaving it strangely average and forgettable compared to the whole package. The eyes are the real kicker, pupils reflecting light much like a wild predator with a piercing glow that sparks anxiety and paranoia in many. When Trev falls into a Fell Mood his skin takes on a blackened, necrotic hue and their eyes lose their shine, instead being replaced with an empty, yawning abyss where eyes should be as their hands drip a caustic ichor.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"I've seen monsters made out of the concept of flaying skin, waded through the collective misery and filth of humanities most vile tendencies, and ate that novelty wing sauce that's too hot, you know the one, got a tiger on it that says "Party Time"? Yeah you do. Someone growing some extra tentacles and glows a bit isnt anything new buddy."
How do you feel about explosions?
"Radical."
You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Spit the blood out of my mouth, get up, and spill theirs."
Where do you go when you die?
"Nowhere nice."
What's your worst nightmare?
"Eh... after a while they just kinda blend together, variety and life and spices... that kinda shit."
Do you believe in karma?
"Karma, luck, cause and effect, don't really matter much to me how ya sell it. Shitty stuff happens to good people all the time and the people who deserve it usually don't get theirs until the damage is done. Believe in what ya want kid, I'll stick with what I can do with my hands and burn bridges when I get there."
Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"I'm sure there are some more philosophically inclined individuals who would like to wax poetic on the inherent virtue of the human spirit and the souls ability to repent from the black, sticky tar that stain our pasts, but if I see an evil motherfucker I'm just going to snik the bastard and let the Powers That Be sort em out."
Are you a bad person?
"Heh, yeah a little bit."
"I've seen monsters made out of the concept of flaying skin, waded through the collective misery and filth of humanities most vile tendencies, and ate that novelty wing sauce that's too hot, you know the one, got a tiger on it that says "Party Time"? Yeah you do. Someone growing some extra tentacles and glows a bit isnt anything new buddy."
How do you feel about explosions?
"Radical."
You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Spit the blood out of my mouth, get up, and spill theirs."
Where do you go when you die?
"Nowhere nice."
What's your worst nightmare?
"Eh... after a while they just kinda blend together, variety and life and spices... that kinda shit."
Do you believe in karma?
"Karma, luck, cause and effect, don't really matter much to me how ya sell it. Shitty stuff happens to good people all the time and the people who deserve it usually don't get theirs until the damage is done. Believe in what ya want kid, I'll stick with what I can do with my hands and burn bridges when I get there."
Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"I'm sure there are some more philosophically inclined individuals who would like to wax poetic on the inherent virtue of the human spirit and the souls ability to repent from the black, sticky tar that stain our pasts, but if I see an evil motherfucker I'm just going to snik the bastard and let the Powers That Be sort em out."
Are you a bad person?
"Heh, yeah a little bit."
Backstory:
The person who was to become Trev was a nobody who had too much will and not enough sense, getting killed after a string of passionate acts of seld defense and hot-blooded homicide. Next thing they knew they were careening out of a burning sky, a drop of many in a rain of cindering bodies. The shock of it all was more than they could handle in the beginning, too many urgent questions bouncing around their head before splatting on the ground in an expectantly messy manner. There was a moment of blissful quiet as unconsciousness took them for a while before being violently ripped back into their new reality in the Hellscape, just as scared and confused as before. Death came swiftly again when a pack of daemonic creatures set upon them and tore them to ribbons, once again plunging into the cradle of unconsciousness. So on and so for they moved through the lands, the pattern of death and darkness repeating itself in every unpleasant end one could imagine.
However despair did not settle in, that same stubbornness that landed them in this place became their sanctuary. Every wretch he passed that chose the quickest means of death over living here only hardened his resolve to be stronger, seeing the handiwork of more sadistic beings only stoked the flames of his determination to one day leave, and every death under the hands of foul creatures taught invaluable lessons. Yet slowly, methodically, one by one they were able to cut down and eat the power of those lesser than him, or act as a scavenger and pick on the feeble and weak until he could start pulling down larger meals. On and on this went, forgetting more and more of who they once were and replacing it with the best ways to snap bone, carve flesh, and cripple minds.
At their lowest point, they were no better than the Daemons they hunted, a soul-scorched predator of the blood-soaked lands that feasted on the entrails of Dukes and Kings. The only thing that kept them going throughout their... storied travels and deeds, was the ultimate desire to leave the Hellscape, something that was denied to them time and again by the various forces working against them. That is until pure happenstance occurred that got him and a Daemon he was currently spiritually tussling with summoned into the same vessel, an event that absolutely no one saw coming, especially the cultists when their sacrifice began shouting at themselves in two languages and started spitting out flames and fluids that did unsavory things anything they touched.
In the end, after everything was all said and done, everyone was dead... all except for Them, adding a seemingly final notch to their Daemon tally before walking out of the ruined compound and tasted fresh air for the first time in an eternity. The next thing they did was walk 26 miles to the nearest roadside diner and "Trevor" bought the best worst banana cream pie he ever.
Three years later and Trev is still struggling to find a successful answer for "What Now?" but spends his time talking to strangers, wandering, and participating in a little Community Service when the now normalized itch of violence grows unbearable.
Abilities:
- School of Hard Knocks and Hellfire: Trev doesn't know how to fight as much as he knows how to savage, mutilate, and brutalize with an efficiency that'd turn a butcher green with envy and knot the stomachs of even the blackest, most frozen hearts known to man.
- Ouch: Nothing puts the fear of God in you until you see a man get riddled with bullets, stabbed just... way too much, bludgeoned into a bloody garbage bag, and burnt, just... get back up and rip your friends head off of his shoulders like he's snapping peas. They're certainly physically tougher than your average specimen, but not by much compared to other... exceptional beings. Their real strength in this regard is that their grotesquely high pain tolerance allows them to fight through their injuries until they get enough gore to heal.
- Eat The Pain: What allows Trev to work the onslaught despite his many, many, MANY injuries. Ripping the trick from the tongue of a greater daemon, Trev is able to sup on the death throes of his enemies to restore flesh and mend bone in a squicky display as blood and viscera rush in to seal fresh wounds. The bloodier the better.
- Freakie Deekie: Despite his great size Trev is able to move with an eerie silence and has the nasty habit of blending in almost completely with the shadows with disturbing ease. Trev primarily uses this to pick off victims one by one, whittling down the opposition while enjoying the high of a great plan coming together and no small amount of casual sadism.
- Fell Mood: Sometimes a fight gets too real, too many innocent people are on the line, the deadly dance of combat stalls for too long, or maybe Trev just really doesn't like the bugger. Either way the luster is gone and the kid gloves come off as Trev slips back into the well-oiled killing machine they are, slicing, dicing, and crushing everything with a fluid, practiced savagery. The ichor that flows from their hands during these moments is caustic in nature but isn't intended for combat, being painful to unprotected skin but not much else.
- Something That Bumps In The Night: Trev's time in the Hellscape changed them fundamentally, scorching their soul and staining their hands, however, they still retain the essence of what makes something human. Free choice and compassion, empathy, and a sense of good no matter how deeply buried or skewed. They are a spiritual anomaly who borrows from many sources but is never bound by one category, harmed by faith in holy symbols but not banished, hurt by physical violence but seemingly never killed, lost in every sense of the word but hardened with a simple focus.
Look Not In The Noggin: Lets just say to an unvarnished mind, the horrors that Trev experienced in the Hellscape are a little... much. Trev is just used to it due to a lot of exposure.
The Firsts: Weapons Trev found in the deepest pits of human violence and hatred, the Firsts are what allowed Trev to finally gain the strength they needed to stop running and fight back against the entities that assailed them. They are bound to Trev's flesh, manifesting when they've drunk deep from the carnage around them. Each one of these weapons is supernaturally strong and gifted with uniquely disturbing abilities, though they can only be wielded two at a time at most given the time/energy needed to summon and the fact that Trev only has two hands. When separated from Trev the weapons return to which they came, splatting into piles of blood, bone, and assorted viscera. Juicy.
Equipment:
- Tongue Lash - An obsidian dagger with an unnatural serpentine curve to the blade that connects to a ravenous fanged guard. Preternaturally sharp as is, the real power of the Tongue is its ability to siphon life energy directly into Trev if stabbed into the heart of another being, draining their power into themselves.
- The Shillelagh - A gnarled branch with a kaleidoscope effect amount of tally marks carved into it. Blood that comes into contact with the head of the Shillelagh curdles into a sanguine sap that sticks and burns like caustic napalm.
- Conquest - A plain, unadorned bronze sword with an edge ravaged by battle and oxidized blood that nonetheless can open a steel door like a tuna can made of aluminum foil.
- Cain - A stone axe with a handle made of black, barbed wood with a stone head formed from an unknown mineral, a snarling face can be seen carved into the "blade". It emanates a profound dread.
Other:
Likes cats, hated by dogs.
A Lowly Wretch The Listless Loiterer
Member
Seen
4 days ago
Babble was Babble is
"We are"
"We are"
Name:
Babble.
Age:
14.
Birthdate:
10/31
Gender:
Female.
Nationality:
American.
Appearance:
Height:
4'4"
Weight:
66
Fashion Sense:
Fresh out of the asylum she's clad in the standard patient's attire: A straight jacket and bland white pants. Beyond of that she really hasn't had the opportunity to find any new apparel out in the abandoned warehouse she resides within.
Distinguishing Features:
She has a fair number of scars. The ones not hidden under her clothes are hidden below the hair on her head.
She never speaks, especially not with her own voice. The closest she'll ever come is lip-syncing. In most conversations she doesn't even bother opening her mouth.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
"Where do you go when you die?"
"The intermission!"
What's your worst nightmare?
"Ours? Hers? Mine? They vary depending on which who you ask. One thing we agree on though is that we are never going back. No more asylums, no more doctors. Only silence."
Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"Of course! Sometimes something just needs to be broken before it can be repaired."
Backstory:
At the early age of six it was a school day just like many others. She went to school, attended her classes, received her homework and tried to avoid the other students who picked on her often. This day however was not going to be just like every other day of hers.
Just as she was getting ready to head back home to her dreary household a couple of students were up to some horseplay. One of them ended up tossing a book over his shoulder which fell and hit her square in the head. It was at this moment that something in her head was shook loose. In that very instant it was as if the whole world was exploding.
Shoes stepping, phones ringing, people talking, chalk on chalk boards, lockers closing, cars driving, birds singing, hearts beating, she could hear it all. Every sound, even down to the most shallow of frequencies, could be heard at a volume beyond which any other human could ever conceive. Every foot fall was akin to the explosion of a thousand atom bombs, every voice a crashing cacophony of meteoric proportions. It all went well past the point where human ears would simply break as there was no limit imposed on the method she received each sound. If a sound so much as existed by the time it reached her it was heard at the loudest possible volume such a noise could possibly exist at. Of course there was no way to discern each sound from one another. The louder sounds overlapped the quieter ones and blended with each other until it formed an astronomically loud concert of discordant noises.
Of course nobody else could hear this. From the average spectator's point of view the girl was struck across the back of the head by a heavy book and then proceeded to collapse to the ground clutching her head and screaming in agony while writhing about.
Her parents took her to every doctor they could find. Not a single one of them could identify what was wrong. It was hard to find something that wasn't there. In the end the most they could offer was that it might of been psychosomatic, a diagnosis which offered no satisfaction for neither her nor her parents.
It was only when a certain man had overheard of the incident and sought them out did something resembling an answer appear. Invited to his office he told them that the issue was a rare and complex psychological disorder, something which could only be remedied through years of treatment in a specially equipped asylum. He offered them a choice: Keep their daughter and let her suffer uselessly for the rest of her life or hand her over to him where she could be treated and perhaps eventually cured.
Olivia (Her name at the time) could offer no counsel to her parents on the matter. She had been screaming from the pain for so long her voice was gone. All she could do was shiver in pain. In the end they chose to surrender her to the doctor. While it was natural for most decent parents to feel at least some reluctance towards parting with their child in truth she was more burden than joy for them. While their suspicions warned against the choice they couldn't help but yield to the voice of authority in the subject before them.
And so she was taken...
To Redrum Asylum.
On the surface it appeared to be exactly what it says on the tin, a rehabilitation and/or containment center for the mentally ill. They had their fair share of mentally ill there too. These people were treated according to the standard for psychiatric care, at least so it seemed. What the public couldn't see was that the very same building was also designed to contain and study the recent anomalies that have been appearing within the country. Built on a grant from the government the asylum itself was simply a front for them, a means of isolating these strange new phenomenons from public view so they could exercise greater leeway in their pursuit for an answer to what makes these entities tick. The less obvious beings were kept alongside the psychologically unstable while those who were more blatantly different were kept in the subterranean levels, barred from public access. For those stuck amongst the insane it didn't matter what they told others. Who would believe someone who's a patient in an asylum? Who would believe someone who claims to have special powers that the government wants to steal from them?
Nobody who didn't already know the truth.
The doctor ran tests on these entities be they human or otherwise. The tests were designed to either bring out these hidden powers in those who had trouble manifesting theirs or to observe the phenomenons in captivity. Full brain and body scans were common practice in the asylum. At her first test when she was brought in Olivia had no idea what was in store for her. Due to the purposefully sound proof design of the test chambers her pain had subsided for the most part, only flaring up at the occasional noise from the doctor himself.
When he brought her into the room he had her hooked up to a strange helmet and had several wires stuck onto with pads to measure her body's various responses to the stimuli. At first she was measured as resting rate and it was all normal. It was the only moment of peace she was granted. Then the helmet emitted a quiet tone, the tone growing louder after each phase was documented. Her pleas for them to stop fell on deaf ears as, due to her sensitivity towards sound, the test became utterly unbearable. Even the outdoors were nothing compared to the pain she suffered from the sounds being blasted into her head through the helmet. She couldn't even pass out to escape this suffering. The test only ended after the helmet had reached a volume just below the limit of what a human eardrum could take. She was dragged from her chair and back to her room, left to lay on her padded cell's floor, her eyes too dry from crying to cry anymore.
Every tear was a tear of pain.
This continued without end for the next eight years. Every three to four days she would be subjected to these horrible tests, all designed to bring out her latent powers so they could find it's roots. Outside of testing life was no less awful. The orderlies were largely men who would happily keep this all a secret for the power they had over the patients and a low hourly wage. There was no recourse for their actions so long as no one from the outside was watching so for a majority of the time they did whatever they felt like when they weren't actively working. Patients who were disruptive were no strangers to beatings. The doctor was fine with this since it afforded him useful blackmail material to ensure none of the staff involved would spill the truth of the asylum's real purpose to the public. Such amorality was a valuable tool in getting his men to help him subject the abnormal patients to truly horrible experiments, up to and including live dissection. All the while Babble was a spectator to it all, forced to listen to every crime against morality carried out.
In the midst of all this horror and misery was an issue of a far less ethically dark nature but still awful nonetheless. Every night the orderly on night watch would always leave the radio on all throughout the night, blasting rock music until morning. No matter how much she begged them to not leave the radio on her words were ignored. While the music was disruptive to all the patient's sleep on that wing none were more disturbed by it than Olivia. While the padded cell afforded her some protection from the outdoor sounds it did little to abate the sound of the radio. She was all but incapable of falling asleep naturally, forced to stay awake for days at a time until she simply passed out from exhaustion.
Between the tests, the sounds of human suffering and the radio keeping her from sleeping it was impossible to remain wholly sane for long. It all took a toll on her mind, loosening her grip on sanity year after year. It was this slip into madness however that started to allow her to begin seeing sound in a new light, both figuratively and a bit literally. Out of a need to protect herself from the sounds around her she started to interact with the sound around her in an attempt to silence it. Her practice was met with mixed success. At first she'd fiddle with sound only for it to come out even louder or distorted like the sound of aluminum foil being chewed. After a couple tries however she was starting to grasp just how to shrink and grow wave amplitudes.
This was just the start to her awakening.
While Olivia was starting to succeed the doctor's own success was slipping. None of the phenomenons were showing any clear evidence of the source to their strange abilities. Compared to the larger and better funded secret facilities his own operation was under-performing. He needed results and too many of his subjects were dying before they could yield any telling evidence. His frustration grew with each failure and it started to wear on his pride. He often took his frustrations out on the subjects, frequently berating Olivia, often calling her a "Babbling imbecile".
As for her she was understanding more and more the longer she had to test different ideas. She discovered that the vibrations in her voice, the infrasound, was great for scaring the orderlies. Refining the sound so as to remove the audible aspects to the noise she was able to project a sound which was imperceptible as a sound but created the feeling of anxiety, irritation, nervousness and a subtle ghostly figure which was always just out of sight. The visual effect was a result of the infrasound causing the discs in the eyes to vibrate subtly causing such visual trickery. Between the air feeling colder, their minds becoming more agitated and their eyes perceiving things out of the corner of their vision the infrasonic waves created the very feeling of being haunted in all who heard it.
Night after night, day after day she filled the halls with infrasound. What was once an easy job had become a dread filled experience for the amoral employees of the asylum. The patients had become increasingly difficult to handle due to the fear which filled the hearts of everyone. The ghost sightings became a common rumor all across the hospital and soon hysteria was all too common amidst both patient and orderly.
The time was right.
That night when the lone watchman sat at his desk, the radio left off as he could no longer appreciate the music when the concern over the ghost which roamed the halls was ever present, she set her plan into motion. All around the night watchman the walls suddenly erupted with laughter. The phantasmal cackling filled the air sending the man into a panic. He ran, leaving his desk and fleeing from the asylum. Using her power over sound she sent vibrations through the lock of her metal cell door, wiggling the tumblers in the locking mechanism about until they finally clicked open. Pushing the door open, a greater effort for her than for others given how her body was weak from the stress and the pain she had endured, she stepped out into the hall and made her way to the orderly's desk. With access to the command console for the locks she ran her palm across all the buttons, opening all the doors to the cells across her wing of the building.
What followed was a riot as lunatics and stranger things alike fought their way to the exit, smashing at the gates to make their way to freedom. Before she could make her own way out of the asylum however a hand grabbed her by the hair. The doctor had been watching her this entire time, secretly observing her progress. With people running about all over she had mistaken his footsteps for that of one of the patients.
He dragged her behind him down the halls until they reached the operation room. He strapped her arms down and picked up the buzz saw. Having a patient who had manifested her powers quite so fully there was only one step left: To remove her brain and study it to find the neural branches developed from learning her power. He was certain that he could find the breakthrough he needed there.
Focusing on the bolts holding the straps in place she sent vibrations through the straps into the metal, wiggling the bolts free as quickly as she could. Just as the doctor was about to cut open her head her straps came free and she reflexively reached up to block the roaring blade. Instead of her cranium the saw chewed into hands, the metal rending through them. Seeing as she had suffered for so long and so much the pain was little more than a distraction, especially now as fresh adrenaline enriched her blood. Luckily for her the straps around her wrists had slowed the saw down enough that it didn't cleanly cut through her arms and into her head, allowing her the time she needed to bolt from her chair.
She ran from that room, from the doctor, down the halls and out the front doors which swung open now. The rest of the patients had made their escape, lunatics and other beings flooding down into the city nearby. As she stepped out, looking up at the outside world for the first time in eight years, she could see smoke in the distance. No doubt the others were wreaking havoc upon the town amidst the chaos that their escape brought. She would not return to the city, at least not where she could be caught. She instead fled to the forest flanking the asylum, running past trees and over brush. Branches caught her clothes like so many tiny hands, tearing here and there at the fabric. Burs clung to the cuffs of her pant legs and thorns cut at her feet. She was hurt, she was bleeding, she was tired and her lungs burned from the effort of running for so long but she dared not stop, not until she was free from the doctor's reach once and for all.
At last freedom was hers.
She continued to walk when she could no longer run, staggering on for quite some time. She passed out only to awaken a short while later in the care of a couple hikers who had found her not far off the trail. They had done what they could, luckily for her one of them had a limited medical kit on him. Her arms were bandaged at the stumps and she had been given some water whilst she was out. She could hear the one hiker talking on the phone. He was speaking to police, calling for an ambulance.
She was not about to be taken in again, not by more doctors, not where he could find her. When the two weren't looking she canceled out the sound of her moving with waves of equal amplitude and length, getting up in total silence and running off into the woods. By the time the two noticed she was gone it was too late for them to chase her. They couldn't see which direction she had fled.
Since then she had taken shelter in an abandoned warehouse out at the edge of another city that was not too far from the one she had fled. This is where she resides, for now at least.
Just as she was getting ready to head back home to her dreary household a couple of students were up to some horseplay. One of them ended up tossing a book over his shoulder which fell and hit her square in the head. It was at this moment that something in her head was shook loose. In that very instant it was as if the whole world was exploding.
Shoes stepping, phones ringing, people talking, chalk on chalk boards, lockers closing, cars driving, birds singing, hearts beating, she could hear it all. Every sound, even down to the most shallow of frequencies, could be heard at a volume beyond which any other human could ever conceive. Every foot fall was akin to the explosion of a thousand atom bombs, every voice a crashing cacophony of meteoric proportions. It all went well past the point where human ears would simply break as there was no limit imposed on the method she received each sound. If a sound so much as existed by the time it reached her it was heard at the loudest possible volume such a noise could possibly exist at. Of course there was no way to discern each sound from one another. The louder sounds overlapped the quieter ones and blended with each other until it formed an astronomically loud concert of discordant noises.
Of course nobody else could hear this. From the average spectator's point of view the girl was struck across the back of the head by a heavy book and then proceeded to collapse to the ground clutching her head and screaming in agony while writhing about.
Her parents took her to every doctor they could find. Not a single one of them could identify what was wrong. It was hard to find something that wasn't there. In the end the most they could offer was that it might of been psychosomatic, a diagnosis which offered no satisfaction for neither her nor her parents.
It was only when a certain man had overheard of the incident and sought them out did something resembling an answer appear. Invited to his office he told them that the issue was a rare and complex psychological disorder, something which could only be remedied through years of treatment in a specially equipped asylum. He offered them a choice: Keep their daughter and let her suffer uselessly for the rest of her life or hand her over to him where she could be treated and perhaps eventually cured.
Olivia (Her name at the time) could offer no counsel to her parents on the matter. She had been screaming from the pain for so long her voice was gone. All she could do was shiver in pain. In the end they chose to surrender her to the doctor. While it was natural for most decent parents to feel at least some reluctance towards parting with their child in truth she was more burden than joy for them. While their suspicions warned against the choice they couldn't help but yield to the voice of authority in the subject before them.
And so she was taken...
To Redrum Asylum.
On the surface it appeared to be exactly what it says on the tin, a rehabilitation and/or containment center for the mentally ill. They had their fair share of mentally ill there too. These people were treated according to the standard for psychiatric care, at least so it seemed. What the public couldn't see was that the very same building was also designed to contain and study the recent anomalies that have been appearing within the country. Built on a grant from the government the asylum itself was simply a front for them, a means of isolating these strange new phenomenons from public view so they could exercise greater leeway in their pursuit for an answer to what makes these entities tick. The less obvious beings were kept alongside the psychologically unstable while those who were more blatantly different were kept in the subterranean levels, barred from public access. For those stuck amongst the insane it didn't matter what they told others. Who would believe someone who's a patient in an asylum? Who would believe someone who claims to have special powers that the government wants to steal from them?
Nobody who didn't already know the truth.
The doctor ran tests on these entities be they human or otherwise. The tests were designed to either bring out these hidden powers in those who had trouble manifesting theirs or to observe the phenomenons in captivity. Full brain and body scans were common practice in the asylum. At her first test when she was brought in Olivia had no idea what was in store for her. Due to the purposefully sound proof design of the test chambers her pain had subsided for the most part, only flaring up at the occasional noise from the doctor himself.
When he brought her into the room he had her hooked up to a strange helmet and had several wires stuck onto with pads to measure her body's various responses to the stimuli. At first she was measured as resting rate and it was all normal. It was the only moment of peace she was granted. Then the helmet emitted a quiet tone, the tone growing louder after each phase was documented. Her pleas for them to stop fell on deaf ears as, due to her sensitivity towards sound, the test became utterly unbearable. Even the outdoors were nothing compared to the pain she suffered from the sounds being blasted into her head through the helmet. She couldn't even pass out to escape this suffering. The test only ended after the helmet had reached a volume just below the limit of what a human eardrum could take. She was dragged from her chair and back to her room, left to lay on her padded cell's floor, her eyes too dry from crying to cry anymore.
Every tear was a tear of pain.
This continued without end for the next eight years. Every three to four days she would be subjected to these horrible tests, all designed to bring out her latent powers so they could find it's roots. Outside of testing life was no less awful. The orderlies were largely men who would happily keep this all a secret for the power they had over the patients and a low hourly wage. There was no recourse for their actions so long as no one from the outside was watching so for a majority of the time they did whatever they felt like when they weren't actively working. Patients who were disruptive were no strangers to beatings. The doctor was fine with this since it afforded him useful blackmail material to ensure none of the staff involved would spill the truth of the asylum's real purpose to the public. Such amorality was a valuable tool in getting his men to help him subject the abnormal patients to truly horrible experiments, up to and including live dissection. All the while Babble was a spectator to it all, forced to listen to every crime against morality carried out.
In the midst of all this horror and misery was an issue of a far less ethically dark nature but still awful nonetheless. Every night the orderly on night watch would always leave the radio on all throughout the night, blasting rock music until morning. No matter how much she begged them to not leave the radio on her words were ignored. While the music was disruptive to all the patient's sleep on that wing none were more disturbed by it than Olivia. While the padded cell afforded her some protection from the outdoor sounds it did little to abate the sound of the radio. She was all but incapable of falling asleep naturally, forced to stay awake for days at a time until she simply passed out from exhaustion.
Between the tests, the sounds of human suffering and the radio keeping her from sleeping it was impossible to remain wholly sane for long. It all took a toll on her mind, loosening her grip on sanity year after year. It was this slip into madness however that started to allow her to begin seeing sound in a new light, both figuratively and a bit literally. Out of a need to protect herself from the sounds around her she started to interact with the sound around her in an attempt to silence it. Her practice was met with mixed success. At first she'd fiddle with sound only for it to come out even louder or distorted like the sound of aluminum foil being chewed. After a couple tries however she was starting to grasp just how to shrink and grow wave amplitudes.
This was just the start to her awakening.
While Olivia was starting to succeed the doctor's own success was slipping. None of the phenomenons were showing any clear evidence of the source to their strange abilities. Compared to the larger and better funded secret facilities his own operation was under-performing. He needed results and too many of his subjects were dying before they could yield any telling evidence. His frustration grew with each failure and it started to wear on his pride. He often took his frustrations out on the subjects, frequently berating Olivia, often calling her a "Babbling imbecile".
As for her she was understanding more and more the longer she had to test different ideas. She discovered that the vibrations in her voice, the infrasound, was great for scaring the orderlies. Refining the sound so as to remove the audible aspects to the noise she was able to project a sound which was imperceptible as a sound but created the feeling of anxiety, irritation, nervousness and a subtle ghostly figure which was always just out of sight. The visual effect was a result of the infrasound causing the discs in the eyes to vibrate subtly causing such visual trickery. Between the air feeling colder, their minds becoming more agitated and their eyes perceiving things out of the corner of their vision the infrasonic waves created the very feeling of being haunted in all who heard it.
Night after night, day after day she filled the halls with infrasound. What was once an easy job had become a dread filled experience for the amoral employees of the asylum. The patients had become increasingly difficult to handle due to the fear which filled the hearts of everyone. The ghost sightings became a common rumor all across the hospital and soon hysteria was all too common amidst both patient and orderly.
The time was right.
That night when the lone watchman sat at his desk, the radio left off as he could no longer appreciate the music when the concern over the ghost which roamed the halls was ever present, she set her plan into motion. All around the night watchman the walls suddenly erupted with laughter. The phantasmal cackling filled the air sending the man into a panic. He ran, leaving his desk and fleeing from the asylum. Using her power over sound she sent vibrations through the lock of her metal cell door, wiggling the tumblers in the locking mechanism about until they finally clicked open. Pushing the door open, a greater effort for her than for others given how her body was weak from the stress and the pain she had endured, she stepped out into the hall and made her way to the orderly's desk. With access to the command console for the locks she ran her palm across all the buttons, opening all the doors to the cells across her wing of the building.
What followed was a riot as lunatics and stranger things alike fought their way to the exit, smashing at the gates to make their way to freedom. Before she could make her own way out of the asylum however a hand grabbed her by the hair. The doctor had been watching her this entire time, secretly observing her progress. With people running about all over she had mistaken his footsteps for that of one of the patients.
He dragged her behind him down the halls until they reached the operation room. He strapped her arms down and picked up the buzz saw. Having a patient who had manifested her powers quite so fully there was only one step left: To remove her brain and study it to find the neural branches developed from learning her power. He was certain that he could find the breakthrough he needed there.
Focusing on the bolts holding the straps in place she sent vibrations through the straps into the metal, wiggling the bolts free as quickly as she could. Just as the doctor was about to cut open her head her straps came free and she reflexively reached up to block the roaring blade. Instead of her cranium the saw chewed into hands, the metal rending through them. Seeing as she had suffered for so long and so much the pain was little more than a distraction, especially now as fresh adrenaline enriched her blood. Luckily for her the straps around her wrists had slowed the saw down enough that it didn't cleanly cut through her arms and into her head, allowing her the time she needed to bolt from her chair.
She ran from that room, from the doctor, down the halls and out the front doors which swung open now. The rest of the patients had made their escape, lunatics and other beings flooding down into the city nearby. As she stepped out, looking up at the outside world for the first time in eight years, she could see smoke in the distance. No doubt the others were wreaking havoc upon the town amidst the chaos that their escape brought. She would not return to the city, at least not where she could be caught. She instead fled to the forest flanking the asylum, running past trees and over brush. Branches caught her clothes like so many tiny hands, tearing here and there at the fabric. Burs clung to the cuffs of her pant legs and thorns cut at her feet. She was hurt, she was bleeding, she was tired and her lungs burned from the effort of running for so long but she dared not stop, not until she was free from the doctor's reach once and for all.
At last freedom was hers.
She continued to walk when she could no longer run, staggering on for quite some time. She passed out only to awaken a short while later in the care of a couple hikers who had found her not far off the trail. They had done what they could, luckily for her one of them had a limited medical kit on him. Her arms were bandaged at the stumps and she had been given some water whilst she was out. She could hear the one hiker talking on the phone. He was speaking to police, calling for an ambulance.
She was not about to be taken in again, not by more doctors, not where he could find her. When the two weren't looking she canceled out the sound of her moving with waves of equal amplitude and length, getting up in total silence and running off into the woods. By the time the two noticed she was gone it was too late for them to chase her. They couldn't see which direction she had fled.
Since then she had taken shelter in an abandoned warehouse out at the edge of another city that was not too far from the one she had fled. This is where she resides, for now at least.
Abilities:
Babble controls sound. Every facet of sound, from wavelengths and amplitudes to vibrations and sonic pressure she is intrinsically tied to everything that is sound. She controls it not through any physical medium but through her will. When she hears sound it is not through her ears but rather it is her mind perceiving the waves directly and interpreting them. Because of this all her senses interact with sound, no longer just as an audible medium but a visual and textile experience as well. She feels sound like it's an extension of herself, an ethereal limb that's simultaneously attached and disconnected from her. Unlike her own limbs however there is no instinct for controlling sound. Understanding is something to be earned.
Her limitations are the very limitations of sound itself. Much like how the potency of sound diminishes inversely proportionate to the distance it travels by the cubic magnitude the power she's able to generate deteriorates rapidly the further away from her the target location is. Just like sound itself the thinner the medium she's transmitting her sound through the weaker the effects become. The resistance of the material her sound is traveling through also effects the potency of the sound. The focus and concentration of the sound she generates affects how quickly the power of the said sound diminishes.
Naturally given the complexity of the field she controls it is fiendishly difficult to properly wield her power. Only after years of being victim to it's uncontrolled effects was she even able to stop it from prolonging her suffering. Her control is largely limited by her understanding of sound itself which while more in-depth than most people's understanding of sound is still fathomless miles away from her true potential.
She also doesn't fully understand how her ties to sound go far deeper than just control. Mystically she and sound are one and the same. As such anything that manipulates sound also affects her to an extent.
Equipment:
Nothing but the clothes on her back.
Other:
- Having no access to her hands for a long time now she's honed her flexibility to a considerable degree to help her compensate, making do however she must.
Dead Cruiser Dishonour Before Death / Better You Than Me
Member
Seen
14 days ago
Forgive me for this violence I am about to inflict.
Name: Azrael Irkalla
Age: 26 (Earth Years)
Birthdate: 14/26
Gender: Male
Nationality: Born on Rayyud, Currently in service to the Knights of Metatron on Erelim, lives in the United States, Earth.
Appearance:
Height: 6'3"
Weight: 270 lbs
Fashion Sense: While normally he wears an assortment of robes and sandals, on Earth he has adopted athletic wear such as sneakers, yoga tights, muscle shirts, and so on. Still fond of sandals and parading shirtless, however.
Distinguishing Features: Large bundle of dreadlocks typically tied up behind his head. His aura flares with violet flame when he activates his abilities.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"I was not planning on sparing them to begin with. All they have done is revealed the depth of their desperation, like the cornered vermin they are."
A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"I wish them well on their journey. Reach Heaven Through Violence."
Where do you go when you die?
"Mortals are not blessed with reincarnation as the sacred angels are. We are given the gift of cessation of existence, and so our souls burn all the brighter."
Backstory: Azrael was born the son of a citizen-soldier on a faraway world known as Rayyud. He lived a simple life, caring for his mother and sisters while his father was at war. However, when he was just barely a man, ruin came to Rayyud. Invaders from beyond the stars laid waste to his home, and stripped it bare. The soil, the oceans, even Rayyud's sun was stolen by these conquerors before they fled back to the stars. His family dead and his world barely hospitable, Azrael should have given up the will to live. However, the fire of rage borne of injustice burned in his heart, and he clung to life despite his world's desolation. Salvation came in the form of an angel, one in service to the Knights of Metatron. A peacekeeping force between the worlds, the angel had arrived too late to save Rayyud, but just in time to save Azrael. Seeing the powerful being, he begged it to take him with it, so he could become strong enough to ensure this calamity never befell another world. The angel took pity on Azrael, and spirited him away back to Erelim, the homeworld of the Knights of Metatron.
On Erelim, Azrael was forced to undergo trials to see if he could join the ranks of the Knights. Most mortals could not survive these tasks, and none had lived through the final trial in generations. To finally be inducted as a Knight, one had to listen to the word of Metatron, the last living Prime Angel, the titans forged by the gods themselves. Though his ears and eyes bled from the Prime Angel's speech, Azrael clung to life, and Azrael became the first mortal in decades to become a Knight of Metatron. As one of them, he was trained in the secretive martial arts of the angelic host, and taught to harness the spark of divine power within his mortal soul. He grew powerful quickly, his righteous fury spurring him on, and he never lost sight of his goal to avenge his homeworld.
The Knights' prognosticators had a vision of another world befalling a similar fate as Rayyud, and though his training was still incomplete, Azrael begged them to allow him to intervene. Normally he would have been forbidden, but the people of this world greatly resembled Azrael's race, where an angel would have been seen as an aberration. He was allowed to travel to this world, Earth, to live among their kind and endeavor to save the planet from ruin. Since being sent to Earth, Azrael has found himself in a place called Los Angeles, and has done surprisingly well to integrate himself among humankind. His talents in physical training, martial arts, and meditation, as well as his interest in tea have all lent him the air of a sophisticated spiritualist, though he has been described as a "hipster" by some, more ignorant humans. He has lived on Earth for two years now, living as a barista by day, and continuing his training in astral form by night, still living in anticipation for calamity to befall Earth.
Abilities:
Azrael is trained in the angelic martial art known as the Path of Seven Kings, which has imbued him with tremendous physical strength and preternatural power. He can lift an ox-cart over his head one-handed, and can pulverize stone with his bare fists. His fighting technique is superb and sharply disciplined, and so he is formidable against even foes that surpass him in sheer strength. The Path of Seven Kings is reliant on unlocking spiritual "gates" within one's soul, with the intent of unlocking all seven and achieving a form of physical and spiritual enlightenment known as "ROYALTY." So far, Azrael has unlocked the gates of "GLORY," "TOWER," "FLAME," and "DIAMOND," leaving three gates still to be unlocked. The so-far unlocked gates bestow him with the ability to project his blows at a distance as though his spiritual power was a projectile, his supernatural strength, the power to project his astral form and commune with others that can do the same, and his flesh is imbued with extreme hardness and durability.
Equipment: Azrael possesses a Magus Key, essentially his ticket "home." A small, unassuming object resembling a pearl, it can open portals between worlds, and this one is tuned to return him to Erelim.
He is also is in possession of a bottle of a curious substance from the slum known as Hell 71, "Blue Devil Liquor." A strange alcoholic liquid with unusual side-effects when ingested by mortals, those who imbibe the liquor (which Azrael already has) gain the ability to speak Universal Metaconstant, the primordial tongue from which all others are derived, thus gaining the ability to speak and understand essentially any language.
Other: Azrael has proved to be surprisingly popular among Earthlings near his age, and has quite a few friends that share his passion for tea. He is also quite enjoying this "yoga" business.
Theme
Sorry, but I'm gonna crack your skull open.
Name:
David Grivois
Age:
34
Birthdate:
September 18th
Gender:
Male
Nationality:
Canadian
Appearance:
Height:
6'0"
Weight:
180 lbs
Fashion Sense:
David frequently wears long coats, both in and out of battle. While in combat zones or on missions, he also dons black cargo pants, combat boots, and a tactical vest.
Distinguishing Features:
Wears a grenadier belt around his waist that carries several different types of grenade.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
-How do you feel about explosions?
"Any problem on Earth can be solved with the careful application of high explosives. The trick is not to be around when they go off."
-Where do you go when you die?
"The ground Or spread over a river if that's your thing."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Huh, that's a little personal. I guess failure. Or ostriches, fuckin' Christ, you ever see one of those thing up close?"
"Any problem on Earth can be solved with the careful application of high explosives. The trick is not to be around when they go off."
-Where do you go when you die?
"The ground Or spread over a river if that's your thing."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Huh, that's a little personal. I guess failure. Or ostriches, fuckin' Christ, you ever see one of those thing up close?"
Backstory:
David was quite literally born for his job.
His mother was a woman who had volunteered to carry a genetically augmented child to term. She signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement and was paid by a highly secretive UN initiative. Any record of the transaction or of her involvement with the initiative was erased. She gave birth to David and that was that. David himself was a healthy baby who was raised around other children his age, brought in for the sole purpose of nurturing David.
As he grew up, the augments placed within him revealed themselves. His brain was altered to be extremely receptive to education. He learned extraordinarily quickly, and by age twelve was performing at the college-level in mathematics, sciences, language arts, you name it. By fifteen, he was beating trained military operatives in hand-to-hand combat. Throughout his entire upbringing, the idea that he existed to be the perfect soldier was reinforced in his mind by the people who looked after him. At sixteen he was fitted for a highly experimental arm prosthetic and sent on his first combat mission. He quickly racked up kills with both his incredibly thorough training and his arsenal of cutting edge weaponry.
However, there is such a thing as too successful and, fearing the capabilities of more soldiers like David, the UN dissolved the entire initiative and tried to have David killed. He managed to escape, however, stealing a sword and gun that were fresh from development and went underground. He resurfaced years later in Canada, were he continued to rack up kills as a gun-for-hire. He underwent all sorts of missions for cash, including high-profile assassinations and stealing Government secrets. Eventually, he was sent on a mission unlike any he'd ever been on before. He was tasked with eliminating a Private Military Company known as Still Water.
The idea of destroying an entire private army was, honestly completely ridiculous. However, David accepted the mission just the same. It ended up being his longest yet. After spending months in the wildlands of Lithuania, where Still Water was based, he managed to sneak into their base.
He was in for the most grueling fight of his life.
Managing to keep to enclosed hallways and confined spaces to avoid hails of gunfire, David demonstrated his raw talent for staying on his feet and engaged scores of soldiers in CQC. His clothes, his skin, the walls, they were coated, painted red by thick swathes of blood. He could taste it. It was all he could smell. The handle of his sword grew slick, but he swung it still. His heart was beating in his ears, that and his breathing were all he could hear. Soldiers would take aim with firearms and he would use their comrades and his right arm as shields. Over hours upon hours, his hyper-focused mind never drifted, even when his body began to creak and moan.
Eventually the fighting had to come to an end, and he broke away to download their missile launch codes onto a a touchpad that was piggybacking on a satellite signal. He made his escape by hijacking an IFV, but had enemies hot on his heels as he drove away from the base, swerving and driving erratically to avoid incoming fire. He realized he was running out of road and luck, however, and he doubted he would make it to minimum safe distance before his vehicle was riddled and disabled. He used the touchpad to remotely launch Still Water's missiles. The target was their own headquarters. As his right front tire was shot to shit and the IFV began to swerve and tumble, a massive ball of flame swallowed up both his pursuers and himself.
When David awoke, he had been thrown some ways away and was barely alive. He was beat to shit and wracked with pain, but he was still alive. The fight against an entire army had made him realize why he'd had such an aptitude for this line of work. He loved fighting and didn't mind killing. He loved proving himself the strongest.
And he had every intention to keep on proving it.
Abilities:
Well Trained - David has received some of the best training any military power can offer. He's sparred against soldiers from the JDF, the IDF, the U.S Marines. He's got exceptional strength, agility, reflexes, and stamina for an adult male of his build. He is also proficient in Krav Maga, Brazilian Jujitsu, Aikido, and, his personal favorite, wrestling. He combines those martial arts with his right arm to create an MMA style completely unique to him.
High-Speed Analysis - David was groomed since infantry to become what he is, and part of that grooming was mental training. He can observe enemies and make battle plans on the fly, even in the midst of a knock-down, drag-out brawl.
Tough as Nails - Come Hell or high water, David can stay on his feet. It takes a lot of damage and fatigue to get him to fall, and he can fight for an absurdly long time.
Equipment:
XM-13: "God Hand" - David's right forearm has been replaced with a high-tech prosthetic. The arm is incredibly sturdy, and has a number of features.
- Collapsible Shield: The arm contains a collapsible shield, roughly the size of a dinner plate. It can be unfolded and then re-folded at will, and is capable of defending David from most small-arms fire.
- Elbow Thrusters: Around the elbow are several miniaturized thrusters that can be used to give David's punches greatly increased force.
- Palm Thruster: On the palm is another thruster which can be used for short spurts of high-speed movement and mid-air maneuverability.
- Grenade Launcher: The fist can fold downward, revealing a grenade launcher in the wrist. The launcher holds one round before needing to be reloaded, and David wears ammunition around his waist. He carries smoke, stun, and explosive grenades, two of each.
"Carmilla" - Carmilla is a uniquely designed melee weapon. It is the combination of a greatsword and a combat knife, with a laser-sharpened edge, which gives it a surgical level of cutting power. It can carve through a person like a hot knife through butter.
XM-45 "Big Bertha" - Big Bertha is David's gun. It's a shotgun created to be the size of a pistol without any drop in stopping power. The recoil is so strong that David must use both hands to be anything close to accurate with it.
Other:
Dave's left-handed.
LemonZest1337 Fresh and Zesty
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
Man it feels good to be a demon
Name: Nathan Price
Age: Physically - 22 / Actually - 23
Birthdate: 31st of April. Don’t @ me.
Gender: Chad
Nationality: British Lvl100
Appearance:
Height:
6’0
Weight:
165lbs
Fashion Sense:
Natha is always, always in his suit. There isn’t a second of the day where his suit isn’t on. To match his suit Nathan wears only the fanciest of dress shoes, matt colours are for peasants.
Distinguishing Features:
Sometimes Nathan can be found sporting some classic demon features. Crocked horns that resemble lightning bolts and a thin tail tipped with an arrowhead. Also, his eyes can act independently of one another be it expanding, constricting or just going cross-eyed Nathan can do it all. Aside from that, the picture captures him well.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
” Hey welcome to the club, we’ve got shirts.”
A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
” Fuck dude I hate Mondays… Also. Maaaan, I’m going to have to deal with them later aren’t I?” ” Probably.”
Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
” We killing that guy?” ” We’ll roll a dice on it. Anything above zero and we kill em.
How do you feel about explosions?
” Yes!” ”Dude these questions are for me.” ” Bitch I said yes!
You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
” I’ll just find their home and burn it to the ground. Easy clap."
Where do you go when you die?
” I’ll take this one it’s easy. Hell you dumbass, you’re asking a demon where he’s going when he dies.”
What's your worst nightmare?
” Hmmm… Porbably priest, like even before the half demon stuff.
Do you believe in karma?
” Nah Annoroth say she’s fake, or at the very least isn’t a demon.”
Can evil people be rehabilitated?
” Some of them. But honestly where’s the fun in that? Fuck I think Anny is rubbing off on me.”
Are you a bad person?
”Define bad.”
” Hey welcome to the club, we’ve got shirts.”
A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
” Fuck dude I hate Mondays… Also. Maaaan, I’m going to have to deal with them later aren’t I?” ” Probably.”
Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
” We killing that guy?” ” We’ll roll a dice on it. Anything above zero and we kill em.
How do you feel about explosions?
” Yes!” ”Dude these questions are for me.” ” Bitch I said yes!
You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
” I’ll just find their home and burn it to the ground. Easy clap."
Where do you go when you die?
” I’ll take this one it’s easy. Hell you dumbass, you’re asking a demon where he’s going when he dies.”
What's your worst nightmare?
” Hmmm… Porbably priest, like even before the half demon stuff.
Do you believe in karma?
” Nah Annoroth say she’s fake, or at the very least isn’t a demon.”
Can evil people be rehabilitated?
” Some of them. But honestly where’s the fun in that? Fuck I think Anny is rubbing off on me.”
Are you a bad person?
”Define bad.”
Backstory:
” Alright so we can skim over all the boring stuff, dad left, flunked out of school blah blah blah. Mum said I was hanging out with the ‘wrong’ crowd so she bailed too, don’t blame her honestly those thugs were a bunch of twats. So yeah... I’d managed to get myself stuck under the thumb of this drug lord douchebag named Antonio. This is where things start to get interesting.
So Mr DL’s got me going out and making the deals for him. Basically using me as a salesman, me being the absolute legend that I am, do this flawlessly and get the guy a metric shit load of business. Aaaand then I fucked up and sold some coke to a cop. Needless to say, Antonio was less than pleased to find his operation compromised. So I had to get out of town cuz the fuzz and Antonio’s goons were on my ass.”
” Could you speed this up? This much blood is only going to keep this portal open for another three minutes.”
” Ok shit uhh… Hitman! Yeah that’s it set by Antonio ended up being my fucking dad! That’s why the prick left. You can imagine the shock on his face when he pulled a gun on me, only alive because the dumbass flinched. But yeah, dad and the cops are still on my case, so I was wondering if you could help a brother out.”
” Well the thing is, if you’re looking for long term help then this portal isn’t going to cut it. Can’t do much if I’m stuck I’m sucked back to hell. Well unless I inhabit your body.”
” Ok hold up. Inhabit my body? You’re a demon, right? What’s the catch?”
” The catch is I inhabit your body. I’ll be part of you. And sometimes I’ll take the reigns, I’ve always wanted to get out of hell. It’s kinda dull down her after a few thousand years. Oh quick question, how’d you figure out how to summon me?”
” I found a book in the library, but that’s beside the point. You’re going to inhabit and control me? Sounds like you’re the only winner here. What do I get from this?”
” Well first off I’ll only take the wheel sometimes. As for the perks you’d get demonic powers, magic, immortality all that good stuff… You got thirty seconds.”
” .... Fuck it fine. Get in here. But I warn you, you fuck me over and I’ll find a way to fuck you up. Still don’t know why you needed for me to tell you my story though.”
” I was checking to see if you were a pussy. Lucky for you, you’re not. Now sit still, this might sting.”
So Mr DL’s got me going out and making the deals for him. Basically using me as a salesman, me being the absolute legend that I am, do this flawlessly and get the guy a metric shit load of business. Aaaand then I fucked up and sold some coke to a cop. Needless to say, Antonio was less than pleased to find his operation compromised. So I had to get out of town cuz the fuzz and Antonio’s goons were on my ass.”
” Could you speed this up? This much blood is only going to keep this portal open for another three minutes.”
” Ok shit uhh… Hitman! Yeah that’s it set by Antonio ended up being my fucking dad! That’s why the prick left. You can imagine the shock on his face when he pulled a gun on me, only alive because the dumbass flinched. But yeah, dad and the cops are still on my case, so I was wondering if you could help a brother out.”
” Well the thing is, if you’re looking for long term help then this portal isn’t going to cut it. Can’t do much if I’m stuck I’m sucked back to hell. Well unless I inhabit your body.”
” Ok hold up. Inhabit my body? You’re a demon, right? What’s the catch?”
” The catch is I inhabit your body. I’ll be part of you. And sometimes I’ll take the reigns, I’ve always wanted to get out of hell. It’s kinda dull down her after a few thousand years. Oh quick question, how’d you figure out how to summon me?”
” I found a book in the library, but that’s beside the point. You’re going to inhabit and control me? Sounds like you’re the only winner here. What do I get from this?”
” Well first off I’ll only take the wheel sometimes. As for the perks you’d get demonic powers, magic, immortality all that good stuff… You got thirty seconds.”
” .... Fuck it fine. Get in here. But I warn you, you fuck me over and I’ll find a way to fuck you up. Still don’t know why you needed for me to tell you my story though.”
” I was checking to see if you were a pussy. Lucky for you, you’re not. Now sit still, this might sting.”
Turns out being half-demon isn’t all that bad, especially when you pick a demon as awesome as Annoroth. With her help, I’ve managed to get my ass out of the UK. Dad’s still after me though, fucker almost got me twice actually.
Things are looking good aside from that though, I get to have sick powers and get to fuck with people while Annoroth gets to have some fun chilling in this dimension. Ended up being a win-win situation.
Things are looking good aside from that though, I get to have sick powers and get to fuck with people while Annoroth gets to have some fun chilling in this dimension. Ended up being a win-win situation.
Abilities:
Who needs a doctor: Nathan can regenerate from most wound, things like bullets mean little to him. His regeneration is not passive and it requires him to actively heal himself, and while it is very potent he can’t just keep healing endlessly. Healing takes up a lot of gogo juice. So dealing consistent damage is the best way to take him down.
Good thing I keep extras: Nathan can summon small scale objects. Things like clothing or pieces of paper. These objects dissipate if they are too far away from Nathan, turning into thick black smoke.
Fire baby: Nathan has low level pyrokinesis. Fireballs and jets of flame are his bread and butter. Won’t be making any massive explosions though, at least not without hurting himself.
Poof: Nathan can “teleport” short distances, with a current max range of 15 meters. When he teleports Nathan turns into a cloud of smoke that quickly floats to his desired location before reforming into whatever state he was in when he started.
Who needs the gym: Being half-demon Nathan is a little stronger than your average person. roughly twice as strong.
Talk about sharp nails: Nathan can transform parts of his body and use them as weapons. Nathan uses this to make claws and quills all sorts of things. Though he’s limited to rather primitive constructions at the moment. He can also do things like bulk himself up to add some extra strength or harden his skin so it can resist attacks more effectively.
I’ll take the wheel: If Nathan finds himself in a pickle he doesn’t quite know to get out of Annoroth can take control and have a crack at it. The main benefit of this is that Annoroth is a much better fighter and knows how you use all of Natha’s powers well, given that those powers are drawn from Annoroth.
21 again: Nathan doesn't age. He can still be killed and all that. But he's not going to keel over from old age.
Limitations: Only having had his powers for a little over a year Nathan hasn’t had the opportunity to fully explore or develop his abilities. Nathan’s body is also still super young for a demon-human hybrid and has a long way to go before it’s strong enough to handle the full extent of Annoroth’s power. It’ll take time to reach his max potential.
Equipment:
”I can summon fire. Why would I need weapons?”
Other:
Yeah this kid is at least 45% crazy.
Manzanilla 🌿✨🍵
Member
Seen
7 days ago
"DON'T UNDERESTIMATE PEOPLE'S STUPIDITY. OR YOUR OWN."
» N A M E
Morgan Linville
» A G E
18
» B I R T H D A T E
November, 19
» G E N D E R
Male
» N A T I O N A L I T Y
Franch
» A P P E R A N C E
» H E I G H T
5'7
» W E I G H T
155lbs
» F A S H I O N S E N S E
Morgan prefers comfort over anything else. Which is why he tends to wear sports clothing as everyday clothing. He tends to wear form-fitting sweats or jeans with sneakers that compliment his tops. Oversized sweaters and jackets are something Morgan holds dear close to his heart. "Street fashion" would be the perfect way to describe Morgan sense of fashion. Although he does love to dress up for special occasions and isn't afraid to sport a dress when he feels like it. He's got killer legs anyway.
Morgan always carries some sort of bag, be it a bright-colored backpack or a cute fanny pack that seems to be bottomless and filled with all sorts of candies. Nothing but candies.
» D E S T I N G I S H I N G F E A T U R E S
Morgan likes to paint his nails black, has a small scar on his right cheek, his two ears are pierced and has another piercing on his tongue.
» B I O G R A P H Y
» P E R S O N A L I T Y Q U E S T I O N S
-You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"While I am flattered that someone would do such a thing for just my cute butt, I am not gonna put up with that bullshit. Nu-uh, honey, you gonna get your ass beat. Still, I'm kind of flustered someone would even come close to giving up who they are just to beat me. Oh my, I'm blushing now!"
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"No hard feelings. Their loss anyway. I got no time for romance anyway, got people to beat and candy to eat."
-Are you a bad person?
"I wouldn't say bad, but I wouldn't say good. Depends on who you are asking. Ask one of those monsters I have defeated and turned into my own minions, and they'll tell you I'm bad. If you ask that little girl, who's cat I saved with one of my monsters she'll just cry. In my opinion, I'm great!"
-Where do you go when you die?
"In my line of work death is something I am pretty close to. I raise the death! Though, I haven't sat down with one of them to really ask them where I am getting them from. My family believed that Death would welcome our family since they borrow from her realm. Kinda.
It doesn't matter to mee too much anyway; I got enough on my plate while I am alive to even worry about that. I just hope they got sweets if I ever do die, because if there is none, then it really is somewhere horrible."
"While I am flattered that someone would do such a thing for just my cute butt, I am not gonna put up with that bullshit. Nu-uh, honey, you gonna get your ass beat. Still, I'm kind of flustered someone would even come close to giving up who they are just to beat me. Oh my, I'm blushing now!"
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"No hard feelings. Their loss anyway. I got no time for romance anyway, got people to beat and candy to eat."
-Are you a bad person?
"I wouldn't say bad, but I wouldn't say good. Depends on who you are asking. Ask one of those monsters I have defeated and turned into my own minions, and they'll tell you I'm bad. If you ask that little girl, who's cat I saved with one of my monsters she'll just cry. In my opinion, I'm great!"
-Where do you go when you die?
"In my line of work death is something I am pretty close to. I raise the death! Though, I haven't sat down with one of them to really ask them where I am getting them from. My family believed that Death would welcome our family since they borrow from her realm. Kinda.
It doesn't matter to mee too much anyway; I got enough on my plate while I am alive to even worry about that. I just hope they got sweets if I ever do die, because if there is none, then it really is somewhere horrible."
» B A C K S T O R Y
Morgan's family are necromancers by nature. His great great great great great... great grandmother became the first one to raise the dead and do her bidding. Of course, with that power came great responsibility and stuff like that. Cadbury also came with all that- a now cute brown bunny who grants the Linville the power to do what they do. Morgan isn't too sure how Cadbury first made contact with his ancestors, but he doesn't really care about the details. A few decades ago, before Morgan was even born, Cadbury came out with the truth and told the family about his little game with other powerful entities, and now the whole family is chill with it.
Morgan doesn't mind killing other demons and putting them in his own arsenal of the undead. For him, the whole deal between Cadbury and his family is a win-win situation. Although, at the start, Cadbury did not look as cute as he did. Morgan had to take matters into his own little hands and give that little demon a whole makeover!
Away with the gothic look and in with the cute street and modern fashion!
Now, Morgan travels around with Cadbury at his side, fighting and defeating enemies left and right.
It wasn't what Morgan thought he would be doing. If someone were to tell him, he would be raising the undead to fight for him, and he could turn into a giant red fox Morgan would have laughed his ass off. And yet, look at him now! Away from his charming gothic-themed home in France and traveling the world with a cute little bunny.
Why is he doing this? Who knows! Morgan doesn't care! It's all about living in the moment and seeing the world! Could Morgan be running away from his responsibilities as head of the family? Could he be trying to find a better purpose in life? Is Morgan just trying to run away? Is he not ready to take up some many responsibilities?
He doesn't know!
All that Morgan knows is that he enjoys candy, Cadbury's funny little insults, and raising the dead. Oh, and killing his enemies. Don't forget that. Or that he can turn into a fox!
Right, the fox part.
Morgan has a soft spot for the sick and old who are suffering of pain. He often seeks those people or just stumbles upon them. When that happens he tends to transform into his fox form and take their souls, making sure to make the prcess and painless and quickly as he can. Becuase of this, some people have started to call him the Red Fox of Death. While some see him as merciful, others see him as aa curse.
He doesn't mind which, as along as he could do his job.
» A B I L I T I E S
Necromancer/Candymancer:
- Aurora Absorption - Morgan can absorb the soul or aurora from a dying subject and use it to his advantage by gaining the subject's abilities for a short amount of time or can use it form a protective shield around him. This requires a short-range in order to cast. This also applies to already trapped souls.
- Fox of Death - Morgan's most powerful spell in which he can turn himself into a 20ft red fox, with a cute pink bow. While in this form, the area around Morgan becomes covered in shadows of undead and plant life died under his paws. He becomes faster, more agile, and stronger. Although he is a giant fox, Morgan can still cast minor spells; such as control undead or walls of undead.
- Summoning Magic - Morgan can cast spells passed down through generations to summon ghosts, demons, undead, and monsters from beyond the dead. He has added his own spin to these old spells which result in the monsters usually covered in delicious-looking candies and other sweets. He has a limit to how many of each "minions" he can summon per day.
- Death's Touch - With just a touch, Morgan can instantly kill a living subject close to death's door. He usually resorts to this when the subject or in pain. For him, it is a form of mercy.
- Omen Reading - With the help of the dead and spirits beyond, Morgan can see into the past of those who have been killed.
- Control Undead - Morgan has recently learned the spell to use lesser demons or undead to form waves of them to attack an enemy. While Morgan is still getting ahold of the spell, he has added candy into the mix resulting in the wave of undead being rather sticky. He can also use the undead to hold an enemy in place for a short amount of time.
- Blood Weapons - Morgan does very little hand to hand combat, but it does not mean he is not rained with it. While he carries no weapons, he can easily conjure weapons from enemies he had defeated in the pass made from their blood. They smell strongly sweet, like melted cherry candy and always have the shape of a very sharp lollipop.
- Soul Catcher - Morgan has the ability to catch the souls of those who are near death and entrap them in soul gems, which for him are jolly ranchers.
- No, You - Morgan's brand new spell in which he can take damage and inflict it to his enemy if he touches them or one of his undead does.
- Detect - By nature, Morgan can feel the presence of a creature who is not for the living plane.
» E Q U I P M E N T
- Spell Book - A spellbook passed down from generation to generation. It is leather-bound and has a few rainbow and unicorn stickers on the cover.
- Candies - Self Explanatory
- Jolly Ranchers - They are not jolly ranchers! They are soul crystals!
- Journal - Morgan keeps a journal where he writes down his experiences while traveling the world and battling people. He also talks mad shit about his enemies in it and sketches from time to time.
» O T H E R
- Morgan enjoys long walks of the beach and watching the sunset.
- Dancing is something that Morgan sucks at, and he knows it but continues to dance anyway.
Stern Algorithm Loquacious Aggression
Member
Seen
26 min ago
"Boys can be Magical Girls too, you chauvinist pig!"
Name: Cadbury
Age: Older than the Universe
Birthdate: N/A
Gender: N/A (preferred pronouns are They/Them)
Nationality: Hell (Formerly Heaven)
Appearance:
Height: 1'00" (including ears)
Weight: 5lbs
Fashion Sense:
Wears nothing; sometimes sits in a teal, over-sized cupcake cup.
Distinguishing Features:
Cadbury has taken on the appearance of a chocolate rabbit. Their darker shade of brown suggests a hint of bitterness beneath their otherwise sweet exterior.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
- A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"If it's strength they want, then I'm the last person they should abandon."
- Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
I congratulate them on living their best life. It's disgusting that people think romantic infatuation should be rewarded with reciprocation. Nobody owes you sex, you chauvinistic, patriarchal, oppressive..." [We are currently experiencing technical difficulties]
- Where do you go when you die?
"When I die, my soul will be condemned to eternal damnation, teehee~!"
Backstory:
The concept of divinity is surprisingly loose. Ancient gods, demons, devils, eldritch abominations, etc., all start to bleed together at some point. One such being managed to preserve its sense of self-awareness, and instead of succumbing to primordial desires like many lesser demons did, retained sentience and a sense of purpose. But it joined forces with other like-minded individuals in rebellion against a more powerful being. The demons were struck down and defeated, and sued for peace, a respite from punishment as part of a bargain to test the mortals that the more powerful being had an interest in. And so the demons were cast down from a higher plane of existence to the physical plane. Yet here the more powerful being had little in the way of enforcement, though it granted power against the demons to those mortals that believed in the powerful being. The demons decided to play the same game, by granting power to the mortals in return for belief. This, unfortunately, distracted the demons away from any attempt to unify their powers and their minions against the being that trapped them in this plane, as the competition was just too damn fun. The demons were now focused on making their minions fight each other in a manner resembling the games that mortals played. Sometimes it was straight-up war. Sometimes it was Chess, or Go, or Hide-and-Seek or American Football. The demons get bored quickly and are always looking for the next major update. Right now, the competition is not unlike DOTA auto-chess.
The aforementioned demon, at some point in history, granted its power to one Alouette Linville, who sold her soul for the power of necromancy. The demon chose a name for itself for the humans to call it by, which was 'Cadbury'. As part of Cadbury and Alouette's contract, Cadbury would continue to grant necromantic powers to Allouette's family, but her family had to occasionally use those powers to fight the minions of other demons. Though Alouette was not the first family that Cadbury had ever granted their powers to, nor were the Linville's the first family, Cadbury is invested in their current 'build', having seen success generation after generation. But over time, Cadbury lamented seeing their fellow demons slowly lose interest in the game. With the advent of science, summoning demons became a thing of the past, and paganism and satanism went the way of the hippie through its transformation into new age religions, such as Wiccanism. At first, Cadbury raged against the 'new updates', but over time, Cadbury warmed up to it, embracing the new changes with a sense of progressive pride. Cadbury began to study the human's latest social and media trends, becoming more and more (one might even say, insufferably) progressive and liberal. Cadbury even went so far as to remake the original contract and lay all the details bare for each generation of Linville so that Cadbury was not coercing them into a non-consenting relationship and unequal power-dynamic. Fortunately, the family appreciated Cadbury's honesty and re-signed the contract.
Cadbury finally concluded that demon summoners and necromancers were outdated. What the world needed, what would make witchcraft popular again was Magical Girls. But even when the next generation of the inheritor of the Linville legacy happened to be born a male, Cadbury wasn't worried. Who said magical girls had to be girls? Gender was an outdated social construct! Cadbury watched with interest as Morgan grew up, a boy who expressed interest in candy and cute things. Wonderful! Someone who didn't conform to gender stereotypes! Just the person Cadbury needed to spearhead their new idea. But Cadbury had to change himself as well. Giving Morgan agency and self-determination, Cadbury allowed Morgan the ability to slightly alter how their magic worked, while Cadbury took on a new form that Morgan would like to reflect Cadbury's own changes in social understanding. Now Cadbury accompanies Morgan in their quest to change the world for the better, while trying to convince humans and demons that making contracts with magical individuals of unspecified gender was the way of the future. And if they don't agree, they must be racist, misogynist, oppressive, chauvinist pigs.
The aforementioned demon, at some point in history, granted its power to one Alouette Linville, who sold her soul for the power of necromancy. The demon chose a name for itself for the humans to call it by, which was 'Cadbury'. As part of Cadbury and Alouette's contract, Cadbury would continue to grant necromantic powers to Allouette's family, but her family had to occasionally use those powers to fight the minions of other demons. Though Alouette was not the first family that Cadbury had ever granted their powers to, nor were the Linville's the first family, Cadbury is invested in their current 'build', having seen success generation after generation. But over time, Cadbury lamented seeing their fellow demons slowly lose interest in the game. With the advent of science, summoning demons became a thing of the past, and paganism and satanism went the way of the hippie through its transformation into new age religions, such as Wiccanism. At first, Cadbury raged against the 'new updates', but over time, Cadbury warmed up to it, embracing the new changes with a sense of progressive pride. Cadbury began to study the human's latest social and media trends, becoming more and more (one might even say, insufferably) progressive and liberal. Cadbury even went so far as to remake the original contract and lay all the details bare for each generation of Linville so that Cadbury was not coercing them into a non-consenting relationship and unequal power-dynamic. Fortunately, the family appreciated Cadbury's honesty and re-signed the contract.
Cadbury finally concluded that demon summoners and necromancers were outdated. What the world needed, what would make witchcraft popular again was Magical Girls. But even when the next generation of the inheritor of the Linville legacy happened to be born a male, Cadbury wasn't worried. Who said magical girls had to be girls? Gender was an outdated social construct! Cadbury watched with interest as Morgan grew up, a boy who expressed interest in candy and cute things. Wonderful! Someone who didn't conform to gender stereotypes! Just the person Cadbury needed to spearhead their new idea. But Cadbury had to change himself as well. Giving Morgan agency and self-determination, Cadbury allowed Morgan the ability to slightly alter how their magic worked, while Cadbury took on a new form that Morgan would like to reflect Cadbury's own changes in social understanding. Now Cadbury accompanies Morgan in their quest to change the world for the better, while trying to convince humans and demons that making contracts with magical individuals of unspecified gender was the way of the future. And if they don't agree, they must be racist, misogynist, oppressive, chauvinist pigs.
Abilities:
- Sweet Nothings (Motivational Bullshit) -Cadbury can spew out empty, saccharine platitudes about self-empowerment to push anyone past their natural and supernatural limits. This ability has an exponential effect on someone who is being oppressed currently the underdog in a fight and is losing.
- Candy Wrapper Bow -Cadbury puts a candy wrapper-shaped bow on someone, and makes a temporary contract with them, boosting their attack, defense, and magical power, while also giving them a cute dress, and a magical weapon, like a wand or something.
- Party-Sized Fun Pack -Cadbury can take Morgan's summons and mash them together into a single, gigantic candy abomination that can continue to grow in size as it consumes corpses.
- The Ghost in the Shell -Cadbury is effectively immortal, but their ability to interact with the world is severely limited. Cadbury cannot materialize in the physical plane while their current champion, Morgan, is unconscious. If either Morgan is killed or the grimoire Morgan holds is destroyed, it's game over for Cadbury, and Cadbury will have to start grinding for levels with a new champion.
- Grimoire-portation! -Cadbury can use Morgan's grimoire to teleport himself or others by jumping into the pages. Somehow, the grimoire also comes along even though a book cannot enter its own pages according to Euclidean geometry. The target location is limited to places Cadbury has been to, but since Cadbury's been all around the world, they can make some pretty long distance teleports, but don't expect pinpoint accuracy.
Consume Soul -Cadbury can devour one of the jolly ranchers that Morgan creates from souls, effectively killing any supernatural entity that might be able to continue living even without a body. This is a holdover of Cadbury's more demonic past, and something Cadbury is not very willing to do again.
Soul Buyer -Cadbury can buy souls. Since Morgan is Cadbury's champion, Cadbury will not buy a livingsoul, since doing so makes the seller another magical individual of unspecified gender under Cadbury's employ, which is not something they want at the moment. But if an ally dies, Cadbury will ask the soul if it wants another shot at life. If it agrees, Cadbury buys the soul, and lends it back to itself, complete with its old body in perfect condition. If the seller dies again, the soul now belongs to Cadbury forever.
AtomicNut Abusive Contractor
Member
Seen
1 day ago
"Ah sh*t, here we go again."
Name:Nungal -Last Name Unknown, chosen of Ereshkigal. Also sometimes Hand of Nergal.
Age:In excess of 6000 years. Appears to be a teenager.
Birthdate:
July/23rd
Gender: Female
Nationality:Sumerian -Country has been dead for millenia, though.
Appearance:
Height:
4'8"
Weight:
140
Fashion Sense:
Nungal is painfully aware of the changing fashion sense through the eras, and has settled for baggy young woman's clothes, with hoodies and baggy jeans combined with training shoes in order to not catch much attention among crowds.
Distinguishing Features:
Nungal is a petite woman, often confused by a teenager. She is lean and toned, almost scrawny, with the physique of a dancer or someone who exerts a considerable level of physical activity, which is only apparent when she chooses to discard her otherwise baggy clothes.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
-You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"It's on, bitch."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"I would feel sad. Good friends are hard to come by. And then I would take my time to find the most throughout way to take them down before they can do the same to me. "
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Let it go... Let It GoOoO...cough, ack."
-How do you feel about explosions?
"Too noisy. Reminds me of thunderclap."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Cut my losses, learn more and rethink my strategy. In the end it all matters who's left standing."
-Where do you go when you die?
"That's a good question. They've been trying to sort it out for over five millenia."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Surviving the destruction of earth and spending an eternity choking in the cold void outer space until something else happens."
-Do you believe in karma?
"Oh you mean yet another system to represent retribution... sure why not? Whatever floats your boat."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"Anyone can, with enough time and effort. The real question is, can we afford it?"
-Are you a bad person?
"To some yes. To others, not so much. It's in the eye of the beholder, but don't tell the gods."
"It's on, bitch."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"I would feel sad. Good friends are hard to come by. And then I would take my time to find the most throughout way to take them down before they can do the same to me. "
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Let it go... Let It GoOoO...cough, ack."
-How do you feel about explosions?
"Too noisy. Reminds me of thunderclap."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Cut my losses, learn more and rethink my strategy. In the end it all matters who's left standing."
-Where do you go when you die?
"That's a good question. They've been trying to sort it out for over five millenia."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Surviving the destruction of earth and spending an eternity choking in the cold void outer space until something else happens."
-Do you believe in karma?
"Oh you mean yet another system to represent retribution... sure why not? Whatever floats your boat."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"Anyone can, with enough time and effort. The real question is, can we afford it?"
-Are you a bad person?
"To some yes. To others, not so much. It's in the eye of the beholder, but don't tell the gods."
Backstory:
Once upon a time, during the dawn of civilization, a child was born in the ancient city of Uruk. A misbegotten girl, she did not resemble her parents, having inherited the paleness of the dead in her skin, and the red of blood in her eyes. Baffled, her parents offered her to the underworld and her Queen, Ereshkigal.
The temple shaped her into what she would become later, and the name Nungal was bestowed upon her. For she had been "adopted" by the goddess in a symbolic way, and to take after the actual goddess borne of the queen of the Underworld who would take punishment upon the wicked.
Her blades reached upon the wicked and the foul, those that Ereshkigal and her terrible husband, Nergal, desidered to be brought under heel, becoming one of Uruk's enforcers in the shadow while the tales of heroes and gods dazzled the populace of the budding city. Her life was monotonous, and hard... but she had earned recognition among those who turned their eyes into the terrible underworld and their spirits.
Up until the Sin of the Sky arrived. Without warning, and like a sword of fire it carved its way to the bosom of the earth...where those whose deeds were so foul for their names to ever be recorded, managed to bring a piece... of the edge of all Creation. When Nungal saw the mishappen rock, she could barely stay sane, her every fiber of being wanting to reject such impossibility.
That was when they struck her, so dazzled she was, she could not pay attention to their powerful arts and techniques, for these foul people were committed to perform the ultimate sacrilege: To assassinate gods. When her body ran cold due to bloodloss she thought she could hear her mistress whispering about her failure and inevitable dead. With such wounds sustained, it was impossible for her to survive.
Unless she bent the rules. Grabbing a shard of the unknown, eldritch power, her fractured mind understood. She could sunder. She could break. Even Death... could die itself. Stabbing herself in the heart, she killed the bond that all mortals had with the underworld, and rose again from the dead. This time, she was the one who caught her opponents flat footed, and managed to defeat them.
The Sin of the Sky disappeared not long after, destroyed by the very gods it would be pointed at... and only Nungal and her shard remained. The day was won, but not without cost. For her defiance, Nungal's soul was claimed by several gods for justice, including both Ereshkigal and Nergal... and each one bore ferocious arguments of who should smite her.
As a result , she would never die. She would never age. All damage would come undone, as she would await for her judgement. Eventually months became years. Years became centuries. Civilizations rose and fall, and some gods faded in obscurity to be replaced by newer ones... but the debate continued and raged. In the meantime, Nungal did what she was taught to do... to punish the wicked. In the meantime, she lived as best as she could, enjoying the commodities of each era.
Six thousands years later, things seemed to accelerate. New heroes and villains spring forth, and new skills were discovered. Maybe Nungal's fate will be decided once and for all... but it was a long and productive journey.
Abilities:
Timeless Immortal: Nungal can't die. The other life is barred to her, so she usually ends up back in the realm of living. Soul entrapment works fine, but only for a limited amount of time, until she eventually breaks free and returns to her body. Since the world of the living is for live people, all injuries are healed like a tape gone in reverse. However the timescale of this "rewind correction" depends on how much her physical form was disrupted. Being atomized probably takes centuries to heal. It also does not give any kind of pain relief whatsoever.
Master of All: Nungal has had a long time to learn every single human craft known. One has to assume that she is a master of what she does with two huge caveats. One, she simply sucks at arts like singing or poetry (with dancing being the only art she can truly excel at), and technologies that bloomed in the past 40 years still evade her.
Timeless Mystic: However, for magical and the occult, Nungal is surprisingly powerful, since she knows all the ancient spoopy rituals that those living in the ages where gods and forces of nature ruled. She can whip up mean counterspells and even summon things that were probably long-lost to this world otherwise. However, she requires components and energy to do that, and the same bickering gods that make her immortality loophole work might take notice and end said discrepancy... thus killing her.
Nimble: Nungal's modest physique is rather dexterous and agile.
Equipment:
Book of Irkalla: Also known as the Book of the Underworld, it is the book bestowed to any follower of Ereshkigal which includes all of their sorcery spells. It is a great find, provided you can decipher cuneiform scripture. The original was made in clay tablets, but at some point Nungal improved upon the design to make it a pocket-sized lecture. It also includes newer spells from more modern eras.
Unknown Weapon: A steel dagger made of an eerie iron meteorite. Rumoured to have come from the edge of the universe and having been tainted with ...whatever lurks beyond. Even Nungal isn't sure of what the thing is actually doing, but a good hit will damage anything, just by the mere fact of being of this reality. This weapon could potentially kill gods and disrupt abstract concepts, but usually the damage can be undone given enough time. The opposite also applies, as the dagger will recover from being shattered or broken given enough time. The dagger is usually sealed in a magically warded sheath, which can only be undone with the keyword "Sunder".
Other:
Feel free to add past events where she angered others. She also is a foodie, and loves junk food with passion. It's one thing that she never got back in the old eras.
Big redact
[Silence][Contemplative Gurgling Noises]
Name: Maulusk
Age: 104
Birthdate:
05/02
Gender: Masculine
Nationality: Norwegian
Appearance:
Height:
6’5”
Weight:
183 pounds
Fashion Sense:
General Attire: When not dressed in his sparring attire, a rather iconic set that many appreciate, fear or at the very least recognize, Maulusk keeps a fairly consistent pattern of dress. He always sports either a light blue, or white button down shirt, some manner of long tie, a simplistic brown or black belt, black or tanned suit pants, and a solid color zip up cardigan. Of course all of his attire is personally fitted if only due to the troubles of being an cephalopod styled creature.
Iconic Outfit: It is what is seen above.
Distinguishing Features: The above form his base appearance if he is not actively utilizing his color changing capabilities.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
1. Do you believe in karma?
[Ambivalent Suggestive Gurgling]
2. Where do you go when you die?
"Davy Jones’ Locker."
3. Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"There are plenty of other fish in the sea."
Backstory:
In the year 1926 an individual was born, unverified as the records had long since been destroyed or lost, in a small village in Norway. This youth was a thug among thugs, actively mugging and beating those he could find. The reason for his dissent was due to an artistic desire which he felt could not be met in his pitiful home in Norway. Eventually his wish for change would come as a teenager due to the Invasion of Norway and the establishment of the Reich Commissariat of Norway. He did not mind these invaders taking away the sovereignty of his people, as he had never truly felt attached to his village. So when he had attracted the attention of a revolutionary biologist in the Reich known as Dr. Luther, the individual willingly offered himself up as a specimen for his research.
What was this revolutionary research? It was the genetic manipulation of an individual utilizing the DNA of famous killers, lunatics, or any other mad man that happened to leave behind parts that could be extracted for the genetic material, and beasts. Dr Luther referred to this process in his notes as quote, “...a forceful slam of new genetic material into the host specimen resulting in a human hybrid of humanity’s most depraved instincts with the natural killer qualities of the animal world.” end quote. Dr Luther had many, many failures in this process. He had tried many patients, willing and non, and ended up with creatures that died from the agonizing process.
But this unimportant embittered son of Norway was special. He had survived the injection, a serum containing Emperor Nero and Caligula’s DNA from lost teeth and from the Architeuthis dux aka the Atlantic Giant Squid. Marveling at his work Dr Luther had asked his specimen what he wished to be called. It was here that the Maulusk was truly born.
Through the war the Maulusk was utilized against the Allied Forces in Italy, Japan, Africa, and where ever else the Axis Powers could use this abomination of nature against. Unfortunately the Maulusk could not prevent the Allied Victory, as they too had cool things to use, and found himself depressed thinking that he would have no other purpose now. Of course he was expecting the USSR to turn on the Allies, those ‘Damn Commie Apes’, but was not expecting Operation Paperclip to be conducted. So the Maulusk was taken into America in order to be used for them, as well as uncover Dr Luther’s genetic modification skills. Throughout the Cold War the Maulusk was dropped into various locales throughout Eastern Europe, parts of Africa, and the South Americas in order to conduct espionage, assassinations and further wars going down.
Then too did the Cold War end causing the Maulusk to come to think of what he was meant for yet again. This time, after all the wars, the fighting, the bloodshed he knew what he was meant to do. He knew that he had been neglecting his artistic endeavors for too long and had decided to set about traveling the world and enjoying a well earned retirement.
Of course that does not mean that he won’t spar like any other young whippersnapper. Violence too is a form of art.
Abilities:
Genetic Freak – The transformation from man to an abomination with the finest DNA of psychopaths and Squid have produced a creature with many talents such as
- Camouflaging Colors: Much like the octopi of the sea, Maulusk can change his skin color, opaquity and reflectiveness. This includes also altering of his texture such as having rougher skin if disguising as a rock. These disguises are usually to blend into the environment but sometimes used to disguise himself as another individual, with the same sort of body weight and structure.
- Ink Projectile: Maulusk can shoot ink out of his mouth at low and high pressures to either try to pierce with ink or to create a smoggy get away.
- Tentacles: The most noticeable feature of the Maulusk are his tentacles. His tentacles are super strong limbs with a quite high constricting and crushing strength. Of note is the fact that his tentacles, if one were to get in an uncomfortable range of them, are lined with teeth to increase the constricting nature of them. They can survive for a brief period of time, and be controlled by him, if chopped off. His tentacles regenerate if removed but the process is generally painful and a dash time consuming.
- Aquatic Being: As a mutant of the sea, the Maulusk can survive and thrives in aquatic conditions. He is quicker in the ocean than he is on land and can survive intense deep water pressures as well as other pressure shifts.
Equipment:
Kakejiku: The Kakejiku is a scroll which is intended to be use as decoration. This one is ludicrously sized both in height and weight. While the Maulusk primarily uses it to write and draw on for artistic purposes, it is hefty and surprisingly durable making it an effective club.
Katana and Sheath: This is nothing more and nothing less than a crummy made souvenir bought in exchange for being able to take pictures in the area. The sword itself is rather brittle due to its construction and not wanting to damage his souvenir it is primarily kept in its sleek wooden sheath.
Radom wz.35 Vis: A 9mm gun designed for use in war by the German Army, it is a rather worn out model which the Maulusk is reluctant to fire as he views it as personal keepsake of his past.
Boathooks and Harpoons: These are the primary weaponry, besides himself, that the Maulusk possesses. They are ordinary whale harpoons, some straight while some are barbed, and sets of hooks designed for docking and undocking. The hooks have a blunt end for pushing off dock on one end and the hook on the other.
Other:
Speaks fluent Norwegian, Finnish, Danish, German, Italian and Japanese.
Currently has a retirement house in Boca Raton, Florida.
Has produced a lot of kids who in turn given him many grand and great grandkids. Around the Fourth of July, or any other convenient time, they all get together for a family celebration.
He currently has a profile on an older person dating website under John Smith.
One would be hard pressed to find him vacationing without at least six cameras and a bowl full of hard butterscotch or caramel candies.
Theme: [Silence followed by gurgling]
KOgaming The Nose Knows
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
Draft is $1 on Wednesdays.
Name:
Rui Takaiwa
Age:
30
Birthdate:
November/24th
Gender: Male
Nationality: Japanese
Appearance:
Height:
5'9"
Weight:
160 lbs
Fashion Sense:
In a fight, Rui usually just wears whatever he happens to be wearing during the day. If it's a work day, he will be in a white collared shirt with his tie tucked into his pocket to keep it from getting dirty. He likes wearing pinstripes, though mostly as part of his last inklings of wanting to set himself apart. Rui keeps his hair relatively short and out of the way, if only because it's easier to manage. During the weekend, he usually is not dressed until he expects to leave his flat, which in most cases he does not if he can help it.
Distinguishing Features:
Rui wears a pair of glasses, but he doesn't really need to, his vision isn't that bad.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
-You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"Cool. Let me try that."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"You know. It happens.
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Well, they say that if you love something you should let it go.
-How do you feel about explosions?
"I like the sight but not the smell."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"My teachers always told me to lose with grace, so I do.
-Where do you go when you die?
"I dunno. I guess it doesn't matter."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"I have dreadful stage fright."
-Do you believe in karma?
"Not really."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"I believe they can."
-Are you a bad person?
"I don't know."
"Cool. Let me try that."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"You know. It happens.
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Well, they say that if you love something you should let it go.
-How do you feel about explosions?
"I like the sight but not the smell."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"My teachers always told me to lose with grace, so I do.
-Where do you go when you die?
"I dunno. I guess it doesn't matter."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"I have dreadful stage fright."
-Do you believe in karma?
"Not really."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"I believe they can."
-Are you a bad person?
"I don't know."
Backstory:
Rui was an average child, born and raised in Tokyo in a small city apartment by his two parents. He lived an average life. He worked hard, studying like all the other kids during the day, cram school during the afternoon, and homework in the evening. Despite his efforts, nothing could change that he was dreadfully, painfully average. At the age of 8, Rui had gotten glasses. He never enjoyed them, and though he was excited at first, the next day that he had school he realized just how many other children also wore glasses and that unlike some of them, they didn't even make him look very cool or mature. However, throughout his childhood, he had strange dreams where he was visited by a small child, usually around Rui's age who introduced himself as the "God of Chaos." He usually dismissed it as a simple recurring dream and after he turned twelve, the dreams seemed to disappear.
Rui skated through his middle school and even purposefully tried to get into an easier high school so that he could look better compared to the rest of his classmates. The delinquents at his school ignored him. In fact, everyone ignored him. He had a circle of a few friends who spoke to one another online more often than they spoke in person. His hobby was video games, and he didn't have a preference. He liked whatever his friends enjoyed. He didn't collect anything. He wasn't good at sports, though he did try baseball.
In college, Rui studied computer science just like most of his friends. As expected, he was about at the middle of the road as far as grades went, which at that level were actually a little above average. He tried experimenting a little bit and even tried going on a few dates which he had met through phone dating apps until he had eventually married one of them.
After college, Rui had gotten a job at an office writing code for a mid-sized company. He was a salaryman, just like everyone else. For the most part, his life was unexciting. Then, the stress got to him and it seemed that the dreams from his childhood were returning. It must have just been the increased workload, or maybe it was the sign of things being moved around in his house and that it wasn't clean as it usually was when he had gotten home with rumors spreading about his wife cheating on him behind his back. The dreams got really strong then.
It wasn't until one day when Rui decided to finally try and catch his wife in the act. He planned on getting his work done early so that he could get home, at least a few minutes earlier, rushing through traffic. It was then when he saw the man, just as he left his house. Rui stopped him and called his wife down. The three argued for an hour, eventually escalating into a fight between him and the other man on the street late in the evening. Rui noticed a bright light, but could only see the face of the "god of chaos" who had shown himself during Rui's childhood, laughing. Both of them were hit by a truck.
Rui was hospitalized, and the other man had died. He was in serious condition and Japanese medical professionals could not operate on him. When his parents had heard this, they decided they needed to do something about it. Thus, they sent his body to the United States so that American doctors could work on him. Several risky procedures ensued. Meanwhile, as he was comatose, Rui was greeted again by the god of chaos, who explained that Rui would be reborn in a land of opportunity and that Rui would be rewarded with one of the god's favorite children. After several weeks more in comatose, Rui found himself awake at a New York hospital with the doctor calling his parents to let them know that he was okay. Rui was ready to return home. That is until he listened to a voice mail from his boss who said that Rui had been fired from his job after his long absence and read a text from his wife saying that she was leaving him.
With nothing to lose, Rui decided it was time for a fresh start in America, except there was another problem. He couldn't find a job- Not in the 2020 New York job market. One morning after a job interview, as he kicked a can down the street, he had accidentally kicked the tin can into the sight of a speeding taxi. After the driver jumped out to save himself, the taxi swerved onto the street and toward a pair of super-powered people fighting one another. Rui rushed in in an attempt to tell them to get out of the way, but his still thick Japanese accent had only distracted them until the taxi hit one. The impact did not kill him, but the subsequent launching of the airbag, the struggle, and the eventual explosion along with the brick, metal, and asphalt did. Rui called the police about the accident as he carefully approached the scene. When he did, he heard a voice calling to him, thinking that it was the man the car had hit. "Go on then. Pick me up." It said in a smooth tenor voice and a British accent, however, the man did not move. He was very clearly dead. That was when the knife in the man's possession rattled in its sheathe and Rui picked it up. The knife introduced itself as David Bowie.
Rui was reluctant to hold it, but as he did, it seemed to drag his hand outward and blood ran down his sleeve. When he traced his arm up, Rui saw the other fighter, bleeding to death from a wound to the chest. As he saw the fighter die before his eyes, he could also feel a surge of power along with the bloodthirst of his new weapon. When the police arrived, he pleaded self-defense in his thick accent, with there luckily being a translator there for him and he was let go.
Despite the occasional thirst for blood and souls of his weapon which refused to leave Rui's side, Rui had somehow managed to make a living, even if that also meant he had to live in one of the deepest dredges of society: New Jersey. He worked as a web designer and technical support, working with computers by day, and slaking his weapon's thirst by night. Each kill he got made him stronger, but it seemed that his enemies were as well. This was his life now.
Abilities:
- Rui has no powers of his own. In fact, he's actually pretty frail, especially due to his habit of smoking. He is usually reluctant to kill, unless he knows that someone is in danger, with the real danger about him being his weapon, described below.
Equipment:
- The David Bowie Knife Technically not his, the David Bowie Knife was initially in possession of another fighter until Rui killed him and looted the knife, not taking on a personality or at the very least not speaking until in Rui's possession. The David Bowie Knife, as its name might suggest, is a bowie knife with the personality and mannerisms of David Bowie, and like David Bowie, it hungered for souls. Having a mind of its own, the knife can guide Rui to attack and parry an enemy, making up for its owner's lack of training and experience. Upon killing an enemy, it drinks its soul. The knife's blade is a shiny black. Though it is no more effective than normal steel on mundane items and can even break given enough duress, its edge can cut through objects created by magic, including magical fire, barriers or beam attacks, as if it were butter, effectively canceling it. Its most prominent feature, however, is its ability to combine with other objects through its handle, transform, and augment those objects.
- Goblin King Rui carries a circular shield made mostly of plywood with a chain on the edge so that he can use it as a flail. If he attaches the knife to the chain, the shield and chain transform into the Goblin King. The shield turns green and takes on a metallic sheen. It becomes more durable, able to block bullets, but also gaining the knife's ability to block magic. The chain becomes more durable as well and can extend up to roughly fifty meters out and contract at Rui's will. In addition to its base abilities, it can also change trajectory in midair to hit its target. In this form, the knife's personality changes to be much more flamboyant and active, sometimes even flirty.
- Ziggy Stardust Though he doesn't always have it with him (for legal reasons), Rui has an AR-15 rifle. It is fairly basic and completely unmodified, using iron sights and a plastic forward grip and the lower heat shield removed to make room for the David Bowie Knife. When attached, the black metal and plastic turn into a Crayola blue color and becomes covered in yellow stars. As long as it has a magazine attached to it, it seems to have virtually unlimited ammo and the barrel never seems to overheat (though it does get hot to the touch), nor does the weapon ever jam. Rui can also draw a five-pointed star on any solid surface, and any living thing that touches or disturbs the surface (except the surface itself if it is a living thing) will cause the star to explode with a radius of ten meters, destroying everything within its blast radius but leaving the surface it was drawn in unscathed as if it had never been carved into. The stars lose effectiveness naturally, returning to their original shape after thirty minutes, or if the David Bowie Knife travels more than 3 kilometers away from the star. In this form, the knife's personality becomes much more eccentric and emotional behaving in sometimes homoerotic ways.
- Major Tom This is the weapon's most drastic change because it is achieved by sticking the handle into a metal can, transforming it into a rocket launcher. It fires an explosive up to 500 meters and explodes at a radius of 20 meters but with the destructive force of a comet, and seemingly unaffected by gravity or wind. It only fires once, however, after which the can is completely crushed with the knife lying next to it. In this form, the weapon's personality becomes much more solemn.
- Thin White Duke It is a power that exists, but Rui has only heard of it from the knife itself. He can access this form allegedly by jamming the handle into a person's mouth, including his own, but is advised never to do so, with the blade itself avoiding a person's spine if it gets too close to the handle.
Other:
Does this RP have some kind of password in the rules that I might've skimmed over?
StateApe Chaotic Chaotic
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
"Just kill me now."
Name: Subject A-6-9 or "Six Nine"
Age:23
Birthdate:
November/21st
Gender: Male
Nationality:
American, technically.
Appearance:
Height: 5'7
Feet and inches
Weight:
375 Lbs (Appears to weigh ~145 Lbs)
Fashion Sense:
Given his entire life has been spent in an asylum, he doesn't have a particularly developed taste in fashion. Shortly after leaving the asylum however, he managed to get himself some clothing after breaking into an abandoned goodwill. All he managed to find that fit was a tight pair of black jeans, and a white button up shirt that loosely drapes around thin his frame.
Distinguishing Features:
A tattoo of the numbers "Six Nine" under his left eye.
Biography:
Pick three and answer in character.
-You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"Seems like a waste... Can't really kill me one way or the other... I don't know, I guess I'd just keep doing what I'm doing."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"Haven't really had any good friends, so more power to them I guess."
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Wish them the best."
-How do you feel about explosions?
"They hurt, but it's a faster death than most, so I don't mind them too much."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"To put it bluntly, when I go down, I don't stay there."
-Where do you go when you die?
"Right fucking back here."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Going back to those labs and hospitals and doctors and shit."
-Do you believe in karma?
"No, if karma was real I'd get to stay dead."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"They don't deserve the chance."
-Are you a bad person?
"I'm not sure yet... I guess we'll see."
-You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"Seems like a waste... Can't really kill me one way or the other... I don't know, I guess I'd just keep doing what I'm doing."
-A good friend of yours abandons you and everyone they know in the pursuit of strength, how do you feel?
"Haven't really had any good friends, so more power to them I guess."
-Someone you have romantic interest enters a relationship with someone else, what do you do?
"Wish them the best."
-How do you feel about explosions?
"They hurt, but it's a faster death than most, so I don't mind them too much."
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"To put it bluntly, when I go down, I don't stay there."
-Where do you go when you die?
"Right fucking back here."
-What's your worst nightmare?
"Going back to those labs and hospitals and doctors and shit."
-Do you believe in karma?
"No, if karma was real I'd get to stay dead."
-Can evil people be rehabilitated?
"They don't deserve the chance."
-Are you a bad person?
"I'm not sure yet... I guess we'll see."
According to all official records, Subject A-6-9 was a stillborn, buried by a grieving family, and nearly forgotten in the minutia of day to day life.
However in reality, he has been an invaluable instrument to the agencies and governments that wished to research and experiment upon individuals with strange and supernatural abilities. His entire life has consisted of being researched and experimented upon, primarily by being killed in every possible way the researchers in the numerous facilities he's been held in could imagine. However, after some time, his primary use was acting as a live test for various weapons, medicines, protective gear, etc.
For the first 12 years of his life, he was held in a single facility. This facility's primary directive was to determine what caused Six-Nine's regenerative abilities, as well as determine any limits to this ability. It's secondary directive was to determine if the subject possessed any additional abilities, and educate him according to national standards.
This facility was unable to determine conclusively what was responsible for Six-Nine's regenerative factor, but it has been theorized that his anatomy possess an unidentified material that has been termed "Immaterial Black Matter." There have been no successful attempts at isolating or extracting this material, as it can not be observed or interacted with by any known means. Additionally, the only reason this particle's existence has been theorized is due to the Subject's notable increase of weight following each death, despite displaying absolutely no change in size. It is believed that the IBM present in his body increases exponentially upon each death, which would explain the exponential decrease in time required to regenerate following fatal injuries or death.
Following his 12 year stay at the first facility, each of the similar facilities were allowed to submit a request for the subjects prescence at their site to conduct experiments and research on him. The request would detail any experiments they wished to conduct, along with a budget and timeframe. From then on, he would be transferred from facility to facility, the longest he ever remained in one location was 14 months, during which he was trained in various styles of combat, in an effort to determine if his physical capabilities were altered in any way. The results determined that his strength, agility, and speed were all what would be expect of his age and build, however his pain tolerance is significantly greater than that of individuals without supernatural abilities.
Most recently, he had been transferred to Redrum Asylum to conduct live tests on a specialized hazmat suit intended to protect individuals from an asylum resident's ability to create an aggressive form of flesh-eating bacteria.
About six weeks after he was transferred to the Asylum, the entire facility was compromised by one of the residents there, causing massive numbers of patients to escape, among which Six-Nine found himself.
Following his escape, he found himself in an abandoned department store, although he has no clue as to what city, or even what state his in, he believes that he is safe. However, he thinks he may have been followed by another resident, as one of the abandoned warehouses nearby seems to have began sheltering someone.
However in reality, he has been an invaluable instrument to the agencies and governments that wished to research and experiment upon individuals with strange and supernatural abilities. His entire life has consisted of being researched and experimented upon, primarily by being killed in every possible way the researchers in the numerous facilities he's been held in could imagine. However, after some time, his primary use was acting as a live test for various weapons, medicines, protective gear, etc.
For the first 12 years of his life, he was held in a single facility. This facility's primary directive was to determine what caused Six-Nine's regenerative abilities, as well as determine any limits to this ability. It's secondary directive was to determine if the subject possessed any additional abilities, and educate him according to national standards.
This facility was unable to determine conclusively what was responsible for Six-Nine's regenerative factor, but it has been theorized that his anatomy possess an unidentified material that has been termed "Immaterial Black Matter." There have been no successful attempts at isolating or extracting this material, as it can not be observed or interacted with by any known means. Additionally, the only reason this particle's existence has been theorized is due to the Subject's notable increase of weight following each death, despite displaying absolutely no change in size. It is believed that the IBM present in his body increases exponentially upon each death, which would explain the exponential decrease in time required to regenerate following fatal injuries or death.
Following his 12 year stay at the first facility, each of the similar facilities were allowed to submit a request for the subjects prescence at their site to conduct experiments and research on him. The request would detail any experiments they wished to conduct, along with a budget and timeframe. From then on, he would be transferred from facility to facility, the longest he ever remained in one location was 14 months, during which he was trained in various styles of combat, in an effort to determine if his physical capabilities were altered in any way. The results determined that his strength, agility, and speed were all what would be expect of his age and build, however his pain tolerance is significantly greater than that of individuals without supernatural abilities.
Most recently, he had been transferred to Redrum Asylum to conduct live tests on a specialized hazmat suit intended to protect individuals from an asylum resident's ability to create an aggressive form of flesh-eating bacteria.
About six weeks after he was transferred to the Asylum, the entire facility was compromised by one of the residents there, causing massive numbers of patients to escape, among which Six-Nine found himself.
Following his escape, he found himself in an abandoned department store, although he has no clue as to what city, or even what state his in, he believes that he is safe. However, he thinks he may have been followed by another resident, as one of the abandoned warehouses nearby seems to have began sheltering someone.
Abilities:
Resurrection - Six-Nine possesses extreme regenerative abilities that trigger upon death or fatal injury. His regenerative ability is so extreme he can regrow lost limbs, and even regenerate from being turned into literal meat patties.
Resuscitation - Undiscovered - Upon compounding a significant enough amount of Immaterial Black Matter, he can channel 75% of it into another person and resuscitate them upon death, and heal most mortal wounds.
Black Ghost - Unidiscovered - The IBM serves another purpose alongside regenerating Six Nine, through practice, he will determine that he can manipulate it into the form of a large physical being, that he can control telepathically. This being, called a "Black Ghost" will take the shape of a 7'9 humanoid with a pair of wings sprouting from it's shoulder blades, extremely sharp teeth and powerful clawed hands. It additionally will display incredible durability, regenerative properties (based upon the amount of IBM Six-Nine has compounded in his body), significant strength, and incredible speed.
Equipment:
The clothing on his back.
Other:
From a young age, Six-Nine has observed a dark particulate that surrounds him, along with a dark figure that will from time to time appear in the corners of his vision. However, neither of these phenomena seem to be observable by anyone but him.
I'll show you the strength of a pro wrestler!
Name: Housen
Age: 27
Birthdate: December 12th
Gender: Male
Nationality: Japanese
Appearance:
Height:
6ft2
Weight:
225 pounds
Fashion Sense:
Housen’s regular outfit is a pastiche of japanese combat culture, starting at his ninja-like metallic mask and kabuki inspired facepaint and going from there, with the lower half being a pair of black tights somewhat resembling motorcycle gear paired with kneepads and tall, tough boots styled after japanese armor. Over this he wears a heavy, thigh-length kimono style jacket cut similarly to the long coats of tokkofuku biker uniforms, its short sleeves sporting reinforced stitching to the shoulders and tied around his biceps with red cloth armbands, that he keeps closed with a dark red sash passed through belt loops at the waist. Light bandaging on the hands and wrists completes the look.
Distinguishing Features:
Already decently tall and sporting a very distinctive look, Housen’s image is further enhanced by sharp bright brown eyes and a decidedly enviable physique. Rather than sport the enormous hyperinflated look typically associated with strength he is built powerfully wiry head to toe, each muscle sharply defined as though he had been cut from marble, and his body sports the telltale conditioning marks, callusing and scarring that mark one as a thoroughbred fighter.
Biography:
Personality Questions:
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
“Hah, in the ring we settle things best of three! Ready for round two?”
-What's your worst nightmare?
“Hmmm, probably not drawing a dime. Sure, unbeatable opponents or crippling damage, those are always there, but not having that rush of the audience...if you’re good at what you do people ought to care even when you can’t do it anymore.”
-Are you a bad person?
“I’m not a bad guy. I’m not a good guy. I’m THE guy.”
“Hah, in the ring we settle things best of three! Ready for round two?”
-What's your worst nightmare?
“Hmmm, probably not drawing a dime. Sure, unbeatable opponents or crippling damage, those are always there, but not having that rush of the audience...if you’re good at what you do people ought to care even when you can’t do it anymore.”
-Are you a bad person?
“I’m not a bad guy. I’m not a good guy. I’m THE guy.”
Backstory:
The Phoenix Immortal comes westward!
Many of the world’s toughest men and women call the squared circle, the sacred sport of professional wrestling, their home and their eternal field of battle, and amongst these the sensational asian warrior Housen stands out as a next generation of talent poised to take over the world. And now, after a dominant run in his native Japan, the masked warrior shall set foot in the american mainland for the first time in his career!
The mysterious fighter offers few glimpses of his life outside the mat, even his real name remains unknown, but some information is widely available and presented here for those who do not follow the bustling japanese pro wrestling scene. The man known only as Housen debuted under the mask five years ago but had started training years before this, with his instruction in japanese kempo being a point of pride for the skilled martial artist.
However it was not in Japan but in Mexico, the home of the grandiose, acrobatic spectacle of lucha libre, that the name Housen first surfaced five years ago as the wrestler developed his persona and skills. This first, enormously successful overseas tour included a short stay in Hawaii and saw him become a hot commodity in his home country, kickstarting a top run that has only recently come to an end as the warrior sets his sights on new goals.
Housen has expressed his desire to expand his horizons against new challenges, but has revealed little of his goals and intentions in the United States. For now, there's only one hard truth: Housen's coming to fight.
Abilities:
-Strong Style Champion: To say that Housen is a top class martial artist would be an understatement. Representing the Strong Style of professional wrestling, a japanese form of the discipline that encourages incorporating any and all techniques in a search to create the strongest martial art, he is a barehanded fighter of stunning caliber. Tremendously adaptable and well rounded, commanding both a deep grasp of fundamentals and a spectacular arsenal of unorthodox moves, Housen can do it all: strikes, holds, throws, submissions, the acrobatic flying attacks of lucha libre, all of it with equal excellence in execution. He has even mastered the hidden techniques that allow one to breathe out that ever-feared spray of bright green liquid, the blinding and stunning concoction known only as the Asian Mist.
-Moeru Toukon: Through willpower, fighting spirit, endless training and constant testing of himself in battle, Housen has sharpened himself into an outstanding warrior. As befit a pro wrestler he is impressively strong, though not necessarily an all out power type relative to other bruisers, using an excellent blend of speed, agility, flexibility and stamina to round out his style. He is especially, incredibly tough in particular, tougher than the neglected bastard child of a coffin nail and a cheap steak tough, equally durable mentally and quite capable of dealing with magic assaults and the like to take to current battlefields and remain competitive.
-Dramatic Ninja: Though it will end in a direct face to face confrontation nearly every time, Housen is quite capable of displaying excellent stealth skills should the situation demand it. Tailing targets, sneaking about, disappearing at the blink of an eye or turning up unnoticed in the most unexpected locations, all done to set up a dramatic entry.
Equipment:
-The Mask: A genuine article, legitimate modern day ninja craftsmanship (or close enough that it can feasibly be presented as such), it hides the identity, protects the face, and wards off breathable dangers without encumbering proper breathing. Are those last two parts really necessary? Probably not, not particularly, but it’s good to have either way.
-The Tokkofuku: Housen refers to his clothes as a tokkofuku, a “special attack uniform”, and it lives up to the lofty term. Nevermind that it’s really just what bosozoku biker gangs call their uniforms. The costume’s especially made to withstand the wear and tear a professional wrestler in this world might find on the road and he has spares just in case.
"Are you gonna play with me~?"
Name: Maricola
Age:
Measured in geologic time
Birthdate:
Somewhere around the Paleoarchean era
Gender:
Parthenogenic Hermaphrodite
Nationality:
Space
Height: 4 ft. (functional)
Weight: Incalculable
Fashion Sense: Perfectly, utterly tasteless; favorite outfit is a combination of snot-green spandex tights and a stained jersey with the words SPACE MONSTAR emblazoned on it.
Distinguishing Features: Has a very high-pitched, irritating voice.
Weight: Incalculable
Fashion Sense: Perfectly, utterly tasteless; favorite outfit is a combination of snot-green spandex tights and a stained jersey with the words SPACE MONSTAR emblazoned on it.
Distinguishing Features: Has a very high-pitched, irritating voice.
Personality Questions:
=You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"You have one of those, too? Super cool~!"
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Come back next week..? And bring a new friend~!"
-Do you believe in karma?
"Just between the two of usss~... Papa thinks Aunt Kar-ma should settle down and get a real job, you know~?"
Backstory:
LONG AGO
BEFORE LIGHT
BEFORE TIME
BEFORE GODS
THERE WAS THE PRIMORDIAL SWAMP
AND FROM THE SWAMP EMERGED THE CONQUEROR WORM
AND THE CONQUEROR WORM WENT FORTH AND MULTIPLIED
SEEDING THE MOLTEN ROCK OF UNFORMED PLANETS WITH ITS TERRIBLE SPAWN
ONE SUCH PLANET WAS OUR HUMBLE EARTH, MADE PREGNANT WITH THE HIDEOUS OFFSPRING OF THE CONQUEROR WORM
MARICOLA
AND AS MARICOLA GREW IN SIZE, SO DID THE CREATURE'S MIND
IT WAS DECIDED AN EDUCATION WAS IN ORDER
MARICOLA WAS SENT TO A SCHOOL FOR VILLAINS AND REPEATED THE FIRST YEAR, LIKE, FOUR TIMES CONSECUTIVELY
PATIENCE WAS REWARDED, DARK PACTS WERE MADE
BUT THEN THE SCHOOL SHUT DOWN BECAUSE IT WASN'T ACCREDITED BY THE SCHOOL BOARD
IT WAS A MASSIVE SHITSHOW FOR ALL INVOLVED, NEPOTISM ALL OVER, EMBEZZLEMENT, REALLY BAD STUFF GOING ON
HONESTLY CONSIDERING IT WAS A SCHOOL FOR VILLAINS YOU'D THINK SOMEONE WOULD HAVE SEEN IT COMING
BUT I DIGRESS
MARICOLA IS ONCE AGAIN UNLEASHED UPON THE WIDER WORLD
WHAT'S WORSE, IT MAY BE HUMANITY'S GREATEST HOPE FOR SURVIVAL
IN THE WORDS OF THE ANCIENT ONES:
"GUYS WE MIGHT BE KINDA BONED"
=You're fighting a worthy opponent who you're about to defeat, then they forsake their humanity and give up their self just to beat you, how do you react?
"You have one of those, too? Super cool~!"
-You lost a fight, what are you going to do about it?
"Come back next week..? And bring a new friend~!"
-Do you believe in karma?
"Just between the two of usss~... Papa thinks Aunt Kar-ma should settle down and get a real job, you know~?"
Backstory:
LONG AGO
BEFORE LIGHT
BEFORE TIME
BEFORE GODS
THERE WAS THE PRIMORDIAL SWAMP
AND FROM THE SWAMP EMERGED THE CONQUEROR WORM
AND THE CONQUEROR WORM WENT FORTH AND MULTIPLIED
SEEDING THE MOLTEN ROCK OF UNFORMED PLANETS WITH ITS TERRIBLE SPAWN
ONE SUCH PLANET WAS OUR HUMBLE EARTH, MADE PREGNANT WITH THE HIDEOUS OFFSPRING OF THE CONQUEROR WORM
MARICOLA
AND AS MARICOLA GREW IN SIZE, SO DID THE CREATURE'S MIND
IT WAS DECIDED AN EDUCATION WAS IN ORDER
MARICOLA WAS SENT TO A SCHOOL FOR VILLAINS AND REPEATED THE FIRST YEAR, LIKE, FOUR TIMES CONSECUTIVELY
PATIENCE WAS REWARDED, DARK PACTS WERE MADE
BUT THEN THE SCHOOL SHUT DOWN BECAUSE IT WASN'T ACCREDITED BY THE SCHOOL BOARD
IT WAS A MASSIVE SHITSHOW FOR ALL INVOLVED, NEPOTISM ALL OVER, EMBEZZLEMENT, REALLY BAD STUFF GOING ON
HONESTLY CONSIDERING IT WAS A SCHOOL FOR VILLAINS YOU'D THINK SOMEONE WOULD HAVE SEEN IT COMING
BUT I DIGRESS
MARICOLA IS ONCE AGAIN UNLEASHED UPON THE WIDER WORLD
WHAT'S WORSE, IT MAY BE HUMANITY'S GREATEST HOPE FOR SURVIVAL
IN THE WORDS OF THE ANCIENT ONES:
"GUYS WE MIGHT BE KINDA BONED"
Abilities:
Euclidean Compaction - Using the dark powers of forbidden geometry, Maricola is able to fold it's spatial structure in order to compact itself down into an androgynous humanoid roughly four feet in height, thus allowing it to function more or less as a person would.
Ultimate Cells - A starspawn is a kind of biological singularity, a being of perfect simplicity and adaptability possessing extensive control over it's own body and the ability to self-repair, self-replicate, and self-evolve at mind-boggling speeds. Sadly, said biological singularity also includes a very simple brain.
Primeval Cells - Likewise, by sloughing off a portion of it's own cells and allowing them to assimilate a native life form, Maricola can spawn and telepathically command a city-menacing kaiju perfect for battling with giant robots or other oversize space aliens. Sadly, the complications of having such primitive three-dimensional biology inflicted upon them causes the imperfect organism to decay into watery mush after roughly 24 hours of rampaging, or once it's core is significantly compromised.
Interstellar Cells - Finally, as a fragment of a greater being itself, Maricola is in constant communication with it's parent body and is able to consult it for advice. Sadly, the main body Maricola comes from is just as out-of-touch as Maricola is in the ways of puny earthfolk, but it tries.
Equipment:
Taiwanese bootleg action figure in the likeness of Omegaman, Maricola's de-facto archnemesis and favorite superhero.
Euclidean Compaction - Using the dark powers of forbidden geometry, Maricola is able to fold it's spatial structure in order to compact itself down into an androgynous humanoid roughly four feet in height, thus allowing it to function more or less as a person would.
Ultimate Cells - A starspawn is a kind of biological singularity, a being of perfect simplicity and adaptability possessing extensive control over it's own body and the ability to self-repair, self-replicate, and self-evolve at mind-boggling speeds. Sadly, said biological singularity also includes a very simple brain.
Primeval Cells - Likewise, by sloughing off a portion of it's own cells and allowing them to assimilate a native life form, Maricola can spawn and telepathically command a city-menacing kaiju perfect for battling with giant robots or other oversize space aliens. Sadly, the complications of having such primitive three-dimensional biology inflicted upon them causes the imperfect organism to decay into watery mush after roughly 24 hours of rampaging, or once it's core is significantly compromised.
Interstellar Cells - Finally, as a fragment of a greater being itself, Maricola is in constant communication with it's parent body and is able to consult it for advice. Sadly, the main body Maricola comes from is just as out-of-touch as Maricola is in the ways of puny earthfolk, but it tries.
Equipment:
Taiwanese bootleg action figure in the likeness of Omegaman, Maricola's de-facto archnemesis and favorite superhero.
Other:
Do People Still Do Character Themes?
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