The Collection
Below, for my reference and that of anyone bored enough with life to read this, are my various character sheets from over the years.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Below, for my reference and that of anyone bored enough with life to read this, are my various character sheets from over the years.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Four student NPCs and a partial Faculty CS below.
Marlijn (Marlynn) Vaanse
You will never freeze in Ersand'Enise. In fact, I've found you're unlikely to sneeze. You might even think that it's not a big deal, but if you were Eskandish, you would know how I feel.
16 | Female | Eskandish | Noble | 7.23
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ [Cultured]
❖ [Puckish]
❖ [Unscrupulous]
❖ [Performer]
❖ [Generous]
❖ [Puckish]
❖ [Unscrupulous]
❖ [Performer]
❖ [Generous]
Marlijn is the oldest daughter of an Eskandish viscount and has a twin brother, Owain, who she's older than by half an hour. He never hears the end of this. In general, Marlijn is much for clever quips and quick comebacks. She plays the cultured young lady quite convincingly and is well-heeled enough to understand her duties and ultimately, with some grumbling to confidantes, abide by them. She's a bit of a wild child deep down, though: not quite a tomboy, but treads right on the edge of that. She has a soft spot for animals and spends as much time out in the forest or putting her horses through exercises as is socially appropriate. Then, she returns to her studies with perhaps less diligence than she should. She's the kind of person who tends to fall right in the middle of the pack academically. She isn't dumb; she just can't be bothered to jump through all of those hoops with any real enthusiasm. She saves that for the physical and social sides of things.
Though she's a quick talker, good liar, and a bit of a charmer, Marlijn isn't much for gossip and even less for people who talk down to her. Being a low-middling noble is not always easy. Those below you look up jealously and seek to challenge your authority and those above you are the most snobbish sorts who enjoy looking down on you. The world is annoyingly complex and, though Marlijn usually feels as if she's up to the challenge of it, it's oh-so tiring at times and she'd rather things just be simple. Her facade of demure noble feminine virtue is less-than-perfect in these moments and she has the reputation of being a serial eye-roller. She once told her brother, only half-jokingly, "I'm over it, you know? All the being a show pony and smiling and curtsying and talking to people who don't really wanna be talking to me either. Just like... let me find a decent husband who isn't twenty years my senior or smells like turnips and sweat. Set me up with a nice little keep somewhere not-awful. I'll pop out a few kids, get deep into my cups with the other local ladies, yell at my servants a bit, and then just get to do the things I wanna. That'd be nice. That's a happily ever after, right?"
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Simply put, Marlijn is very pretty and, in her less insecure moments, she knows it. She's tall and slim, with bright blue eyes, long auburn hair, and a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She looks a couple of years older than she is and most people are surprised to learn that she's only sixteen. There's usually a twinkle of something mischievous in her expression, and you sometimes wonder what must be so funny in her head. Spoiler: it usually isn't what you think.
When she doesn't have to be presentable for others, Marlijn dresses for comfort: a simple tunic and loose, light ankle-length skirt in earthy tones. The ensemble is completed with a cloak and riding hood held together with a gold clasp in the shape of a bee, some sturdy boots, and a belt with pouches. Her hair is usually draped over her shoulder in a loose braid or double ponytails. Of course, Marlijn all dressed up aims to impress. While she isn't much for frilly dresses and prefers clothing that leaves her unencumbered, she'll happily wear ostentatious jewellery. She likes bold and striking patterns, particularly in her house's colours of sapphire blue, gold, and white.
L A N G U A G E S
Marlijn finds sitting with a tutor and learning languages to be just about the most tedious thing in the world. She's fluent in her native Loh Eskandish, of course, and passable in Avincian. She's also picked up a few Revidian and Perrench words and phrases from her regular visits to the port of Pesperdam on family business. That's about it. Secretly, she feels a bit intimidated by the northern nobles with their flawless Avincian and self-conscious about her accent and less-than-perfect way with the language since she's used to being quite clever with words in her native tongue.
T H E G I F T
Marlijn is above average but not exceptional in terms of The Gift, kind of like she is with most things. She prefers drawing from kinetic and arcane sources and favours two styles of magic: the practical things that'll help her look after her horses, make her life easier in small ways, and allow her to augment her performances, as well as illusion magic. She shares a tutor with her brother and, for reasons unknown to either of them, finds it the most amusing thing in the world to just appear in places or pop out of nowhere and scare the living daylights out of people. It's not as if she has any ambition to do sinister things. Being able to alter what people see and turn literally freakin' invisible is just cool, she supposes. As long as Marlijn stands still in a place where the light isn't changing too much, she can actually already go invisible. How awesome is that!? For what it's worth, she isn't bad with Magnetic casting either, because lightning is cool too.
B A C K G R O U N D
Marlijn sometimes feels as if she's not even the main character in her own life. Her upbringing has been, for the most part, utterly unremarkable. Her father is a typical lower-middling noble (a viscount) who looks after his lands, holds court twice per week with the commons and representatives from Pesperdam Town's guilds, and has various little projects going. He complains at not being high-ranking enough to be invited to the college of electors, and tries to petition a friendly great house every once in awhile to bump Pesperdam up to full County status. He funds port improvements when he's had a good harvest and tightens the purse strings when he hasn't. He goes hunting and riding with some of his knights and men-at-arms and, in a non-traditional move, sometimes brings not only Owain, but Marlijn along too. She's quite good with a snaphaunce, able to take a rabbit reliably from 100 yards, though she secretly thinks that bunnies are kinda cute.
Of course, the viscount makes up for that bit of a break from the expected by maintaining a regular search for suitable suitors for his daughter. He hopes to have her marry up as part of his long-term project to get into the college of electors (spoiler: the poor guy has no chance). To serve this ambition, Marlijn spends a considerable amount of time on her needlework, sitting and chatting with her ladies-in-waiting and the neighbouring baron's daughter, Tannifer. She's also expected to maintain musical interests and it's here that she actually has some passion. While, secretly, she prefers tunes more like the bawdy ones that she heard when her party stopped by a tavern in Pesperdam Town one evening a couple of years ago, the viscount had a harpsichord imported at great cost from Perrence for her to play. Marlijn is indeed passable on the 'Scalloped Beast' as she calls it, but she much prefers the lute and making up clever little rhymes to go with her original compositions. While she doesn't stand out as a player, her lyrics are considered quite amusing by most, and she has quite the performer's flair.
In terms of important formative experiences, Marlijn's had few that stand out. There was a pilgrimage to the Verdant Throne when she was eight years old, where she began climbing the tree before being fished out with one of the fruits already in her mouth (she actually lost a baby tooth while biting into it). She also traveled to Ersand'Enise when she was twelve and it was apparent that she and her brother were fairly strong in The Gift. Marlijn decided that she wanted to go there. It sounded ever so much more exciting than her everyday life in Pesperdam: repeating Avincian phrases and practicing calligraphy with her tutors, gossiping with Tannifer, needle and thread in hand, or slamming away at a harpsichord for hours to sheet music brought over from Revidia. In light of this, perhaps it's not surprising that being accepted to Ersand'Enise means a helluva lot to Marlijn Vaanse. She doesn't come from a bad place. In fact, her life is quite privileged and she knows it. She doesn't have a pain or trauma-filled past, and she's never really even been particularly unique or special. What this place is, though, is agency. She wants some of that, deep down, more than anything else.
M O T I V A T I O N
Um... I may have actually answered this under 'Background'. Oops? Basically, Marlijn's a bored, smart, slightly underachieving creative type who prefers to either be the centre of attention or to be left to her own devices, with little in between. At the end of the day, she wants some agency and control over her life and to be able to chart her own course towards a 'happily ever after' with, perhaps, a not so small dose of fun and adventure along the way. To her, Ersand'Enise represents her first step on that path, and she's both nervous and excited.
I N V E N T O R Y
Marlijn regularly carries a small notebook to write down her wittier ideas and was gifted a big, pretty, gold-winged staff as a going away present. She twirls it when she's bored and uses it to help her cast. She also has quite a bit of jewellery, two nice gold chains, and multiple pairs of shoes and boots. She has a satchel full of focus words for illusory spells that she's trying to master and dozens of pages of sheet music. There is a fine lute and a less-fine lute leaning against her night table or slung over her shoulder at times and her wardrobe is packed full of dresses organized from 'really fancy' to 'plain Jane'. She'd kind of like to train and keep a bird since there are so many here and it's kind of a tradition. She finds magpies rather adorable little pests. Perhaps she'll add an animal familiar at some point.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ quick-witted
❖ great horseback rider and good with animals
❖ musically talented
❖ kind of has some feminine wiles, actually
❖ very good with illusions
❖ great horseback rider and good with animals
❖ musically talented
❖ kind of has some feminine wiles, actually
❖ very good with illusions
Marlijn's just honestly pretty good at being a competent young noble girl, likeable, and morally somewhat decent despite herself. She's often been only half-jokingly described as 'a little bit above average in everything'. In particular, though, she's good with illusion, animals, and music, and usually pretty socially put together.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ kind of spoiled, to be honest
❖ not as worldly as she thinks she is
❖ not the most diligent student
❖ has a need to be seen as interesting and fun - can be approval-seeking
❖ pretends to be cynical but honestly just kind of a dreamer who's become a bit afraid to dream
❖ not as worldly as she thinks she is
❖ not the most diligent student
❖ has a need to be seen as interesting and fun - can be approval-seeking
❖ pretends to be cynical but honestly just kind of a dreamer who's become a bit afraid to dream
Marlijn can be a bit of a suck. If she's not good at something or doesn't enjoy it, she doesn't really try. She also tends to seek external validation and likes to be a bit of a performer, but only on her own terms. In a practical sense, she sometimes overestimates her own competence and can embarrass herself or get into hot water. Her most common response is to react with stubborn pride, hold it together because Eskandishwomen don't cry, and then go home and ball her eyes out while having a near-anxiety attack. Finally, while she's not a snob, she's still more or less a typical young noble with much of what that entails.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Marlijn will simp for pretty boys. She'll never admit as much and act indignant if you accuse her of it but, deep down, she's a typical thirsty teenager.
Colour Code: D2691E
Penelope 'Penny' Pellegrin
"I admit to being more than a little distracted by the...wit and depth of the conversation at this table."
"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."
"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."
17 | Female | Perrench | Royalty | 8.11
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Sardonic
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure
Most of Penny's life has been defined by being the family disgrace. She was born without a left leg and with a moderate form of ectrodactyly in her left hand and this was cause enough for her superstitious mother to see her birth as divine punishment for the sins of her and her husband. This would be quite a bad state of affairs in most families, but is only magnified due to the fact that Penelope's parents are King Rouis XI of Perrence and his wife, Queen Mathilde. Unallowed to attend balls, public functions, or even to venture past the palace gardens, Penny is a young woman stifled. She reads, she paces (crutch in hand), she grows things and draws and writes. She pretends to hate those formal family dinners when both father and mother are home, but secretly, she loves them. She is a forgotten middle child in many ways, with no prospects for marriage despite her station and no hope of amounting to much, so she is not one to hold back on pithy observations and cutting commentary and it is oh so amusing (often not only to her). The Gift is sometimes her plaything. When she's bored or sucky, she uses it to play tricks on her siblings, particularly if they're being obnoxious (at least one always is). A laugh at someone else's expense is still a laugh. Besides, they deserve it.
However, deep down, beneath many layers of snark and resigned cynicism, there's a curious, big-hearted girl who has dreams of seeing the world, meeting new people, and being valued instead of either pitied, stared at, or avoided with whispers, stolen glances, and sad shakes of the head. Because you place your right hand on your left hip, pointing to your left leg when you honour Oraff (the creator) while making the sign of the Pentad, religious superstition holds that Penny's missing limb is a mark of that God's disfavour. She does not believe it. She refuses to. She has a private tutor and she practices Binding Magic for hours on end, quietly determined to prove that she isn't what they say she is. On some warm Dorrad nights, though, as she lies awake in bend, staring at the swirling patterns on her ceiling and wishing for sleep, she worries that they're right and that she'll fail. She wonders why she couldn't just be whole and normal. She tries to dream that she is, but even in her dreams, she remains stubbornly the same person who she knows and does not love.
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Were it not for her birth differences and their prejudices, most people would consider Penelope quite pretty. Tall and statuesque, with bright green eyes perhaps just a bit too large for her face and a resting smirk, she is the spitting image of her mother. Her hair is a rich chestnut brown and, when not styled in the fashion of the courts (even though she does not attend them), can usually be found pulled back in a Perrench braid. Since she was young, it has displayed a remarkable resistance to maintaining any sort of cohesive style or form for long and appears almost preternaturally tousled.
Penny wears long, light dresses. They vary in colour and she has many - some, hand-me-downs from her older sisters. She likes things that are lacy but feel solid and protective, so lacy hems and collars abound but not much else. She enjoys buttons, for whatever reason, and will often fiddle with those running down her sleeves. She also wears gloves. The left one is modified to fill in the gap in her palm and it has a dummy finger attached by a thin string to the one beside it. Out of habit, she does not take her gloves off unless sleeping or bathing. She has a pair of crutches (a handful of pairs, actually), but doesn't like how they fill her hands. As a result, she often gets around with only one. She's rarely in a hurry anyway. There's nowhere to go and not all that much to do.
L A N G U A G E S
For a noble lady of Penelope's station, languages are a must. For her, they're also something to do, and she has numerous correspondents all across the twin continents who she writes to. She is fully fluent in Perrench, Avincian, Revidian, and her mother's native tongue of Kerreman, and at least conversant in Eskandish, Torragonese, Joruban, and Belzaggic. Once you learn one language from a family, the others come easily. She sometimes practices her calligraphy and is looking to correspond with someone in Oiyac or Mycormi, but yasoi are so much more reticent in real life than they are in all of her old books.
T H E G I F T
Penny approaches prodigious levels in her use of the Gift - unsurprising for a blueblood of her pedigree. With little else to do but read, write, and learn, she also trains all day, memorizing focus words and inventing little spells of her own that she gives funny names to. While she's practiced with all five canonical schools, it is Binding that she puts most of her effort towards. She spends a considerable amount of time on Arcane as well, mostly the illusory branch, works with Kinetic to help ease the difficulty of walking long distances, and with Magnetic because it's her tutor's favourite and there's something peacefully destructive about watching fingers of electricity writhe and snap. Guiltily, she dabbles in internal Chemical spells and tells herself it isn't so that she can make people like her. That's what a madwoman would think. Penny isn't mad and will not let herself go mad. She simply won't. Besides, Binding Magic is her preferred school. If she can't heal herself, she reasons, she can at least heal other people. Then, she cringes at the thought of how melodramatic and self-indulgent such a statement would sound aloud.
B A C K G R O U N D
Penny remembers the looks most of all: the first looks when people see her or the second ones when they make sense of her. It first really registered when she was around four years old. Until then, she was blissfully unaware of her differences and what they would mean. She grew up playing with her siblings - there were many and they were close in age. There were servants' daughters and cousins too. They always told the most wonderful stories and she used to like to hear them until she realized that those were stories of a world that was being kept from her. They're now a weird, resentful kind of addiction. She still needs to hear them, but they no longer bring her joy.
When she was seven, her parents attempted to arrange for her a marriage with the second son of a Torragonese lord, but instead of making arrangements by proxy, he decided to visit. Penny played with the boy and they laughed and smiled and she teased him that they'd be married someday and that he should listen to his wife. Then, he and his father left.
One time, when she was ten, there was a ceremony at the Catherdal de Ste. Defrois. She rode in a carriage through the streets of Relouse, listening to the clatter of the horses' hooves and the church bells ringing. She remembers leaning out with her little tiara and waving with her right hand at the commonfolk. They were loud and dirty and shouted, and she was a bit scared, but they waved back, and there were kids her own age in there too.
She hasn't traveled since. She hasn't done much of anything since and wasn't going to be allowed to. That is, until her brother Arcel intervened. She is to attend Ersand'Enise under an assumed name, as the invented daughter of an unremarkable merchant paid a sum by her brother. She is to be his agent there. She is to meet with people and exchange letters with them. She knows Arcel: he is not vile, but he is ambitious and underhanded. Penelope - Penny Pellegrin now - doesn't much care. It's a species of freedom, at least, and she'll take it, even with all of the risk and the fears.
M O T I V A T I O N
More than anything, Penny wants to spread her figurative wings. She wants to live an actual life. She wants to prove to herself, at least, that her mother is wrong about her. There is a deep well of bitterness there, though she shakes her head to clear it and simply tries to appreciate that she has never hungered nor wanted for any physical need a day in her life.
Penny is eager to be at Ersand'Enise and to make something of herself, but she is deathly afraid of the real, actual, wild people out here. How will they react to her? Will they laugh at her jokes? Will they just see her: Penny - a girl from Perrence, or will it be pity, awkwardness, or avoidance? She knows it will. It'll have to be, like it always is. What if anybody finds her out - or learns of whatever her brother is up to? Will she be able to play a merchant's daughter convincingly? She feels like a fraud when it comes to life. She hasn't lived very much and knows it. Still, sometimes she takes a deep breath and counsels herself that she can do this. She is a princess of Perrence. Her forebears earned the crown at some point. They were capable people. So is she... she hopes - she really, really hopes.
I N V E N T O R Y
Penny almost always carries a satchel slung across one shoulder, with some basic jewellery, a small journal, letters and wax, and a comb (partly as a joke) inside. She uses one crutch the majority of the time, to keep a hand free, and two when she knows that she'll have to do a lot of walking that day. They're made of light, lacquered wood with soft pads on top for her armpits. She'll never be found using a wand or staff as a focus object, having practiced freecasting from a young age. For spells absolutely requiring one, a crutch is very much like a staff when held a certain way. Penny's recently taken to wearing a spare garter even though she already has one to hold up her stocking. She uses it as a strap to tuck secret correspondence for her brother into and spends the next while paranoid that it'll slip out and Black Rezaindians will come for her in the night.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ funny and clever
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy
At the end of the day, Penny falls on the side of being a good person. Her acerbic comments are more than just a cover, but also not her entire story. She's well-heeled and it shows. She can wield etiquette like a weapon if need be and generally has very good recall for obscure trivia and details. This carries over into languages and the written word, where she can speak seven languages, at least to a degree...at least usually.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ anxious and insecure
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex
Penny's upbringing and the constant feeling of being unwanted has done a number on her mental health. She's not a wreck or a basket case, but she struggles with intense flashes of anxiety and self-doubt. She worries about how people will perceive her and tends to assume the worst, though she actively counsels herself not to. She can be a bit of a stepford smiler at times.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Penelope of Perrence is here incognito, as a lowly merchant's daughter named Penny Pellegrin. It would be unusual for anyone but the high-ups in the school establishment to know who she really is. Also, see here for a demonstration of how she walks on one crutch. Beware that I may have had to go into the weird part of YouTube to dig this up.
Colour Code: F7976A
Manfred Hohenfelter
When asked by a member of the Aesthetic Society, "What do you feel when you shoot some poor mage?" his reply was, "Recoil."
18 | Male | Kerreman | Noble | 6.14
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Intense
❖ Professional
❖ Cold
❖ Work Hard, Play Hard
❖ Religious
❖ Professional
❖ Cold
❖ Work Hard, Play Hard
❖ Religious
Manfred is a consummate professional. Despite his parents' doubts about his chosen path, or perhaps because of them as well as his experiences in war, he's dedicated himself to his craft with the utmost conviction. In his approach to others, Manfred will always treat them with decency and professionalism unless they have done something to deserve differently. However, practically speaking, to those who don't know him, this behaviour can come across as cold and, in all honesty, it often is. Manfred isn't a shell of a man, but he's seen things that most people his age haven't and he doesn't feel much connection to his peers as a result. Besides, he knows that these are all monsters in the making and he doesn't have the energy to try to save them all. If he knows someone well, that would be another matter, but he prefers not to get attached. Things are less complicated that way and he doesn't like complications.
Manfred also prefers people who are what they claim to be. He has little time for liars, manipulators, and decadent types. Being honest and useful and maybe subtly stroking his ego without seeming sycophantic is the path to getting Manfred to like you. If he catches you in a lie, he won't hate you. He'll just stop trusting you and you'll never see any side of him beyond the professional. Betray him and, for all that he seems cold, this is one of the few things that tends to make his blood run hot. Manfred will appear to shrug it off. He'll wait. Sooner or later, he believes, Dami-Zept balances everything out. He will take his revenge and it will be decisive and deserved.
In general, Manfred is a devout Quentian, who carries a pocket-sized copy of the Ruhrich (the Menana) on him at all times, but he also appreciates the wisdom of the Angic Philosophy of Rettan. Despite being a member of the nobility, he views the regular lording of their powers over ungifted people and the violent and unaccountable excesses of most mages with deep distaste but, in the name of his faith, he counsels himself to keep an open mind. It isn't easy and it's only getting harder.
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Manfred is slightly taller than average height for a Kerreman. He has dark brown hair usually tied back in a short ponytail and grey-brown eyes. He's not bad looking, but doesn't stand out as exceptionally handsome. He's old enough that he's grown a but of stubble and has to shave. As a member of the nobility, he has access to fine clothing and will dutifully wear it when appropriate, taking pride in his appearance. However, he prefers a simple doublet and vest of quality materials, with a leather belt, breeches, and sturdy boots for his everyday wear. His clothes often show evidence of cat hair, despite his best efforts to keep them clean. He has four of the exact same outfit and a fifth, slightly more styled, for the day of worship. He launders his clothes on the fourth day of the week and lets them dry on the fifth. He believes in doing this himself and will only hire a washerwoman if she's especially pretty his schedule is especially busy. Manfred can also sometimes be found in a uniform of military cut, complete usually with a coat in the Navy Blue of the Kerreman Crown. When in the field, he wears a bandoleer with ammunition pouches, a rapier at one hip, a wheel-lock pistol at the other, and a marksman's rifle slung over his shoulder.
L A N G U A G E S
Manfred speaks Kerreman as a mother tongue, as well as fluent Avincian. He knows Perrench as a matter of practicality and can understand some Holmanian because it is more or less mutually intelligible with his native language. Besides, it's useful to know the tongue of your enemy. He'd like to pick up some yasoi too, for similar reasons. Unfortunately, it's hard to find a tutor these days.
T H E G I F T
Manfred's use of the Gift is rather pedestrian. Technically, he falls within the lower average range for a magus, but his family has a strong martial tradition and, as a second son, he is expected to take an officer's commission in the army. The problem is that he would rather be anything but a mage and, even if he were to be one, he'd be only a middling mage at best. The graveyards of Constantia are full of middling mages. To this end, he has decided to eschew tradition and train as a magusjaeger. In this capacity, Manfred's use of the Gift is wholly practical. His primary school is Kinetic, which helps him guide bullets, provides an abundant drawing source, and can help stop incoming projectiles. He has enough capacity to function at a higher defensive level than the average magusjaeger. His secondary schools are Arcane and Magnetic. The first is for the magnification, stealth, and low-level illusion abilities, which he is quite good with. In a dim space and if he's more or less still, Manfred will be effectively invisible. Meanwhile, Magnetic provides some manipulation of metals - useful on a battlefield - as well as protection against internal chemical spells and an alternative way to alter the course of his shots and others'. He has precisely zero interest in magic beyond what it can do for him in a practical sense. He has grown up around practitioners of the Gift and is inured to its uses. He finds no wonder in it - just a tool.
B A C K G R O U N D
Manfred comes from a long and distinguished line and, while none of his forebears have been famous mages, many have been respectable or even notable. His family are Reichsgrafs (imperial counts), outranking all other nobility with the exception of dukes, and hold stewardship in the Queen's name over a large swathe of mostly rural farmland in Meckelin-Thandau. It is good and rich land and a portion of it is reserved for the estate that Manfred grew up on and its surrounding hunting grounds. From an early age, Manfred enjoyed hunting with his two brothers, Jurgen and Klaus, and his wolfdog Fritz. They would spend hours outdoors in the warm months, often on horseback and sometimes joined by their sister, Nina.
Manfred grew up, in many ways, as a normal boy of his country and station. Then, the Holmanians attacked. Seeking to take advantage of Kerremand's distraction, desperate, bony bands of yasoi launched raids over the border as well. Jurgen was old enough to be attending Ersand'Enise up north, Klaus was but a boy, and Nina a young girl, but Manfred had entered his teens and joined his father on the fields of battle. Only beginning to develop his talents at that age, he was given a largely ceremonial posting as morale officer.
It started simply enough. He would go out to meet the troops in their camps or on the march and speak with the non-commissioned officers - sergeants, corporals, and the like. He'd encourage them, sing some marching songs while they politely watched, and go report back to the higher ranking officers - most of them magery or cavalry. Then, the army saw battle. It was against the Holmanians under General Gerd Von Mikkelstern of Albesatz-Zuber: the Iron Duke, and they outnumbered his forces by double. Yet, Manfred could do little but survive and hope. The heavens crackled with thunder. The air reeked of blood, shit, and ozone. Did you know that human flesh, when slightly cooked, has a sweet smell? A sickeningly sweet smell? Manfred will never forget that smell. And so he watched mages fling thunderbolts across the sky. He watched knights roasted alive inside their armour by Arcane magic. Great chains, their iron links caked with rust and old blood, scythed across the battlefield, breaking human bodies. Soldiers - men he knew - who he had sung and marched with, who'd called him 'little lord' and laughed and patted him on the back after giving him a swig from their flasks... he watched them fed into the meat grinder of the enemy's magery - and their soldiers fed into his.
And nobody gained an inch of ground. A soft rain began and the two armies retired from what had been a grassy field and was now a wasteland. All night, he heard the voices: calling for their mothers, praying for Oraff-Zept to save them, for Ahn-Eshiran to take them, crying. Grown men were not supposed to cry and Manfred couldn't take it. He wandered out of his tent in the darkness, right to the edge of the battlefield, and there they were: crawling and dragging torn, boiled, and ravaged bodies through the muck. Manfred recoiled. His heart beat faster and the pressure mounted in his eardrums. Grey Rezaindians shuffled along, lanterns swinging in the blackness, gathering the dead. It did not matter whether they were Kerreman Grey Rezaindians or Holmanian Grey Rezaindians. They were all Grey Rezaindians. The wails rose, carts shambled past, and eventually, the greys gave way to White Rezaindians who drifted in like ghosts in a fog. A lick of flame it'd be. Every once in a while, they'd stop and there would be a wail, and brief, intense burst: Ahn-Eshiran's gift to the maimed and the dying.
The armies met the next day. Manfred huddled by his father in the magery. The cavalry was dispatched to distract the enemy mages and there was a twinkle in the graf's eyes when he told his son 'you won't want to miss this, my boy." The magery of Kerremand eliminated the King's Own Lassanzee Fusiliers in less than a minute and, with it, almost every grown man from the Holmanian village by that name. There was scarce time to celebrate. The enemy had not been idle. A pair of Internal Chemical Mages had light-bent to slip behind Kerreman lines and he saw people melt from the inside - their eyes bubbling out of sockets, the skin sloughing away in sickly colours, and a foul yellow gas seeping like death across the battlefield. Then, one looked at him and he felt the start of a pinch and knew that, at age fifteen, it was time to make his peace with the gods.
Only, it wasn't. The cruel grin on the mage's face froze in a mask of shock and he fell face-first, dead, a smoking hole through the back of his head. Moments later, the second mage fell. Nobody saw the magusjaegers who'd done it. They worked silently. They did not ask for accolades. They just did their jobs, and that had saved Manfred's life.
For the very first time, the Iron Duke lost in open battle. Truly, it was a Pyrrhic victory, for he had bled the Kerremans just as dry as they had bled him but, around that time, Kerremand had a bit more than its neighbour in the way of young men. That night, Manfred joined the commanders of the army in the general's tent, drinking, feasting, and singing songs about how Holmanian women are whores and how their men make good fertilizer. Most of them were mages. They weaved their hands through the air as they described how they'd cut this guy in half or blown that one's head up like a firework. At some point, pumped full of beer as a sort of mascot, they boy excused himself from the tent on the pretense of having a piss. Some of the soldiers were singing and drinking too. Some were not. The ones who were dead certainly were not. There was one particular group that drew his attention, though: small, aloof, and dressed in dark clothing. They sat in silence in the night, the embers of their pipes and tips of cigars burning like fat orange fireflies. The magusjaegers were cleaning their rifles. They spared glances out at the battlefield, already preparing for their next fight.
M O T I V A T I O N
Manfred is at Ersand'Enise out of obligation. As a Hohenfelter, he was signed up for the school from the moment the previous cohort entered, and there was never any option not to go. He hides his utter hatred for mages and what they represent behind a mask of cold professionalism, ever worried about slipping back into the comforting normalcy of a decadent noble lifestyle. He still feels a sense of duty to his family and country, however, and will do nothing to shame or disgrace them. Regardless, aside from what he can learn of light-bending and countering internal chemical magic, he would rather be just about anywhere else.
I N V E N T O R Y
Manfred has a chest full of clothes. He carries a ring with the seal of House Hohenfelter, a quill, some ink, and a small journal. The customary coin purse is there, and his is well-stocked. Try to sneak up on Manfred and pickpocket him. See what happens. Finally, he carries a magnifying glass on him. This item serves two purposes: one is for practice with light-focusing and the other is as a light to amuse his cat. A large orange Ragamuffin, Kürbis is given free reign of whatever Manfred's current living space is and is an excellent mouser. Aside from his wolfdog Fritz, who is quite elderly now and could not travel with him, Kurbis is also just about the only thing that you will ever see Manfred show affection for. Also, he has guns - lots of them, and they are very good ones. Swords and knives too.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ Preternaturally accurate with a rifle or any sort of projectile: don't mess with him.
❖ Pinpoint etiquette and manners: he has all of the training of a high noble. He can make you shrivel with an outwardly polite smile.
❖ Hard worker: Manfred puts in the work. No excuses. Not having much of a social life helps.
❖ Hardened: Your social politics and jibes really, actually don't bother him. He's seen some shit.
❖ Kerreman: He can really hold his drink. Don't get into a drinking contest with him. You'll lose.
❖ Pinpoint etiquette and manners: he has all of the training of a high noble. He can make you shrivel with an outwardly polite smile.
❖ Hard worker: Manfred puts in the work. No excuses. Not having much of a social life helps.
❖ Hardened: Your social politics and jibes really, actually don't bother him. He's seen some shit.
❖ Kerreman: He can really hold his drink. Don't get into a drinking contest with him. You'll lose.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ Distant and detached: Manfred just sort of sees people as... not bad, but just 'there'. Nobody really means much of anything.
❖ Morally Superior: Manfred really does believe that he's better than you, filthy mage. He won't say it, but he'll let you know.
❖ Stubborn: He can become very set in his ways, mostly for the sake of his pride and because he hates admitting when he's wrong.
❖ Hardened: Manfred had a sense of humour once. He was fun and talkative. He's pretty unlovable now and convinces himself that he likes it that way.
❖ Kerreman: Sometimes, he will drink too much, and you might not want to be around him then unless your name is Fritz or Kürbis.
❖ Morally Superior: Manfred really does believe that he's better than you, filthy mage. He won't say it, but he'll let you know.
❖ Stubborn: He can become very set in his ways, mostly for the sake of his pride and because he hates admitting when he's wrong.
❖ Hardened: Manfred had a sense of humour once. He was fun and talkative. He's pretty unlovable now and convinces himself that he likes it that way.
❖ Kerreman: Sometimes, he will drink too much, and you might not want to be around him then unless your name is Fritz or Kürbis.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
❖ He's not a revolutionary or anything, but Manfred listens to what The Traveler has to say and agrees with some of it. Still, he thinks the guy is a madman overall.
❖ Manfred loves a hearty meal.
❖ He's actually kind of looking for a wife if he can find one. That way, he won't be legally obligated to obey his father's commands as a member of his household.
❖ Colour Code: 2E8B57
❖ Manfred loves a hearty meal.
❖ He's actually kind of looking for a wife if he can find one. That way, he won't be legally obligated to obey his father's commands as a member of his household.
❖ Colour Code: 2E8B57
Jomurr Ikon III
I don't think I'm better than other people. I know it.
16 | Male | Belzaggic | Noble | 8.26
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Confident
❖ Competitive
❖ Shameless
❖ Showman
❖ Snobbish
❖ Competitive
❖ Shameless
❖ Showman
❖ Snobbish
Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and the mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is reactionary and a response to the threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.
L A N G U A G E S
Belzaggic: native
Avincian: fluent
Joruban: fluent
Perrench: fluent
Revidian: passable
Azjulish: passable
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Look at the pic. There's your answer. He dresses in light, loose cloths, like most Belzaggic people. He'd show off his muscles if he had a bunch, but he's still a bit scrawny. Impeccably dressed, though. He just screams 'noble'.
T H E G I F T
Jomurr is a prodigy with the Gift and has the goal of either becoming an Arch-Zeno someday or returning to his house and usurping his firstborn brother to rule over the Duchy of Zowenga in his stead. Jomurr practices with all schools and knows the fundamentals of all. However, his favourite is Chemical and he's learning Atomic from a Zeno hired to be his tutor. He also has a thing for Kinetic because it's just so damned fun tossing plebs out your castle window with but a flick of your finger. Alas, this school only allows for two specializations. He should have his father talk to the Zenos about that. Arcane is pretty dope too. Binding? Hah! Binding magic isn't used for offense, and who needs healing? You have some pleb to follow you and heal you, of course!
B A C K G R O U N D
Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and that mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is performative and a reaction to the perceived threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.
M O T I V A T I O N
"I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was!"
In all seriousness, see the above bit on 'background'. Basically, like everyone else, Jomurr's here to become the person he's going to be for the rest of his life. He's also here to flex, though.
I N V E N T O R Y
Tons of outfits, a coinpurse full of Kizans, Coronas, and some Neskals because that's what all of the cool kids are paying with. There's no bigger flex than rolling up to some merchant, purchasing a papaya, and asking if he can make change for your Great Neskal. Jomurr also carries the signet ring of his house and a Teddy Lion that he sometimes sleeps with.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ Magic prodigy
❖ Quick and athletic
❖ High noble and well-connected. He can pull some strings when he needs to.
❖ Quick with words, usually.
❖ Good liar
❖ Quick and athletic
❖ High noble and well-connected. He can pull some strings when he needs to.
❖ Quick with words, usually.
❖ Good liar
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ Honestly just kind of a jerk
❖ Insecure, deep down
❖ Overconfident
❖ Not quite as quick with words as he thinks he is
❖ Does not handle failure well initially
❖ Insecure, deep down
❖ Overconfident
❖ Not quite as quick with words as he thinks he is
❖ Does not handle failure well initially
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Unless they're from Belzagg and/or a high noble from at least a neighbouring region, other students are unlikely to know that Jomurr is a second son.
Colour Code: 800080
Zeno Joshe Intaba
"A Zeno's business is the Gift... and only the Gift."
64 | Male | Medrilaner | Noble | 8.86
D E S C R I P T I O N
Joshe Intaba is a living legend and one of the most powerful mages alive today. Master of the Magical Pentad, Hero of the Nashorn, Warden of the Lantern of Shune-Zept, and Lion of Medrilan, he is in possession of a virtually unparalleled resume as a practitioner of the Gift. Yet, for all of his accomplishments and sublime talent, he is a mere Zeno, as he has been for the past thirty years.
Joshe has never liked politics. He has never cared to play them. He believes strongly that a Zeno should be a practitioner of the magical arts and only the magical arts. To this end, he has refused every honour and promotion that has come his way but a handful that he found to be meaningful. While many have sought to garner his support and use his renown for their own ends, he always replies with a sad, friendly smile and a tired shake of his head. "I am sorry, friend, but it cannot be so. A Zeno's business is the Gift, and only the Gift. I wish you luck." It is said that he sees with far more than just his eyes, and that he sees all. Many feel themselves judged in his presence and found wanting, but there is never any malice or disdain.
While others have risen further and faster on the strength of their ambitions, Joshe has been content to remain a teacher, researcher, and - in times of trouble - arguably the academy's mightiest weapon. He eschews the ostentatious silks, laces, and jewelry of many of his fellow mages, in favour of a simple dark robe of excellent cut and quality. In his younger years, he was known for his boisterous celebrations, generosity, and many lovers (including the current Zenith, some whisper), yet he is in every way now, a wise and wizened master, if not with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
Ironically, his hard stance on the duties of a Zeno and his steadfast dedication to his craft has grown this old Medrilaner a sizable following - one that he has never sought to leverage. The Academy, too, has recognized this. He is considered their foremost active instructor. To be apprenticed to Zeno Intaba is generally considered an honour and a privilege reserved for only the most gifted and promising of students. Yet, such is his cachet that he is given free reign to choose his own pupils, and his choices often raise eyebrows, as do his methods. Yet, none can argue with his results.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
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3 days ago
Zheng Zǐhán
Below, you'll find the character that I've made for a theoretical roleplaying game set in a university ESL program. This doubles as coursework for EDUC2720.
Zheng Zǐhán
It's good to work hard, but you need to 'work smart' too.
19 | Male | Suzhou, China | Toronto, Canada | University Student
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Motivated
❖ Friendly
❖ Funny
❖ Anxious
❖ Daydreamer
❖ Friendly
❖ Funny
❖ Anxious
❖ Daydreamer
L A N G U A G E S
Zǐhán is fluent in Mandarin and was an avid reader growing up, though he prefers gaming to books. He also speaks a little bit of Shanghainese, as it is fairly common in the region (Suzhou is very close to Shanghai and there are many cultural and historical ties). He knows some Japanese words and phrases due to an interest in anime and its similarities to his first language.
He learned English from first grade in school growing up and was also enrolled in weekend and after-school programs, like many other children of his generation. While he has a fairly strong reading skills and a reasonable vocabulary, the profound grammatical differences between Mandarin Chinese and English can often prove problematic for him. He can read better than he can write and can speak better than he can often understand spoken English. All in all, he can get by in the language, but doesn't feel fluent and sometimes feels lost when asked to write academically at a high level in English. It can be a source of anxiety.
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Most people would consider Zǐhán fairly unremarkable. He's somewhat good looking but doesn't really stand out. Black hair, deep brown eyes, and about 175 cm in height. Unlike some of his peers, who dress in flashy or fashionable clothes and others who just toss on whatever was on the floor as they rush off to classes, he just dresses like an everyman. He has thought of exploring a more flamboyant style, but this has become increasingly discouraged in his homeland as of late, and he doesn't feel strongly enough about it to want to rock the boat.
B A C K G R O U N D
Zǐhán grew up on the fourteenth story of a fairly exclusive apartment complex not far from the TaiHu (Lake Tai) waterfront in Suzhou. His parents are not rich, but they're fairly well off, and currently own two other units, which they use as rental properties. He has a sister, also named Zǐhán (though it is spelt with different characters in Chinese and has a slightly different, though related, meaning). She is considerably younger than him and was born after the abolishment of the one-child policy. Sometimes, because he shares a name with his sister and since his name is more common as a girls' name (though not uncommon as a boys' name), he's received a bit of teasing. He pretends it bothers him less than it really does.
In school, despite being identified as a very intelligent student, Zǐhán was not an especially high achiever, and was censured more than once for his inability to sit still in class and follow routines. In particular, he struggled with mathematics, not doing well with the rote repetition favoured in its teaching. A doctor would later diagnose him with a mild form of ADHD, but this was not widely shared due to the stigma attached in many circles. He nonetheless had their support and developed his own management strategies. Fortunately, Zǐhán was generally a good test-taker and had a strong memory, so school wasn't as bad for him as it might've been for some with learning differences.
While his marks in high school weren't bad, they weren't good enough to get him into a top tier university either in the business administration program that his parents had wanted for him. As a result and also because his parents thought that it would be good for him to experience some of the world, he found himself applying to schools in Canada. He was accepted into U of T, joining a large cohort of fellow Chinese students there. He finds it comforting to be able to speak his home language and gradually acclimate to an English-speaking environment, though he also feels anxious that he's using it as a crutch and not acclimating quickly and thoroughly enough.
M O T I V A T I O N
Zǐhán wants to prove to his parents and what he feels are his naysayers that he's still the same smart kid he was identified as when he was young. He wants to live independently, experience what he can of Canada while he's here, and learn skills that will serve him well upon his return home. He's hesitant to look for anything romantic, as he doesn't necessarily intend to stay and it represents a potential complication. At the end of the day, he wants the things that most people want: a stable income, people who care about him, and interests that engage him.
I N V E N T O R Y
Zǐhán carries his cellphone with him everywhere, and his laptop is often in a satchel. He drives a 2013 Mercedes CLV and tries not to carry too much cash in his wallet. He also has a little good luck charm that his sister made for him before he left. He misses her more than he's ever likely to admit and fears that he'll be a stranger when he comes back home.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ Multilingualism
❖ Sense of Humour
❖ Memory
❖ Cross-Cultural Perspective
❖ Work Ethic
❖ Sense of Humour
❖ Memory
❖ Cross-Cultural Perspective
❖ Work Ethic
W E A K N E S S E S & S T R U G G L E S
❖ English Grammar
❖ Anxiety
❖ Focus
❖ Self-regulation (especially when it comes to gaming)
❖ Lacking cultural context in Canada sometimes
❖ Anxiety
❖ Focus
❖ Self-regulation (especially when it comes to gaming)
❖ Lacking cultural context in Canada sometimes
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Zǐhán's favourite games are Valorant and League of Legends. He knows that it's a bit stereotypical, but those are communities that he feels comfortable in and challenges that he enjoys.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
| AGE |
Lysandra is 32 years old. Her birthday is on October 5
| APPEARANCE |
The first (and often only) thing that people remember about Lysandra is her wheelchair. It's a simple, sturdy, lightweight manual chair and, as a paraplegic of four years, she uses it from dawn to dusk in order get around. Otherwise, she's a more or less baseline human: a fairly pretty Asian woman in her early thirties with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and a businesslike bearing. She is not and never has been much for dressing up and would rather dress for functionality and comfort. Layering is a rule to live by. It's easier to take something off than to put it on. To that end, her usual attire consists of a light t-shirt over a sports bra, jeans or leggings - the latter sometimes paired with jean shorts - and knee or thigh-high socks. Sometimes, she'll toss on some flats, but shoes are pretty irrelevant. Sturdy gloves - usually fingerless to allow her to work with touch screens - are more important, as they protect her hands from blisters. On colder days, She'll complete the outfit with a jacket. She has two and both have a striped patch in mint, seafoam green, and white sewn onto them: the flag of the settlement that she used to live in and where her brother still resides. Finally, though she rarely actually wears it as intended (because that'd be both inconvenient and goofy), is the supergirl medallion that she received from her mother as a girl. It's usually tucked into her bag or a jacket pocket as a kind of good luck charm. She tells herself that she doesn't believe in 'luck'; everything is probability. Yet, on the day when she broke her back, she didn't have it on her.
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking boots, and either athletic leggings or a baggy pocket-filled jumpsuit with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking boots, and either athletic leggings or a baggy pocket-filled jumpsuit with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
| PERSONALITY |
Daring ~ Unsentimental ~ Hyper-aware ~ Bitter ~ Clever ~ Assertive
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
| BACKGROUND |
Lysandra's mother was an engineer. Her father was a biologist. Both were born before the Great Collapse and were not young parents (forty one and forty, respectively). Her childhood was full of diligent work and research. It was full of movement and stories while on the move. She learned about the world that was: the great open green fields and forests, the safe, cozy homes, and the shining universities: beacons of learning and opportunity. Most of all, however, she accrued skills: she studied the nature of living and unliving things with her father. She learned the wonders of robotics, sensors, computers, and mechanics from her mother. Instead of playing with Lego, she hand built her first drone when she was seven. The family settled in the mid-sized and fiercely independent outpost of Fresh Haven. Lysandra and her slightly older brother, Daniel, grew up and their parents aged, so they took on increasingly important roles as scouts, field researchers, and even soldiers. In particular, she was quick and stealthy: an excellent scout and climber, with a natural aptitude for surveying and understanding her surroundings, using them to her advantage.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had formerly comprised her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had formerly comprised her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
💡Bigbrain: Lysandra is just honest-to-goodness smart. She seems to regularly be a couple of (figurative) steps ahead of everybody else in most situations. She has a wealth of scientific and practical knowledge that can benefit her allies.
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another. She also creates numerous helpful devices, drones, and non-autonomous robots.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, two-way radios, a multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Fledgling Hawkeye:Lys often carries a composite compound bow, which is quite compact and strapped to the back of her wheelchair. She's been working tirelessly (the only way that she knows) with Erik on archery and has equipped her arrows with all sorts of interesting payloads. In addition to good old-fashioned arrowheads, there are adhesive yields, high explosive, taser, smoke, sonic trap, hollow point, trackers, and barbed expanding heads. She generally carries two of each in her quiver. While Lysandra's nowhere close to Erik's elite level, she's respectable, helped along by her natural situational awareness, sense of aim, and fantastic upper-body strength. She is consistently able to hit a moving target or a small/faraway target, but not always as reliable if the target is both of those things.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another. She also creates numerous helpful devices, drones, and non-autonomous robots.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, two-way radios, a multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Fledgling Hawkeye:Lys often carries a composite compound bow, which is quite compact and strapped to the back of her wheelchair. She's been working tirelessly (the only way that she knows) with Erik on archery and has equipped her arrows with all sorts of interesting payloads. In addition to good old-fashioned arrowheads, there are adhesive yields, high explosive, taser, smoke, sonic trap, hollow point, trackers, and barbed expanding heads. She generally carries two of each in her quiver. While Lysandra's nowhere close to Erik's elite level, she's respectable, helped along by her natural situational awareness, sense of aim, and fantastic upper-body strength. She is consistently able to hit a moving target or a small/faraway target, but not always as reliable if the target is both of those things.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
- Mountain Man: A multilegged tumbling and walking robot with a flexible body about the size of a small cat, Mountain Man is able to traverse almost any terrain, slip into small spaces, climb, dig, swim, and perform basic scouting, rescue, delivery, and sample return operations. He has a taser, tranquilizer, and scissors too.
- Marsh Sage: Primarily defensive in nature, Marsh Sage is a blindingly quick, maneuverable, and quiet coaxial quadcopter drone that can lay smokescreens, strobe blinding lights, and dispense nerve, mustard, and other poisonous gases. It is also quite handy for spying and scouting.
- Iron Horse: A series of wheels on articulated arms, this is Lysandra's supplementary mobility aid and latches onto her wheelchair. It can propel her, hands-free, at high speeds, stabilize and protect her from recoil or being pushed against her will, clamp itself magnetically to metallic surfaces, and boost her over curbs or flights of one to three steps. It can also act as a bridge, platform, or supply carrier on its own.
- Sky Princess: Lysandra's main offensive tool, Sky Princess is a large purple hexacopter drone that can lay down smokescreens, fire paralytic poison darts, release high-frequency sonic blasts that are extremely painful and induce headaches, dizziness, and nausea, and launch micro-rockets similar to the 'Whistling Birds' from Lucasfilm's The Mandalorian.
- Unless they don't have to go far, she cannot bring all of these with her at once. For extended missions, the maximum is two or three if she doesn't take her bow. Only Mountain Man and Marsh Sage are small enough to be carried together comfortably on her person. Sky Princess can be swapped in solo or strapped to her wheelchair in place of her bow.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
👩🦽Headset: When directly piloting one of the Immortals or her other creations beyond her sightline, Lysandra wears a VR headset linked to the drone's on-board camera. This leaves her detached from her immediate surroundings and vulnerable to attack unless she is safely away from a hot zone (where she knows that she should stay) or has an ally to watch her back.
👩🦽No Signal: Much of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals or other remote-controlled minions. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or if their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in the thick of things - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Limited Ammo: Space in Lys' bags is at a premium, and she doesn't carry many bullets. The same goes for her arrows. They take up quite a bit of space and are valuable with their unique payloads. They are best used only situationally, from long range or at pivotal moments when they can have the largest impact. By no stretch of the imagination is she a front-liner.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
👩🦽No Signal: Much of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals or other remote-controlled minions. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or if their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in the thick of things - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Limited Ammo: Space in Lys' bags is at a premium, and she doesn't carry many bullets. The same goes for her arrows. They take up quite a bit of space and are valuable with their unique payloads. They are best used only situationally, from long range or at pivotal moments when they can have the largest impact. By no stretch of the imagination is she a front-liner.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
- Limited Mobility: She needs to use a wheelchair for mobility and, even with its assistance, is severely limited in this regard compared to able-bodied people.
- Terrain Dependent: While quite quick over flat ground and in open space, and with excellent stamina on flats or downhills, she is very terrain dependent.
- Obstacle Course: Things that we would not even think to consider, such as sand, gravel, curbs, cobblestones, and warped or cracked pavement cause Lysandra significant difficulty.
- Planning is Not Optional: Routes have to be carefully planned: shallow downhills maximized, extended or steep uphills and downhills minimized, and obstacles, rough terrain, and climbing avoided.
- The Anti-Parkour: She is incapable of strafing to the side or jumping. The closest that she can manage to the latter is to pop a wheelie.
- A Real Handful: While pushing herself, her hands are occupied, making her unable to move and shoot or move and pilot any of the Immortals.
- Inflexible: She has a lower sightline than other people, takes up a larger footprint, and cannot squeeze through small spaces.
- Temperature Control: As a paraplegic, regulating her body temperature can be a problem. When she gets hot, she gets very hot. When she gets cold, the problem can snowball.
- Wheelchair Dependent: If somehow separated from her wheelchair, Lysandra isn't realistically going much of anywhere on her own.
| NOTES |
- If humans get colour codes, hers is 7FFFD4.
- Lysandra is, low key, a huge science fiction nerd, particularly with regards to Star Trek. She gets that from both of her parents. They had a flash drive with old recordings and she used to watch them as a kid. She has, with only slight self-consciousness, told people to 'Live long and prosper'. She also has a soft spot for comics, even though most of them are kind of low brow. She read them as a kid and those were happy times.
- She appreciates some good Pho. Seriously, ethnic foods are a dying thing. She's trying to learn how to cook, but... revenants don't really need human food all that much.
- She strongly dislikes having to give her blood up for revenants. For pragmatic reasons, she'll do it, but it's just a reminder of her (and other humans') helplessness compared to them and it rankles. She sees it for what it is: an increasingly unsustainable practice.
- Lysandra's had romance in her life before. She had a couple of boyfriends, years ago in Fresh Haven, but they bored her before long. One, in particular, wanted to settle down, but she has always made it clear that she does not want to have children. Not only would it take time away from her responsibilities as a researcher, she worries that she'd be unable to properly care for them and that bringing a child into a world like this, just to live in constant fear and be food for others, would be grossly irresponsible. She tells herself that she doesn't like children anyways: they're loud, disruptive, and annoying. She'd be lying, though. Secretly, she's a big kid at heart. That was half the reason she used to go gallivanting around the ruined cities, running, jumping, and climbing.
- She loves the animals that nobody else does... except for frogs. She cut far too many of those open as a girl in the name of science to not be unnerved by them now.
- Because of her immense inner nerd, Lys would love to function on 'rule of cool' when it comes to making her various gadgets, but practicality trumps pipe dreams given the sort of world that she lives in and what she believes is the difference that she can make.
- Four years on from her accident, Lysandra has more or less adjusted to her altered reality and reached an understanding of what her abilities and limitations are. However, twenty-eight years of life experience before then have hardwired into her an approach of bold, independent action, a boundless curiosity best satiated firsthand, and the self-image of someone who can handle herself and get out of tough scrapes. Rationally, she knows that much of that is no longer practical, but hanging back, being cautious, and letting others do the work still causes occasional moments of dissonance.
R E D W O O D
| AGE |
Appears about thirty
| APPEARANCE |
Redwood's name is a child of his appearance. The first thing that people notice about him is his exceptional height. Very tall and fairly slender, though solid enough, he towers over other people and... well, low ceilings and hanging light fixtures are the bane of his existence while indoors. His skin is dark and somewhat leathery, making him look older than he is, and his hair is dark and curly. If people had to ascribe a human race to him, they'd call him Black. Finally, come his tendrils. Six of them sprout from his upper back, shoulders, and flanks (just below his arms) and it almost feels like a misnomer to describe them as tendrils, since they are unusually thick and strong. Despite his intimidating size, there is a gentleness of appearance and manner to Redwood. His eyes are large, dark, and keen: always watching, sometimes almost unsettlingly but never threateningly. He has a long face with a strong jaw, but fairly soft features. He most often wears either a gentle smile or a slight, determined scowl, but most of his expressions seem somewhat muted.
In terms of clothing, he wears what used to be basketball shoes, since they're the only ones he's found that'll fit his abnormally large feet. They've been patched, strengthened, and modified so much that they're scarcely recognizable anymore. He wears loose deep green shorts over black leggings that only make it about 2/3 of the way down his shins. His upperwear has been modified with holes for his tendrils. It consists of a green Timberland t-shirt with the logo in the center of his chest. Unusually, the t-shirt actually fits him. The ensemble is completed by the pair of black fingerless cycling gloves that he wears, with tough plastic guards over the knuckles. On colder days, he swaps the shorts for jeans and supplements the t-shirt with a brown leather bomber jacket.
In general, Redwood doesn't see much need to dress all that differently whether he's in combat or out of it, though he sometimes wears a motorcycle vest, along with elbow and knee pads in the former. His mask is a simple, practical thing: mostly brown leather and a pair of hoses leading to a backpack with an air canister and a few other useful items (like a first aid kit, multi-tool, and a knife) inside.
In terms of clothing, he wears what used to be basketball shoes, since they're the only ones he's found that'll fit his abnormally large feet. They've been patched, strengthened, and modified so much that they're scarcely recognizable anymore. He wears loose deep green shorts over black leggings that only make it about 2/3 of the way down his shins. His upperwear has been modified with holes for his tendrils. It consists of a green Timberland t-shirt with the logo in the center of his chest. Unusually, the t-shirt actually fits him. The ensemble is completed by the pair of black fingerless cycling gloves that he wears, with tough plastic guards over the knuckles. On colder days, he swaps the shorts for jeans and supplements the t-shirt with a brown leather bomber jacket.
In general, Redwood doesn't see much need to dress all that differently whether he's in combat or out of it, though he sometimes wears a motorcycle vest, along with elbow and knee pads in the former. His mask is a simple, practical thing: mostly brown leather and a pair of hoses leading to a backpack with an air canister and a few other useful items (like a first aid kit, multi-tool, and a knife) inside.
| PERSONALITY |
Helpful - Easygoing - Determined - Judgmental - Ferocious
| GROWTH/CAMOUFLAGE |
Tendrils: He has six of them and, as mentioned earlier, they are unusually thick and strong, perhaps as a side effect off Redwood's size. At a slow rate, they produce a sticky sap that can inhibit the movement of enemies if well-placed, adhere things to walls, and temporarily seal wounds and prevent blood loss. He uses them for a variety of purposes, their long reach and adhesive sap allowing him to control, impede, and delay enemies when in combat, setting them up for teammates or his own weapons. Enough of his natural adhesive will allow equipment and allies to hang from walls or ceilings, but he does not produce it very quickly and he is too heavy to make use off this ability himself in any case. Redwood also has some medical training and pairs this with his gift to provide emergency care when necessary. When not being used, he often wraps his tendrils around his midsection and over his shoulders.
| BACKGROUND |
Redwood's history is largely a mystery and you get the sense that either he would like it to stay that way or perhaps he does not remember it clearly himself. He has mentioned having associated with a small, independent human colony in the past, though he hasn't spoken of why he is no longer there. In general, one gets a sense of goodness and kindness from this sidhe, but purposeful distance, almost as if he fears attachment. The intensity with which he approaches the Lost certainly seems to stand in contrast to his generally laid-back nature.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
- 🙖 Specialized Combat: Redwood is quite skilled in mid-range combat, often using his tendrils like an extra set of longer limbs to hold enemies off, strike at them, catch allies, help push off for mighty jumps, and anchor himself against recoil and pushback.
🙖 Skewers: When in combat, Redwood wears sharp steel skewers on the tips of four of his tendrils. These can cut reasonably well, but are specialized in stabbing and pinning. Generally, it takes at least two of them to really hinder and enemy, and all four to definitively hold one down. That sets him up to deliver the coup de grace with...
🙖 Fat Mac: his trusty .950 cal rifle. Cumbersome, deafening, and dangerous, this colossal weapon can deliver a blast capable of piercing walls, concrete or cinder blocks, and vehicles. What it'll do to flesh and blood is... grisly. Lost might be immortal, but they'll be... out of action for a while after eating a round from this monster.
🙖 First Aid: It's almost obligatory for sidhe to be healers, and Redwood is no exception. He carries a kit in his backpack and can deal with all sorts of minor to moderate illnesses and injuries. He can also seal and staunch wounds with his sap.
🙖 Kinder Surprise: These are fragile ceramic vessels that look like large eggs and are kept in a padded container within a side pocket of his backpack. In fact, they are filled with Redwood's sticky sap (collected over an extended period of time) and have a very low-yield contact explosive inside. When they land, they shatter and spray their contents over a roughly two-to-three meter radius.
🙖 Intimidation: It might not be much good against the Lost, but Redwood's towering height and powerful tendrils can definitely lend him an intimidating air when he wants to cow uncooperative types. Generally, he is loath to use this, but if it saves him or his allies a fight, then he will.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
- 🙓 Saviour Complex: Redwood will often try to take on too much at once, put himself in danger, or step in to handle things that other people have under control out of misplaced concern. One gets the sense that he is used to being the protector of those much weaker than him as opposed to a member of a legitimate team, and he may need to be reined in.
🙓 Limited Stamina: When going all out, the big guy tires pretty quickly. He is best saved for an opening salvo, critical moments, and a big finishing move, and will almost always need a rest to recuperate if he overexerts himself. Of course, due to his saviour complex, he will rarely be open about this and it usually needs to be inferred.
🙓 Precious Ammo: It takes quite a while to replenish his Kinder Surprises when he uses them, so he can sometimes be a bit stingy with those. Similarly, ammunition for Fat Mac is heavy, so he doesn't carry too much at any given time. It's also hard to come by, so he tends to use it sparingly.
🙓 Boy Scout: While he can be ferocious in combat against the Lost, he tends to really hold back against other enemies.
🙓 Pollution: When exposed to it for extended periods or inn high dosage, this can prove lethal to him. There aren't many places where Redwood can safely remove his mask.
| NOTES |
- I'd love to include some better reference and thematic pics, but it hasn't been easy finding any.
- In terms of his combat role, I view him as fairly versatile. To use gaming terminology, he's mostly mid-range crowd control, with some healing and one big occasional nuke. It's tempting to view him as a tank, and he's reasonably tough, but doing so in all but the most desperate of situations would be a mistake.
H E M L O C K
| AGE |
Appears to be in her late teens or early twenties
| APPEARANCE |
If your name is Hemlock, you're obviously going to have an aesthetic that fits. This strangest of sidhe looks like nothing so much as an edgy college student in a hoodie and black nail polish. Despite appearances, she doesn't actually have any tattoos. They're drawn on with marker and regularly replaced or embellished. However, beneath the persona, Hemlock isn't really all that special: just a lanky, dark-haired, and vaguely pretty young woman with an aversion to letting anyone see her smile. She carries a faint musty odor everywhere she goes, as if death follows her. Indeed, those who have spent extended time around her without a mask have often fallen ill, almost as if some of her toxicity somehow leaks out.
Stylistically, she leans goth or punk. Occasionally, it's the latter, but generally trends more Edgar Allen Poe or just generally grim. At their nadir, her sartorial efforts bottom out in the form of a loose dark hoodie and cargo pants with a studded belt and (maybe) wristbands. However, she can usually be counted on to put some effort in. Her mask, when she's outside, is themed after a plague doctor's and her clothing is often self-modified. On the surface, it looks like typical goth gear or rocker girl shtick, but there's motorcyclist protective gear underneath, emergency supplies tucked into hidden pockets, and lots and lots of knives, because she's nothing without that cutting edge. When she's not actively doing things, Hemlock wears a simple gas mask (pictured above), designed to cover the lower half of her face. She mostly just doesn't want to mess with her grimdark image by letting you see her smile. That's not 'on message'. The truth is that Hemlock is deeply self-conscious and disaffected about her spores' very strong tendency toward the toxic and dangerous as opposed to useful and healing like most of her species.
Stylistically, she leans goth or punk. Occasionally, it's the latter, but generally trends more Edgar Allen Poe or just generally grim. At their nadir, her sartorial efforts bottom out in the form of a loose dark hoodie and cargo pants with a studded belt and (maybe) wristbands. However, she can usually be counted on to put some effort in. Her mask, when she's outside, is themed after a plague doctor's and her clothing is often self-modified. On the surface, it looks like typical goth gear or rocker girl shtick, but there's motorcyclist protective gear underneath, emergency supplies tucked into hidden pockets, and lots and lots of knives, because she's nothing without that cutting edge. When she's not actively doing things, Hemlock wears a simple gas mask (pictured above), designed to cover the lower half of her face. She mostly just doesn't want to mess with her grimdark image by letting you see her smile. That's not 'on message'. The truth is that Hemlock is deeply self-conscious and disaffected about her spores' very strong tendency toward the toxic and dangerous as opposed to useful and healing like most of her species.
| PERSONALITY |
Edgy ~ Angsty ~ Curious ~ Vainglorious ~ Sadistic ~ Innocent
A sidhe whose breath seems to almost exclusively produce spores of violently toxic and poisonous plants such as yew, nightshade, and water hemlock and whose gift is camouflage, Hemlock is not at all comfortable with herself and her role, so she puts on a mask every morning and plays a character instead. She feels as if she should heal the land, but instead, her gifts lend themselves to death. In combat, as one would expect, she is a stealthy killer in the mold of your stereotypical assassin.
In attempting to embrace what nature has given her, she has become rather sadistic towards enemies, though it still doesn't come one hundred percent naturally and she's, in turns, glad of it and annoyed. Hemlock is edgy in what usually appears to be a self-aware manner, though she can often cross over into cringe territory. Most of all, however, she's just unhappy with the hand she was dealt as an atypical member of her species, and makes a big show of irreverence and 'not giving a shit™'. She genuinely doesn't understand what the reason for her existence and 'misfit' gifts might be.
A sidhe whose breath seems to almost exclusively produce spores of violently toxic and poisonous plants such as yew, nightshade, and water hemlock and whose gift is camouflage, Hemlock is not at all comfortable with herself and her role, so she puts on a mask every morning and plays a character instead. She feels as if she should heal the land, but instead, her gifts lend themselves to death. In combat, as one would expect, she is a stealthy killer in the mold of your stereotypical assassin.
In attempting to embrace what nature has given her, she has become rather sadistic towards enemies, though it still doesn't come one hundred percent naturally and she's, in turns, glad of it and annoyed. Hemlock is edgy in what usually appears to be a self-aware manner, though she can often cross over into cringe territory. Most of all, however, she's just unhappy with the hand she was dealt as an atypical member of her species, and makes a big show of irreverence and 'not giving a shit™'. She genuinely doesn't understand what the reason for her existence and 'misfit' gifts might be.
| CAMOUFLAGE |
Hemlock's ability hasn't manifested itself as a growth. Instead, she has the gift of camouflage and is quite good with it, easily able to creep up on opponents and especially effective in the dark, because darkness is the colour of her soul.
| BACKGROUND |
Hemlock likes to be all brooding and mysterious about this and hint at something dark and monstrous in her origin story. The truth is that there just ain't much to tell. The way in which sidhe age (or don't) is the real mystery, and she's actually both very young and rather old at the same time. She's just always dealt with dissonance, for as long as she can remember: a supposed healer who's only really good at killing. There was a human settlement that she used to associate with, and she remembers watching a lot of late 1990s and early 2000s movies from an old flash drive there. Much enamoured with the dark, brooding antiheroes and brash, punkish hacker types that she saw on the screen but equally aware of the laughter and eyerolls that they regularly received, she adopted her present persona - Edgequeen evolved: cleverly self-memeing - upon arriving a few months ago at her current location. Secretly, she wants to be a hero. She gets songs stuck in her head and imagines her own soundtracks and battle scenes. In them, she's unironically awesome, just like Lobo, and Venom, and Elektra, and Wolverine.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
- Tortured Artistic Soul: Hemlock is quite the artist. Her preferred media are spray paint, markers, and carving tools, but she has a natural aesthetic sense and good technique. She can use this not only for purely creative production, but also to camouflage, confuse, and create decoys.
- Cutting Edge: lots of knives, including sharp ones, jagged ones, long ones, short ones, throwing ones, and... you get the picture. She has knives that pop out from the tips and heels of her boots at the press of a toe. Sometimes, they pop out by accident and she nearly trips on them, but Hemlock turns it into a roll, because rolls are almost as cool as unnecessary spins during a firefight on Tatooine.
- Student of the Blade: While you were partying, Hemlock studied the blade. To this end, she often carries twin katanas, because they give her a bit more range and can lop off a head in a single swipe. That's not only effective in combat, it's a damned cool visual.
- ToxXxic: Every blade that she has is coated in deadly poison that will stop your respiration, kill your nerves, clot your bloodstream, or induce any number of painful potential deaths.
- Leveled Agility: Hemlock is almost preternaturally agile. Lithe and graceful, she is very difficult to hit accurately, and that's when she isn't camouflaged. She can close or open distance with sudden speed, slip or contort through small spaces, and... *teleports behind you* "Nothing personal, kid."
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
- Style Over Substance: Hemlock kind of lives and (hopefully not) dies by the 'rule of cool'. She isn't as strictly effective or dialed in as she should be. Whether it's a dramatic pose after a kill, the need to call out the names of her 'attacks', an unnecessary flourish, flip, or spin, or a complete refusal to use guns because they're 'dishonourable', she is honestly, hinderingly flaky. You're never quite sure if she's laughing at herself, inviting you to laugh, or actually completely unironic. The only thing that's certain is that she'd be much more effective if she was just... normal.
- Garbage Healer: She's a sidhe, but you'd be foolish to rely on Hemlock for any sort of healing or nourishment. Doing so will not only result in some snarky comment and zero actual benefit, it will also send her into the first stages of an existential crisis played out in the space beneath her persona.
- Waif: Hemlock isn't winning any contests of strength or durability. It can be almighty frustrating to lay a finger on her, but once you do, she's out of the fight.
- Crippling Insecurity: For all of her bluster, Hemlock is young, different, and unsure. She makes errors in judgement, she doubts herself, and she's sensitive beneath the facade that she wears. She wants you to like her and think that she's cool and useful but, confoundingly, she's kind of unable or unwilling to recognize, accept, and value genuine praise and regard. Sadly, that may be most of her reason for trying to save the world. She has to prove something to herself and to everyone else out there, but she doesn't really believe that she can.
- The Fumes - They Burn!: When exposed to it for extended periods or in high dosage, this can prove lethal to her. There aren't many places where Hemlock can safely remove her mask.
| NOTES |
There really could only ever be one theme song for her.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Old Character Sheets
This was an almost-finished CS for a cool Ready Player One inspired RP called The Universe. It was my second try at playing conjoined twins, since I hadn't really gotten the monkey off my back from the Sinclair Twins and Deadland Wasteland (life had forced me to drop early).
Names: Jocelyn & Madison Brightman
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Hetero
Height: 5'6"
Combined Weight: 180 lbs
Appearance:
On their own, Jocelyn and Madison would be two completely average, reasonably attractive Caucasian women in their mid-late twenties who, status as identical twins aside, wouldn't stand out in a crowd one iota. Brown-haired bobs and grey eyes tend to just sort of fade in. Of course, that's not exactly possible when you're conjoined. From shoulders to toes, the two of them share a single body with a slightly widened torso. Madison controls the right side while Jocelyn controls the left. The extra weight that has to be carried on a normal pair of legs, along with the twins' fairly busy lives means that they really don't have much choice but to be physically fit. In terms of clothing, they prefer to dress light, bright, and active or artsy, but they'll wear basically whatever they have to for photoshoots. Hey, when you're that unusual, you're an attraction whether you like it or not.
Ring Location: Middle City
Occupation: Professional hosts, celebrity reporters, and media personalities
Real Life Skills
Combined: The twins are fully ambidextrous and can play the guitar and violin right or left-handed, though Jocelyn is better with the former and Madison with the latter. They enjoy sewing and modifying clothes and tend to be good with cars. They're surprisingly handy at fixing things in general. Yes, they joke that "two heads are better than one". This extends to multitasking, perceptiveness, and general problem solving. Individually, each is above average. As a unit, they're unstoppable. While they're capable of all of the normal things that you'd expect of competent adults, being conjoined definitely makes these a bit harder. They're not winning any foot speed, balance, or physical endurance contests.
Jocelyn: While the twins are biologically identical and should respond the same way to things, Jocelyn is totally unaffected by even the spiciest foods. In general, she just has an abnormally high pain threshold. She's also surprisingly good at sleight-of-hand tricks thanks to countless hours practicing to be a magician with her sister as a child.
Madison: Though she shares most of the aforementioned skills with her sister, Madison tends to be the weaker of the two. Where she excels is in her focus, ability to be incredibly precise, and steady hand. Playing darts, tossing a ball, or firing a gun, her accuracy is impressive for someone who hasn't been specially trained.
Likes (J) = Jocelyn // (M) = Madison // (B) = Both
- magic tricks (B)
- fast cars (B)
- celebrity gossip (J)
- tech and gadgets (M)
- making funny faces and snuggling (B)
- DIY 'life hacks' (B)
- classical music (M)
- rock music (J)
- coffee (J)
- just the nastiest health drinks and smoothies (M)
- really cute flats and heels (B)
Dislikes (J) = Jocelyn // (M) = Madison // (B) = Both
- coffee (M)
- health drinks and smoothies (J)
- walking long distances without a destination (B)
- people who take themselves too seriously (B)
- being stared at beyond the obvious second glances that they're used to receiving (B)
- lazy people (M)
- pretentiousness (J)
- when the one falls asleep before the other (B)
- spiders (B)
Personalities: The Brightman twins have been a curiosity from the moment that they were born, and have always had to deal with some degree of public attention. As a result, they've developed 'personas' that play up their few differences without consciously intending to. The truth is that the sisters are similar in overall personality and habits and pretty flexible in terms of what they like and dislike. Both are used to living with compromise and they rarely fight. It's not exactly like they can give each other the cold shoulder. Out of the two, Madison is definitely the more concerned about eating and living healthily. Jocelyn's mostly just down to freeload, much to her sister's annoyance. For the most part, Madison is the more driven of the two as well and the more likely to take charge while Jocelyn is a bit more of a laid back joker. The former is more likely to read something and the latter more likely to try something. Both can talk a mile a minute, though. Both hate to sit idle. They're friendly, gregarious, and welcoming towards others and genuinely want to make people smile but, when you spend literally every waking moment in each other's company, you can't help but become a social unit unto yourselves, so the twins can definitely be a bit judgemental and tend to prioritize themselves and their own relationship at the cost of others. That's not to say that they're aloof or selfish. Both have friends. Both are funny, good-natured people who use their occasionally over-the-top sense of humour to put others at ease. It's just that, when your performance on the stage of life is a harmonized duet while everyone else only has to play a solo, you'd better prioritize being in sync with each other.
Background: coming soon
UNDER CONSTRUCTION
All six of these character sheets were submitted for the same RPG (which I was really into): Oh My Gods. They were all descendants of deities. Sadly, this one didn't last long. The GM was cool but didn't provide much in the way of guidance or IC worldbuilding so I got kind of lost and never really found a footing.
Name: Candace McMorran
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Sexuality: Bisexual, but leans more towards women
Godly ancestor: Hephaestus
Son/daughter or further removed: daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Hephaestus has not fathered quite as many children as some of the more attractive Greek gods, so he is decidedly invested in the children that he does have. He intervened to help Candace and her mother when she was very young, and she has known about her parentage since her mid-teens. He admires her work from a distance.
Relationship with mortal family: after a period of pointed rebellion against her mother and stepfather, Candace has come to appreciate the loving and open minded upbringing that they provided her with. She hasn't lived at her parents' house since leaving for college in the US, but has always returned for major holidays and twice for summer vacation. She is six years older than her next-oldest half-sibling, and has never been especially close with any of them, though that's not to say that there are any issues between them. They're simply too far apart in age to share very much in terms of friends or common interests. She keeps in touch with her mother and her sister Virginia through various online means and, whenever she visits, likes to initiate lively discussions around the dinner table. She tries to influence her younger siblings (particularly her sister) where she can, and steer them in what she believes is the right direction.
Powers: Candace's powers reflect those of her father in almost every way.
- Candace can create and manipulate fire and is more or less immune to its effects.
- She has a talent for creating machines and gadgets to solve problems and serve specific purposes. These are often highly unconventional, idiosyncratic in design, and difficult to reproduce, but extremely effective.
- Candace can imbue things with force and motion that would otherwise remain static.
- She is able to make inanimate objects that have either a face or the form of a living thing come to life, in a sense. They will possess memories of what they have witnessed and will remain staunchly loyal to her.
Personality: Candace is strong willed, aggressively independent, and bullish when it comes to her sense of morality. Perhaps she just has stronger convictions than most people, and perhaps she's trying to bury some deeply held insecurities. In any event, as a visibly disabled person living in a world that is fundamentally at odds with her sense of agency, she feels as if she has no choice but to try harder, reach farther, and react with more force and fury than others do in order to be treated as an equal.
Beyond that, she is best described as conventionally unconventional, subscribing with zeal to the trends and belief systems that define modern left-wing campus culture. She smokes weed and has experimented with a handful of psychadelic drugs, but isn't what one would ever consider a 'stoner'. Candace enjoys gaming (though not the thinly-veiled misogyny that runs through much of gamer culture) and is reasonably good at it, but makes a point of being active and challenging herself physically. She regularly plays wheelchair rugby and basketball and tries to remember to spend some time outdoors away from her workshop. She has dabbled in slam poetry, was active in a number of student bodies while in university studying engineering (with a minor in women's studies) and regularly attends protests and rallies. When not out and about doing something, she can often be found tinkering in her shop or at least using a CAD app to render her future projects on her iPad.
Bio: Candace was born in Glasgow, Scotland and raised by a single mother who was working as a waitress at the time. She doesn't remember much about her early years, but now understands the severity of the poverty that she and her mother lived in. For the first couple of years, there was a seemingly endless carousel of surgeries to lessen the effects of a particularly serious arteriovenous malformation of the spinal cord that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Though children of Hephaestus have often exhibited ambulatory difficulties, hers were particularly severe. The medical costs above and beyond what the NHS covered must have been significant, but they were handled by a mysterious benefactor. For many years after, she had a vague memory of him as a huge man with a bushy auburn beard, receding hair, and a severe limp who leaned heavily on a cane. When she was three years old, the girl's mother was able to return to university and complete her degree in early childhood education thanks to a generous grant from the bearded man. While there, she met, fell in love with, and married the man who Candace would grow up with as her father: Shane Coburn. It was a rather whirlwind love affair, and within less than a year of their marriage, had produced a child: Candace's younger sister Virginia. Two more would follow: twin brothers Neil and Brandon.
Candace's way with mechanical things was plainly evident even during her childhood, as she would often complete Lego sets intended for much older children with perfunctory ease and enjoy them for a couple of weeks, before taking them apart and building entirely new creations of her own imagination. Indeed, the floor of her bedroom would often be a minefield of sharp Lego pieces that only she (not having to worry about stepping on any of them) could navigate with ease. She dabbled in minecraft and roblox, but was drawn more towards creating things in the real world with her own hands. Robot Wars was a near-obsession, and she still has some of her crayon drawings of her favourite competitors and orginal concepts. Trips to science fairs followed, as did subscriptions to magazines like Popular Mechanics (which soon turned into online subscriptions). She confounded many of her teachers because she didn't seem to have a particular aptitude for mathematics, being no more than slightly above average. It seemed as if her engineering abilities were intuitive in a way that other people couldn't understand.
While she featured in a number of human interest articles (often with a well-intentioned but somewhat condescending tone) as a young prodigy and an inspiration, Candace's teenaged years were particularly difficult. She struggled not only with her self-perception and confidence as somebody with a disability, but also with her budding sexuality. She found herself mostly, though not solely attracted to other girls. She tried to ignore these feelings for a few years, and her parents, thinking that her withdrawal stemmed from a lack of confidence, attempted to push her towards healthy heterosexual relationships. They also sent her to a summer camp for other disabled children and enrolled her in a wheelchair basketball program. Candace enjoyed the activity, and it provided an outlet for some of her energy, but she still wasn't all that comfortable with her feelings and was beginning to understand that she just wasn't going to fit the norm. Compounding these issues were the emergence of her latent powers. Candace found that sometimes, when she was working on an engineering project, the pieces would move as she visualized them. At first, she was afraid. She wondered if she was going crazy. Then, she studied the phenomenon and began using it to her benefit, though she became somewhat reclusive in her tinkering for fear of anybody finding out. Combined with her insecurities about her sexuality, Candace went through a year or two of being deeply reclusive.
Enter her father. It was a particularly cool April morning when Hephaestus appeared in front of her. She almost instantly recognized him as the bearded man from her infancy. The first thing that he said to her, with all of the tact and good grace in the world was "You're a lesbian, kiddo, or at least something close. Also, I'm your father." It wasn't the easiest of conversations. One party was confused and terrified and the other had never had much of a way with words nor much use for etiquette. However, her immortal father not only explained the extend of Candace's abilities, he also taught her how to control them, by demonstrating them himself. Further conversations followed, eventually involving her family. Disbelief turned into acceptance, and even into embrace. Candace, more sure of herself, reemerged from her shell and graduated with a scholarship that allowed her to attend MIT overseas.
In campus life, she found her calling, The stories of other people who had struggled growing up resonated with her, and she became strongly committed to setting the world right, aware that she had been gifted more power than most by the unique circumstances of her conception and birth. She was active in student groups, campus politics and social life, and int he social movements of the day. Her long red hair was cut to shoulder-length, the left side of it buzzed, and its tips died all colours of the rainbow. Following graduation, driven by curiosity, she decided to take a couple of years off before starting her Master's and visit the city of New Celestia that her father had told her about.
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Sexuality: Bisexual, but leans more towards women
Godly ancestor: Hephaestus
Son/daughter or further removed: daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Hephaestus has not fathered quite as many children as some of the more attractive Greek gods, so he is decidedly invested in the children that he does have. He intervened to help Candace and her mother when she was very young, and she has known about her parentage since her mid-teens. He admires her work from a distance.
Relationship with mortal family: after a period of pointed rebellion against her mother and stepfather, Candace has come to appreciate the loving and open minded upbringing that they provided her with. She hasn't lived at her parents' house since leaving for college in the US, but has always returned for major holidays and twice for summer vacation. She is six years older than her next-oldest half-sibling, and has never been especially close with any of them, though that's not to say that there are any issues between them. They're simply too far apart in age to share very much in terms of friends or common interests. She keeps in touch with her mother and her sister Virginia through various online means and, whenever she visits, likes to initiate lively discussions around the dinner table. She tries to influence her younger siblings (particularly her sister) where she can, and steer them in what she believes is the right direction.
Powers: Candace's powers reflect those of her father in almost every way.
- Candace can create and manipulate fire and is more or less immune to its effects.
- She has a talent for creating machines and gadgets to solve problems and serve specific purposes. These are often highly unconventional, idiosyncratic in design, and difficult to reproduce, but extremely effective.
- Candace can imbue things with force and motion that would otherwise remain static.
- She is able to make inanimate objects that have either a face or the form of a living thing come to life, in a sense. They will possess memories of what they have witnessed and will remain staunchly loyal to her.
Personality: Candace is strong willed, aggressively independent, and bullish when it comes to her sense of morality. Perhaps she just has stronger convictions than most people, and perhaps she's trying to bury some deeply held insecurities. In any event, as a visibly disabled person living in a world that is fundamentally at odds with her sense of agency, she feels as if she has no choice but to try harder, reach farther, and react with more force and fury than others do in order to be treated as an equal.
Beyond that, she is best described as conventionally unconventional, subscribing with zeal to the trends and belief systems that define modern left-wing campus culture. She smokes weed and has experimented with a handful of psychadelic drugs, but isn't what one would ever consider a 'stoner'. Candace enjoys gaming (though not the thinly-veiled misogyny that runs through much of gamer culture) and is reasonably good at it, but makes a point of being active and challenging herself physically. She regularly plays wheelchair rugby and basketball and tries to remember to spend some time outdoors away from her workshop. She has dabbled in slam poetry, was active in a number of student bodies while in university studying engineering (with a minor in women's studies) and regularly attends protests and rallies. When not out and about doing something, she can often be found tinkering in her shop or at least using a CAD app to render her future projects on her iPad.
Bio: Candace was born in Glasgow, Scotland and raised by a single mother who was working as a waitress at the time. She doesn't remember much about her early years, but now understands the severity of the poverty that she and her mother lived in. For the first couple of years, there was a seemingly endless carousel of surgeries to lessen the effects of a particularly serious arteriovenous malformation of the spinal cord that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Though children of Hephaestus have often exhibited ambulatory difficulties, hers were particularly severe. The medical costs above and beyond what the NHS covered must have been significant, but they were handled by a mysterious benefactor. For many years after, she had a vague memory of him as a huge man with a bushy auburn beard, receding hair, and a severe limp who leaned heavily on a cane. When she was three years old, the girl's mother was able to return to university and complete her degree in early childhood education thanks to a generous grant from the bearded man. While there, she met, fell in love with, and married the man who Candace would grow up with as her father: Shane Coburn. It was a rather whirlwind love affair, and within less than a year of their marriage, had produced a child: Candace's younger sister Virginia. Two more would follow: twin brothers Neil and Brandon.
Candace's way with mechanical things was plainly evident even during her childhood, as she would often complete Lego sets intended for much older children with perfunctory ease and enjoy them for a couple of weeks, before taking them apart and building entirely new creations of her own imagination. Indeed, the floor of her bedroom would often be a minefield of sharp Lego pieces that only she (not having to worry about stepping on any of them) could navigate with ease. She dabbled in minecraft and roblox, but was drawn more towards creating things in the real world with her own hands. Robot Wars was a near-obsession, and she still has some of her crayon drawings of her favourite competitors and orginal concepts. Trips to science fairs followed, as did subscriptions to magazines like Popular Mechanics (which soon turned into online subscriptions). She confounded many of her teachers because she didn't seem to have a particular aptitude for mathematics, being no more than slightly above average. It seemed as if her engineering abilities were intuitive in a way that other people couldn't understand.
While she featured in a number of human interest articles (often with a well-intentioned but somewhat condescending tone) as a young prodigy and an inspiration, Candace's teenaged years were particularly difficult. She struggled not only with her self-perception and confidence as somebody with a disability, but also with her budding sexuality. She found herself mostly, though not solely attracted to other girls. She tried to ignore these feelings for a few years, and her parents, thinking that her withdrawal stemmed from a lack of confidence, attempted to push her towards healthy heterosexual relationships. They also sent her to a summer camp for other disabled children and enrolled her in a wheelchair basketball program. Candace enjoyed the activity, and it provided an outlet for some of her energy, but she still wasn't all that comfortable with her feelings and was beginning to understand that she just wasn't going to fit the norm. Compounding these issues were the emergence of her latent powers. Candace found that sometimes, when she was working on an engineering project, the pieces would move as she visualized them. At first, she was afraid. She wondered if she was going crazy. Then, she studied the phenomenon and began using it to her benefit, though she became somewhat reclusive in her tinkering for fear of anybody finding out. Combined with her insecurities about her sexuality, Candace went through a year or two of being deeply reclusive.
Enter her father. It was a particularly cool April morning when Hephaestus appeared in front of her. She almost instantly recognized him as the bearded man from her infancy. The first thing that he said to her, with all of the tact and good grace in the world was "You're a lesbian, kiddo, or at least something close. Also, I'm your father." It wasn't the easiest of conversations. One party was confused and terrified and the other had never had much of a way with words nor much use for etiquette. However, her immortal father not only explained the extend of Candace's abilities, he also taught her how to control them, by demonstrating them himself. Further conversations followed, eventually involving her family. Disbelief turned into acceptance, and even into embrace. Candace, more sure of herself, reemerged from her shell and graduated with a scholarship that allowed her to attend MIT overseas.
In campus life, she found her calling, The stories of other people who had struggled growing up resonated with her, and she became strongly committed to setting the world right, aware that she had been gifted more power than most by the unique circumstances of her conception and birth. She was active in student groups, campus politics and social life, and int he social movements of the day. Her long red hair was cut to shoulder-length, the left side of it buzzed, and its tips died all colours of the rainbow. Following graduation, driven by curiosity, she decided to take a couple of years off before starting her Master's and visit the city of New Celestia that her father had told her about.
Name: Abigail Miller
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Appearance: Abby's a country girl and she looks like one. She's tall, a bit gangling, but pretty, with long straight blonde hair and a smattering of freckles. She has a wide open, apple pie American look about her and usually wears a large grin with a slight but distinct gap tooth. She can usually be found wearing jeans or jean shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, sometimes with a plaid flannel shirt over top. She'll always accessorize with a small silver necklace with a crucifix and sometimes a cowgirl hat or wide-brimmed straw hat.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Demeter (Greek goddess of plants, crops, and harvest)
Son/daughter or further removed: Great-granddaughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Abby has met and spoken with her Godly ancestor, but little else. Though there is an old family story on her father's side that they're descended from the Greek Goddess Demeter, it's never taken seriously. However, they've always had unusually good luck with their crops and all of them have been sunny, good-looking people. Abby was rather surprised to find out about New Celestia, that she could interact with it, and that the Greek gods (and all of the others, for that matter) were real. It was only recently that she actually met her divine ancestor. They spoke at length and Demeter saw her as a dear thing.
Relationship with mortal family: Abby is one of a large brood of corn farmers from Nebraska. They've always been close as a family and they've been farmers of some sort for almost three hundred years. Thanks to a combination of consistently strong harvests, sound investment, and the lord's blessing (or so they believe), they've expanded their property, moving ever further westward and becoming rather successful. They've also dabbled in equine sports, and Abby enjoys horseback riding with her two brothers, two sisters, and numerous cousins and family friends. As the middle child, she's always been a bit rambunctious and active, but her father in particular adores her energy, curiosity, and sense of humour. Abby is close in age with her older sister and younger brother, and all three were in high school at the same time and shared a large circle of friends. She loves her family too much to want to stay in New Celestia for long.
Powers: Abby isn't exceptionally powerful, though she has the ability to control plants to a limited degree, and to make them either grow quickly or wither. She can cheer people up just by entering a room, and everything will seem just a bit opeful, and more beautiful. However, she needs to be in at least a neutral mood in order for this to work. Her moods have a strong effect on the plant life around her. Happiness will make things grow and prosper. Sadness will make them wither and die. Anger will make them become hard, thorny, and potentially poisonous. Excitement will bring out their colours, make them taste better, and make flowers bloom.
Personality: Abby's a happy, well-adjusted young woman from rural Nebraska. She has a sunny, innocent-seeming disposition and can come across as a total hayseed, though she knowingly plays this up for laughs. She can be a bit of a clown, and she may not be quite as naive as she seems. Abby's definitely a bit on the adventurous side, and can git into mischief, though none of it is particularly serious. She's curious by nature and is going to do what she is going to do, though she can get sucky when she doesn't get what she wants. She also has some reckless tendencies, though these haven't come back to bite her in the ass just yet. Abby's rather socially conservative, though she'll always try to be friendly to anyone. She's also a devout Lutheran and regular churchgoer, though it's more out of a sense of community and normalization where she comes from. She's also not sure what to make of the fact that she's actually descended from a Greek deity. In terms of philosophy, she'd rather be water than rock and tends to just go with the flow.
Bio: Not much has ever happened in Abby's past. She's grown up in a normal, happy family, and has never wanted for anything. They may not be rich, but they definitely have money. She had a loving upbringing, complete with all of the usual summer vacations, friends, sleepovers, and pool parties. Her oldest brother, Danny, is currently serving in the armed forces and has been posted to Fort Worth before being deployed overseas. She decided to take a gap year after graduating high school, and since she had nothing better to do, she accompanied him there. There had always been the old stories in the family, and they came up again one night while she and Danny were sharing a few beers (shh! Don't tell anyone that she was underage drinking). On a whim or a dare, she decided to investigate and found out that not only was the place real, but she could enter it, while none of her acquaintances could see it. She's determined to spend some time here soaking this place in and learning all about it under the cover story of roadtripping across the country with some new friends.
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Appearance: Abby's a country girl and she looks like one. She's tall, a bit gangling, but pretty, with long straight blonde hair and a smattering of freckles. She has a wide open, apple pie American look about her and usually wears a large grin with a slight but distinct gap tooth. She can usually be found wearing jeans or jean shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, sometimes with a plaid flannel shirt over top. She'll always accessorize with a small silver necklace with a crucifix and sometimes a cowgirl hat or wide-brimmed straw hat.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Demeter (Greek goddess of plants, crops, and harvest)
Son/daughter or further removed: Great-granddaughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Abby has met and spoken with her Godly ancestor, but little else. Though there is an old family story on her father's side that they're descended from the Greek Goddess Demeter, it's never taken seriously. However, they've always had unusually good luck with their crops and all of them have been sunny, good-looking people. Abby was rather surprised to find out about New Celestia, that she could interact with it, and that the Greek gods (and all of the others, for that matter) were real. It was only recently that she actually met her divine ancestor. They spoke at length and Demeter saw her as a dear thing.
Relationship with mortal family: Abby is one of a large brood of corn farmers from Nebraska. They've always been close as a family and they've been farmers of some sort for almost three hundred years. Thanks to a combination of consistently strong harvests, sound investment, and the lord's blessing (or so they believe), they've expanded their property, moving ever further westward and becoming rather successful. They've also dabbled in equine sports, and Abby enjoys horseback riding with her two brothers, two sisters, and numerous cousins and family friends. As the middle child, she's always been a bit rambunctious and active, but her father in particular adores her energy, curiosity, and sense of humour. Abby is close in age with her older sister and younger brother, and all three were in high school at the same time and shared a large circle of friends. She loves her family too much to want to stay in New Celestia for long.
Powers: Abby isn't exceptionally powerful, though she has the ability to control plants to a limited degree, and to make them either grow quickly or wither. She can cheer people up just by entering a room, and everything will seem just a bit opeful, and more beautiful. However, she needs to be in at least a neutral mood in order for this to work. Her moods have a strong effect on the plant life around her. Happiness will make things grow and prosper. Sadness will make them wither and die. Anger will make them become hard, thorny, and potentially poisonous. Excitement will bring out their colours, make them taste better, and make flowers bloom.
Personality: Abby's a happy, well-adjusted young woman from rural Nebraska. She has a sunny, innocent-seeming disposition and can come across as a total hayseed, though she knowingly plays this up for laughs. She can be a bit of a clown, and she may not be quite as naive as she seems. Abby's definitely a bit on the adventurous side, and can git into mischief, though none of it is particularly serious. She's curious by nature and is going to do what she is going to do, though she can get sucky when she doesn't get what she wants. She also has some reckless tendencies, though these haven't come back to bite her in the ass just yet. Abby's rather socially conservative, though she'll always try to be friendly to anyone. She's also a devout Lutheran and regular churchgoer, though it's more out of a sense of community and normalization where she comes from. She's also not sure what to make of the fact that she's actually descended from a Greek deity. In terms of philosophy, she'd rather be water than rock and tends to just go with the flow.
Bio: Not much has ever happened in Abby's past. She's grown up in a normal, happy family, and has never wanted for anything. They may not be rich, but they definitely have money. She had a loving upbringing, complete with all of the usual summer vacations, friends, sleepovers, and pool parties. Her oldest brother, Danny, is currently serving in the armed forces and has been posted to Fort Worth before being deployed overseas. She decided to take a gap year after graduating high school, and since she had nothing better to do, she accompanied him there. There had always been the old stories in the family, and they came up again one night while she and Danny were sharing a few beers (shh! Don't tell anyone that she was underage drinking). On a whim or a dare, she decided to investigate and found out that not only was the place real, but she could enter it, while none of her acquaintances could see it. She's determined to spend some time here soaking this place in and learning all about it under the cover story of roadtripping across the country with some new friends.
Name: Matthew Roderick-Wright
Gender: Male
Age: 68
Appearance: Matthew is an older man of mixed African American and Caucasian ancestry, still fit and in good shape into his late sixties. He has a full head of thick grey hair, kept close-cropped and professionally short. He often dresses in jeans, a golf shirt - always tucked in - and a comfortable pair of running shoes. He can often be found wearing a US Army pin and sometimes a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
Sexuality: This is even a question?!
Godly ancestor: Mars
Son/daughter or further removed: Grandson
Relationship with godly ancestor: Matthew grew up knowing of his unique ancestry and sought to live up to it. In the jungles of Vietnam, he was fueled by thoughts of doing this legacy proud. As a soldier, he excelled in waging war and indeed, Mars looked with pride upon this mortal grandson of his. Shying away from the less... martial aspects of his ancestor, he remained in the army following the end of the war, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel and commanding an armoured division during Operation Desert Storm. Having retired with full honours a handful of years ago, he decided to pursue his interest in his family history by moving to New Celestia and meeting with Mars for the first time. There was no emotional outpouring - just a heartfelt handshake and a long conversation between two professional military men who shared a deep respect for each other - exactly the way that Matthew had always pictured the encounter.
Relationship with mortal family: Matthew's parents are long gone, though he is in occasional contact with his brother Lawrence, who is a corn farmer in southern Illinois. The two of them go to see Cubs games together at least a couple of times per year, and Matthew occasionally dotes on his great nephews and nieces, though he thinks that they're being raised to be soft and indulged and that a bit of discipline would've done them good. He has no wife or children of his own, though he was briefly married to a woman named Costanza in the early eighties. His stepson, Roger, was a disappointment to him, and the two of them do not speak to each other at all.
Powers: At age 68, Matthew is still absurdly fast and strong, and has 20/20 vision and excellent hearing. He knows his way around multiple types of weapons and can figure out how to best use them instinctively. He is incredibly tough and difficult to injure in spite of his advanced age, and possesses mildly superhuman endurance. He has a natural tactical acumen that extends past the battlefield into virtually any situation involving conflict. Matthew also has a green thumb, but has never really developed this talent. He keeps a nice cactus garden, he supposes.
Personality: Matthew is a tough, no-nonsense retired veteran and a career military man. While he is deeply socially conservative in most ways, he is a firm backer of civil rights and a quiet but unflinching warrior in the fight against racism. He believes strongly that attitudes help to shape reality and as a result, you will never hear him drop an 'N-bomb' under any circumstances. Matthew has an oldschool sense of honour and duty, but he can also be aggressive and a bit of a bully. He is used to a chain of command and does best when part of one. Matthew will not complain about what he sees as 'petty concerns', nor will he 'stand for any special snowflake bullshit'. As a result, he holds a lot inside, and he's a bit of a lonely man with his share of regrets, standing on his pride and military service as the sun begins to set on his life.
Bio: Matthew and his younger brother Lawrence were born during the baby boom in Chicago to an African-American mother and a mixed-race father who had served with distinction during the second world war but been prevented from rising above the rank of captain due to his race. His parents both worked: his father in a factory, and his mother doing room cleaning at a hotel. Matthew wasn't old enough to remember much of the first phase of the civil rights movement, but he still remembers where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the death of Martin Luther King.
Matthew was an average student during his high school days, but he was an incredible natural athlete, especially as a football running back. Only a fiery and violent disposition and a lack of discipline prevented him from being offered multiple tier one scholarships. In any event, he still ended up playing in the NCAA for a year before the Vietnam War draft was held and he was called to service. Though he considered refusing, like his hero Muhammad Ali, he decided to answer the call in order to honour his father, who had fallen ill and been forced to take a leave of absence from his job.
In the jungles of Vietnam, Matthew truly came to life for the first time. He was cited for numerous acts of personal bravery well above and beyond the call of duty. He proved to be excellent at sniffing out ambushes ahead of time, thwarting enemy plans, and extricating himself and his fellow soldiers from impossible situations. It wasn't long before the medals, commendations, and promotions came flooding in. Whatever he may have felt about the flimsy justifications for the war, Matthew pushed it all aside. His job was elimination of the enemy in the name of his country, and he carried it out with loyalty and gusto. The conclusion of the war was something that he had seen coming, but at this point, he was already firmly entrenched in the military life. During the relatively conflict-free eighties, (despite the incendiary rhetoric being tossed about between cold war rivals) he made an attempt to settle down with the widow of one of his Vietnam buddies who he'd kept in touch with. However, her teenaged son was a delinquent, and Matthew's attempts to set the boy straight drove a wedge between them and resulted in the marriage failing after only a couple of years.
After that, he dedicated his life to serving his country, and did so as a captain and then a lieutenant colonel in the conflicts of the eighties, nineties, and early twenty-first century. That there was something more than human blood running through his veins, Matthew was certain, and he'd been told the family secret by his father upon his passing from cancer at age 56. Upon his retirement, Matthew decided to pursue this interest all of the way to New Celestia, half expecting it to have been little more than some elaborate last joke of his father's.
Gender: Male
Age: 68
Appearance: Matthew is an older man of mixed African American and Caucasian ancestry, still fit and in good shape into his late sixties. He has a full head of thick grey hair, kept close-cropped and professionally short. He often dresses in jeans, a golf shirt - always tucked in - and a comfortable pair of running shoes. He can often be found wearing a US Army pin and sometimes a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
Sexuality: This is even a question?!
Godly ancestor: Mars
Son/daughter or further removed: Grandson
Relationship with godly ancestor: Matthew grew up knowing of his unique ancestry and sought to live up to it. In the jungles of Vietnam, he was fueled by thoughts of doing this legacy proud. As a soldier, he excelled in waging war and indeed, Mars looked with pride upon this mortal grandson of his. Shying away from the less... martial aspects of his ancestor, he remained in the army following the end of the war, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel and commanding an armoured division during Operation Desert Storm. Having retired with full honours a handful of years ago, he decided to pursue his interest in his family history by moving to New Celestia and meeting with Mars for the first time. There was no emotional outpouring - just a heartfelt handshake and a long conversation between two professional military men who shared a deep respect for each other - exactly the way that Matthew had always pictured the encounter.
Relationship with mortal family: Matthew's parents are long gone, though he is in occasional contact with his brother Lawrence, who is a corn farmer in southern Illinois. The two of them go to see Cubs games together at least a couple of times per year, and Matthew occasionally dotes on his great nephews and nieces, though he thinks that they're being raised to be soft and indulged and that a bit of discipline would've done them good. He has no wife or children of his own, though he was briefly married to a woman named Costanza in the early eighties. His stepson, Roger, was a disappointment to him, and the two of them do not speak to each other at all.
Powers: At age 68, Matthew is still absurdly fast and strong, and has 20/20 vision and excellent hearing. He knows his way around multiple types of weapons and can figure out how to best use them instinctively. He is incredibly tough and difficult to injure in spite of his advanced age, and possesses mildly superhuman endurance. He has a natural tactical acumen that extends past the battlefield into virtually any situation involving conflict. Matthew also has a green thumb, but has never really developed this talent. He keeps a nice cactus garden, he supposes.
Personality: Matthew is a tough, no-nonsense retired veteran and a career military man. While he is deeply socially conservative in most ways, he is a firm backer of civil rights and a quiet but unflinching warrior in the fight against racism. He believes strongly that attitudes help to shape reality and as a result, you will never hear him drop an 'N-bomb' under any circumstances. Matthew has an oldschool sense of honour and duty, but he can also be aggressive and a bit of a bully. He is used to a chain of command and does best when part of one. Matthew will not complain about what he sees as 'petty concerns', nor will he 'stand for any special snowflake bullshit'. As a result, he holds a lot inside, and he's a bit of a lonely man with his share of regrets, standing on his pride and military service as the sun begins to set on his life.
Bio: Matthew and his younger brother Lawrence were born during the baby boom in Chicago to an African-American mother and a mixed-race father who had served with distinction during the second world war but been prevented from rising above the rank of captain due to his race. His parents both worked: his father in a factory, and his mother doing room cleaning at a hotel. Matthew wasn't old enough to remember much of the first phase of the civil rights movement, but he still remembers where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the death of Martin Luther King.
Matthew was an average student during his high school days, but he was an incredible natural athlete, especially as a football running back. Only a fiery and violent disposition and a lack of discipline prevented him from being offered multiple tier one scholarships. In any event, he still ended up playing in the NCAA for a year before the Vietnam War draft was held and he was called to service. Though he considered refusing, like his hero Muhammad Ali, he decided to answer the call in order to honour his father, who had fallen ill and been forced to take a leave of absence from his job.
In the jungles of Vietnam, Matthew truly came to life for the first time. He was cited for numerous acts of personal bravery well above and beyond the call of duty. He proved to be excellent at sniffing out ambushes ahead of time, thwarting enemy plans, and extricating himself and his fellow soldiers from impossible situations. It wasn't long before the medals, commendations, and promotions came flooding in. Whatever he may have felt about the flimsy justifications for the war, Matthew pushed it all aside. His job was elimination of the enemy in the name of his country, and he carried it out with loyalty and gusto. The conclusion of the war was something that he had seen coming, but at this point, he was already firmly entrenched in the military life. During the relatively conflict-free eighties, (despite the incendiary rhetoric being tossed about between cold war rivals) he made an attempt to settle down with the widow of one of his Vietnam buddies who he'd kept in touch with. However, her teenaged son was a delinquent, and Matthew's attempts to set the boy straight drove a wedge between them and resulted in the marriage failing after only a couple of years.
After that, he dedicated his life to serving his country, and did so as a captain and then a lieutenant colonel in the conflicts of the eighties, nineties, and early twenty-first century. That there was something more than human blood running through his veins, Matthew was certain, and he'd been told the family secret by his father upon his passing from cancer at age 56. Upon his retirement, Matthew decided to pursue this interest all of the way to New Celestia, half expecting it to have been little more than some elaborate last joke of his father's.
Name: Zack Martin
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance: Zack is a tall, lanky man with spiky jet black hair and a sharp goatee. He has a white skunk stripe running through his hair and bright blue eyes. His features are best described as sharp and fall somewhere between severe and handsome. He can commonly be seen wearing a pair of torn, faded blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle riding jacket with blue highlights on the shoulders and cuffs. He has a handful of piercings in his ears and several tattoos on his biceps, forearms, and calves.
Sexuality: Straight
Godly ancestor: Fulgora (Roman Goddess of Lightning)
Son/daughter or further removed: Son
Relationship with godly ancestor: Zack has known his mother for a lot longer than most of the divine offspring in New Celestia have known theirs. They are in regular contact and she has helped Zack to make the most of his powers.
Relationship with mortal family: Zack never knew or met his father. He had a number of foster families, but most of them just annoyed him and the feeling was mutual between them. He doesn't really have a family aside from his mother.
Powers: Zack can create, control, and resist lightning and electrical charges, He also has some powers over positive and negative magnetism. He can become a human embodiment of lightning, and, as such can appear wherever and whenever lightning does, effectively using it as a form of teleportation.
Personality: Zach is irreverent, abrasive, and snarky, with a deeply cynical streak. He exhibits a consistent failure to take much of anything seriously except for his work on cars and motorcycles. Zack has strong opinions on a lot of inconsequential things, such as music taste, clothing style, choice of alcoholic drinks, and television series, though it isn't alwasy easy to tell if he's trolling you or not. He also think that Donald Trump is hilarious and awesome but should "die like the fucking cunt he is". Zack isn't actually a misanthrope. He loves women, especially when they shut up about their feelings and just hop into bed with him. The truth is that he's just tired of people. They're all broadly the same and most bore him. Most are self-obsessed. They're usually friendly enough, but there's always social politics with people and he'd rather work on squeezing an extra half-second out of his totally bitchin' new ride while listening to some face melting metal on his headphones than deal with that shit. Zack doesn't care if you feel ignored by your parents. He doesn't give a rat's ass about your struggles with your gender identity. His level of caring about your recent breakup with your boyfriend/girlfriend equates to precisely zilch. The secret pain and loneliness that you hold inside is a cool story, bro.
Zack's mostly here to laugh at the world and its various forms of pretentiousness while smoking two packs a day, souping up his Camaro, and not giving a fuck. Of course, he's crying inside all the way. The dude has issues - loads of them - but that's what alcohol's for, right?
Bio: Zack's mother is a lightning goddess and his father refused to take take responsibility for him upon his birth and for a couple of years thereafter. Coincidentally (or not) he was struck and killed by a bolt of lightning while walking home from a club one night. Zack spent a few years in an orphanage before being taken in by foster parents. However, their financial situation deteriorated after both of them lost their jobs within months of each other and they were forced to give him up. Zack bounced around between foster families for the next decade or so, leaving him pretty jaded. Without any real attachment to or investment in the people who he was living with, he began to act out in attention-seeking ways or simply for his own amusement. Before long, he developed a reputation as a problem child and any interest in him dried up.
On his fourteenth birthday, he found himself formally adopted by a wealthy, divorced businesswoman named Maria Fulgora. She was, of course, an alias of the Roman goddess who was his biological mother. She moved him to New Celestia and gave him the lowdown on just about everything. It took her a while to make any cracks in his well-practiced wall of hostility, but eventually he came to think that she was kind of cool, mainly just because she didn't try to change him or condescend to him. She just supported what he wanted to do. After that, Zack never wanted for much of anything. He was a complete shit in high school. Some of the older teachers still shudder at his name, and it lives on even in the stories told by current students. However, he managed to graduate with decent marks and f to get through college so that he could run a garage and teach shop. Vehicles and machines are so much easier to deal with than people. They don't talk back, they diagnose their problems honestly, they shut the fuck up when commanded to, and you can hit them when they really piss you off without being sued for assault.
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Appearance: Zack is a tall, lanky man with spiky jet black hair and a sharp goatee. He has a white skunk stripe running through his hair and bright blue eyes. His features are best described as sharp and fall somewhere between severe and handsome. He can commonly be seen wearing a pair of torn, faded blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle riding jacket with blue highlights on the shoulders and cuffs. He has a handful of piercings in his ears and several tattoos on his biceps, forearms, and calves.
Sexuality: Straight
Godly ancestor: Fulgora (Roman Goddess of Lightning)
Son/daughter or further removed: Son
Relationship with godly ancestor: Zack has known his mother for a lot longer than most of the divine offspring in New Celestia have known theirs. They are in regular contact and she has helped Zack to make the most of his powers.
Relationship with mortal family: Zack never knew or met his father. He had a number of foster families, but most of them just annoyed him and the feeling was mutual between them. He doesn't really have a family aside from his mother.
Powers: Zack can create, control, and resist lightning and electrical charges, He also has some powers over positive and negative magnetism. He can become a human embodiment of lightning, and, as such can appear wherever and whenever lightning does, effectively using it as a form of teleportation.
Personality: Zach is irreverent, abrasive, and snarky, with a deeply cynical streak. He exhibits a consistent failure to take much of anything seriously except for his work on cars and motorcycles. Zack has strong opinions on a lot of inconsequential things, such as music taste, clothing style, choice of alcoholic drinks, and television series, though it isn't alwasy easy to tell if he's trolling you or not. He also think that Donald Trump is hilarious and awesome but should "die like the fucking cunt he is". Zack isn't actually a misanthrope. He loves women, especially when they shut up about their feelings and just hop into bed with him. The truth is that he's just tired of people. They're all broadly the same and most bore him. Most are self-obsessed. They're usually friendly enough, but there's always social politics with people and he'd rather work on squeezing an extra half-second out of his totally bitchin' new ride while listening to some face melting metal on his headphones than deal with that shit. Zack doesn't care if you feel ignored by your parents. He doesn't give a rat's ass about your struggles with your gender identity. His level of caring about your recent breakup with your boyfriend/girlfriend equates to precisely zilch. The secret pain and loneliness that you hold inside is a cool story, bro.
Zack's mostly here to laugh at the world and its various forms of pretentiousness while smoking two packs a day, souping up his Camaro, and not giving a fuck. Of course, he's crying inside all the way. The dude has issues - loads of them - but that's what alcohol's for, right?
Bio: Zack's mother is a lightning goddess and his father refused to take take responsibility for him upon his birth and for a couple of years thereafter. Coincidentally (or not) he was struck and killed by a bolt of lightning while walking home from a club one night. Zack spent a few years in an orphanage before being taken in by foster parents. However, their financial situation deteriorated after both of them lost their jobs within months of each other and they were forced to give him up. Zack bounced around between foster families for the next decade or so, leaving him pretty jaded. Without any real attachment to or investment in the people who he was living with, he began to act out in attention-seeking ways or simply for his own amusement. Before long, he developed a reputation as a problem child and any interest in him dried up.
On his fourteenth birthday, he found himself formally adopted by a wealthy, divorced businesswoman named Maria Fulgora. She was, of course, an alias of the Roman goddess who was his biological mother. She moved him to New Celestia and gave him the lowdown on just about everything. It took her a while to make any cracks in his well-practiced wall of hostility, but eventually he came to think that she was kind of cool, mainly just because she didn't try to change him or condescend to him. She just supported what he wanted to do. After that, Zack never wanted for much of anything. He was a complete shit in high school. Some of the older teachers still shudder at his name, and it lives on even in the stories told by current students. However, he managed to graduate with decent marks and f to get through college so that he could run a garage and teach shop. Vehicles and machines are so much easier to deal with than people. They don't talk back, they diagnose their problems honestly, they shut the fuck up when commanded to, and you can hit them when they really piss you off without being sued for assault.
Name: Selena Casillas Ochoa
Gender: Female
Age: 38
Appearance: Selena is a petite woman with tanned skin, and straight black hair with bangs cut to shoulder length with lazerlike precision. She often wears a full skirt suit in either white or black, with a thin pencil skirt and high heels that add a forbidding click to every step that she takes. He makeup is always perfect and her nails are always painted blood red. On sunny days, she will wear a pair of aviator sunglasses that make it impossible to see her eyes.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Thanatos
Son/daughter or further removed: Daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: It used to be very strained, though it has improved in recent years.
Relationship with mortal family: Selena's mother died during childbirth, and she was raised by her aunt and uncle as if she were one of their many children. In fact, while growing up, virtually nobody knew that she wasn't one of theirs. Time and distance have separated them somewhat, though they're still on good terms and she regularly visits on holidays. Of more consequence are her husband, Michael: the son of a minor Chinese water deity, and her daughter Victoria: a synthesis of the two sets of powers. They are her everything.
Powers: Selena has always been deeply uncomfortable with her powers, since she was raised as a devout Catholic and they come from a Greek death god. The most peculiar of these is her apparent age. Though she's approaching forty, she doesn't look a day past her early twenties. Of course, as the offspring of a death god, she possesses the ability to call people into the afterlife with nothing but a touch and intent. In some circumstances, she can also return them to the mortal plane. However, the ability that has made Selena the most uncomfortable is her power over pain and grief. With but a look and a thought, she can inflict immense amounts of it upon people, but conversely can relieve it. She herself can move at will from one plane to the other. Though while she is in the land of the dead, her body remains behind in the living world and is completely vulnerable. Finally, just like her father, she can sprout a pair of ethereal wings from her back and use them to fly. They look almost exactly like angel's wings except for the fact that they're pitch black.
Personality: Selena is a warm and caring individual by upbringing, but it contrasts with the detached and distant yet coolly benevolent nature bequeathed to her by her father. Every day of her life she remains locked in a struggle against that side of herself. Selena can laugh at a good joke, but she's not very good at making any herself. Her marriage has been blessed with genuine passion as well as understanding and a great many common interests. In most ways, Selena is utterly typical of an upper middle class woman in her late thirties, from her taste in media to her set of interests, to her social and political opinions, which lean conservatively left but little more.
Bio: Selena grew up cursing her father, whoever he was, for leaving. She always assumed that he was some no good gangbanger. She was raised by her aunt and uncle and it was a largely happy upbringing, though they were rather poor and often struggled. Just having her in the room often made them feel better.
Taking this a step further, she got into medicine and after years of schooling, eventually became a doctor. It was right after her graduation that she was told the truth about her birth by her aunt. The old woman was rather skeptical herself, but she had never known her sister to lie. Upon investigating New Celestia herself, Selena was contacted by her father and was horrified to find out that not only was he real, but he was the very epitome of a cool, handsome, emotionless death god. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him, not understanding (or perhaps not wanting to understand) that he saw it as his job to ease pain as well.
Moving her practice to New Celestia, she did well for herself and eventually fell in love with one of her clients, a man named Michael Xu, the son of a Chinese water deity. Before long, they had gotten married and Selena had gotten pregnant. She worked for as long as was medically responsible, before temporarily referring her clients to another physician while she went on maternity leave. Her daughter, Victoria, is the light of her life, and was born seven years ago. That was also the time that her father picked to come back into her life. They talked rather openly about her resentment. He admitted that he had probably inadvertently killed her mother. There was nothing that could be done to change the past. However, they could attempt to have a future.
Gender: Female
Age: 38
Appearance: Selena is a petite woman with tanned skin, and straight black hair with bangs cut to shoulder length with lazerlike precision. She often wears a full skirt suit in either white or black, with a thin pencil skirt and high heels that add a forbidding click to every step that she takes. He makeup is always perfect and her nails are always painted blood red. On sunny days, she will wear a pair of aviator sunglasses that make it impossible to see her eyes.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Thanatos
Son/daughter or further removed: Daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: It used to be very strained, though it has improved in recent years.
Relationship with mortal family: Selena's mother died during childbirth, and she was raised by her aunt and uncle as if she were one of their many children. In fact, while growing up, virtually nobody knew that she wasn't one of theirs. Time and distance have separated them somewhat, though they're still on good terms and she regularly visits on holidays. Of more consequence are her husband, Michael: the son of a minor Chinese water deity, and her daughter Victoria: a synthesis of the two sets of powers. They are her everything.
Powers: Selena has always been deeply uncomfortable with her powers, since she was raised as a devout Catholic and they come from a Greek death god. The most peculiar of these is her apparent age. Though she's approaching forty, she doesn't look a day past her early twenties. Of course, as the offspring of a death god, she possesses the ability to call people into the afterlife with nothing but a touch and intent. In some circumstances, she can also return them to the mortal plane. However, the ability that has made Selena the most uncomfortable is her power over pain and grief. With but a look and a thought, she can inflict immense amounts of it upon people, but conversely can relieve it. She herself can move at will from one plane to the other. Though while she is in the land of the dead, her body remains behind in the living world and is completely vulnerable. Finally, just like her father, she can sprout a pair of ethereal wings from her back and use them to fly. They look almost exactly like angel's wings except for the fact that they're pitch black.
Personality: Selena is a warm and caring individual by upbringing, but it contrasts with the detached and distant yet coolly benevolent nature bequeathed to her by her father. Every day of her life she remains locked in a struggle against that side of herself. Selena can laugh at a good joke, but she's not very good at making any herself. Her marriage has been blessed with genuine passion as well as understanding and a great many common interests. In most ways, Selena is utterly typical of an upper middle class woman in her late thirties, from her taste in media to her set of interests, to her social and political opinions, which lean conservatively left but little more.
Bio: Selena grew up cursing her father, whoever he was, for leaving. She always assumed that he was some no good gangbanger. She was raised by her aunt and uncle and it was a largely happy upbringing, though they were rather poor and often struggled. Just having her in the room often made them feel better.
Taking this a step further, she got into medicine and after years of schooling, eventually became a doctor. It was right after her graduation that she was told the truth about her birth by her aunt. The old woman was rather skeptical herself, but she had never known her sister to lie. Upon investigating New Celestia herself, Selena was contacted by her father and was horrified to find out that not only was he real, but he was the very epitome of a cool, handsome, emotionless death god. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him, not understanding (or perhaps not wanting to understand) that he saw it as his job to ease pain as well.
Moving her practice to New Celestia, she did well for herself and eventually fell in love with one of her clients, a man named Michael Xu, the son of a Chinese water deity. Before long, they had gotten married and Selena had gotten pregnant. She worked for as long as was medically responsible, before temporarily referring her clients to another physician while she went on maternity leave. Her daughter, Victoria, is the light of her life, and was born seven years ago. That was also the time that her father picked to come back into her life. They talked rather openly about her resentment. He admitted that he had probably inadvertently killed her mother. There was nothing that could be done to change the past. However, they could attempt to have a future.
Name: Mario Manzetti
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Sexuality: Straight, but those gay people are cool too
Godly ancestor: Cloacina (Roman Goddess of sewers)
Son/daughter or further removed: Son
Relationship with godly ancestor: As a generally very hands-on type of deity, she's been involved in his and his brother's lives since day one and the bonds between them are deep and strong.
Relationship with mortal family: Mario was raised by his father and his nonno and nonna, and the old couple spoke a good deal of Italian around the house, so he's actually fluent in it. They would dote on him and his twin brother Luigi endlessly, though their divine mother was also a fairly regular guest. The two boys grew up aware of their unique heritage and naturally went into the plumbing business despite their father being an advertising executive and a loving but often absentee parent. Mario and Luigi are about as close as siblings can be. They share similar tastes in food (both love mushrooms) and clothing (they're both suspender-wearing hipsters, though Mario prefers red and Luigi prefers green), and even in women. There are these two: Daisy and Peach, that the brothers have been going on with for a while, but they still can't quite figure out who's gonna date who, you know?
Powers: Mario is just incredible with all types of metal and piping. He has an amazing ability to dig underground at high speed and can visualize where he is underground at all times, in addition to being a repairman extraordinaire. He's very resistant to heat and can even generate low level fires from his hands to help unclog particularly nasty blockages. Mario can sense poison from a considerable distance away and has the ability to purify anything, making it safe to eat or drink. He can quench thirst and prevent the symptoms of liquid-borne diseases and infections. He's also just damned tough and doesn't care about getting dirty. All of his abilities are shared by Luigi.
Personality: Mario's an easygoing guy most of the time, with an ironic sense of humour and a cool, laid back demeanor. He's a good cook and likes a good beer while watching the game, and he's started to get a bit paunchy as a result. When under extreme stress, he can demonstrate a fiery temper, and is often prone to panic and hyperactivity.
Bio: Mario's pretty much been happy as a clam for most of his life. He's been coming and going from New Celestia for a while. So has Luigi. They've had some adventures, rescues some princesses, had some badass go-kart races, and chilled with some sentient apes along the way.
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Sexuality: Straight, but those gay people are cool too
Godly ancestor: Cloacina (Roman Goddess of sewers)
Son/daughter or further removed: Son
Relationship with godly ancestor: As a generally very hands-on type of deity, she's been involved in his and his brother's lives since day one and the bonds between them are deep and strong.
Relationship with mortal family: Mario was raised by his father and his nonno and nonna, and the old couple spoke a good deal of Italian around the house, so he's actually fluent in it. They would dote on him and his twin brother Luigi endlessly, though their divine mother was also a fairly regular guest. The two boys grew up aware of their unique heritage and naturally went into the plumbing business despite their father being an advertising executive and a loving but often absentee parent. Mario and Luigi are about as close as siblings can be. They share similar tastes in food (both love mushrooms) and clothing (they're both suspender-wearing hipsters, though Mario prefers red and Luigi prefers green), and even in women. There are these two: Daisy and Peach, that the brothers have been going on with for a while, but they still can't quite figure out who's gonna date who, you know?
Powers: Mario is just incredible with all types of metal and piping. He has an amazing ability to dig underground at high speed and can visualize where he is underground at all times, in addition to being a repairman extraordinaire. He's very resistant to heat and can even generate low level fires from his hands to help unclog particularly nasty blockages. Mario can sense poison from a considerable distance away and has the ability to purify anything, making it safe to eat or drink. He can quench thirst and prevent the symptoms of liquid-borne diseases and infections. He's also just damned tough and doesn't care about getting dirty. All of his abilities are shared by Luigi.
Personality: Mario's an easygoing guy most of the time, with an ironic sense of humour and a cool, laid back demeanor. He's a good cook and likes a good beer while watching the game, and he's started to get a bit paunchy as a result. When under extreme stress, he can demonstrate a fiery temper, and is often prone to panic and hyperactivity.
Bio: Mario's pretty much been happy as a clam for most of his life. He's been coming and going from New Celestia for a while. So has Luigi. They've had some adventures, rescues some princesses, had some badass go-kart races, and chilled with some sentient apes along the way.
The Mimic was a CS submitted for Justice League Unlimited a few years back. I (and a few others) thought that it was a novel and interesting concept, but it was rejected. I guess it was just a bit too 'out there'.
Name:
n/a
Alias:
The Mimic, Marjorie Dawes
Age:
Unknown, but young, or at least seems to be. When taking the form of Marjorie, late twenties.
Personality:
Quiet, childlike, innocent, unsettling, inquisitive, subtly humorous, evanescent
Archetype:
Alien, most likely
Powers:
The Mimic has only one power: it can become something or someone else. It is not sure how it does this or what its limitations are. It only knows that it cannot become anything exceptionally large or small. Perhaps it cannot become another thing for too long. In any event, it has never tried.
Weaknesses:
The Mimic itself possesses a type of sentience (if indeed, it can be called sentient) that is profoundly different from that of humans and most alien races so far encountered. In its base form, it either cannot or will not verbalize. It takes on not only the abilities of things that it transforms into, but also their weaknesses and, if those things are sentient, some semblance of their characters. It’s believed that The Mimic grows more sentient by living as others. From them, it learns all of the constructs and values that govern human society, such as right and wrong, strong and weak, and male and female. It is learning that these things are not as easy to define as they would initially seem to be.
The longer that The Mimic spends imitating something else, the more that it desires to be that thing and the more impact that thing will have on its character. Obviously, this can be a double edged sword.
Appearance:
In what most people consider its basic form, though nobody truly knows, The Mimic is a roughly watermelon-sized and shaped blob in a pale greyish-blue that usually hovers two to six feet above the ground. It seems to have a fixed shape, though this will change in colour and texture depending on its impression of the people around it. Sometimes, when faced with unusual or unexpected stimuli, and particularly when someone’s behaviour does not match his or her words, it forms exaggerated faces, almost as if it’s lampooning its surroundings. It seems to be able to turn itself into a flat, disc-like object with a hole in the center. In terms of human forms, it favours that of a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features. Her hair is often pulled back into a messy ponytail, she’s wearing jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a light button-up sweater. Nobody knows why The Mimic chooses this form so often. Perhaps even it doesn’t know.
Character Evolution:
The Mimic isn’t sure what its purpose is. Perhaps it has no inherent purpose and must find one. It doesn’t know, and so it will learn so that it can know.
Bio:
The Mimic does not know what it is. It does not know if it is a living thing or a piece of technology, or if it can be both at the same time. It does not know where it is from. In fact, it does not know when it is from either. Time is a concept that it is attempting to understand. Really, The Mimic does not know what it can do. It has noticed that it takes the form and the qualities of other things around it, so long as they are not excessively large or infinitesimally small. It is not sure how it does this or even why. It just does. If there is any mechanism governing what it decides to mimic, it doesn’t understand how that mechanism works. It just chooses things and becomes them unless there is a direct threat. Then it responds by becoming something more powerful and neutralizing the threat. It is not sure why it does this. The Mimic is not much of anything, after all. The Mimic does not know much of anything either, but one thing is certain: it is learning.
Notes:
The Mimic does not need to take notes. When it sees something, it understands all of its physical details immediately and is incapable of not understanding them after that.
Sample Post:
On the first day of the new Justice League, there are throngs of well-wishers outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new superheroes. Among them is a small, red-haired young woman with mousy features, freckles, and dimples. She stands beside a streetlight on an uncluttered part of the sidewalk and whoops and cheers with the others. Nearby, there is a teenaged boy with shaggy blonde hair and a pair of beat up skateboarding shoes. She studies him carefully, closely, for just long enough not to unsettle him. She wouldn’t want to make the subject uncomfortable. It would be rude and unprofessional.
On the second day, hanging around that same streetlight, the teenaged boy whoops and cheers with thousands of others. Not far away is a portly middle-aged woman with dark skin and hair pulled neatly back in a bun. He looks at her for a second, fidgeting as he gets all of her details down. He’s trying not to sketch her out. That’d be a bit fucked up.
On day three, the middle-aged woman stands beside that same light and adds her voice to the crowd. It’s a bit smaller than it was the past few days, but she remains enthusiastic. Not far away, an old Asian man seems just as energized. He’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and socks under his sandals. The woman gets a read on him, notes what she needs to note, and looks away. She’s not trying to make anyone uncomfortable. That’s not how you make the world a better place.
On the fourth and final day, an old Asian man stands in that same spot amid the crowd, beaming and waving as the final group of superheroes walk past. Nearby is chubby young man in his thirties, with a batman shirt and a bag of takeout. The old man decides to take a gander in that direction, but then he reaches up and clutches at his chest. A look of shock and dismay crosses his features. It’s what one would expect and it isn’t. It’s unsettling. A couple of people look in his direction. He slumps to the ground, but when the crowd parts enough to allow others to help him, he is gone without a trace. There is only a fire hydrant close to where he was standing.
Hours later, once the hubbub has died down, a man walks his dog along the sidewalk. The dog stops beside the hydrant, lifts its leg, and lets loose with a foul yellow stream. The Mimic is disgusted. It nearly turns itself into a larger angry dog in response. In the event, it does not, but it feels satisfaction at this reaction nonetheless. It believes, to a certainty of over eighty percent, that it interpreted the construct of ‘disgusting’ accurately while not being in the form of something that would have an innate understanding of such.About ten minutes later, a bus stops in front of the hydrant. When it drives off, there is only an empty sidewalk and a stray cat walking away.
The cat walks into a nearby park. It trots into a public restroom. There is a long period of silence. Washrooms are convenient, The Mimic has learned. They are places of secrecy because of ‘disgusting’. About twenty minutes later, a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features walks out of the washroom, hands tucked into her pockets. She is not the real her. She is The Mimic. She is attempting to understand superheroes. She is reviewing right and wrong. Insofar as she can determine, it seems that the latter is more prevalent but the former is received more positively. Is it due to a scarcity effect? Why do these beings consider a more difficult, less common, and statistically less materially rewarding behaviour to be more desirable? The Mimic does not understand, and it wants to understand. Perhaps it can learn about ‘good’ by doing ‘good’. Perhaps it can do so as a superhero.
The young woman is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn’t see the man come up behind her until he is almost upon her. She takes a few steps back and he pulls out a knife. “I want your money, not your life,” he demands, “But if you try to make a move, I won’t think twice.” The Mimic bolts. This is a bad man, it determines. This man is threatening it with physical harm. The Mimic runs behind a tree. From the other side emerges Batman. Batman kicks the bad man so hard that there’s a sound from his abdomen that indicates bodily injury. He crawls away, coughing up blood, eyes wide with fear. The Mimic wonders if it just did a bad thing. Then it decides that it’s safer as a cat.
n/a
Alias:
The Mimic, Marjorie Dawes
Age:
Unknown, but young, or at least seems to be. When taking the form of Marjorie, late twenties.
Personality:
Quiet, childlike, innocent, unsettling, inquisitive, subtly humorous, evanescent
Archetype:
Alien, most likely
Powers:
The Mimic has only one power: it can become something or someone else. It is not sure how it does this or what its limitations are. It only knows that it cannot become anything exceptionally large or small. Perhaps it cannot become another thing for too long. In any event, it has never tried.
Weaknesses:
The Mimic itself possesses a type of sentience (if indeed, it can be called sentient) that is profoundly different from that of humans and most alien races so far encountered. In its base form, it either cannot or will not verbalize. It takes on not only the abilities of things that it transforms into, but also their weaknesses and, if those things are sentient, some semblance of their characters. It’s believed that The Mimic grows more sentient by living as others. From them, it learns all of the constructs and values that govern human society, such as right and wrong, strong and weak, and male and female. It is learning that these things are not as easy to define as they would initially seem to be.
The longer that The Mimic spends imitating something else, the more that it desires to be that thing and the more impact that thing will have on its character. Obviously, this can be a double edged sword.
Appearance:
In what most people consider its basic form, though nobody truly knows, The Mimic is a roughly watermelon-sized and shaped blob in a pale greyish-blue that usually hovers two to six feet above the ground. It seems to have a fixed shape, though this will change in colour and texture depending on its impression of the people around it. Sometimes, when faced with unusual or unexpected stimuli, and particularly when someone’s behaviour does not match his or her words, it forms exaggerated faces, almost as if it’s lampooning its surroundings. It seems to be able to turn itself into a flat, disc-like object with a hole in the center. In terms of human forms, it favours that of a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features. Her hair is often pulled back into a messy ponytail, she’s wearing jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a light button-up sweater. Nobody knows why The Mimic chooses this form so often. Perhaps even it doesn’t know.
Character Evolution:
The Mimic isn’t sure what its purpose is. Perhaps it has no inherent purpose and must find one. It doesn’t know, and so it will learn so that it can know.
Bio:
The Mimic does not know what it is. It does not know if it is a living thing or a piece of technology, or if it can be both at the same time. It does not know where it is from. In fact, it does not know when it is from either. Time is a concept that it is attempting to understand. Really, The Mimic does not know what it can do. It has noticed that it takes the form and the qualities of other things around it, so long as they are not excessively large or infinitesimally small. It is not sure how it does this or even why. It just does. If there is any mechanism governing what it decides to mimic, it doesn’t understand how that mechanism works. It just chooses things and becomes them unless there is a direct threat. Then it responds by becoming something more powerful and neutralizing the threat. It is not sure why it does this. The Mimic is not much of anything, after all. The Mimic does not know much of anything either, but one thing is certain: it is learning.
Notes:
The Mimic does not need to take notes. When it sees something, it understands all of its physical details immediately and is incapable of not understanding them after that.
Sample Post:
On the first day of the new Justice League, there are throngs of well-wishers outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new superheroes. Among them is a small, red-haired young woman with mousy features, freckles, and dimples. She stands beside a streetlight on an uncluttered part of the sidewalk and whoops and cheers with the others. Nearby, there is a teenaged boy with shaggy blonde hair and a pair of beat up skateboarding shoes. She studies him carefully, closely, for just long enough not to unsettle him. She wouldn’t want to make the subject uncomfortable. It would be rude and unprofessional.
On the second day, hanging around that same streetlight, the teenaged boy whoops and cheers with thousands of others. Not far away is a portly middle-aged woman with dark skin and hair pulled neatly back in a bun. He looks at her for a second, fidgeting as he gets all of her details down. He’s trying not to sketch her out. That’d be a bit fucked up.
On day three, the middle-aged woman stands beside that same light and adds her voice to the crowd. It’s a bit smaller than it was the past few days, but she remains enthusiastic. Not far away, an old Asian man seems just as energized. He’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and socks under his sandals. The woman gets a read on him, notes what she needs to note, and looks away. She’s not trying to make anyone uncomfortable. That’s not how you make the world a better place.
On the fourth and final day, an old Asian man stands in that same spot amid the crowd, beaming and waving as the final group of superheroes walk past. Nearby is chubby young man in his thirties, with a batman shirt and a bag of takeout. The old man decides to take a gander in that direction, but then he reaches up and clutches at his chest. A look of shock and dismay crosses his features. It’s what one would expect and it isn’t. It’s unsettling. A couple of people look in his direction. He slumps to the ground, but when the crowd parts enough to allow others to help him, he is gone without a trace. There is only a fire hydrant close to where he was standing.
Hours later, once the hubbub has died down, a man walks his dog along the sidewalk. The dog stops beside the hydrant, lifts its leg, and lets loose with a foul yellow stream. The Mimic is disgusted. It nearly turns itself into a larger angry dog in response. In the event, it does not, but it feels satisfaction at this reaction nonetheless. It believes, to a certainty of over eighty percent, that it interpreted the construct of ‘disgusting’ accurately while not being in the form of something that would have an innate understanding of such.About ten minutes later, a bus stops in front of the hydrant. When it drives off, there is only an empty sidewalk and a stray cat walking away.
The cat walks into a nearby park. It trots into a public restroom. There is a long period of silence. Washrooms are convenient, The Mimic has learned. They are places of secrecy because of ‘disgusting’. About twenty minutes later, a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features walks out of the washroom, hands tucked into her pockets. She is not the real her. She is The Mimic. She is attempting to understand superheroes. She is reviewing right and wrong. Insofar as she can determine, it seems that the latter is more prevalent but the former is received more positively. Is it due to a scarcity effect? Why do these beings consider a more difficult, less common, and statistically less materially rewarding behaviour to be more desirable? The Mimic does not understand, and it wants to understand. Perhaps it can learn about ‘good’ by doing ‘good’. Perhaps it can do so as a superhero.
The young woman is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn’t see the man come up behind her until he is almost upon her. She takes a few steps back and he pulls out a knife. “I want your money, not your life,” he demands, “But if you try to make a move, I won’t think twice.” The Mimic bolts. This is a bad man, it determines. This man is threatening it with physical harm. The Mimic runs behind a tree. From the other side emerges Batman. Batman kicks the bad man so hard that there’s a sound from his abdomen that indicates bodily injury. He crawls away, coughing up blood, eyes wide with fear. The Mimic wonders if it just did a bad thing. Then it decides that it’s safer as a cat.
This CS was developed for a fantasy RPG called End + Sleep that sadly died out before it could really get going. In retrospect, I feel like playing an archetype could've been fun, but the character also sparkled a bit too much for her supposed race and background.
Kaeli Aldavere
Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety percent...OUCH! Argh!! Goddammit that hurt...
27 | Elf | No Mage-Eyes
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Inquisitive
❖ Ballsy
❖ A bit odd
❖ Meticulous planner
❖ Brilliant
❖ Enthusiastic
❖ Flighty and easily distracted
❖ Occasionally academically haughty
❖ Ballsy
❖ A bit odd
❖ Meticulous planner
❖ Brilliant
❖ Enthusiastic
❖ Flighty and easily distracted
❖ Occasionally academically haughty
Kaeli is an oddball and eccentric to the very core, especially by Elven standards. Sometimes stereotypes are exaggerated and sometimes they fit to a tee. Put simply, she's one of those people who wants to know how everything works, can usually give you an educated guess right off the bat, and - given enough time - can usually replicate it. In general, she is obsessed with technology, preserving it, repairing it, and improving it, a passion which goes far beyond her people's rather practical and uninspiring relationship with things mechanical. On projects of great import or that have struck a particular chord with her, Kaeli will work tirelessly, with near-boundless enthusiasm, an eye for detail, and a need for perfection that borders on the insane. Social interaction, sleep, and most anything else be damned.
If a given goal is not a project but an endeavour, then she will go to great lengths, often at not-inconsiderable personal danger, in order to see it through. Otherwise, she is curious and inquisitive but flighty, branching off tangentially at once in terms of ideas, conversation, and projects. She enjoys meticulously planning more than she does following through, and collects and keeps things that most people would consider junk simply because she sees them as works in progress, interesting, or simply because she wants to be prepared for any eventuality. In particular, she enjoys solving the problem of her own strange body and finding ways to do things that would seem to be beyond her physical capabilities.
Just as Kaeli can lose herself for hours in a project, she can lose herself for hours when talking about a subject or with with a person whom she finds genuinely interesting. This tendency, alarmingly aberrant among elves, has only grown more pronounced since she left her homeland. When engaged in these fits of passionate gabbing, she has been accused of talking 'at' people as opposed to talking 'with' them. Her standards in terms of 'interesting', however, are higher than she probably realizes. People are usually just surroundings as opposed to being genuine 'company'. They're an audience for her genius, a sounding board for her ideas, and the source of interesting problems and opportunities to be solved or seized. Some also make great guinea pigs.
In terms of romance, Kaeli thinks about it from time to time just as any red-blooded woman might. Then she shuts it out of her mind. She is keenly aware that society at large does not consider her attractive. Like most elves, she also can't 'do' smalltalk and flirting, and she isn't even any good at the social rituals expected of her own people, let alone the more elaborate and frighteningly involved ones so beloved of humans. She often ends up simply lurking and dreaming. In many ways, she's a dreamer. In many ways she holds delusions of grandeur and achievement on an epic scale. However, she's self-aware enough to see some of these for what they are. There's a thin streak of bitterness that runs through her thinking and it's a product of the subtle but ever-present discrimination that she has faced growing up with a very visible deformity. Elves are not a warm, fuzzy, communal people by any stretch of the imagination, but her upbringing was marked by complete disinterest from even close family, often tipping over into utter neglect.
A P P E A R A N C E
The first thing that stands out about Kaeli is the fact that she looks like half a person. The result of a rare birth defect, she was born completely without legs, not dissimilar to Kanya Sesser or Jen Bricker. Beyond that, she's rather unremarkable: petite and pale, with white, wavy, shoulder length hair often pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. It's all-but preternaturally unruly, though sometimes she can fuss it into place. Kaeli's facial features tend towards 'mousy' but actually somewhat attractive, though she doesn't put much effort into her appearance. Indeed, the closest thing to makeup that she's known to wear is the series of oil stains and smudges that can be found on her hands, cheeks, and clothes. These compete with a number of small nicks, burns, and scars from too much tinkering. She's also considered quite stocky and muscular by Elven standards due to the upper body strength that she needs in order to get around.
Kaeli's clothing reflects both necessity and her eccentricity. Both of her pointed upper ears are pierced in multiple places, and she's not averse to self-adornment, though it's rarely with the shiny jewellery common to her race. Rather, she owns a necklace made from a very light silver chain, some old screws, a handful of bolts, and a couple of washers. She can also always be found wearing either a pair of round-rimmed tinted shades or goggles that she uses to protect her eyes from the harsh sunlight or hold back her unruly hair. Kaeli wears a custom-made garment on her truncated lower body made of a rough, sandy-coloured fabric, with a thick, cushioned leather pad at the bottom that she uses to sit and 'walk' on. Generally, she dresses in a form-fitting shirt in either purple, forest green, or crimson with a row of buttons running up the middle. Its sleeves are invariably rolled up. A brown leather belt with a prodigious number of pouches, clips, and various doodads rests snugly upon her hips, and a second, thinner belt encircles her upper waist. Filling out the ensemble is a bandolier with several pockets running from her left shoulder to her right hip, where it's clipped into her belt. A pair of elbow pads adorns her arms, and tough, worn out fingerless gloves with protective mitts that flip over complete the outfit. Kaeli usually carries a backpack that seems slightly too large for her, and when it's cooler, she bundles up in a sandy-coloured hooded hip cloak that effectively covers her whole body.
H I S T O R Y
Kaeli Kinseld was the second girl as well as the third and final child born to parents of high standing. Her father was the town recordkeeper and brother of the thane while her mother was a jeweler of some repute. Due to her startling deformity, her birth was a bitter disappointment and it was hoped that she would die quietly in infancy, lest she grow up to be a burden. In the event, she not only survived, but grew into a curious, lively, and (with the exception of her missing legs) healthy child. Unlike her older siblings, Kaeli was not groomed for an advantageous marriage or a lofty position, either political or professional. As a result, her education was sparse and was piggybacked upon that of her slightly older brother, Heddenrad, who was privately tutored in - aside from instruction on recordkeeping - what were considered the classical Magdalenese subjects: linguistics, smithing, hunting, mathematics, natural philosophy (science), and jewellery-making.
In the event, while her brother approached his studies dutifully and at times diligently, Kaeli tore through her books with an appetite for learning that - while it was somewhat selective - bordered on the obsessive. The walls of her bedroom were often filled with drawings and partially-completed sketches, and her young mind was filled with ideas. In particular, she gravitated towards all things mechanical and electrical: understanding them, disassembling and reassembling them, and making them function. If she was hopeless at hunting, too small for smithing, and unenthusiastic about crafting finely filigreed and delicate jewellery, she had nimble, dexterous fingers, an eye for detail, and a keen intuition for the workings of anything with moving pieces.
For the most part, however, people paid little attention to the girl, except as a curiosity, and she was left largely to her own devices. The one exception was Kaeli's (really her brother's) natural philosophy and mathematics tutor, a prematurely cantankerous academic named Tasten Aldavere. He spent extra hours fostering what he believed was a brilliant young mind, and his attitudes, mannerisms, and methods had a profound impact on her development. In her mid-teens, she was betrothed to him, even though he was nearly twenty years her senior. In reality, it wasn't a marriage founded on love, since Tasten was rather clearly homosexual. Rather it was a union of kinship and mutual respect, carefully calculated by the pair to afford Kaeli both some independence from her family as well as some monetary attention.
For a handful of years, things went well. Kaeli continued to educate herself and earned the respect of a notable portion of Magdalene's academic community. Even her father, who had advocated for exposing her to the elements during her infancy, came to appreciate her gifts and even fund some of her pet projects. Then her uncle, the local thane, made the grave mistake of defying the Alfking of Magdalene. Exactly what happened is not something that she will ever talk about, perhaps because she has never taken much interest in politics. A ruler who had for Kaeli's entire life seemed distant and mildly benevolent struck with sudden, ruthlessly efficient ferocity, purging her entire family. A harmless and somewhat useful curiosity, she was spared, inherited a small portion of her family's fortune, and placed under house arrest. Driven to depression by the restriction on her ability to move about freely and to tinker and scrounge outside of the confines of her home (where literally all of the best stuff was) and sensing that Tasten was likely to protest (thereby putting him in the line of fire), she slipped out of her cellar in a small wine barrel, and arranged to have herself smuggled out of town.
With no choice but to end up far away from home and, to a lesser extent, curious about the mysteries of the world outside of the deep forests of Magdalene, she began traveling the roads of Invernier. Kaeli learned quickly and out of necessity how to cover large distances, where to hide, as well as who and what to avoid, while gradually using up her coin. She earns a sporadic income by repairing simple things well below the level of her expertise whenever she sets herself down for a handful of weeks as well as occasionally appearing in performances similar to sideshows. She doesn't particularly enjoy those jobs, but they put coin in her purse and provide her with free and easy travel.
I N V E N T O R Y
Kaeli carries a small, lightweight, and finely-crafted tool set with her at all times. She has a handful of semi-functional electrical lights, a magnifying glass, her wedding ring, various replacement parts for common mechanical items, a needle and thread, a few changes of clothes, a switchblade, and a couple of cans of something like improvised pepper spray, with different varieties effective in repelling different common threats. She's working on auditory weapons as well and on extending the range of the sprays. She swears that she'll finish eventually.
O T H E R
Even with legs, Kaeli would be considered small. Without them, she's absolutely tiny (maybe 2'6" and 55 lbs) and excellent at hiding in places where most people wouldn't even bother look. She can hold her breath for an extremely long time, remain still and quiet for extended periods, and go for longer than most without food and water. Conversely, she obviously moves at a slower pace than most people, expends more energy in doing so, struggles with tasks that require size, and tends to have her skills met with a certain skepticism in most places that she visits.
An old CS for a survival RPG called Absolom. It's too bad that this thing died quickly. It would've been fun to play such a singleminded character with such strong convictions:
Name: Jacques Berthier
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Jacques is a tall, strongly built Caucasian man with a bristly blonde beard. He used to have a handful of tattoos, but has gone to great pains to have them removed.
Background / Hometown: Jacques is a proud French Canadien from Sept-Iles, Quebec. Raised in a family that strictly resisted the American occupation, there was little doubt that he'd become involved with terrorism the NFLQ (Nouveau Front de Liberation du Quebec) as soon as he was old enough. Indeed, he became one of the boldest members within the separatist cause, spearheading a number of attacks on cultural institutions that were deemed to be responsible for the growing 'Americanization' of the proudly Francophone former province. He also became involved with black flag anarchism and struck repeatedly at multinational corporations. Eventually, his identity was discovered and he was forced to go on the run.
When unknown forces in the employ of the government captured his parents and younger sister to force him out of hiding, he crossed a moral event horizon. In his head, he bade them farewell and swore revanche upon those who had been responsible. Moving from safehouse to safehouse, Jacques became a highly sought-after figure in the push to crush the growing (and increasingly violent) Quebec independence movement. Finally, supported by a small paramilitary force and the chaos of Fourth of July celebrations (known as 'Occupation Day' in Quebec), he made it into the governor's house and gunned him down in cold blood along with his entire family, including his five year old daughter. Jacques then turned himself in, ready for a state execution. However, cognizant of the unstable situation in Quebec, the UAC government opted to make him disappear down some hole instead of turning him into a public martyr.
Rap Sheet: High Treason, Terrorism, multiple counts of murder, sedition, civil disobedience, unlawful possession of a weapon, unlawful possession of banned substances, etc.
Personality: Jacques lives and breathes his cause. Among those he trusts, he can become jovial, jocular, and fond of drink, but nobody on Absolom will see that side of him. While he views Mexicans as a fellow occupied people, and will tolerate English-Canadians, he harbours an extreme degree of hatred around Americans, often refusing to speak with them at all, or doing so mockingly in French. He is unflinchingly sarcastic and biting in his observations, and not a bit bitter. Jacques will willingly put himself through extreme discipline just to prove a point, and he will not break. He will lie, cheat, and steal if he has to and if he thinks it serves the cause. He cares very little what these people think of him and he's sure that he thinks even less of them.
Skills: Jacques is a large, strong guy, reasonably fit and possessed of considerable endurance and sheer physical toughness. He knows how to survive from the land and on the run in general. He's not a trained fighter or soldier, but can handle himself in hand-to-hand combat and knows his way around a gun. His real specialty lies in traps and explosives. He can improvise something deadly given even the rawest ingredients.
Motivation: The Cause. Vive La Quebec Libre!
Gear: An expensive watch that had been his grandfather's.
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Appearance:
Jacques is a tall, strongly built Caucasian man with a bristly blonde beard. He used to have a handful of tattoos, but has gone to great pains to have them removed.
Background / Hometown: Jacques is a proud French Canadien from Sept-Iles, Quebec. Raised in a family that strictly resisted the American occupation, there was little doubt that he'd become involved with terrorism the NFLQ (Nouveau Front de Liberation du Quebec) as soon as he was old enough. Indeed, he became one of the boldest members within the separatist cause, spearheading a number of attacks on cultural institutions that were deemed to be responsible for the growing 'Americanization' of the proudly Francophone former province. He also became involved with black flag anarchism and struck repeatedly at multinational corporations. Eventually, his identity was discovered and he was forced to go on the run.
When unknown forces in the employ of the government captured his parents and younger sister to force him out of hiding, he crossed a moral event horizon. In his head, he bade them farewell and swore revanche upon those who had been responsible. Moving from safehouse to safehouse, Jacques became a highly sought-after figure in the push to crush the growing (and increasingly violent) Quebec independence movement. Finally, supported by a small paramilitary force and the chaos of Fourth of July celebrations (known as 'Occupation Day' in Quebec), he made it into the governor's house and gunned him down in cold blood along with his entire family, including his five year old daughter. Jacques then turned himself in, ready for a state execution. However, cognizant of the unstable situation in Quebec, the UAC government opted to make him disappear down some hole instead of turning him into a public martyr.
Rap Sheet: High Treason, Terrorism, multiple counts of murder, sedition, civil disobedience, unlawful possession of a weapon, unlawful possession of banned substances, etc.
Personality: Jacques lives and breathes his cause. Among those he trusts, he can become jovial, jocular, and fond of drink, but nobody on Absolom will see that side of him. While he views Mexicans as a fellow occupied people, and will tolerate English-Canadians, he harbours an extreme degree of hatred around Americans, often refusing to speak with them at all, or doing so mockingly in French. He is unflinchingly sarcastic and biting in his observations, and not a bit bitter. Jacques will willingly put himself through extreme discipline just to prove a point, and he will not break. He will lie, cheat, and steal if he has to and if he thinks it serves the cause. He cares very little what these people think of him and he's sure that he thinks even less of them.
Skills: Jacques is a large, strong guy, reasonably fit and possessed of considerable endurance and sheer physical toughness. He knows how to survive from the land and on the run in general. He's not a trained fighter or soldier, but can handle himself in hand-to-hand combat and knows his way around a gun. His real specialty lies in traps and explosives. He can improvise something deadly given even the rawest ingredients.
Motivation: The Cause. Vive La Quebec Libre!
Gear: An expensive watch that had been his grandfather's.
A CS for a post-apocalyptic survival RP called Deadland Wasteland. Yes, they're conjoined twins. I've always been kind of drawn to the unusual and 'out there'. Also, two heads are better than one, aren't they? These two were actually a ton of fun to play and I regret giving up on them.
Basic Information
Name:
Hannah and Amanda Sinclair
Age:
23
Nationality:
Canadian
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Sex:
Female
Height:
5'4"
Weight:
151 lbs. (combined)
Eye Color:
Blue-Grey
Hair Color:
Red
Physical Disabilities:
- Dicephalic parapagus conjoined twins
- Slightly far-sighted
Physical Identifiers
- They basically look like a two-headed woman.
- Both wear glasses, though Hannah needs them more.
- They used to wear yellow contact lenses, though that's largely fallen by the wayside.
- There are a handful small of surgical scars on their back and shared shoulder.
Appearance:
Perhaps the twins could be described as a pair of young women with red hair, light skin, and freckles. This alone would make them stand out in a crowd given the relative uncommonness of that complexion. They also show the strong and slightly cleft chin characteristic of many people of their ethnic background. However, these features are secondary, as Hannah and Amanda are instantly unmistakable due to the fact that they're dicephalic parapagus conjoined twins, not dissimilar to Abigail and Brittany Hensel. Given the extremely high incidence of fatal birth defects present in such twins, they are very fortunate to enjoy health that - after a few corrective surgeries during their infancy and early childhood - falls within normal parameters.
Amanda and Hannah are identical, though their freckles (not particularly numerous or pronounced) differ. Hannah usually wears her hair shorter and will sometimes wear either a choker or a bracelet to distinguish herself from her sister. They customize their clothes when need be to fit their wider-than-average shared torso, but often prefer to wear things that are either loose-fitting or can stretch a good deal. They prefer wide-necked, tank, or off the shoulder tops for obvious reasons. Their dressing style can best be described as either casual or, at times, 'look at me, I'm a gamer gril.' They've had to focus on practicality since everything went pants a few months back.
Amanda and Hannah are identical, though their freckles (not particularly numerous or pronounced) differ. Hannah usually wears her hair shorter and will sometimes wear either a choker or a bracelet to distinguish herself from her sister. They customize their clothes when need be to fit their wider-than-average shared torso, but often prefer to wear things that are either loose-fitting or can stretch a good deal. They prefer wide-necked, tank, or off the shoulder tops for obvious reasons. Their dressing style can best be described as either casual or, at times, 'look at me, I'm a gamer gril.' They've had to focus on practicality since everything went pants a few months back.
Amanda and Hannah were born in Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada, in the year 2088, the second and third (Amanda jokingly refers to herself as the older twin) children of Matthew and Evelyn Sinclair. Informed before their birth of their situation and the likelihood of them dying in infancy, their parents did not opt for an abortion. After crossing a number of important hurdles, the twins emerged as happy, healthy children, their lives understandably the focus of intense public curiosity and media attention. While their parents did their best to strike a balance between appeasing the demand for information and raising the girls normally, by the time that they started the first grade, they were well aware of just how different and special they were.
While some dicephalus twins manage to co-ordinate the fine motor control needed to master everyday tasks, doctors advised caution and patience when the girls were young. Thankfully, this proved largely unwarranted. Amanda and Hannah seem to be able to anticipate each other's movements perfectly and rarely need to communicate in order to co-ordinate their movements. As their older brother Nate was an avid videogamer, the girls would often play with him. Before long they became deeply interested in videogaming and general geek culture, and this carried through into their teens. With two sets of eyes and two minds to process information, their situational awareness was difficult to beat.
As they progressed through high school, sporadically in and out of the public eye, the two of them made a decision: a 'normal' life and career were not in the cards, and their uniqueness was best embraced and used as a source of profit. Shortly after their eighteenth birthday, Hannah and Amanda moved to Vancouver to try their hands at professional gaming. They also studied programming and public relations on a part-time basis at UBC. Firmly ensconced within the 'geek' scene, they became regular attendees and a sometime attraction at gaming, comic, and anime conferences, often getting involved with cosplay. The twins have always been secure enough in their separate identities to eschew ham-fisted attempts to assert their individuality. The truth is that they have pretty similar personality types and their interests overlap significantly. The only notable difference is that Hannah is slightly more bookish and knowledgeable, while Amanda tends to take the lead and is a better judge of character.
They were in nearby Seattle, doing a series of interviews for the upcoming Emerald City Comicon, when the world ended. Perhaps playing so many videogames and watching so many zombie movies imbued them with the paranoia to survive. Amanda and Hannah mostly just stockpiled necessary items and hid for the first couple of months. They taught themselves to shoot an actual gun and found that it was a bit harder in the real world. Upon hearing the call to Refuge, they made their way there immediately.
While some dicephalus twins manage to co-ordinate the fine motor control needed to master everyday tasks, doctors advised caution and patience when the girls were young. Thankfully, this proved largely unwarranted. Amanda and Hannah seem to be able to anticipate each other's movements perfectly and rarely need to communicate in order to co-ordinate their movements. As their older brother Nate was an avid videogamer, the girls would often play with him. Before long they became deeply interested in videogaming and general geek culture, and this carried through into their teens. With two sets of eyes and two minds to process information, their situational awareness was difficult to beat.
As they progressed through high school, sporadically in and out of the public eye, the two of them made a decision: a 'normal' life and career were not in the cards, and their uniqueness was best embraced and used as a source of profit. Shortly after their eighteenth birthday, Hannah and Amanda moved to Vancouver to try their hands at professional gaming. They also studied programming and public relations on a part-time basis at UBC. Firmly ensconced within the 'geek' scene, they became regular attendees and a sometime attraction at gaming, comic, and anime conferences, often getting involved with cosplay. The twins have always been secure enough in their separate identities to eschew ham-fisted attempts to assert their individuality. The truth is that they have pretty similar personality types and their interests overlap significantly. The only notable difference is that Hannah is slightly more bookish and knowledgeable, while Amanda tends to take the lead and is a better judge of character.
They were in nearby Seattle, doing a series of interviews for the upcoming Emerald City Comicon, when the world ended. Perhaps playing so many videogames and watching so many zombie movies imbued them with the paranoia to survive. Amanda and Hannah mostly just stockpiled necessary items and hid for the first couple of months. They taught themselves to shoot an actual gun and found that it was a bit harder in the real world. Upon hearing the call to Refuge, they made their way there immediately.
Extended Information
Residence:
Vancouver, Canada
Profession:
Professional Gamers (former)
lookouts, scavengers, and programmers (current)
Aligned Faction:
currently unaligned
Relatives:
- Matthew Sinclair, father (whereabouts unknown)
- Evelyn Sinclair, mother (whereabouts unknown)
- Nathan Sinclair, older brother (Vancouver, Canada at last contact)
Personnel Data
Weapons:
- A pair of Springfield Armory XD(m) pistols firing .45 ACP rounds.
- A pair of Swiss army knives.
Equipment
- One pair of night-vision goggles (the second pair malfunctioned), a large hiking backpack, and a laser pointer
Miscellaneous
- Amanda: Samsung smartphone, apack of pencil crayons, contact lenses, desalinizing solution, one six-sided die
- Hannah: iPhone, a small combination lock, contact lenses, a compass, one six-sided die
Trade Skills:
- Not an Easy Mark
As professional gamers, Amanda and Hannah possess excellent reflexes and consistently react quickly and decisively to changes in their situation. Their situational awareness is virtually unparalleled, due to their unique physiology and chosen profession. They are extremely difficult to sneak up on. - All Your Code are Belong to Us
While no means seasoned professionals when it comes to hacking, the twins understand a decent amount about a handful of different types of code and generally know their way around computers and electronics: both hardware and software.
Talents & Hobbies:
- Creativity
The twins, especially Amanda, enjoy designing their own cosplay outfits and can sketch pretty ably as well as sew and repair clothing and other materials. - General Knowledge
The twins, especially Hannah, have pretty good memories and are knowledgeable about a wide variety of subjects.
Limitations:
- Like a Sore Thumb
Amanda and Hannah are immediately obvious and stick out like a sore thumb wherever they go. There's no chance of fading into a crowd or simply disappearing. They draw immense attention wherever they go (and not all of it is positive). Usually they embrace it, but sometimes it really starts to wear on them. - Conjoined
Though they are young, in reasonable shape, and quite physically capable, Amanda and Hannah are still conjoined twins at the end of the day and their two legs have to carry more weight than most people's do. They're a little bit slower, their balance is a little bit worse, and they tire marginally faster than other people of similar age and physical condition. Though they've been mostly problem-free up to this point, some minor birth anomaly could always rear its head.
A CS for a superhero/metahuman RPG from years ago called 'Collateral Damage'. Sadly, it never got off the ground.
Name: Gary Xu
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gary is a middle aged Chinese man of below average height, solidly built but not carrying any extra weight. He’s clean shaven, with lightly tanned skin and a full head of straight black hair worn professionally short and just starting to grey around the temples. His teeth are unexpectedly perfect, and though he sometimes wears glasses, he generally looks somewhat younger than his 41 years – perhaps mid-thirties. He can usually be found wearing a collared shirt in a hue of pastel with the top button undone, as well as a pair of business slacks and dress shoes. When not working, he prefers a pair of comfortable, slightly worn blue jeans and a golf shirt, or a tracksuit with blue Air Jordans. As one might imagine from this description, he’s fit and in good shape.
Age: 41
Alias: (The Indestructible Man)
Alignment: undecided (he is leaning towards hunter, though likely as more of a facilitator)
Identity: Private and recently discovered
History: Gary was born in 1976 in the small mountain village of Wulingyuan in scenic Hunan province, south-central China. It was the final, violent spasm of the Cultural Revolution, and his parents, who were shop owners, were forced into hiding until a degree of sanity returned. In 1982, the nearby mountains were designated a protected area, and over the following decade, morphed into a significant tourist attraction. Gary’s father, a shrewd and intelligent man, soon expanded his business to provide beverages, tours, and lodging. He used his savings to purchase a second home in the nearby city of Zhangjiajie, and the young family split their time between the two places.
With Deng Xiaoping’s open door policy picking up steam, the area witnessed its first western tourists, and Gary’s father was of the opinion that there would be many more to come. The boy was enrolled in English lessons (which were not easy to come by in those days, especially in a provincial backwater), and given the English name that he still carries. Being able to speak the language of international business proved to be a huge boon to his prospects, and as a teenager, he earned a good deal of extra cash acting as a tour guide and bootleg interpreter to curious Americans, Europeans, and others who came to visit.
By the time that Gary was 20, he decided to make the move to Shanghai, a decision fully supported by his parents. The city was on the precipice of a major boom, and both Gary and his father could sense it.
Living on the cheap in rough and ready Baoshan, a former port town in the process of morphing into an industrial suburb, he paid the bills for most of his first year by working construction jobs. During this time, Gary was involved in more than his fair share of barroom brawls, and found that he could take a punch better than anyone else either he or his new friends knew. However, he didn’t remain in his lowly position for long. With international companies beginning to move their manufacturing to Shanghai, his ability to speak passable English was a major asset and he was soon moved to international customer liaison.
1997 was a huge year for Gary, as he was promoted and used his newfound time off to moonlight as a student at Shanghai’s prestigious Jiao Tong University. While he didn’t have the money or education to formally attend, he bought clothes to look the part, became a regular in the library, and managed to sneak into lectures. There, he not only furthered his knowledge of marketing and economics, but he also made many friends from influential backgrounds. Before long, this young group began formulating plans and studying the marketplace, looking for investment opportunities. Gary worked two jobs, scrimped and saved in order to invest along with the others. Also, in the world at large, a couple of important things happened. Firstly, China opened up to Western media, with the box office hit Titanic becoming a massive cultural phenomenon there. Second, and more importantly, the presence of metahumans became publicly known, resulting in intense interest, debate, and official ambivalence.
Gary had little time to worry about the actions of superheroes and supervillains so long as they didn’t affect him. Over the next three years, he and his group of ‘Young Tigers’ invested in ever larger projects, gradually amassing a fortune. Despite having been promoted again, Gary left his job to focus on becoming a fulltime investor. By 2002, he returned to his former employer, having purchased it outright. With an eye to the future, the young tycoon purchased shares in up and coming social media and online banking platforms as well as local distributors of cellphone technologies. His construction firm thrived during the boom and was able to buy out a number of its rivals. He eventually married and became a father of two, willingly paying the government-imposed fine for having a second child. Over the next decade, Gary managed to get his fingers in a number of industries: English training schools, entertainment, banking, and insurance.
It was in the case of the latter that the metahuman issue impacted Gary the most. His firm was among the first to offer metahuman insurance, but this proved to be a difficult and unpredictable field, prone to losing money. Working closely with the government, he pioneered a public-private approach that combined compensation with both market prospecting and law enforcement. On a personal level, Gary was deeply disturbed by much of what he witnessed, becoming convinced that human beings with such power were inevitably bound to misuse it even if their intentions were good.
Gary himself had become something of a renaissance man by the time that he celebrated his fortieth birthday. He spoke seven languages, was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Jeet Kune Do, as well as an avid hiker and cyclist who could also pilot personal aircraft. He maintained a large garage, as well as interests in history, physics, and geology. He attempted to learn guitar but found that he wasn’t particularly talented.
It was shortly after his forty-first birthday that an incident took place which would profoundly alter his world. He was in the middle of a meeting when a fight between a pair of local metas – Suprasonic (a deliberate – though flying – knockoff of Supersonic) and The Mountain – erupted nearby. Gary was in the process of evacuating when the metas did serious damage to the office tower that he was in, causing the elevator cables to snap. The tycoon and two of his long-time associates plunged over four hundred feet to their deaths – except, Gary didn’t die. In fact he was completely uninjured while his colleagues were killed instantly. Removing himself from the building before it collapsed, dazed and confused, he quickly invented a story to account for his survival while the Chinese government cracked down harshly on metahuman activities.
Over the past two months, he has been on leave from his many business ventures, rethinking a number of incidents in his past that he had originally put down to good luck, a strong constitution, and sheer toughness. His father always liked to recount the story of how Gary had fallen into a steep ravine as an infant while his family was running from the red guards, only to be found completely unscathed. Then there had been the time that a carelessly handled i-beam had struck him as a young man working on a construction site, sending him tumbling over forty feet to the ground below. He had dusted himself off and resumed working later that same day. His youthful brawls where he’d been able to swing for the fences while brushing off opponents’ punches had to be reconsidered, as did a waterskiing incident a few years back where he’d hit the water going nearly 100km/h and been completely unharmed. When Gary really thinks about it, he realizes that he can’t remember a single significant injury over the course of his life. The inescapable conclusion is that Gary Xu has been a metahuman the entire time. He is what he has come to hate. How he will deal with that going forward, only he can know.
Personality: Gary’s a man who has lived a lot. He is very competent in a number of areas and possesses a deep – though slightly cynical – understanding of human nature. He enjoys making dry jokes and wry comments, and isn’t afraid of being self-deprecating, though his humour is almost always situational. In general, he’s a friendly guy and a good communicator, with a large circle of friends. However, his relationships with other people are best described as ‘friendly but somewhat distant.’ This extends to his own family. That doesn’t denote a lack of caring, however, just a desire to maintain a healthy distance between himself and other people and a lack of involvement in their everyday and quite frankly mundane affairs.
As one might expect, he’s extremely motivated and determined, almost obsessively so. When Gary sets his mind to something, he will systematically break it down, examine it in detail, and execute a carefully-laid plan. He’s not entirely averse to risk, though he does try to minimize it. Perhaps due to his success in life, Gary is not easily impressed and has little sympathy or use for people who complain or make excuses, especially if they have a background or talents that give them a head start. Though he tries to see the world for the subjective thing that it is, and to always keep his own ego in check, he can be unintentionally arrogant at times.
Skills: Gary is in good though not exceptional shape. Though fairly small, he is a skilled and experienced hand-to-hand fighter, schooled in multiple martial arts, as well as possessing elementary training with some traditional Chinese weapons. He has never fired a gun before and hopes that he’ll never have to. He has, however, piloted personal aircraft and boats up to the size of a small yacht. He enjoys racing his collection of exotic cars at the track.
Gary’s also perceptive and a good negotiator, able to read people and situations quickly and thoroughly. Finally, he is fluent in Mandarin (including his local Hunan dialect), Cantonese, English, and Korean, as well as passable in Italian, Japanese, French, and Spanish.
Abilities: Gary hasn’t really had the chance to become familiar with his metahuman abilities, though he seems to possess only one: he is completely indestructible. Beyond that, he is a bog-standard human.
Equipment: Gary doesn’t really have any special equipment right now, except for an extensive garage full of exotic cars, aircraft, and boats. Obviously, he can’t bring this with him. Beyond that, he has a name that means something in business, dozens of high-level international contacts, and a credit card with no limit. Maybe he’ll build a batcave?
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gary is a middle aged Chinese man of below average height, solidly built but not carrying any extra weight. He’s clean shaven, with lightly tanned skin and a full head of straight black hair worn professionally short and just starting to grey around the temples. His teeth are unexpectedly perfect, and though he sometimes wears glasses, he generally looks somewhat younger than his 41 years – perhaps mid-thirties. He can usually be found wearing a collared shirt in a hue of pastel with the top button undone, as well as a pair of business slacks and dress shoes. When not working, he prefers a pair of comfortable, slightly worn blue jeans and a golf shirt, or a tracksuit with blue Air Jordans. As one might imagine from this description, he’s fit and in good shape.
Age: 41
Alias: (The Indestructible Man)
Alignment: undecided (he is leaning towards hunter, though likely as more of a facilitator)
Identity: Private and recently discovered
History: Gary was born in 1976 in the small mountain village of Wulingyuan in scenic Hunan province, south-central China. It was the final, violent spasm of the Cultural Revolution, and his parents, who were shop owners, were forced into hiding until a degree of sanity returned. In 1982, the nearby mountains were designated a protected area, and over the following decade, morphed into a significant tourist attraction. Gary’s father, a shrewd and intelligent man, soon expanded his business to provide beverages, tours, and lodging. He used his savings to purchase a second home in the nearby city of Zhangjiajie, and the young family split their time between the two places.
With Deng Xiaoping’s open door policy picking up steam, the area witnessed its first western tourists, and Gary’s father was of the opinion that there would be many more to come. The boy was enrolled in English lessons (which were not easy to come by in those days, especially in a provincial backwater), and given the English name that he still carries. Being able to speak the language of international business proved to be a huge boon to his prospects, and as a teenager, he earned a good deal of extra cash acting as a tour guide and bootleg interpreter to curious Americans, Europeans, and others who came to visit.
By the time that Gary was 20, he decided to make the move to Shanghai, a decision fully supported by his parents. The city was on the precipice of a major boom, and both Gary and his father could sense it.
Living on the cheap in rough and ready Baoshan, a former port town in the process of morphing into an industrial suburb, he paid the bills for most of his first year by working construction jobs. During this time, Gary was involved in more than his fair share of barroom brawls, and found that he could take a punch better than anyone else either he or his new friends knew. However, he didn’t remain in his lowly position for long. With international companies beginning to move their manufacturing to Shanghai, his ability to speak passable English was a major asset and he was soon moved to international customer liaison.
1997 was a huge year for Gary, as he was promoted and used his newfound time off to moonlight as a student at Shanghai’s prestigious Jiao Tong University. While he didn’t have the money or education to formally attend, he bought clothes to look the part, became a regular in the library, and managed to sneak into lectures. There, he not only furthered his knowledge of marketing and economics, but he also made many friends from influential backgrounds. Before long, this young group began formulating plans and studying the marketplace, looking for investment opportunities. Gary worked two jobs, scrimped and saved in order to invest along with the others. Also, in the world at large, a couple of important things happened. Firstly, China opened up to Western media, with the box office hit Titanic becoming a massive cultural phenomenon there. Second, and more importantly, the presence of metahumans became publicly known, resulting in intense interest, debate, and official ambivalence.
Gary had little time to worry about the actions of superheroes and supervillains so long as they didn’t affect him. Over the next three years, he and his group of ‘Young Tigers’ invested in ever larger projects, gradually amassing a fortune. Despite having been promoted again, Gary left his job to focus on becoming a fulltime investor. By 2002, he returned to his former employer, having purchased it outright. With an eye to the future, the young tycoon purchased shares in up and coming social media and online banking platforms as well as local distributors of cellphone technologies. His construction firm thrived during the boom and was able to buy out a number of its rivals. He eventually married and became a father of two, willingly paying the government-imposed fine for having a second child. Over the next decade, Gary managed to get his fingers in a number of industries: English training schools, entertainment, banking, and insurance.
It was in the case of the latter that the metahuman issue impacted Gary the most. His firm was among the first to offer metahuman insurance, but this proved to be a difficult and unpredictable field, prone to losing money. Working closely with the government, he pioneered a public-private approach that combined compensation with both market prospecting and law enforcement. On a personal level, Gary was deeply disturbed by much of what he witnessed, becoming convinced that human beings with such power were inevitably bound to misuse it even if their intentions were good.
Gary himself had become something of a renaissance man by the time that he celebrated his fortieth birthday. He spoke seven languages, was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Jeet Kune Do, as well as an avid hiker and cyclist who could also pilot personal aircraft. He maintained a large garage, as well as interests in history, physics, and geology. He attempted to learn guitar but found that he wasn’t particularly talented.
It was shortly after his forty-first birthday that an incident took place which would profoundly alter his world. He was in the middle of a meeting when a fight between a pair of local metas – Suprasonic (a deliberate – though flying – knockoff of Supersonic) and The Mountain – erupted nearby. Gary was in the process of evacuating when the metas did serious damage to the office tower that he was in, causing the elevator cables to snap. The tycoon and two of his long-time associates plunged over four hundred feet to their deaths – except, Gary didn’t die. In fact he was completely uninjured while his colleagues were killed instantly. Removing himself from the building before it collapsed, dazed and confused, he quickly invented a story to account for his survival while the Chinese government cracked down harshly on metahuman activities.
Over the past two months, he has been on leave from his many business ventures, rethinking a number of incidents in his past that he had originally put down to good luck, a strong constitution, and sheer toughness. His father always liked to recount the story of how Gary had fallen into a steep ravine as an infant while his family was running from the red guards, only to be found completely unscathed. Then there had been the time that a carelessly handled i-beam had struck him as a young man working on a construction site, sending him tumbling over forty feet to the ground below. He had dusted himself off and resumed working later that same day. His youthful brawls where he’d been able to swing for the fences while brushing off opponents’ punches had to be reconsidered, as did a waterskiing incident a few years back where he’d hit the water going nearly 100km/h and been completely unharmed. When Gary really thinks about it, he realizes that he can’t remember a single significant injury over the course of his life. The inescapable conclusion is that Gary Xu has been a metahuman the entire time. He is what he has come to hate. How he will deal with that going forward, only he can know.
Personality: Gary’s a man who has lived a lot. He is very competent in a number of areas and possesses a deep – though slightly cynical – understanding of human nature. He enjoys making dry jokes and wry comments, and isn’t afraid of being self-deprecating, though his humour is almost always situational. In general, he’s a friendly guy and a good communicator, with a large circle of friends. However, his relationships with other people are best described as ‘friendly but somewhat distant.’ This extends to his own family. That doesn’t denote a lack of caring, however, just a desire to maintain a healthy distance between himself and other people and a lack of involvement in their everyday and quite frankly mundane affairs.
As one might expect, he’s extremely motivated and determined, almost obsessively so. When Gary sets his mind to something, he will systematically break it down, examine it in detail, and execute a carefully-laid plan. He’s not entirely averse to risk, though he does try to minimize it. Perhaps due to his success in life, Gary is not easily impressed and has little sympathy or use for people who complain or make excuses, especially if they have a background or talents that give them a head start. Though he tries to see the world for the subjective thing that it is, and to always keep his own ego in check, he can be unintentionally arrogant at times.
Skills: Gary is in good though not exceptional shape. Though fairly small, he is a skilled and experienced hand-to-hand fighter, schooled in multiple martial arts, as well as possessing elementary training with some traditional Chinese weapons. He has never fired a gun before and hopes that he’ll never have to. He has, however, piloted personal aircraft and boats up to the size of a small yacht. He enjoys racing his collection of exotic cars at the track.
Gary’s also perceptive and a good negotiator, able to read people and situations quickly and thoroughly. Finally, he is fluent in Mandarin (including his local Hunan dialect), Cantonese, English, and Korean, as well as passable in Italian, Japanese, French, and Spanish.
Abilities: Gary hasn’t really had the chance to become familiar with his metahuman abilities, though he seems to possess only one: he is completely indestructible. Beyond that, he is a bog-standard human.
Equipment: Gary doesn’t really have any special equipment right now, except for an extensive garage full of exotic cars, aircraft, and boats. Obviously, he can’t bring this with him. Beyond that, he has a name that means something in business, dozens of high-level international contacts, and a credit card with no limit. Maybe he’ll build a batcave?
A CS from an RPG called the Dirt Town Orphans, which involved magic. It was rejected because I was treating magic too much like science. This would actually end up being formative in the creation of The Hourglass Order.
[Appearance]
Revi’s a smallish, ethnically ambiguous (though he leans towards Caucasian) eight-year old boy, with a big mushroom of black hair. He is utterly unremarkable in every way.
[Theme song]
AFI: Miseria Cantare
[Name]
Revi
[Age]
8
[Gender]
Male
[Personality]
Revi doesn’t seem to care much about other people. He’s not antisocial and he doesn’t avoid talking to them. He just doesn’t have much use for them. He doesn’t care a lot for social dynamics. He might be playing with the other children one moment, but decide that he doesn’t want to anymore. He might be in the middle of helping somebody, but if he thinks of something else that he would rather be doing, he’ll just stop. He’ll be polite and friendly if he thinks it will get him what he wants, but he’s just as likely to resort to violence. It’s not that Revi has an active desire to do bad things or hurt people. He just demonstrates an extreme level of self-centredness and social apathy. Friendship is convenient until it isn’t. Loyalty is a way that he knows some people behave. Sometimes it’s useful to be loyal. More than anything, Revi just wants to learn and grow stronger. He wants to become so strong that he won’t have to worry about people hurting him or taking his things. Then he’ll probably be happy.
[History]
Revi doesn’t remember much of his past, but he has the strong feeling that it was better than where he is now. Fritz found him a few years ago close to the gates of the city proper, dressed in a little black uniform and clutching a book. Revi doesn’t really try to get along with the other orphans or avoid them. He’s on decent terms with most, but doesn’t have any actual friends that he can think of. He thinks that Oralee’s wings are beautiful. If anybody damages them, he will probably hurt that person much worse. Sometimes hurting people is the only way to get them to do what you want.
[Relations]
Fritz was a nice man. He protected Revi and made his life a lot easier.
Oralee is beautiful. Revi doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
Revi supposes that he had or has parents.
[Level]
1
[Skills]
Revi is completely literate, unlike most of the people around him. He’s quick thinking, quick-acting, and decisive. He’s small, nimble, and good at hiding.
[Affinity]
Water
[Gift]
Revi can control just about every aspect of liquids, though, since he’s young, his gift is a bit clumsy. He can control the polarity of water to make it move, to create adhesives, and to deliver mild electrical shocks. Given the right amount of Oxygen and Hydrogen, he should be able to create water seemingly out of thin air, though he can’t quite do this yet. However, he can definitely force existing water from one state to another (solid > liquid > gas) by soothing or exciting the movement of the molecules that comprise it. Also, by separating the component atoms, he can create bubbles of breathable oxygen and a lifting force underwater. Unfortunately, he can’t sustain this for long. Recently, he’s begun to understand that because people are about 80% water, his magic may be able to affect them in more direct and potentially serious ways.
[Inventory]
Revi has a large book that he was found with. He has read it many times. Just what’s in it, nobody knows. Sometimes he will carry a stick with him, or capture a frog from the river.
[Other]
Revi wants to be safe and happy. He doesn’t care how he goes about attaining that goal, though accruing as much power as possible seems to be the surest way.
Revi’s a smallish, ethnically ambiguous (though he leans towards Caucasian) eight-year old boy, with a big mushroom of black hair. He is utterly unremarkable in every way.
[Theme song]
AFI: Miseria Cantare
[Name]
Revi
[Age]
8
[Gender]
Male
[Personality]
Revi doesn’t seem to care much about other people. He’s not antisocial and he doesn’t avoid talking to them. He just doesn’t have much use for them. He doesn’t care a lot for social dynamics. He might be playing with the other children one moment, but decide that he doesn’t want to anymore. He might be in the middle of helping somebody, but if he thinks of something else that he would rather be doing, he’ll just stop. He’ll be polite and friendly if he thinks it will get him what he wants, but he’s just as likely to resort to violence. It’s not that Revi has an active desire to do bad things or hurt people. He just demonstrates an extreme level of self-centredness and social apathy. Friendship is convenient until it isn’t. Loyalty is a way that he knows some people behave. Sometimes it’s useful to be loyal. More than anything, Revi just wants to learn and grow stronger. He wants to become so strong that he won’t have to worry about people hurting him or taking his things. Then he’ll probably be happy.
[History]
Revi doesn’t remember much of his past, but he has the strong feeling that it was better than where he is now. Fritz found him a few years ago close to the gates of the city proper, dressed in a little black uniform and clutching a book. Revi doesn’t really try to get along with the other orphans or avoid them. He’s on decent terms with most, but doesn’t have any actual friends that he can think of. He thinks that Oralee’s wings are beautiful. If anybody damages them, he will probably hurt that person much worse. Sometimes hurting people is the only way to get them to do what you want.
[Relations]
Fritz was a nice man. He protected Revi and made his life a lot easier.
Oralee is beautiful. Revi doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
Revi supposes that he had or has parents.
[Level]
1
[Skills]
Revi is completely literate, unlike most of the people around him. He’s quick thinking, quick-acting, and decisive. He’s small, nimble, and good at hiding.
[Affinity]
Water
[Gift]
Revi can control just about every aspect of liquids, though, since he’s young, his gift is a bit clumsy. He can control the polarity of water to make it move, to create adhesives, and to deliver mild electrical shocks. Given the right amount of Oxygen and Hydrogen, he should be able to create water seemingly out of thin air, though he can’t quite do this yet. However, he can definitely force existing water from one state to another (solid > liquid > gas) by soothing or exciting the movement of the molecules that comprise it. Also, by separating the component atoms, he can create bubbles of breathable oxygen and a lifting force underwater. Unfortunately, he can’t sustain this for long. Recently, he’s begun to understand that because people are about 80% water, his magic may be able to affect them in more direct and potentially serious ways.
[Inventory]
Revi has a large book that he was found with. He has read it many times. Just what’s in it, nobody knows. Sometimes he will carry a stick with him, or capture a frog from the river.
[Other]
Revi wants to be safe and happy. He doesn’t care how he goes about attaining that goal, though accruing as much power as possible seems to be the surest way.
A CS for an RPG called Through the Portal that had a really interesting premise but a too-large cast and got bogged down in interpersonal (IC) strife before folding. This character acted as an inspiration for Illusion Arcanists in The Hourglass Order, however.
Name: Rintor Otorik, aka. The Smiler, The Blade of Boshir
Age: 33
Race: Human (Sub-Saharan African in appearance)
Appearance: Rintor is a smallish, very dark-skinned man in his early thirties, wiry but muscular. He has dark grey-brown eyes and is vaguely handsome. However, he suffers from Alopecia Universalis, which renders him completely hairless across his entire body. He usually dresses in a simple black robe, with black leather boots, loose black pants, a handful of fur pelts, and a thick brown leather belt with a trio of leather satchels around his waist. In his youth, he would often wear a mask that covered most of his face. However, he doesn't wear it anymore.
Role: Linguist, assassin, scout
Bio: Rintor comes from Boshir, a powerful fiefdom in the south, where he was the third son in a family from his country’s equivalent of the landed gentry. His father and grandfather had both served with distinction in the king’s army as armed scouts in previous conflicts, rising to become commanders. Rintor seemed destined for the same path, and indeed demonstrated considerable aptitude as a child. However, he manifested somewhat unexpected magical abilities upon puberty and was sent for schooling in the arcane arts. He showed little promise with higher magicks, but excelled at what was called ‘lightbending’, which, in short, allows him to bend the visible light spectrum so as to appear all-but invisible. Before long it appeared that he had reached a dead-end. While lightbending was a useful skill, people who trained at the academy of thaumaturgy were strictly forbidden from using the abilities learned there for violent ends.
When war erupted with a neighboring Elven kingdom, Rintor, then only seventeen, remained at the academy. He had flourished during his years there and grown into a thoughtful young man. However, after a year, the military situation turned for the worse, and he was personally pulled out of the academy upon orders of the king and placed into the army as a commissioned officer. Whatever his moral qualms, Rintor served as his father and grandfather had before him. If his swordsmanship was subpar for his station, he had little use for it during scouting missions. However, one can only last for so long in a war without resorting to violence. Forced to kill an enemy scout who would have revealed his army’s position, Rintor had shed his first blood. Surrounded by martial culture, his guilt was quickly assuaged.
From that point onward, he became the leader of an advance party that quickly became infamous for its lightning strikes, guerilla warfare, and sabotage. His lightbending skills made him almost absurdly effective, and before long Rintor was doing more than scouting. Assassinations came next, followed by long missions deep into enemy territory. His initial moral objections having become a thing of the past, and fed a steady diet of awards, honours, propaganda, and berserker mushrooms, Rintor became a gleeful killing machine. Gifted a pair of finely honed daggers by the king himself, the lightbender’s trail of bodies grew until he was feared, revered, and loathed across much of the continent. It became something of a legend that he would always appear out of nowhere a bare moment before striking the fatal blow, smiling like the devil himself.
His high (or low) point, came when he infiltrated the bedchambers of the Elven king and murdered him and his entire family in cold blood. This plunged the country into civil war and forced their interim leadership to sue for peace terms. Back home, Rintor was hailed as a hero, but with the war over and the accolades, drugs, and honours drying up, he felt increasingly hollow. He longed for purpose, which he attempted to find in hunting, bloodsport, and horse racing. All were dead ends. The academy had long since severed all ties with him and he was not allowed to return there. At some point, he disappeared from society altogether.
Nobody is entirely certain where he went for seven years, but when he reappeared, he was able to speak six new languages and he seemed to have found his peace. He sat outside of the academy in meditation, drinking only one bottle of water each day, for twenty-six days and nights until he was finally granted an audience with the provost. The price that he paid for readmission to the academy was considerable: all of his lands, honours, titles, and possessions save what he had carried with him, as well as a solemn vow of non-violence to be broken upon pain of a degenerative curse that will slowly and painfully cause him to waste away.
For the next three years, he ensconced himself within its hallowed halls, re-emerging at around the same time that the opening of the portal was announced. He appeared before the king, dressed in his simple black robes, and requested that he be the first of his nation to step through the portal. Given his status as a war hero, it was a request that could hardly be refused. Nobody knows what his motivation is except for Rintor himself, though one would assume that it has to do with the fascination of exploring a new land and finding redemption in the process.
Skills: Rintor can move with the utmost stealth and silence. Even elven ears struggle to detect him. He is almost ridiculously proficient with knives and daggers, though he has sworn never to use them for violence against another sentient being so long as he lives. He is able to draw maps and describe topography in considerable detail, though perhaps not as well as he might’ve in his youth. He is adept at sabotage, guerilla warfare, and has some tactical abilities, though these are qualities that he tries not to advertise. Rintor is a skilled horseman and reasonably proficient with a bow, though not what one would call 'naturally talented'. He can fast for an extended period of time and possesses basic survival skills. He has an innate ear for languages and has studied linguistics over the prvious handful of years, though he tends to speak with a thick accent.
Magic: Rintor is able to bend light so that he blends in flawlessly with his surroundings for extended periods of time when still and short bursts while moving. This effectively makes him able to turn invisible. However, the ability only extends to the visible light spectrum, and requires considerable concentration. He also struggles to blend into backdrops with especially intricate patterns or with many colours and a great deal of motion.
Equipment: Rintor has the clothes on his back, a flask of water in one satchel, some parchment and a quill in another, and some dried fruits, jerky, and nuts in another. He also has a pair of wickedly sharp daggers gifted to him by the king, but he wants nothing to do with them.
Other: Rintor is quiet and reserved – some would say aloof and subtly arrogant. He never shows his teeth anymore when smiling. He seems to be highly intelligent, though he will rarely correct people’s mistakes. He also appears to have little to no interest in women. Though he has tried hard to train it out of himself, he harbours a degree of suspicion towards elves and many near-human beings. Before Rintor went through the portal, the king gifted him his old daggers back and bade him take them through the portal. Rintor could not disobey with so many eyes on him, but he plans to drop them the moment that he steps through, and not just for his own sake. Given his past and his distinctive appearance, I'd assume that he would be known to many of the other characters, at least by name and reputation.
Age: 33
Race: Human (Sub-Saharan African in appearance)
Appearance: Rintor is a smallish, very dark-skinned man in his early thirties, wiry but muscular. He has dark grey-brown eyes and is vaguely handsome. However, he suffers from Alopecia Universalis, which renders him completely hairless across his entire body. He usually dresses in a simple black robe, with black leather boots, loose black pants, a handful of fur pelts, and a thick brown leather belt with a trio of leather satchels around his waist. In his youth, he would often wear a mask that covered most of his face. However, he doesn't wear it anymore.
Role: Linguist, assassin, scout
Bio: Rintor comes from Boshir, a powerful fiefdom in the south, where he was the third son in a family from his country’s equivalent of the landed gentry. His father and grandfather had both served with distinction in the king’s army as armed scouts in previous conflicts, rising to become commanders. Rintor seemed destined for the same path, and indeed demonstrated considerable aptitude as a child. However, he manifested somewhat unexpected magical abilities upon puberty and was sent for schooling in the arcane arts. He showed little promise with higher magicks, but excelled at what was called ‘lightbending’, which, in short, allows him to bend the visible light spectrum so as to appear all-but invisible. Before long it appeared that he had reached a dead-end. While lightbending was a useful skill, people who trained at the academy of thaumaturgy were strictly forbidden from using the abilities learned there for violent ends.
When war erupted with a neighboring Elven kingdom, Rintor, then only seventeen, remained at the academy. He had flourished during his years there and grown into a thoughtful young man. However, after a year, the military situation turned for the worse, and he was personally pulled out of the academy upon orders of the king and placed into the army as a commissioned officer. Whatever his moral qualms, Rintor served as his father and grandfather had before him. If his swordsmanship was subpar for his station, he had little use for it during scouting missions. However, one can only last for so long in a war without resorting to violence. Forced to kill an enemy scout who would have revealed his army’s position, Rintor had shed his first blood. Surrounded by martial culture, his guilt was quickly assuaged.
From that point onward, he became the leader of an advance party that quickly became infamous for its lightning strikes, guerilla warfare, and sabotage. His lightbending skills made him almost absurdly effective, and before long Rintor was doing more than scouting. Assassinations came next, followed by long missions deep into enemy territory. His initial moral objections having become a thing of the past, and fed a steady diet of awards, honours, propaganda, and berserker mushrooms, Rintor became a gleeful killing machine. Gifted a pair of finely honed daggers by the king himself, the lightbender’s trail of bodies grew until he was feared, revered, and loathed across much of the continent. It became something of a legend that he would always appear out of nowhere a bare moment before striking the fatal blow, smiling like the devil himself.
His high (or low) point, came when he infiltrated the bedchambers of the Elven king and murdered him and his entire family in cold blood. This plunged the country into civil war and forced their interim leadership to sue for peace terms. Back home, Rintor was hailed as a hero, but with the war over and the accolades, drugs, and honours drying up, he felt increasingly hollow. He longed for purpose, which he attempted to find in hunting, bloodsport, and horse racing. All were dead ends. The academy had long since severed all ties with him and he was not allowed to return there. At some point, he disappeared from society altogether.
Nobody is entirely certain where he went for seven years, but when he reappeared, he was able to speak six new languages and he seemed to have found his peace. He sat outside of the academy in meditation, drinking only one bottle of water each day, for twenty-six days and nights until he was finally granted an audience with the provost. The price that he paid for readmission to the academy was considerable: all of his lands, honours, titles, and possessions save what he had carried with him, as well as a solemn vow of non-violence to be broken upon pain of a degenerative curse that will slowly and painfully cause him to waste away.
For the next three years, he ensconced himself within its hallowed halls, re-emerging at around the same time that the opening of the portal was announced. He appeared before the king, dressed in his simple black robes, and requested that he be the first of his nation to step through the portal. Given his status as a war hero, it was a request that could hardly be refused. Nobody knows what his motivation is except for Rintor himself, though one would assume that it has to do with the fascination of exploring a new land and finding redemption in the process.
Skills: Rintor can move with the utmost stealth and silence. Even elven ears struggle to detect him. He is almost ridiculously proficient with knives and daggers, though he has sworn never to use them for violence against another sentient being so long as he lives. He is able to draw maps and describe topography in considerable detail, though perhaps not as well as he might’ve in his youth. He is adept at sabotage, guerilla warfare, and has some tactical abilities, though these are qualities that he tries not to advertise. Rintor is a skilled horseman and reasonably proficient with a bow, though not what one would call 'naturally talented'. He can fast for an extended period of time and possesses basic survival skills. He has an innate ear for languages and has studied linguistics over the prvious handful of years, though he tends to speak with a thick accent.
Magic: Rintor is able to bend light so that he blends in flawlessly with his surroundings for extended periods of time when still and short bursts while moving. This effectively makes him able to turn invisible. However, the ability only extends to the visible light spectrum, and requires considerable concentration. He also struggles to blend into backdrops with especially intricate patterns or with many colours and a great deal of motion.
Equipment: Rintor has the clothes on his back, a flask of water in one satchel, some parchment and a quill in another, and some dried fruits, jerky, and nuts in another. He also has a pair of wickedly sharp daggers gifted to him by the king, but he wants nothing to do with them.
Other: Rintor is quiet and reserved – some would say aloof and subtly arrogant. He never shows his teeth anymore when smiling. He seems to be highly intelligent, though he will rarely correct people’s mistakes. He also appears to have little to no interest in women. Though he has tried hard to train it out of himself, he harbours a degree of suspicion towards elves and many near-human beings. Before Rintor went through the portal, the king gifted him his old daggers back and bade him take them through the portal. Rintor could not disobey with so many eyes on him, but he plans to drop them the moment that he steps through, and not just for his own sake. Given his past and his distinctive appearance, I'd assume that he would be known to many of the other characters, at least by name and reputation.
A CS for a WW2 Heist RPG called Band of Bastards. This thing died early, but this character acted as some formative inspiration for Penny from The Hourglass Order.
This is potential character one of two. Maybe we can see which one people like better once I've posted Yuri (the other one). Anyway, sorry if this is a bit long. She's partially inspired by Virginia Hall, who was a legendary badass.
Name (or known Aliases): Simona Ricci, aka. Gianna Verdi, Margarethe Vonlanthen, Hopper
Age: 23
Nationality: Italian
Affiliation: Italian Red Cross, works personally for Princess Marie Jose of Italy when she's not looking out for number one.
Role: Nurse, thief, infiltrator
Appearance: (shitty pic coming soon) A slim and petite (maybe 5'2") lightly-tanned Caucasian woman in her early mid-twenties, with shoulder-length straight black hair, blue eyes, and a nose that's just a bit too large, Simona skews to the 'pretty' side of average. She has dimples when she smiles (though it's usually more of a grin or a smirk), and a slight case of buckteeth. However, these things are usually not what people notice about her first. Instead, it's the pronounced limp that she walks with or - when she's not wearing her prosthetic - the fact that she's missing nearly her entire left leg. Due to the height of her injury, she moves better on crutches, though she'll often use her artificial leg to blend in more easily. Indeed, when she's just standing in a crowd, she tends to fade into it. Simona's not exactly open about the cause of the injury, mostly because it's a touchy enough subject that she risks getting emotional.
She usually wears her Red Cross uniform, which looks just a little bit like a nun's habit. Otherwise, she prefers knee-length dresses or skirts. She's unlikely to be seen in a revealing or provocative outfit except when she's drinking. Simona usually carries a large brown backpack stuffed full of first-aid equipment, clothes, a flask of Limoncello, a small satchel of tools that look like scalpels but are really for less legal uses, and sometimes her prosthetic leg. It really is amazing what she can fit in there. The leg itself is actually useful for holding things, as it’s hollow and she uses it to smuggle letters and contraband when necessary. That’s dangerous works, so sometimes, she also wears a leg holster with a small Beretta under her skirt/dress. She knows how use it, but that doesn't mean that she knows how to use it well. It’s more for her own sense of agency.
Personality: Simona is whatever she needs to be at the moment, whether that be a dutiful Catholic girl and committed nurse, a sophisticated and creative young woman from a wealthy family with contacts in the government, a physically and emotionally broken victim of war, or a loud, irreverent, warm, and somewhat uncultured rural Italian stereotype. Exactly which of these is closest to her genuine personality is up for debate, and the truth may be that she’s a bit of each.
The final one, however, is undoubtedly the face she wears easiest. Simona can talk. She loves spinning a good story, sharing a good laugh (sometimes about rather crude subjects), and engaging in frank, witty, and often quite incisive verbal fencing. She can appreciate a good pun, though she hasn’t mastered the art of making them herself (at least not in English), and will readily make self-deprecating jokes about her one-leggedness. Having witnessed a great deal of death and suffering, at some point she ‘got over the hump’ with regards to emotional attachment and simply learned to accept that people come and go and that they’re still worth investing in. She’s quick to get close with anyone who’ll allow it, and can be almost uncomfortably touchy-feely at times, though she will never make romantic advances, nor will she be stupid enough to trust them.
In general, Simona calls upon the powers of sympathy, stereotype, friendliness, and caricature to ensure that she’s seen as a complete non-threat by enemies and most friends alike. At best she’s plucky and admirable, at worst she’s either a vacuous and annoying chatterbox or a pity case.
Outside of the social aspects of her personality, Simona is intelligent, quick-thinking, and surprisingly competent (mainly due to sheer moxie) at a number of unrelated skills. Conversely, she can be impulsive, pushy, and Quixotic in terms of her personal quests and goals. She’s flighty but ambitious, and profoundly confident in herself on a basic level, though the loss of her leg has undermined this somewhat and occasionally leads to bouts of overcompensation. Regardless, Simona is used to succeeding and regularly getting her way. When she doesn’t, it can be ugly, both personally and professionally.
If she’s a bit materialistic, it’s not for the sake of having pretty things, but rather more practical reasons. She believes that money and resources can buy both safety and happiness to some extent and that accruing them will benefit her and her family. Despite this, the war has touched her profoundly, and Simona has come to genuinely care about those affected by it. She wants it to be over, and she would go so far as to die romantically and heroically to that end. What comes next is no concern of hers. She’s pointedly apolitical, though socially somewhat liberal, and she distrusts communists and political radicals of any stripe. Her primary loyalty is to her superior and patron, Princess Marie Jose of Italy, and it comes second only to herself and her family.
Service History: Simona joined the Italian Red Cross as soon as Italy entered the war and her brothers, Giacomo and Vittorio, were deployed to Southern France. She has never been one to simply sit idle, especially not when others are out doing what is expected of them. Sent to the African theatre, she served in field hospitals and POW camps for the better part of two years, often working in collaboration with British and American Red Cross units in the area. This is where she picked up most of her English, though she has some cousins who live overseas. Most of these places were chronically underfunded, so she had to find...creative ways to finance them at times. Whether it be pickpocketing the dead and dying, skimming supplies intended for military garrisons, or stealing officers’ bonuses right out of their safes, If her superiors disapproved of her methods, they never had the chance to voice that disapproval, because that would've involved catching her first.
She was working in a field hospital just outside of Addis Ababa when the forces of her own country strafed the entire compound (this is based upon a real historical incident). While attempting to evacuate the wounded, she was shot high up on the left thigh with a heavy-caliber round from one of the aircraft and she passed out almost instantly. Simona awoke minus a leg and fell almost immediately into a serious depression, partially due to the injury and partially due to the fact that her own country's forces had been responsible for the monstrous attack. The government, of course, vehemently denied such absurd rumours, and the incident was quickly buried, though not before it was brought to the attention of the head of the Italian Red Cross, Princess Marie Jose. When Simona was shipped back to Italy to convalesce, she was personally visited by the princess, who was something of a personal enemy of Mussolini and was looking for ways to bring the war to a close as soon as possible. Though it was officially supposed to be little more than a courtesy/publicity visit, the princess was eager to confirm the rumours that she had heard, and the two women ended up speaking for hours. Simona was deeply impressed by the patron of her organization, and it inspired a degree of personal loyalty that she previously hadn't felt towards anyone outside of her immediate family. They talked deeply and frankly, and she must've made an impression herself, because Princess Marie personally paid for her rehabilitation and prosthetic leg. Not to be outdone, the Italian government, under Mussolini, awarded her a medal for bravery and being wounded in service (despite the fact that she was wounded by them and was in the service of an international NGO).
Unwilling to simply return home and collect a disability pension, Simona returned to her duties, albeit in what were considered safer, more 'home front' areas. However, with the allied invasion of Italy beginning in 1943, the home front became a front in the true sense, and not only was her brother Giacomo one of the early casualties, but her upper-middle class family’s finances were devastated when the bombing campaign destroyed her father’s auto factory. As the situation worsened, Marie Jose stepped up her anti-fascist activities, and Simona, in secret correspondence with her superior, offered her services above and beyond the call of the Red Cross. When Mussolini's regime collapsed and he fled to the north of the country, Simona followed, albeit as something of a mole. She's been working tirelessly for the last six months in hospitals and POW camps in North-Central Italy, not only healing and feeding, but also working clandestinely with POWs and wounded fighters from various partisan groups to subvert the new puppet regime. A couple of days ago, a critically wounded republican fighter, remembering that another member of his cell had told him that "you can trust the one-legged woman", pressed a message into the palm of her hand with a mysterious address in Ulm, Bavaria.
Other: Simona's a lot stronger than she looks, able to lug around her backpack/prosthetic/crutch(es) without complaint and despite her small size. She’s a generous 5’2” and weighs all of 78 pounds. Combined with her natural flexibility, this allows her to squeeze herself into extremely small spaces if need be. She’s picked up a number of other useful skills over the course of her relatively short life: She can play the flute and violin reasonably well thanks to lessons during her childhood; She speaks passable Swiss German as a result of growing up in Northern Italy not far from the border; She’s also picked up some English and some Ethiopian from her postings during the early part of the war and learned to swim while undergoing rehabilitation. Picking locks and pockets were further skills learned while in theatre. She also became pretty good at table tennis from playing with wounded soldiers in the various hospitals that she served in, though she’s not as good as she thinks she is.
This tendency to overestimate herself extends to drinking. Her tolerance for alcohol is much lower than she’s convinced it is (this is partly due to her being smaller than she used to be), and she is liable to make a fool of herself when drunk. In the past, this didn’t extend to throwing herself at men, as she was saving herself for marriage, but after becoming an amputee, she decided that her marriage prospects were slim to none and that waiting for something that would never come was a daft idea. She’ll still never outright make the first move, but she’ll definitely respond. The truth is, Simona doesn’t really know how to act around a man who she finds legitimately attractive. In particular, she has a thing for Americans, American culture, and motorcycles.
Culturally, she’s far from traditional, with a love for Big Band Jazz, fast cars, days at the beach, and late nights out dancing, though she’s a bit self-conscious about the latter two now. She’s eager to squeeze everything that she can out of life, she’ll make sport of anybody, and she can sometimes come across as a bit of a misandrist. She has a nickname, Legnoso (which means ‘Woody’ in Italian), for her prosthetic leg, and sometimes talks about it as if it’s a person with a will of its own.
Ultimately, as an Italian in late 1943, Simona knows that she can play either side if need be. As a nominal member of a neutral organization, she can gain access to people and places that might be impossible otherwise. As a small disabled woman, Simona knows that she won't readily be viewed as a combatant or any type of threat but also that it's not exactly easy for someone with such a visible difference to be inconspicuous if her cover is ever blown. She's never looked a man in the eyes and shot him, but she's certain that she could do it if the need ever arose.
Name (or known Aliases): Simona Ricci, aka. Gianna Verdi, Margarethe Vonlanthen, Hopper
Age: 23
Nationality: Italian
Affiliation: Italian Red Cross, works personally for Princess Marie Jose of Italy when she's not looking out for number one.
Role: Nurse, thief, infiltrator
Appearance: (shitty pic coming soon) A slim and petite (maybe 5'2") lightly-tanned Caucasian woman in her early mid-twenties, with shoulder-length straight black hair, blue eyes, and a nose that's just a bit too large, Simona skews to the 'pretty' side of average. She has dimples when she smiles (though it's usually more of a grin or a smirk), and a slight case of buckteeth. However, these things are usually not what people notice about her first. Instead, it's the pronounced limp that she walks with or - when she's not wearing her prosthetic - the fact that she's missing nearly her entire left leg. Due to the height of her injury, she moves better on crutches, though she'll often use her artificial leg to blend in more easily. Indeed, when she's just standing in a crowd, she tends to fade into it. Simona's not exactly open about the cause of the injury, mostly because it's a touchy enough subject that she risks getting emotional.
She usually wears her Red Cross uniform, which looks just a little bit like a nun's habit. Otherwise, she prefers knee-length dresses or skirts. She's unlikely to be seen in a revealing or provocative outfit except when she's drinking. Simona usually carries a large brown backpack stuffed full of first-aid equipment, clothes, a flask of Limoncello, a small satchel of tools that look like scalpels but are really for less legal uses, and sometimes her prosthetic leg. It really is amazing what she can fit in there. The leg itself is actually useful for holding things, as it’s hollow and she uses it to smuggle letters and contraband when necessary. That’s dangerous works, so sometimes, she also wears a leg holster with a small Beretta under her skirt/dress. She knows how use it, but that doesn't mean that she knows how to use it well. It’s more for her own sense of agency.
Personality: Simona is whatever she needs to be at the moment, whether that be a dutiful Catholic girl and committed nurse, a sophisticated and creative young woman from a wealthy family with contacts in the government, a physically and emotionally broken victim of war, or a loud, irreverent, warm, and somewhat uncultured rural Italian stereotype. Exactly which of these is closest to her genuine personality is up for debate, and the truth may be that she’s a bit of each.
The final one, however, is undoubtedly the face she wears easiest. Simona can talk. She loves spinning a good story, sharing a good laugh (sometimes about rather crude subjects), and engaging in frank, witty, and often quite incisive verbal fencing. She can appreciate a good pun, though she hasn’t mastered the art of making them herself (at least not in English), and will readily make self-deprecating jokes about her one-leggedness. Having witnessed a great deal of death and suffering, at some point she ‘got over the hump’ with regards to emotional attachment and simply learned to accept that people come and go and that they’re still worth investing in. She’s quick to get close with anyone who’ll allow it, and can be almost uncomfortably touchy-feely at times, though she will never make romantic advances, nor will she be stupid enough to trust them.
In general, Simona calls upon the powers of sympathy, stereotype, friendliness, and caricature to ensure that she’s seen as a complete non-threat by enemies and most friends alike. At best she’s plucky and admirable, at worst she’s either a vacuous and annoying chatterbox or a pity case.
Outside of the social aspects of her personality, Simona is intelligent, quick-thinking, and surprisingly competent (mainly due to sheer moxie) at a number of unrelated skills. Conversely, she can be impulsive, pushy, and Quixotic in terms of her personal quests and goals. She’s flighty but ambitious, and profoundly confident in herself on a basic level, though the loss of her leg has undermined this somewhat and occasionally leads to bouts of overcompensation. Regardless, Simona is used to succeeding and regularly getting her way. When she doesn’t, it can be ugly, both personally and professionally.
If she’s a bit materialistic, it’s not for the sake of having pretty things, but rather more practical reasons. She believes that money and resources can buy both safety and happiness to some extent and that accruing them will benefit her and her family. Despite this, the war has touched her profoundly, and Simona has come to genuinely care about those affected by it. She wants it to be over, and she would go so far as to die romantically and heroically to that end. What comes next is no concern of hers. She’s pointedly apolitical, though socially somewhat liberal, and she distrusts communists and political radicals of any stripe. Her primary loyalty is to her superior and patron, Princess Marie Jose of Italy, and it comes second only to herself and her family.
Service History: Simona joined the Italian Red Cross as soon as Italy entered the war and her brothers, Giacomo and Vittorio, were deployed to Southern France. She has never been one to simply sit idle, especially not when others are out doing what is expected of them. Sent to the African theatre, she served in field hospitals and POW camps for the better part of two years, often working in collaboration with British and American Red Cross units in the area. This is where she picked up most of her English, though she has some cousins who live overseas. Most of these places were chronically underfunded, so she had to find...creative ways to finance them at times. Whether it be pickpocketing the dead and dying, skimming supplies intended for military garrisons, or stealing officers’ bonuses right out of their safes, If her superiors disapproved of her methods, they never had the chance to voice that disapproval, because that would've involved catching her first.
She was working in a field hospital just outside of Addis Ababa when the forces of her own country strafed the entire compound (this is based upon a real historical incident). While attempting to evacuate the wounded, she was shot high up on the left thigh with a heavy-caliber round from one of the aircraft and she passed out almost instantly. Simona awoke minus a leg and fell almost immediately into a serious depression, partially due to the injury and partially due to the fact that her own country's forces had been responsible for the monstrous attack. The government, of course, vehemently denied such absurd rumours, and the incident was quickly buried, though not before it was brought to the attention of the head of the Italian Red Cross, Princess Marie Jose. When Simona was shipped back to Italy to convalesce, she was personally visited by the princess, who was something of a personal enemy of Mussolini and was looking for ways to bring the war to a close as soon as possible. Though it was officially supposed to be little more than a courtesy/publicity visit, the princess was eager to confirm the rumours that she had heard, and the two women ended up speaking for hours. Simona was deeply impressed by the patron of her organization, and it inspired a degree of personal loyalty that she previously hadn't felt towards anyone outside of her immediate family. They talked deeply and frankly, and she must've made an impression herself, because Princess Marie personally paid for her rehabilitation and prosthetic leg. Not to be outdone, the Italian government, under Mussolini, awarded her a medal for bravery and being wounded in service (despite the fact that she was wounded by them and was in the service of an international NGO).
Unwilling to simply return home and collect a disability pension, Simona returned to her duties, albeit in what were considered safer, more 'home front' areas. However, with the allied invasion of Italy beginning in 1943, the home front became a front in the true sense, and not only was her brother Giacomo one of the early casualties, but her upper-middle class family’s finances were devastated when the bombing campaign destroyed her father’s auto factory. As the situation worsened, Marie Jose stepped up her anti-fascist activities, and Simona, in secret correspondence with her superior, offered her services above and beyond the call of the Red Cross. When Mussolini's regime collapsed and he fled to the north of the country, Simona followed, albeit as something of a mole. She's been working tirelessly for the last six months in hospitals and POW camps in North-Central Italy, not only healing and feeding, but also working clandestinely with POWs and wounded fighters from various partisan groups to subvert the new puppet regime. A couple of days ago, a critically wounded republican fighter, remembering that another member of his cell had told him that "you can trust the one-legged woman", pressed a message into the palm of her hand with a mysterious address in Ulm, Bavaria.
Other: Simona's a lot stronger than she looks, able to lug around her backpack/prosthetic/crutch(es) without complaint and despite her small size. She’s a generous 5’2” and weighs all of 78 pounds. Combined with her natural flexibility, this allows her to squeeze herself into extremely small spaces if need be. She’s picked up a number of other useful skills over the course of her relatively short life: She can play the flute and violin reasonably well thanks to lessons during her childhood; She speaks passable Swiss German as a result of growing up in Northern Italy not far from the border; She’s also picked up some English and some Ethiopian from her postings during the early part of the war and learned to swim while undergoing rehabilitation. Picking locks and pockets were further skills learned while in theatre. She also became pretty good at table tennis from playing with wounded soldiers in the various hospitals that she served in, though she’s not as good as she thinks she is.
This tendency to overestimate herself extends to drinking. Her tolerance for alcohol is much lower than she’s convinced it is (this is partly due to her being smaller than she used to be), and she is liable to make a fool of herself when drunk. In the past, this didn’t extend to throwing herself at men, as she was saving herself for marriage, but after becoming an amputee, she decided that her marriage prospects were slim to none and that waiting for something that would never come was a daft idea. She’ll still never outright make the first move, but she’ll definitely respond. The truth is, Simona doesn’t really know how to act around a man who she finds legitimately attractive. In particular, she has a thing for Americans, American culture, and motorcycles.
Culturally, she’s far from traditional, with a love for Big Band Jazz, fast cars, days at the beach, and late nights out dancing, though she’s a bit self-conscious about the latter two now. She’s eager to squeeze everything that she can out of life, she’ll make sport of anybody, and she can sometimes come across as a bit of a misandrist. She has a nickname, Legnoso (which means ‘Woody’ in Italian), for her prosthetic leg, and sometimes talks about it as if it’s a person with a will of its own.
Ultimately, as an Italian in late 1943, Simona knows that she can play either side if need be. As a nominal member of a neutral organization, she can gain access to people and places that might be impossible otherwise. As a small disabled woman, Simona knows that she won't readily be viewed as a combatant or any type of threat but also that it's not exactly easy for someone with such a visible difference to be inconspicuous if her cover is ever blown. She's never looked a man in the eyes and shot him, but she's certain that she could do it if the need ever arose.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Individuality, Agency, and Uniqueness
I've always liked to mess around with notions of individuality and uniqueness. We strive for it so much. It's so important to so many of our self-concepts, and the variety of characters on here represents that, even the very cringey ones. They're all an attempt to express something about ourselves or explore different facets of identity that we'll never personally experience. I enjoy exploring hybrid identities, multiple identities, and identities still forming.
In particular, I've always found the concept of conjoined twins intriguing. What would it be like to live as two people permanently stuck together and sharing the same body? There are all sorts of cool philosophical, practical, and humorous implications. Someday, I hope to actually get to play this kind of character (these kinds of characters?) for more than a couple of posts.
This was an almost-finished CS for a cool Ready Player One inspired RP called The Universe. It was my second try at playing conjoined twins, since I hadn't really gotten the monkey off my back from the Sinclair Twins and Deadland Wasteland (life had forced me to drop early).
Names: Jocelyn & Madison Brightman
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Sexual Orientation: Hetero
Height: 5'6"
Combined Weight: 180 lbs
Appearance:
On their own, Jocelyn and Madison would be two completely average, reasonably attractive Caucasian women in their mid-late twenties who, status as identical twins aside, wouldn't stand out in a crowd one iota. Brown-haired bobs and grey eyes tend to just sort of fade in. Of course, that's not exactly possible when you're conjoined. From shoulders to toes, the two of them share a single body with a slightly widened torso. Madison controls the right side while Jocelyn controls the left. The extra weight that has to be carried on a normal pair of legs, along with the twins' fairly busy lives means that they really don't have much choice but to be physically fit. In terms of clothing, they prefer to dress light, bright, and active or artsy, but they'll wear basically whatever they have to for photoshoots. Hey, when you're that unusual, you're an attraction whether you like it or not.
Ring Location: Middle City
Occupation: Professional hosts, celebrity reporters, and media personalities
Real Life Skills
Combined: The twins are fully ambidextrous and can play the guitar and violin right or left-handed, though Jocelyn is better with the former and Madison with the latter. They enjoy sewing and modifying clothes and tend to be good with cars. They're surprisingly handy at fixing things in general. Yes, they joke that "two heads are better than one". This extends to multitasking, perceptiveness, and general problem solving. Individually, each is above average. As a unit, they're unstoppable. While they're capable of all of the normal things that you'd expect of competent adults, being conjoined definitely makes these a bit harder. They're not winning any foot speed, balance, or physical endurance contests.
Jocelyn: While the twins are biologically identical and should respond the same way to things, Jocelyn is totally unaffected by even the spiciest foods. In general, she just has an abnormally high pain threshold. She's also surprisingly good at sleight-of-hand tricks thanks to countless hours practicing to be a magician with her sister as a child.
Madison: Though she shares most of the aforementioned skills with her sister, Madison tends to be the weaker of the two. Where she excels is in her focus, ability to be incredibly precise, and steady hand. Playing darts, tossing a ball, or firing a gun, her accuracy is impressive for someone who hasn't been specially trained.
Likes (J) = Jocelyn // (M) = Madison // (B) = Both
- magic tricks (B)
- fast cars (B)
- celebrity gossip (J)
- tech and gadgets (M)
- making funny faces and snuggling (B)
- DIY 'life hacks' (B)
- classical music (M)
- rock music (J)
- coffee (J)
- just the nastiest health drinks and smoothies (M)
- really cute flats and heels (B)
Dislikes (J) = Jocelyn // (M) = Madison // (B) = Both
- coffee (M)
- health drinks and smoothies (J)
- walking long distances without a destination (B)
- people who take themselves too seriously (B)
- being stared at beyond the obvious second glances that they're used to receiving (B)
- lazy people (M)
- pretentiousness (J)
- when the one falls asleep before the other (B)
- spiders (B)
Personalities: The Brightman twins have been a curiosity from the moment that they were born, and have always had to deal with some degree of public attention. As a result, they've developed 'personas' that play up their few differences without consciously intending to. The truth is that the sisters are similar in overall personality and habits and pretty flexible in terms of what they like and dislike. Both are used to living with compromise and they rarely fight. It's not exactly like they can give each other the cold shoulder. Out of the two, Madison is definitely the more concerned about eating and living healthily. Jocelyn's mostly just down to freeload, much to her sister's annoyance. For the most part, Madison is the more driven of the two as well and the more likely to take charge while Jocelyn is a bit more of a laid back joker. The former is more likely to read something and the latter more likely to try something. Both can talk a mile a minute, though. Both hate to sit idle. They're friendly, gregarious, and welcoming towards others and genuinely want to make people smile but, when you spend literally every waking moment in each other's company, you can't help but become a social unit unto yourselves, so the twins can definitely be a bit judgemental and tend to prioritize themselves and their own relationship at the cost of others. That's not to say that they're aloof or selfish. Both have friends. Both are funny, good-natured people who use their occasionally over-the-top sense of humour to put others at ease. It's just that, when your performance on the stage of life is a harmonized duet while everyone else only has to play a solo, you'd better prioritize being in sync with each other.
Background: coming soon
UNDER CONSTRUCTION
The Mimic was a CS submitted for Justice League Unlimited a few years back. I (and a few others) thought that it was a novel and interesting concept, but it was rejected. The idea was to explore a consciousness with no fixed form or identity and how society would shape it. I guess that was just a bit too 'out there'.
Name:
n/a
Alias:
The Mimic, Marjorie Dawes
Age:
Unknown, but young, or at least seems to be. When taking the form of Marjorie, late twenties.
Personality:
Quiet, childlike, innocent, unsettling, inquisitive, subtly humorous, evanescent
Archetype:
Alien, most likely
Powers:
The Mimic has only one power: it can become something or someone else. It is not sure how it does this or what its limitations are. It only knows that it cannot become anything exceptionally large or small. Perhaps it cannot become another thing for too long. In any event, it has never tried.
Weaknesses:
The Mimic itself possesses a type of sentience (if indeed, it can be called sentient) that is profoundly different from that of humans and most alien races so far encountered. In its base form, it either cannot or will not verbalize. It takes on not only the abilities of things that it transforms into, but also their weaknesses and, if those things are sentient, some semblance of their characters. It’s believed that The Mimic grows more sentient by living as others. From them, it learns all of the constructs and values that govern human society, such as right and wrong, strong and weak, and male and female. It is learning that these things are not as easy to define as they would initially seem to be.
The longer that The Mimic spends imitating something else, the more that it desires to be that thing and the more impact that thing will have on its character. Obviously, this can be a double edged sword.
Appearance:
In what most people consider its basic form, though nobody truly knows, The Mimic is a roughly watermelon-sized and shaped blob in a pale greyish-blue that usually hovers two to six feet above the ground. It seems to have a fixed shape, though this will change in colour and texture depending on its impression of the people around it. Sometimes, when faced with unusual or unexpected stimuli, and particularly when someone’s behaviour does not match his or her words, it forms exaggerated faces, almost as if it’s lampooning its surroundings. It seems to be able to turn itself into a flat, disc-like object with a hole in the center. In terms of human forms, it favours that of a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features. Her hair is often pulled back into a messy ponytail, she’s wearing jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a light button-up sweater. Nobody knows why The Mimic chooses this form so often. Perhaps even it doesn’t know.
Character Evolution:
The Mimic isn’t sure what its purpose is. Perhaps it has no inherent purpose and must find one. It doesn’t know, and so it will learn so that it can know.
Bio:
The Mimic does not know what it is. It does not know if it is a living thing or a piece of technology, or if it can be both at the same time. It does not know where it is from. In fact, it does not know when it is from either. Time is a concept that it is attempting to understand. Really, The Mimic does not know what it can do. It has noticed that it takes the form and the qualities of other things around it, so long as they are not excessively large or infinitesimally small. It is not sure how it does this or even why. It just does. If there is any mechanism governing what it decides to mimic, it doesn’t understand how that mechanism works. It just chooses things and becomes them unless there is a direct threat. Then it responds by becoming something more powerful and neutralizing the threat. It is not sure why it does this. The Mimic is not much of anything, after all. The Mimic does not know much of anything either, but one thing is certain: it is learning.
Notes:
The Mimic does not need to take notes. When it sees something, it understands all of its physical details immediately and is incapable of not understanding them after that.
Sample Post:
On the first day of the new Justice League, there are throngs of well-wishers outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new superheroes. Among them is a small, red-haired young woman with mousy features, freckles, and dimples. She stands beside a streetlight on an uncluttered part of the sidewalk and whoops and cheers with the others. Nearby, there is a teenaged boy with shaggy blonde hair and a pair of beat up skateboarding shoes. She studies him carefully, closely, for just long enough not to unsettle him. She wouldn’t want to make the subject uncomfortable. It would be rude and unprofessional.
On the second day, hanging around that same streetlight, the teenaged boy whoops and cheers with thousands of others. Not far away is a portly middle-aged woman with dark skin and hair pulled neatly back in a bun. He looks at her for a second, fidgeting as he gets all of her details down. He’s trying not to sketch her out. That’d be a bit fucked up.
On day three, the middle-aged woman stands beside that same light and adds her voice to the crowd. It’s a bit smaller than it was the past few days, but she remains enthusiastic. Not far away, an old Asian man seems just as energized. He’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and socks under his sandals. The woman gets a read on him, notes what she needs to note, and looks away. She’s not trying to make anyone uncomfortable. That’s not how you make the world a better place.
On the fourth and final day, an old Asian man stands in that same spot amid the crowd, beaming and waving as the final group of superheroes walk past. Nearby is chubby young man in his thirties, with a batman shirt and a bag of takeout. The old man decides to take a gander in that direction, but then he reaches up and clutches at his chest. A look of shock and dismay crosses his features. It’s what one would expect and it isn’t. It’s unsettling. A couple of people look in his direction. He slumps to the ground, but when the crowd parts enough to allow others to help him, he is gone without a trace. There is only a fire hydrant close to where he was standing.
Hours later, once the hubbub has died down, a man walks his dog along the sidewalk. The dog stops beside the hydrant, lifts its leg, and lets loose with a foul yellow stream. The Mimic is disgusted. It nearly turns itself into a larger angry dog in response. In the event, it does not, but it feels satisfaction at this reaction nonetheless. It believes, to a certainty of over eighty percent, that it interpreted the construct of ‘disgusting’ accurately while not being in the form of something that would have an innate understanding of such.About ten minutes later, a bus stops in front of the hydrant. When it drives off, there is only an empty sidewalk and a stray cat walking away.
The cat walks into a nearby park. It trots into a public restroom. There is a long period of silence. Washrooms are convenient, The Mimic has learned. They are places of secrecy because of ‘disgusting’. About twenty minutes later, a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features walks out of the washroom, hands tucked into her pockets. She is not the real her. She is The Mimic. She is attempting to understand superheroes. She is reviewing right and wrong. Insofar as she can determine, it seems that the latter is more prevalent but the former is received more positively. Is it due to a scarcity effect? Why do these beings consider a more difficult, less common, and statistically less materially rewarding behaviour to be more desirable? The Mimic does not understand, and it wants to understand. Perhaps it can learn about ‘good’ by doing ‘good’. Perhaps it can do so as a superhero.
The young woman is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn’t see the man come up behind her until he is almost upon her. She takes a few steps back and he pulls out a knife. “I want your money, not your life,” he demands, “But if you try to make a move, I won’t think twice.” The Mimic bolts. This is a bad man, it determines. This man is threatening it with physical harm. The Mimic runs behind a tree. From the other side emerges Batman. Batman kicks the bad man so hard that there’s a sound from his abdomen that indicates bodily injury. He crawls away, coughing up blood, eyes wide with fear. The Mimic wonders if it just did a bad thing. Then it decides that it’s safer as a cat.
n/a
Alias:
The Mimic, Marjorie Dawes
Age:
Unknown, but young, or at least seems to be. When taking the form of Marjorie, late twenties.
Personality:
Quiet, childlike, innocent, unsettling, inquisitive, subtly humorous, evanescent
Archetype:
Alien, most likely
Powers:
The Mimic has only one power: it can become something or someone else. It is not sure how it does this or what its limitations are. It only knows that it cannot become anything exceptionally large or small. Perhaps it cannot become another thing for too long. In any event, it has never tried.
Weaknesses:
The Mimic itself possesses a type of sentience (if indeed, it can be called sentient) that is profoundly different from that of humans and most alien races so far encountered. In its base form, it either cannot or will not verbalize. It takes on not only the abilities of things that it transforms into, but also their weaknesses and, if those things are sentient, some semblance of their characters. It’s believed that The Mimic grows more sentient by living as others. From them, it learns all of the constructs and values that govern human society, such as right and wrong, strong and weak, and male and female. It is learning that these things are not as easy to define as they would initially seem to be.
The longer that The Mimic spends imitating something else, the more that it desires to be that thing and the more impact that thing will have on its character. Obviously, this can be a double edged sword.
Appearance:
In what most people consider its basic form, though nobody truly knows, The Mimic is a roughly watermelon-sized and shaped blob in a pale greyish-blue that usually hovers two to six feet above the ground. It seems to have a fixed shape, though this will change in colour and texture depending on its impression of the people around it. Sometimes, when faced with unusual or unexpected stimuli, and particularly when someone’s behaviour does not match his or her words, it forms exaggerated faces, almost as if it’s lampooning its surroundings. It seems to be able to turn itself into a flat, disc-like object with a hole in the center. In terms of human forms, it favours that of a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features. Her hair is often pulled back into a messy ponytail, she’s wearing jeans, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a light button-up sweater. Nobody knows why The Mimic chooses this form so often. Perhaps even it doesn’t know.
Character Evolution:
The Mimic isn’t sure what its purpose is. Perhaps it has no inherent purpose and must find one. It doesn’t know, and so it will learn so that it can know.
Bio:
The Mimic does not know what it is. It does not know if it is a living thing or a piece of technology, or if it can be both at the same time. It does not know where it is from. In fact, it does not know when it is from either. Time is a concept that it is attempting to understand. Really, The Mimic does not know what it can do. It has noticed that it takes the form and the qualities of other things around it, so long as they are not excessively large or infinitesimally small. It is not sure how it does this or even why. It just does. If there is any mechanism governing what it decides to mimic, it doesn’t understand how that mechanism works. It just chooses things and becomes them unless there is a direct threat. Then it responds by becoming something more powerful and neutralizing the threat. It is not sure why it does this. The Mimic is not much of anything, after all. The Mimic does not know much of anything either, but one thing is certain: it is learning.
Notes:
The Mimic does not need to take notes. When it sees something, it understands all of its physical details immediately and is incapable of not understanding them after that.
Sample Post:
On the first day of the new Justice League, there are throngs of well-wishers outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the new superheroes. Among them is a small, red-haired young woman with mousy features, freckles, and dimples. She stands beside a streetlight on an uncluttered part of the sidewalk and whoops and cheers with the others. Nearby, there is a teenaged boy with shaggy blonde hair and a pair of beat up skateboarding shoes. She studies him carefully, closely, for just long enough not to unsettle him. She wouldn’t want to make the subject uncomfortable. It would be rude and unprofessional.
On the second day, hanging around that same streetlight, the teenaged boy whoops and cheers with thousands of others. Not far away is a portly middle-aged woman with dark skin and hair pulled neatly back in a bun. He looks at her for a second, fidgeting as he gets all of her details down. He’s trying not to sketch her out. That’d be a bit fucked up.
On day three, the middle-aged woman stands beside that same light and adds her voice to the crowd. It’s a bit smaller than it was the past few days, but she remains enthusiastic. Not far away, an old Asian man seems just as energized. He’s wearing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and socks under his sandals. The woman gets a read on him, notes what she needs to note, and looks away. She’s not trying to make anyone uncomfortable. That’s not how you make the world a better place.
On the fourth and final day, an old Asian man stands in that same spot amid the crowd, beaming and waving as the final group of superheroes walk past. Nearby is chubby young man in his thirties, with a batman shirt and a bag of takeout. The old man decides to take a gander in that direction, but then he reaches up and clutches at his chest. A look of shock and dismay crosses his features. It’s what one would expect and it isn’t. It’s unsettling. A couple of people look in his direction. He slumps to the ground, but when the crowd parts enough to allow others to help him, he is gone without a trace. There is only a fire hydrant close to where he was standing.
Hours later, once the hubbub has died down, a man walks his dog along the sidewalk. The dog stops beside the hydrant, lifts its leg, and lets loose with a foul yellow stream. The Mimic is disgusted. It nearly turns itself into a larger angry dog in response. In the event, it does not, but it feels satisfaction at this reaction nonetheless. It believes, to a certainty of over eighty percent, that it interpreted the construct of ‘disgusting’ accurately while not being in the form of something that would have an innate understanding of such.About ten minutes later, a bus stops in front of the hydrant. When it drives off, there is only an empty sidewalk and a stray cat walking away.
The cat walks into a nearby park. It trots into a public restroom. There is a long period of silence. Washrooms are convenient, The Mimic has learned. They are places of secrecy because of ‘disgusting’. About twenty minutes later, a young woman with red hair, freckles, and mousy features walks out of the washroom, hands tucked into her pockets. She is not the real her. She is The Mimic. She is attempting to understand superheroes. She is reviewing right and wrong. Insofar as she can determine, it seems that the latter is more prevalent but the former is received more positively. Is it due to a scarcity effect? Why do these beings consider a more difficult, less common, and statistically less materially rewarding behaviour to be more desirable? The Mimic does not understand, and it wants to understand. Perhaps it can learn about ‘good’ by doing ‘good’. Perhaps it can do so as a superhero.
The young woman is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she doesn’t see the man come up behind her until he is almost upon her. She takes a few steps back and he pulls out a knife. “I want your money, not your life,” he demands, “But if you try to make a move, I won’t think twice.” The Mimic bolts. This is a bad man, it determines. This man is threatening it with physical harm. The Mimic runs behind a tree. From the other side emerges Batman. Batman kicks the bad man so hard that there’s a sound from his abdomen that indicates bodily injury. He crawls away, coughing up blood, eyes wide with fear. The Mimic wonders if it just did a bad thing. Then it decides that it’s safer as a cat.
A CS for a post-apocalyptic survival RP called Deadland Wasteland. Yes, they're conjoined twins. I've always been kind of drawn to the unusual and 'out there'. Also, two heads are better than one, aren't they? These two were actually a ton of fun to play and I regret giving up on them.
Basic Information
Name:
Hannah and Amanda Sinclair
Age:
23
Nationality:
Canadian
Ethnicity:
Caucasian
Sex:
Female
Height:
5'4"
Weight:
151 lbs. (combined)
Eye Color:
Blue-Grey
Hair Color:
Red
Physical Disabilities:
- Dicephalic parapagus conjoined twins
- Slightly far-sighted
Physical Identifiers
- They basically look like a two-headed woman.
- Both wear glasses, though Hannah needs them more.
- They used to wear yellow contact lenses, though that's largely fallen by the wayside.
- There are a handful small of surgical scars on their back and shared shoulder.
Appearance:
Perhaps the twins could be described as a pair of young women with red hair, light skin, and freckles. This alone would make them stand out in a crowd given the relative uncommonness of that complexion. They also show the strong and slightly cleft chin characteristic of many people of their ethnic background. However, these features are secondary, as Hannah and Amanda are instantly unmistakable due to the fact that they're dicephalic parapagus conjoined twins, not dissimilar to Abigail and Brittany Hensel. Given the extremely high incidence of fatal birth defects present in such twins, they are very fortunate to enjoy health that - after a few corrective surgeries during their infancy and early childhood - falls within normal parameters.
Amanda and Hannah are identical, though their freckles (not particularly numerous or pronounced) differ. Hannah usually wears her hair shorter and will sometimes wear either a choker or a bracelet to distinguish herself from her sister. They customize their clothes when need be to fit their wider-than-average shared torso, but often prefer to wear things that are either loose-fitting or can stretch a good deal. They prefer wide-necked, tank, or off the shoulder tops for obvious reasons. Their dressing style can best be described as either casual or, at times, 'look at me, I'm a gamer gril.' They've had to focus on practicality since everything went pants a few months back.
Amanda and Hannah are identical, though their freckles (not particularly numerous or pronounced) differ. Hannah usually wears her hair shorter and will sometimes wear either a choker or a bracelet to distinguish herself from her sister. They customize their clothes when need be to fit their wider-than-average shared torso, but often prefer to wear things that are either loose-fitting or can stretch a good deal. They prefer wide-necked, tank, or off the shoulder tops for obvious reasons. Their dressing style can best be described as either casual or, at times, 'look at me, I'm a gamer gril.' They've had to focus on practicality since everything went pants a few months back.
Amanda and Hannah were born in Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada, in the year 2088, the second and third (Amanda jokingly refers to herself as the older twin) children of Matthew and Evelyn Sinclair. Informed before their birth of their situation and the likelihood of them dying in infancy, their parents did not opt for an abortion. After crossing a number of important hurdles, the twins emerged as happy, healthy children, their lives understandably the focus of intense public curiosity and media attention. While their parents did their best to strike a balance between appeasing the demand for information and raising the girls normally, by the time that they started the first grade, they were well aware of just how different and special they were.
While some dicephalus twins manage to co-ordinate the fine motor control needed to master everyday tasks, doctors advised caution and patience when the girls were young. Thankfully, this proved largely unwarranted. Amanda and Hannah seem to be able to anticipate each other's movements perfectly and rarely need to communicate in order to co-ordinate their movements. As their older brother Nate was an avid videogamer, the girls would often play with him. Before long they became deeply interested in videogaming and general geek culture, and this carried through into their teens. With two sets of eyes and two minds to process information, their situational awareness was difficult to beat.
As they progressed through high school, sporadically in and out of the public eye, the two of them made a decision: a 'normal' life and career were not in the cards, and their uniqueness was best embraced and used as a source of profit. Shortly after their eighteenth birthday, Hannah and Amanda moved to Vancouver to try their hands at professional gaming. They also studied programming and public relations on a part-time basis at UBC. Firmly ensconced within the 'geek' scene, they became regular attendees and a sometime attraction at gaming, comic, and anime conferences, often getting involved with cosplay. The twins have always been secure enough in their separate identities to eschew ham-fisted attempts to assert their individuality. The truth is that they have pretty similar personality types and their interests overlap significantly. The only notable difference is that Hannah is slightly more bookish and knowledgeable, while Amanda tends to take the lead and is a better judge of character.
They were in nearby Seattle, doing a series of interviews for the upcoming Emerald City Comicon, when the world ended. Perhaps playing so many videogames and watching so many zombie movies imbued them with the paranoia to survive. Amanda and Hannah mostly just stockpiled necessary items and hid for the first couple of months. They taught themselves to shoot an actual gun and found that it was a bit harder in the real world. Upon hearing the call to Refuge, they made their way there immediately.
While some dicephalus twins manage to co-ordinate the fine motor control needed to master everyday tasks, doctors advised caution and patience when the girls were young. Thankfully, this proved largely unwarranted. Amanda and Hannah seem to be able to anticipate each other's movements perfectly and rarely need to communicate in order to co-ordinate their movements. As their older brother Nate was an avid videogamer, the girls would often play with him. Before long they became deeply interested in videogaming and general geek culture, and this carried through into their teens. With two sets of eyes and two minds to process information, their situational awareness was difficult to beat.
As they progressed through high school, sporadically in and out of the public eye, the two of them made a decision: a 'normal' life and career were not in the cards, and their uniqueness was best embraced and used as a source of profit. Shortly after their eighteenth birthday, Hannah and Amanda moved to Vancouver to try their hands at professional gaming. They also studied programming and public relations on a part-time basis at UBC. Firmly ensconced within the 'geek' scene, they became regular attendees and a sometime attraction at gaming, comic, and anime conferences, often getting involved with cosplay. The twins have always been secure enough in their separate identities to eschew ham-fisted attempts to assert their individuality. The truth is that they have pretty similar personality types and their interests overlap significantly. The only notable difference is that Hannah is slightly more bookish and knowledgeable, while Amanda tends to take the lead and is a better judge of character.
They were in nearby Seattle, doing a series of interviews for the upcoming Emerald City Comicon, when the world ended. Perhaps playing so many videogames and watching so many zombie movies imbued them with the paranoia to survive. Amanda and Hannah mostly just stockpiled necessary items and hid for the first couple of months. They taught themselves to shoot an actual gun and found that it was a bit harder in the real world. Upon hearing the call to Refuge, they made their way there immediately.
Extended Information
Residence:
Vancouver, Canada
Profession:
Professional Gamers (former)
lookouts, scavengers, and programmers (current)
Aligned Faction:
currently unaligned
Relatives:
- Matthew Sinclair, father (whereabouts unknown)
- Evelyn Sinclair, mother (whereabouts unknown)
- Nathan Sinclair, older brother (Vancouver, Canada at last contact)
Personnel Data
Weapons:
- A pair of Springfield Armory XD(m) pistols firing .45 ACP rounds.
- A pair of Swiss army knives.
Equipment
- One pair of night-vision goggles (the second pair malfunctioned), a large hiking backpack, and a laser pointer
Miscellaneous
- Amanda: Samsung smartphone, apack of pencil crayons, contact lenses, desalinizing solution, one six-sided die
- Hannah: iPhone, a small combination lock, contact lenses, a compass, one six-sided die
Trade Skills:
- Not an Easy Mark
As professional gamers, Amanda and Hannah possess excellent reflexes and consistently react quickly and decisively to changes in their situation. Their situational awareness is virtually unparalleled, due to their unique physiology and chosen profession. They are extremely difficult to sneak up on. - All Your Code are Belong to Us
While no means seasoned professionals when it comes to hacking, the twins understand a decent amount about a handful of different types of code and generally know their way around computers and electronics: both hardware and software.
Talents & Hobbies:
- Creativity
The twins, especially Amanda, enjoy designing their own cosplay outfits and can sketch pretty ably as well as sew and repair clothing and other materials. - General Knowledge
The twins, especially Hannah, have pretty good memories and are knowledgeable about a wide variety of subjects.
Limitations:
- Like a Sore Thumb
Amanda and Hannah are immediately obvious and stick out like a sore thumb wherever they go. There's no chance of fading into a crowd or simply disappearing. They draw immense attention wherever they go (and not all of it is positive). Usually they embrace it, but sometimes it really starts to wear on them. - Conjoined
Though they are young, in reasonable shape, and quite physically capable, Amanda and Hannah are still conjoined twins at the end of the day and their two legs have to carry more weight than most people's do. They're a little bit slower, their balance is a little bit worse, and they tire marginally faster than other people of similar age and physical condition. Though they've been mostly problem-free up to this point, some minor birth anomaly could always rear its head.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Mobility Impairment, Femininity, and Strength
Another theme that I'm drawn to in terms of RP is that of mobility impairment. While I haven't lived with one myself, I have known and been close to multiple people who have and it has been an eye-opening experience. We create such dynamic worlds when roleplaying, and these are often coupled with physically dynamic characters who move about them constrained only by the rules and practicalities of the games. What if there were more to consider, however? What if there were extra challenges? I also find myself thinking about female characters when I consider our notions of 'capability', 'independence', and 'strength'. I'm struck by the importance placed on a very traditional, martial, masculine definition of these things. How about characters who'd realistically struggle to access that? Is telling their stories worthwhile? I strongly believe so.
Not only are characters with significant, visible disabilities underrepresented, when they are, it's almost always in the background, in (unintentionally) condescending ways that sometimes make the disability the entire focus of the character, or in ways that minimize the role of their disabilities and make those largely irrelevant. A disability is a meaningful part of a person's story but it is not their entire story. This is a monkey and it's on my back. Hence, it's such a recurring theme. I also just find the problem-solving and social dynamics involved in storytelling disability to be interesting and rewarding to play through. Someday, maybe, I'll have grown tired of this theme. I hope not, though.
Lysandra is one of three potential characters that I've made for Code Vein, inspired by the game of the same name. She's also my third try at making a 'disabled STEM girl' after the first two were 'meh' and part of RPGs that died early (if I have to make another, it'll probably be a dude). She's perhaps a bit more angsty than I'd like, so she may receive some tweaks, but you can hardly blame her, living in the sad-sack world that she does.
L Y S A N D R A T R A N
| AGE |
Lysandra is 32 years old.
| APPEARANCE |
The first (and often only) thing that people remember about Lysandra is her wheelchair. It's a simple, sturdy, lightweight manual chair and, as a paraplegic of four years, she uses it from dawn to dusk in order get around. Otherwise, she's a fairly baseline human: a vaguely pretty Asian woman in her early thirties with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and a businesslike bearing. She is not and never has been much for dressing up and would rather dress for functionality and comfort. Layering is a rule to live by. It's easier to take something off than to put it on. To that end, her usual attire consists of a light t-shirt over a sports bra, jeans or leggings, and knee or thigh high socks. She'll usually toss on some flats even though shoes are irrelevant. Sturdy gloves - usually fingerless to allow her to work with touch screens - are more important, as they protect her hands from blisters. On colder days, She'll complete the outfit with a jacket. She has two and both have a striped patch in mint, seafoam green, and white sewn onto them: the flag of the settlement that she used to live in and where her brother still resides. Finally, though she rarely actually wears it as intended (because that'd be both inconvenient and goofy), is the supergirl medallion that she received from her mother as a girl. It's usually tucked into her bag or a jacket pocket as a kind of good luck charm. She tells herself that she doesn't believe in 'luck'; everything is probability. Yet, on the day when she broke her back, she didn't have it on her.
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking shoes, and athletic leggings with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking shoes, and athletic leggings with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
| PERSONALITY |
Daring ~ Unsentimental ~ Hyper-aware ~ Bitter ~ Clever ~ Assertive
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
| BACKGROUND |
Lysandra's mother was an engineer. Her father was a biologist. Both were born before the Great Collapse and were not young parents (forty one and forty, respectively). Her childhood was full of diligent work and research. It was full of movement and stories while on the move. She learned about the world that was: the great open green fields and forests, the safe, cozy homes, and the shining universities: beacons of learning and opportunity. Most of all, however, she accrued skills: she studied the nature of living and unliving things with her father. She learned the wonders of robotics, sensors, computers, and mechanics from her mother. Instead of playing with lego, she handbuilt her first drone when she was seven. The family settled in the midsized and fiercely independent outpost of Fresh Haven. Lysandra and her slightly older brother, Daniel, grew up and their parents aged, so they took on increasingly important roles as scouts, field researchers, and even fighters. In particular, she was stealthy and an excellent scout and climber, with a natural aptitude for surveying and understanding her surroundings, using them to her advantage.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had once been her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had once been her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
💡Bigbrain: Lysandra is just honest-to-goodness smart. She seems to regularly be a couple of (figurative) steps ahead of everybody else in most situations. She has a wealth of scientific and practical knowledge that can benefit her allies.
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if - God forbid - she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if - God forbid - she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
- Mountain Man: A multilegged tumbling and walking robot with a flexible body about the size of a small cat, Mountain Man is able to traverse almost any terrain, slip into small spaces, climb, dig, and perform basic scouting, rescue, delivery, and sample return operations. He has a taser, tranquilizer, and scissors too.
- Marsh Sage: Primarily defensive in nature, Marsh Sage is a blindingly quick, maneuverable, and quiet coaxial quadcopter drone that can lay smokescreens, strobe blinding lights, and dispense nerve, mustard, and other poisonous gases. It is also quite handy for spying and scouting.
- Iron Horse: A series of wheels on articulated arms, this is Lysandra's supplementary mobility aid and latches onto her wheelchair. It can propel her, hands-free, at high speeds, stabilize and protect her from recoil or being pushed against her will, clamp itself magnetically to metallic surfaces, and boost her over curbs or flights of one to three steps. It can also act as a bridge, platform, or supply carrier on its own.
- Sky Princess: Lysandra's main offensive tool, Sky Princess is a large purple hexacopter drone that can lay down smokescreens, fire paralytic poison darts, release high-frequency sonic blasts that are extremely painful and induce headaches, dizziness, and nausea, and launch micro-rockets similar to the 'Whistling Birds' from Lucasfilm's The Mandalorian.
- Unless they don't have to go far, she cannot bring all of these with her at once. For extended missions, the maximum is three or sometimes two. Only Mountain Man and Marsh Sage are small enough to be carried comfortably on her person. Sky Princess can be too, in a pinch.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
👩🦽Headset: When directly piloting one of the Immortals or her other creations beyond her sightline, Lysandra wears a VR headset linked to the drone's on-board camera. This leaves her detached from her immediate surroundings and vulnerable to attack unless she is safely away from a hot zone (where she knows that she should stay) or has an ally to watch her back.
👩🦽No Signal: Ninety percent of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in a dangerous area - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
👩🦽No Signal: Ninety percent of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in a dangerous area - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
- She needs to use a wheelchair for mobility and, even with its assistance, is severely limited in this regard compared to able-bodied people.
- While quite quick over flat ground and in open space, and with excellent stamina on flats or downhills, she is very terrain dependent.
- Things that we would not even think to consider, such as sand, gravel, curbs, cobblestones, and warped or cracked pavement cause Lysandra significant difficulty.
- Routes have to be carefully planned: shallow downhills maximized, extended or steep uphills and downhills minimized, and obstacles, rough terrain, and climbing avoided.
- She is incapable of strafing to the side or jumping. The closest that she can manage to the latter is to pop a wheelie.
- While pushing herself, her hands are occupied, making her unable to move and shoot or move and pilot any of the Immortals.
- She has a lower sightline than other people, takes up a larger footprint, and cannot squeeze through small spaces.
- If somehow separated from her wheelchair, Lysandra isn't realistically going much of anywhere on her own.
| NOTES |
- Lysandra is, low key, a huge science fiction nerd, particularly with regards to Star Trek. She gets that from both of her parents. They had a flash drive with old recordings and she used to watch them as a kid. She has, with only slight self-consciousness, told people to 'Live long and prosper'. She also has a soft spot for comics, even though most of them are kind of low brow. She read them as a kid and those were happy times.
- She appreciates some good Pho. Seriously, ethnic foods are a dying thing. She's trying to learn how to cook, but... revenants don't really appreciate human food all that much.
- She still strongly dislikes having to give her blood up for revenants. For pragmatic reasons, she'll do it, but it's just a reminder of her (and other humans') helplessness compared to them and it rankles. She sees it for what it is: an increasingly unsustainable practice.
- Lysandra's had romance in her life before. She had a couple of boyfriends, years ago in Fresh Haven, but they bored her before long. One, in particular, wanted to settle down, but she has always made it clear that she does not want to have children. Not only would it take time away from her responsibilities as a researcher, she worries that she'd be unable to properly care for them and that bringing a child into a world like this, just to live in constant fear and be food for others, would be grossly irresponsible. She tells herself that she doesn't like children anyways: they're loud, disruptive, and annoying. She'd be lying, though. Secretly, she's a big kid at heart. That was half the reason she used to go gallivanting around the ruined cities, running, jumping, and climbing.
- She loves the animals that nobody else does... except for frogs. She cut far too many of those open as a girl in the name of science to not be unnerved by them now.
- I'd love to find a more anime-like reference pic, but... resources are scarce on that front.
- Four years on from her accident, Lysandra has more or less adjusted to her altered reality and reached an understanding of what her abilities and limitations are. However, twenty-eight years of life experience before then have hardwired into her an approach of bold, independent action, a boundless curiosity best satiated firsthand, and the self-image of someone who can handle herself and get out of tough scrapes. Rationally, she knows that much of that is no longer practical, but hanging back, being cautious, and letting others do the work still causes occasional moments of dissonance.
Penny Pellegrin is an NPC in The Hourglass Order, a fantasy magic school/mystery RPG that I'm GMing set in an original world with its own extensive lore. She has a fairly important role to play in the story along with her three fellow NPC students, Marlijn, Jomurr, and Manfred. In a lot of ways, she's an evolution of my much earlier Simona Ricci: sneaky one-legged chick with a saucy mouth, hidden pain, and her own agenda. Second crack at this type and I feel like I've gotten her mostly right so far.
Penelope 'Penny' Pellegrin
"I admit to being more than a little distracted by the...wit and depth of the conversation at this table."
"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."
"It seems mother wishes to turn me into some sort of lifelong penitent for sins I've not committed."
17 | Female | Perrench | Royalty | 8.11
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Sardonic
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure
❖ Pessimistic
❖ Good-hearted
❖ Pampered
❖ Insecure
Most of Penny's life has been defined by being the family disgrace. She was born without a left leg and with a moderate form of ectrodactyly in her left hand and this was cause enough for her superstitious mother to see her birth as divine punishment for the sins of her and her husband. This would be quite a bad state of affairs in most families, but is only magnified due to the fact that Penelope's parents are King Rouis XI of Perrence and his wife, Queen Mathilde. Unallowed to attend balls, public functions, or even to venture past the palace gardens, Penny is a young woman stifled. She reads, she paces (crutch in hand), she grows things and draws and writes. She pretends to hate those formal family dinners when both father and mother are home, but secretly, she loves them. She is a forgotten middle child in many ways, with no prospects for marriage despite her station and no hope of amounting to much, so she is not one to hold back on pithy observations and cutting commentary and it is oh so amusing (often not only to her). The Gift is sometimes her plaything. When she's bored or sucky, she uses it to play tricks on her siblings, particularly if they're being obnoxious (at least one always is). A laugh at someone else's expense is still a laugh. Besides, they deserve it.
However, deep down, beneath many layers of snark and resigned cynicism, there's a curious, big-hearted girl who has dreams of seeing the world, meeting new people, and being valued instead of either pitied, stared at, or avoided with whispers, stolen glances, and sad shakes of the head. Because you place your right hand on your left hip, pointing to your left leg when you honour Oraff (the creator) while making the sign of the Pentad, religious superstition holds that Penny's missing limb is a mark of that God's disfavour. She does not believe it. She refuses to. She has a private tutor and she practices Binding Magic for hours on end, quietly determined to prove that she isn't what they say she is. On some warm Dorrad nights, though, as she lies awake in bend, staring at the swirling patterns on her ceiling and wishing for sleep, she worries that they're right and that she'll fail. She wonders why she couldn't just be whole and normal. She tries to dream that she is, but even in her dreams, she remains stubbornly the same person who she knows and does not love.
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Were it not for her birth differences and their prejudices, most people would consider Penelope quite pretty. Tall and statuesque, with bright green eyes perhaps just a bit too large for her face and a resting smirk, she is the spitting image of her mother. Her hair is a rich chestnut brown and, when not styled in the fashion of the courts (even though she does not attend them), can usually be found pulled back in a Perrench braid. Since she was young, it has displayed a remarkable resistance to maintaining any sort of cohesive style or form for long and appears almost preternaturally tousled.
Penny wears long, light dresses. They vary in colour and she has many - some, hand-me-downs from her older sisters. She likes things that are lacy but feel solid and protective, so lacy hems and collars abound but not much else. She enjoys buttons, for whatever reason, and will often fiddle with those running down her sleeves. She also wears gloves. The left one is modified to fill in the gap in her palm and it has a dummy finger attached by a thin string to the one beside it. Out of habit, she does not take her gloves off unless sleeping or bathing. She has a pair of crutches (a handful of pairs, actually), but doesn't like how they fill her hands. As a result, she often gets around with only one. She's rarely in a hurry anyway. There's nowhere to go and not all that much to do.
L A N G U A G E S
For a noble lady of Penelope's station, languages are a must. For her, they're also something to do, and she has numerous correspondents all across the twin continents who she writes to. She is fully fluent in Perrench, Avincian, Revidian, and her mother's native tongue of Kerreman, and at least conversant in Eskandish, Torragonese, Joruban, and Belzaggic. Once you learn one language from a family, the others come easily. She sometimes practices her calligraphy and is looking to correspond with someone in Oiyac or Mycormi, but yasoi are so much more reticent in real life than they are in all of her old books.
T H E G I F T
Penny approaches prodigious levels in her use of the Gift - unsurprising for a blueblood of her pedigree. With little else to do but read, write, and learn, she also trains all day, memorizing focus words and inventing little spells of her own that she gives funny names to. While she's practiced with all five canonical schools, it is Binding that she puts most of her effort towards. She spends a considerable amount of time on Arcane as well, mostly the illusory branch, works with Kinetic to help ease the difficulty of walking long distances, and with Magnetic because it's her tutor's favourite and there's something peacefully destructive about watching fingers of electricity writhe and snap. Guiltily, she dabbles in internal Chemical spells and tells herself it isn't so that she can make people like her. That's what a madwoman would think. Penny isn't mad and will not let herself go mad. She simply won't. Besides, Binding Magic is her preferred school. If she can't heal herself, she reasons, she can at least heal other people. Then, she cringes at the thought of how melodramatic and self-indulgent such a statement would sound aloud.
B A C K G R O U N D
Penny remembers the looks most of all: the first looks when people see her or the second ones when they make sense of her. It first really registered when she was around four years old. Until then, she was blissfully unaware of her differences and what they would mean. She grew up playing with her siblings - there were many and they were close in age. There were servants' daughters and cousins too. They always told the most wonderful stories and she used to like to hear them until she realized that those were stories of a world that was being kept from her. They're now a weird, resentful kind of addiction. She still needs to hear them, but they no longer bring her joy.
When she was seven, her parents attempted to arrange for her a marriage with the second son of a Torragonese lord, but instead of making arrangements by proxy, he decided to visit. Penny played with the boy and they laughed and smiled and she teased him that they'd be married someday and that he should listen to his wife. Then, he and his father left.
One time, when she was ten, there was a ceremony at the Catherdal de Ste. Defrois. She rode in a carriage through the streets of Relouse, listening to the clatter of the horses' hooves and the church bells ringing. She remembers leaning out with her little tiara and waving with her right hand at the commonfolk. They were loud and dirty and shouted, and she was a bit scared, but they waved back, and there were kids her own age in there too.
She hasn't traveled since. She hasn't done much of anything since and wasn't going to be allowed to. That is, until her brother Arcel intervened. She is to attend Ersand'Enise under an assumed name, as the invented daughter of an unremarkable merchant paid a sum by her brother. She is to be his agent there. She is to meet with people and exchange letters with them. She knows Arcel: he is not vile, but he is ambitious and underhanded. Penelope - Penny Pellegrin now - doesn't much care. It's a species of freedom, at least, and she'll take it, even with all of the risk and the fears.
M O T I V A T I O N
More than anything, Penny wants to spread her figurative wings. She wants to live an actual life. She wants to prove to herself, at least, that her mother is wrong about her. There is a deep well of bitterness there, though she shakes her head to clear it and simply tries to appreciate that she has never hungered nor wanted for any physical need a day in her life.
Penny is eager to be at Ersand'Enise and to make something of herself, but she is deathly afraid of the real, actual, wild people out here. How will they react to her? Will they laugh at her jokes? Will they just see her: Penny - a girl from Perrence, or will it be pity, awkwardness, or avoidance? She knows it will. It'll have to be, like it always is. What if anybody finds her out - or learns of whatever her brother is up to? Will she be able to play a merchant's daughter convincingly? She feels like a fraud when it comes to life. She hasn't lived very much and knows it. Still, sometimes she takes a deep breath and counsels herself that she can do this. She is a princess of Perrence. Her forebears earned the crown at some point. They were capable people. So is she... she hopes - she really, really hopes.
I N V E N T O R Y
Penny almost always carries a satchel slung across one shoulder, with some basic jewellery, a small journal, letters and wax, and a comb (partly as a joke) inside. She uses one crutch the majority of the time, to keep a hand free, and two when she knows that she'll have to do a lot of walking that day. They're made of light, lacquered wood with soft pads on top for her armpits. She'll never be found using a wand or staff as a focus object, having practiced freecasting from a young age. For spells absolutely requiring one, a crutch is very much like a staff when held a certain way. Penny's recently taken to wearing a spare garter even though she already has one to hold up her stocking. She uses it as a strap to tuck secret correspondence for her brother into and spends the next while paranoid that it'll slip out and Black Rezaindians will come for her in the night.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ funny and clever
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy
❖ grudgingly kind-hearted
❖ excellent courtly manners
❖ good memory
❖ skilled in language and literacy
At the end of the day, Penny falls on the side of being a good person. Her acerbic comments are more than just a cover, but also not her entire story. She's well-heeled and it shows. She can wield etiquette like a weapon if need be and generally has very good recall for obscure trivia and details. This carries over into languages and the written word, where she can speak seven languages, at least to a degree...at least usually.
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ anxious and insecure
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex
❖ not very worldly at all
❖ proud and paradoxically judgemental
❖ tires quickly when walking
❖ questionable self-awareness and victim complex
Penny's upbringing and the constant feeling of being unwanted has done a number on her mental health. She's not a wreck or a basket case, but she struggles with intense flashes of anxiety and self-doubt. She worries about how people will perceive her and tends to assume the worst, though she actively counsels herself not to. She can be a bit of a stepford smiler at times.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Penelope of Perrence is here incognito, as a lowly merchant's daughter named Penny Pellegrin. It would be unusual for anyone but the high-ups in the school establishment to know who she really is. Also, see here for a demonstration of how she walks on one crutch. Beware that I may have had to go into the weird part of YouTube to dig this up.
Colour Code: F7976A
This CS was developed for a fantasy RPG called End + Sleep that sadly died out before it could really get going. In retrospect, I feel like playing the 'eccentric tinker' type could've been fun, but the character also sparkled a bit too much for her supposed race and background. She was my second try at a 'disabled tinkerer' and I still didn't quite have the formula right.
Kaeli Aldavere
Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety percent...OUCH! Argh!! Goddammit that hurt...
27 | Elf | No Mage-Eyes
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Inquisitive
❖ Ballsy
❖ A bit odd
❖ Meticulous planner
❖ Brilliant
❖ Enthusiastic
❖ Flighty and easily distracted
❖ Occasionally academically haughty
❖ Ballsy
❖ A bit odd
❖ Meticulous planner
❖ Brilliant
❖ Enthusiastic
❖ Flighty and easily distracted
❖ Occasionally academically haughty
Kaeli is an oddball and eccentric to the very core, especially by Elven standards. Sometimes stereotypes are exaggerated and sometimes they fit to a tee. Put simply, she's one of those people who wants to know how everything works, can usually give you an educated guess right off the bat, and - given enough time - can usually replicate it. In general, she is obsessed with technology, preserving it, repairing it, and improving it, a passion which goes far beyond her people's rather practical and uninspiring relationship with things mechanical. On projects of great import or that have struck a particular chord with her, Kaeli will work tirelessly, with near-boundless enthusiasm, an eye for detail, and a need for perfection that borders on the insane. Social interaction, sleep, and most anything else be damned.
If a given goal is not a project but an endeavour, then she will go to great lengths, often at not-inconsiderable personal danger, in order to see it through. Otherwise, she is curious and inquisitive but flighty, branching off tangentially at once in terms of ideas, conversation, and projects. She enjoys meticulously planning more than she does following through, and collects and keeps things that most people would consider junk simply because she sees them as works in progress, interesting, or simply because she wants to be prepared for any eventuality. In particular, she enjoys solving the problem of her own strange body and finding ways to do things that would seem to be beyond her physical capabilities.
Just as Kaeli can lose herself for hours in a project, she can lose herself for hours when talking about a subject or with with a person whom she finds genuinely interesting. This tendency, alarmingly aberrant among elves, has only grown more pronounced since she left her homeland. When engaged in these fits of passionate gabbing, she has been accused of talking 'at' people as opposed to talking 'with' them. Her standards in terms of 'interesting', however, are higher than she probably realizes. People are usually just surroundings as opposed to being genuine 'company'. They're an audience for her genius, a sounding board for her ideas, and the source of interesting problems and opportunities to be solved or seized. Some also make great guinea pigs.
In terms of romance, Kaeli thinks about it from time to time just as any red-blooded woman might. Then she shuts it out of her mind. She is keenly aware that society at large does not consider her attractive. Like most elves, she also can't 'do' smalltalk and flirting, and she isn't even any good at the social rituals expected of her own people, let alone the more elaborate and frighteningly involved ones so beloved of humans. She often ends up simply lurking and dreaming. In many ways, she's a dreamer. In many ways she holds delusions of grandeur and achievement on an epic scale. However, she's self-aware enough to see some of these for what they are. There's a thin streak of bitterness that runs through her thinking and it's a product of the subtle but ever-present discrimination that she has faced growing up with a very visible deformity. Elves are not a warm, fuzzy, communal people by any stretch of the imagination, but her upbringing was marked by complete disinterest from even close family, often tipping over into utter neglect.
A P P E A R A N C E
The first thing that stands out about Kaeli is the fact that she looks like half a person. The result of a rare birth defect, she was born completely without legs, not dissimilar to Kanya Sesser or Jen Bricker. Beyond that, she's rather unremarkable: petite and pale, with white, wavy, shoulder length hair often pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. It's all-but preternaturally unruly, though sometimes she can fuss it into place. Kaeli's facial features tend towards 'mousy' but actually somewhat attractive, though she doesn't put much effort into her appearance. Indeed, the closest thing to makeup that she's known to wear is the series of oil stains and smudges that can be found on her hands, cheeks, and clothes. These compete with a number of small nicks, burns, and scars from too much tinkering. She's also considered quite stocky and muscular by Elven standards due to the upper body strength that she needs in order to get around.
Kaeli's clothing reflects both necessity and her eccentricity. Both of her pointed upper ears are pierced in multiple places, and she's not averse to self-adornment, though it's rarely with the shiny jewellery common to her race. Rather, she owns a necklace made from a very light silver chain, some old screws, a handful of bolts, and a couple of washers. She can also always be found wearing either a pair of round-rimmed tinted shades or goggles that she uses to protect her eyes from the harsh sunlight or hold back her unruly hair. Kaeli wears a custom-made garment on her truncated lower body made of a rough, sandy-coloured fabric, with a thick, cushioned leather pad at the bottom that she uses to sit and 'walk' on. Generally, she dresses in a form-fitting shirt in either purple, forest green, or crimson with a row of buttons running up the middle. Its sleeves are invariably rolled up. A brown leather belt with a prodigious number of pouches, clips, and various doodads rests snugly upon her hips, and a second, thinner belt encircles her upper waist. Filling out the ensemble is a bandolier with several pockets running from her left shoulder to her right hip, where it's clipped into her belt. A pair of elbow pads adorns her arms, and tough, worn out fingerless gloves with protective mitts that flip over complete the outfit. Kaeli usually carries a backpack that seems slightly too large for her, and when it's cooler, she bundles up in a sandy-coloured hooded hip cloak that effectively covers her whole body.
H I S T O R Y
Kaeli Kinseld was the second girl as well as the third and final child born to parents of high standing. Her father was the town recordkeeper and brother of the thane while her mother was a jeweler of some repute. Due to her startling deformity, her birth was a bitter disappointment and it was hoped that she would die quietly in infancy, lest she grow up to be a burden. In the event, she not only survived, but grew into a curious, lively, and (with the exception of her missing legs) healthy child. Unlike her older siblings, Kaeli was not groomed for an advantageous marriage or a lofty position, either political or professional. As a result, her education was sparse and was piggybacked upon that of her slightly older brother, Heddenrad, who was privately tutored in - aside from instruction on recordkeeping - what were considered the classical Magdalenese subjects: linguistics, smithing, hunting, mathematics, natural philosophy (science), and jewellery-making.
In the event, while her brother approached his studies dutifully and at times diligently, Kaeli tore through her books with an appetite for learning that - while it was somewhat selective - bordered on the obsessive. The walls of her bedroom were often filled with drawings and partially-completed sketches, and her young mind was filled with ideas. In particular, she gravitated towards all things mechanical and electrical: understanding them, disassembling and reassembling them, and making them function. If she was hopeless at hunting, too small for smithing, and unenthusiastic about crafting finely filigreed and delicate jewellery, she had nimble, dexterous fingers, an eye for detail, and a keen intuition for the workings of anything with moving pieces.
For the most part, however, people paid little attention to the girl, except as a curiosity, and she was left largely to her own devices. The one exception was Kaeli's (really her brother's) natural philosophy and mathematics tutor, a prematurely cantankerous academic named Tasten Aldavere. He spent extra hours fostering what he believed was a brilliant young mind, and his attitudes, mannerisms, and methods had a profound impact on her development. In her mid-teens, she was betrothed to him, even though he was nearly twenty years her senior. In reality, it wasn't a marriage founded on love, since Tasten was rather clearly homosexual. Rather it was a union of kinship and mutual respect, carefully calculated by the pair to afford Kaeli both some independence from her family as well as some monetary attention.
For a handful of years, things went well. Kaeli continued to educate herself and earned the respect of a notable portion of Magdalene's academic community. Even her father, who had advocated for exposing her to the elements during her infancy, came to appreciate her gifts and even fund some of her pet projects. Then her uncle, the local thane, made the grave mistake of defying the Alfking of Magdalene. Exactly what happened is not something that she will ever talk about, perhaps because she has never taken much interest in politics. A ruler who had for Kaeli's entire life seemed distant and mildly benevolent struck with sudden, ruthlessly efficient ferocity, purging her entire family. A harmless and somewhat useful curiosity, she was spared, inherited a small portion of her family's fortune, and placed under house arrest. Driven to depression by the restriction on her ability to move about freely and to tinker and scrounge outside of the confines of her home (where literally all of the best stuff was) and sensing that Tasten was likely to protest (thereby putting him in the line of fire), she slipped out of her cellar in a small wine barrel, and arranged to have herself smuggled out of town.
With no choice but to end up far away from home and, to a lesser extent, curious about the mysteries of the world outside of the deep forests of Magdalene, she began traveling the roads of Invernier. Kaeli learned quickly and out of necessity how to cover large distances, where to hide, as well as who and what to avoid, while gradually using up her coin. She earns a sporadic income by repairing simple things well below the level of her expertise whenever she sets herself down for a handful of weeks as well as occasionally appearing in performances similar to sideshows. She doesn't particularly enjoy those jobs, but they put coin in her purse and provide her with free and easy travel.
I N V E N T O R Y
Kaeli carries a small, lightweight, and finely-crafted tool set with her at all times. She has a handful of semi-functional electrical lights, a magnifying glass, her wedding ring, various replacement parts for common mechanical items, a needle and thread, a few changes of clothes, a switchblade, and a couple of cans of something like improvised pepper spray, with different varieties effective in repelling different common threats. She's working on auditory weapons as well and on extending the range of the sprays. She swears that she'll finish eventually.
O T H E R
Even with legs, Kaeli would be considered small. Without them, she's absolutely tiny (maybe 2'6" and 55 lbs) and excellent at hiding in places where most people wouldn't even bother look. She can hold her breath for an extremely long time, remain still and quiet for extended periods, and go for longer than most without food and water. Conversely, she obviously moves at a slower pace than most people, expends more energy in doing so, struggles with tasks that require size, and tends to have her skills met with a certain skepticism in most places that she visits.
Candace was made for Oh My Gods and was, quite frankly, not the best of the six (yes, six!) CSes that I wrote. She was my first try at the 'disabled STEM girl' type. That was something I'd return to a couple more times.
Name: Candace McMorran
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Sexuality: Bisexual, but leans more towards women
Godly ancestor: Hephaestus
Son/daughter or further removed: daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Hephaestus has not fathered quite as many children as some of the more attractive Greek gods, so he is decidedly invested in the children that he does have. He intervened to help Candace and her mother when she was very young, and she has known about her parentage since her mid-teens. He admires her work from a distance.
Relationship with mortal family: after a period of pointed rebellion against her mother and stepfather, Candace has come to appreciate the loving and open minded upbringing that they provided her with. She hasn't lived at her parents' house since leaving for college in the US, but has always returned for major holidays and twice for summer vacation. She is six years older than her next-oldest half-sibling, and has never been especially close with any of them, though that's not to say that there are any issues between them. They're simply too far apart in age to share very much in terms of friends or common interests. She keeps in touch with her mother and her sister Virginia through various online means and, whenever she visits, likes to initiate lively discussions around the dinner table. She tries to influence her younger siblings (particularly her sister) where she can, and steer them in what she believes is the right direction.
Powers: Candace's powers reflect those of her father in almost every way.
- Candace can create and manipulate fire and is more or less immune to its effects.
- She has a talent for creating machines and gadgets to solve problems and serve specific purposes. These are often highly unconventional, idiosyncratic in design, and difficult to reproduce, but extremely effective.
- Candace can imbue things with force and motion that would otherwise remain static.
- She is able to make inanimate objects that have either a face or the form of a living thing come to life, in a sense. They will possess memories of what they have witnessed and will remain staunchly loyal to her.
Personality: Candace is strong willed, aggressively independent, and bullish when it comes to her sense of morality. Perhaps she just has stronger convictions than most people, and perhaps she's trying to bury some deeply held insecurities. In any event, as a visibly disabled person living in a world that is fundamentally at odds with her sense of agency, she feels as if she has no choice but to try harder, reach farther, and react with more force and fury than others do in order to be treated as an equal.
Beyond that, she is best described as conventionally unconventional, subscribing with zeal to the trends and belief systems that define modern left-wing campus culture. She smokes weed and has experimented with a handful of psychadelic drugs, but isn't what one would ever consider a 'stoner'. Candace enjoys gaming (though not the thinly-veiled misogyny that runs through much of gamer culture) and is reasonably good at it, but makes a point of being active and challenging herself physically. She regularly plays wheelchair rugby and basketball and tries to remember to spend some time outdoors away from her workshop. She has dabbled in slam poetry, was active in a number of student bodies while in university studying engineering (with a minor in women's studies) and regularly attends protests and rallies. When not out and about doing something, she can often be found tinkering in her shop or at least using a CAD app to render her future projects on her iPad.
Bio: Candace was born in Glasgow, Scotland and raised by a single mother who was working as a waitress at the time. She doesn't remember much about her early years, but now understands the severity of the poverty that she and her mother lived in. For the first couple of years, there was a seemingly endless carousel of surgeries to lessen the effects of a particularly serious arteriovenous malformation of the spinal cord that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Though children of Hephaestus have often exhibited ambulatory difficulties, hers were particularly severe. The medical costs above and beyond what the NHS covered must have been significant, but they were handled by a mysterious benefactor. For many years after, she had a vague memory of him as a huge man with a bushy auburn beard, receding hair, and a severe limp who leaned heavily on a cane. When she was three years old, the girl's mother was able to return to university and complete her degree in early childhood education thanks to a generous grant from the bearded man. While there, she met, fell in love with, and married the man who Candace would grow up with as her father: Shane Coburn. It was a rather whirlwind love affair, and within less than a year of their marriage, had produced a child: Candace's younger sister Virginia. Two more would follow: twin brothers Neil and Brandon.
Candace's way with mechanical things was plainly evident even during her childhood, as she would often complete Lego sets intended for much older children with perfunctory ease and enjoy them for a couple of weeks, before taking them apart and building entirely new creations of her own imagination. Indeed, the floor of her bedroom would often be a minefield of sharp Lego pieces that only she (not having to worry about stepping on any of them) could navigate with ease. She dabbled in minecraft and roblox, but was drawn more towards creating things in the real world with her own hands. Robot Wars was a near-obsession, and she still has some of her crayon drawings of her favourite competitors and orginal concepts. Trips to science fairs followed, as did subscriptions to magazines like Popular Mechanics (which soon turned into online subscriptions). She confounded many of her teachers because she didn't seem to have a particular aptitude for mathematics, being no more than slightly above average. It seemed as if her engineering abilities were intuitive in a way that other people couldn't understand.
While she featured in a number of human interest articles (often with a well-intentioned but somewhat condescending tone) as a young prodigy and an inspiration, Candace's teenaged years were particularly difficult. She struggled not only with her self-perception and confidence as somebody with a disability, but also with her budding sexuality. She found herself mostly, though not solely attracted to other girls. She tried to ignore these feelings for a few years, and her parents, thinking that her withdrawal stemmed from a lack of confidence, attempted to push her towards healthy heterosexual relationships. They also sent her to a summer camp for other disabled children and enrolled her in a wheelchair basketball program. Candace enjoyed the activity, and it provided an outlet for some of her energy, but she still wasn't all that comfortable with her feelings and was beginning to understand that she just wasn't going to fit the norm. Compounding these issues were the emergence of her latent powers. Candace found that sometimes, when she was working on an engineering project, the pieces would move as she visualized them. At first, she was afraid. She wondered if she was going crazy. Then, she studied the phenomenon and began using it to her benefit, though she became somewhat reclusive in her tinkering for fear of anybody finding out. Combined with her insecurities about her sexuality, Candace went through a year or two of being deeply reclusive.
Enter her father. It was a particularly cool April morning when Hephaestus appeared in front of her. She almost instantly recognized him as the bearded man from her infancy. The first thing that he said to her, with all of the tact and good grace in the world was "You're a lesbian, kiddo, or at least something close. Also, I'm your father." It wasn't the easiest of conversations. One party was confused and terrified and the other had never had much of a way with words nor much use for etiquette. However, her immortal father not only explained the extend of Candace's abilities, he also taught her how to control them, by demonstrating them himself. Further conversations followed, eventually involving her family. Disbelief turned into acceptance, and even into embrace. Candace, more sure of herself, reemerged from her shell and graduated with a scholarship that allowed her to attend MIT overseas.
In campus life, she found her calling, The stories of other people who had struggled growing up resonated with her, and she became strongly committed to setting the world right, aware that she had been gifted more power than most by the unique circumstances of her conception and birth. She was active in student groups, campus politics and social life, and int he social movements of the day. Her long red hair was cut to shoulder-length, the left side of it buzzed, and its tips died all colours of the rainbow. Following graduation, driven by curiosity, she decided to take a couple of years off before starting her Master's and visit the city of New Celestia that her father had told her about.
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Sexuality: Bisexual, but leans more towards women
Godly ancestor: Hephaestus
Son/daughter or further removed: daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: Hephaestus has not fathered quite as many children as some of the more attractive Greek gods, so he is decidedly invested in the children that he does have. He intervened to help Candace and her mother when she was very young, and she has known about her parentage since her mid-teens. He admires her work from a distance.
Relationship with mortal family: after a period of pointed rebellion against her mother and stepfather, Candace has come to appreciate the loving and open minded upbringing that they provided her with. She hasn't lived at her parents' house since leaving for college in the US, but has always returned for major holidays and twice for summer vacation. She is six years older than her next-oldest half-sibling, and has never been especially close with any of them, though that's not to say that there are any issues between them. They're simply too far apart in age to share very much in terms of friends or common interests. She keeps in touch with her mother and her sister Virginia through various online means and, whenever she visits, likes to initiate lively discussions around the dinner table. She tries to influence her younger siblings (particularly her sister) where she can, and steer them in what she believes is the right direction.
Powers: Candace's powers reflect those of her father in almost every way.
- Candace can create and manipulate fire and is more or less immune to its effects.
- She has a talent for creating machines and gadgets to solve problems and serve specific purposes. These are often highly unconventional, idiosyncratic in design, and difficult to reproduce, but extremely effective.
- Candace can imbue things with force and motion that would otherwise remain static.
- She is able to make inanimate objects that have either a face or the form of a living thing come to life, in a sense. They will possess memories of what they have witnessed and will remain staunchly loyal to her.
Personality: Candace is strong willed, aggressively independent, and bullish when it comes to her sense of morality. Perhaps she just has stronger convictions than most people, and perhaps she's trying to bury some deeply held insecurities. In any event, as a visibly disabled person living in a world that is fundamentally at odds with her sense of agency, she feels as if she has no choice but to try harder, reach farther, and react with more force and fury than others do in order to be treated as an equal.
Beyond that, she is best described as conventionally unconventional, subscribing with zeal to the trends and belief systems that define modern left-wing campus culture. She smokes weed and has experimented with a handful of psychadelic drugs, but isn't what one would ever consider a 'stoner'. Candace enjoys gaming (though not the thinly-veiled misogyny that runs through much of gamer culture) and is reasonably good at it, but makes a point of being active and challenging herself physically. She regularly plays wheelchair rugby and basketball and tries to remember to spend some time outdoors away from her workshop. She has dabbled in slam poetry, was active in a number of student bodies while in university studying engineering (with a minor in women's studies) and regularly attends protests and rallies. When not out and about doing something, she can often be found tinkering in her shop or at least using a CAD app to render her future projects on her iPad.
Bio: Candace was born in Glasgow, Scotland and raised by a single mother who was working as a waitress at the time. She doesn't remember much about her early years, but now understands the severity of the poverty that she and her mother lived in. For the first couple of years, there was a seemingly endless carousel of surgeries to lessen the effects of a particularly serious arteriovenous malformation of the spinal cord that left her paralyzed from the waist down. Though children of Hephaestus have often exhibited ambulatory difficulties, hers were particularly severe. The medical costs above and beyond what the NHS covered must have been significant, but they were handled by a mysterious benefactor. For many years after, she had a vague memory of him as a huge man with a bushy auburn beard, receding hair, and a severe limp who leaned heavily on a cane. When she was three years old, the girl's mother was able to return to university and complete her degree in early childhood education thanks to a generous grant from the bearded man. While there, she met, fell in love with, and married the man who Candace would grow up with as her father: Shane Coburn. It was a rather whirlwind love affair, and within less than a year of their marriage, had produced a child: Candace's younger sister Virginia. Two more would follow: twin brothers Neil and Brandon.
Candace's way with mechanical things was plainly evident even during her childhood, as she would often complete Lego sets intended for much older children with perfunctory ease and enjoy them for a couple of weeks, before taking them apart and building entirely new creations of her own imagination. Indeed, the floor of her bedroom would often be a minefield of sharp Lego pieces that only she (not having to worry about stepping on any of them) could navigate with ease. She dabbled in minecraft and roblox, but was drawn more towards creating things in the real world with her own hands. Robot Wars was a near-obsession, and she still has some of her crayon drawings of her favourite competitors and orginal concepts. Trips to science fairs followed, as did subscriptions to magazines like Popular Mechanics (which soon turned into online subscriptions). She confounded many of her teachers because she didn't seem to have a particular aptitude for mathematics, being no more than slightly above average. It seemed as if her engineering abilities were intuitive in a way that other people couldn't understand.
While she featured in a number of human interest articles (often with a well-intentioned but somewhat condescending tone) as a young prodigy and an inspiration, Candace's teenaged years were particularly difficult. She struggled not only with her self-perception and confidence as somebody with a disability, but also with her budding sexuality. She found herself mostly, though not solely attracted to other girls. She tried to ignore these feelings for a few years, and her parents, thinking that her withdrawal stemmed from a lack of confidence, attempted to push her towards healthy heterosexual relationships. They also sent her to a summer camp for other disabled children and enrolled her in a wheelchair basketball program. Candace enjoyed the activity, and it provided an outlet for some of her energy, but she still wasn't all that comfortable with her feelings and was beginning to understand that she just wasn't going to fit the norm. Compounding these issues were the emergence of her latent powers. Candace found that sometimes, when she was working on an engineering project, the pieces would move as she visualized them. At first, she was afraid. She wondered if she was going crazy. Then, she studied the phenomenon and began using it to her benefit, though she became somewhat reclusive in her tinkering for fear of anybody finding out. Combined with her insecurities about her sexuality, Candace went through a year or two of being deeply reclusive.
Enter her father. It was a particularly cool April morning when Hephaestus appeared in front of her. She almost instantly recognized him as the bearded man from her infancy. The first thing that he said to her, with all of the tact and good grace in the world was "You're a lesbian, kiddo, or at least something close. Also, I'm your father." It wasn't the easiest of conversations. One party was confused and terrified and the other had never had much of a way with words nor much use for etiquette. However, her immortal father not only explained the extend of Candace's abilities, he also taught her how to control them, by demonstrating them himself. Further conversations followed, eventually involving her family. Disbelief turned into acceptance, and even into embrace. Candace, more sure of herself, reemerged from her shell and graduated with a scholarship that allowed her to attend MIT overseas.
In campus life, she found her calling, The stories of other people who had struggled growing up resonated with her, and she became strongly committed to setting the world right, aware that she had been gifted more power than most by the unique circumstances of her conception and birth. She was active in student groups, campus politics and social life, and int he social movements of the day. Her long red hair was cut to shoulder-length, the left side of it buzzed, and its tips died all colours of the rainbow. Following graduation, driven by curiosity, she decided to take a couple of years off before starting her Master's and visit the city of New Celestia that her father had told her about.
As CS for a WW2 Heist RPG called Band of Bastards. This thing died a bit early, but this character acted as some formative inspiration for Penny from The Hourglass Order: basically, a sneaky one-legged chick with a saucy mouth and her own agenda.
This is potential character one of two. Maybe we can see which one people like better once I've posted Yuri (the other one). Anyway, sorry if this is a bit long. She's partially inspired by Virginia Hall, who was a legendary badass.
Name (or known Aliases): Simona Ricci, aka. Gianna Verdi, Margarethe Vonlanthen, Hopper
Age: 23
Nationality: Italian
Affiliation: Italian Red Cross, works personally for Princess Marie Jose of Italy when she's not looking out for number one.
Role: Nurse, thief, infiltrator
Appearance: (shitty pic coming soon) A slim and petite (maybe 5'2") lightly-tanned Caucasian woman in her early mid-twenties, with shoulder-length straight black hair, blue eyes, and a nose that's just a bit too large, Simona skews to the 'pretty' side of average. She has dimples when she smiles (though it's usually more of a grin or a smirk), and a slight case of buckteeth. However, these things are usually not what people notice about her first. Instead, it's the pronounced limp that she walks with or - when she's not wearing her prosthetic - the fact that she's missing nearly her entire left leg. Due to the height of her injury, she moves better on crutches, though she'll often use her artificial leg to blend in more easily. Indeed, when she's just standing in a crowd, she tends to fade into it. Simona's not exactly open about the cause of the injury, mostly because it's a touchy enough subject that she risks getting emotional.
She usually wears her Red Cross uniform, which looks just a little bit like a nun's habit. Otherwise, she prefers knee-length dresses or skirts. She's unlikely to be seen in a revealing or provocative outfit except when she's drinking. Simona usually carries a large brown backpack stuffed full of first-aid equipment, clothes, a flask of Limoncello, a small satchel of tools that look like scalpels but are really for less legal uses, and sometimes her prosthetic leg. It really is amazing what she can fit in there. The leg itself is actually useful for holding things, as it’s hollow and she uses it to smuggle letters and contraband when necessary. That’s dangerous works, so sometimes, she also wears a leg holster with a small Beretta under her skirt/dress. She knows how use it, but that doesn't mean that she knows how to use it well. It’s more for her own sense of agency.
Personality: Simona is whatever she needs to be at the moment, whether that be a dutiful Catholic girl and committed nurse, a sophisticated and creative young woman from a wealthy family with contacts in the government, a physically and emotionally broken victim of war, or a loud, irreverent, warm, and somewhat uncultured rural Italian stereotype. Exactly which of these is closest to her genuine personality is up for debate, and the truth may be that she’s a bit of each.
The final one, however, is undoubtedly the face she wears easiest. Simona can talk. She loves spinning a good story, sharing a good laugh (sometimes about rather crude subjects), and engaging in frank, witty, and often quite incisive verbal fencing. She can appreciate a good pun, though she hasn’t mastered the art of making them herself (at least not in English), and will readily make self-deprecating jokes about her one-leggedness. Having witnessed a great deal of death and suffering, at some point she ‘got over the hump’ with regards to emotional attachment and simply learned to accept that people come and go and that they’re still worth investing in. She’s quick to get close with anyone who’ll allow it, and can be almost uncomfortably touchy-feely at times, though she will never make romantic advances, nor will she be stupid enough to trust them.
In general, Simona calls upon the powers of sympathy, stereotype, friendliness, and caricature to ensure that she’s seen as a complete non-threat by enemies and most friends alike. At best she’s plucky and admirable, at worst she’s either a vacuous and annoying chatterbox or a pity case.
Outside of the social aspects of her personality, Simona is intelligent, quick-thinking, and surprisingly competent (mainly due to sheer moxie) at a number of unrelated skills. Conversely, she can be impulsive, pushy, and Quixotic in terms of her personal quests and goals. She’s flighty but ambitious, and profoundly confident in herself on a basic level, though the loss of her leg has undermined this somewhat and occasionally leads to bouts of overcompensation. Regardless, Simona is used to succeeding and regularly getting her way. When she doesn’t, it can be ugly, both personally and professionally.
If she’s a bit materialistic, it’s not for the sake of having pretty things, but rather more practical reasons. She believes that money and resources can buy both safety and happiness to some extent and that accruing them will benefit her and her family. Despite this, the war has touched her profoundly, and Simona has come to genuinely care about those affected by it. She wants it to be over, and she would go so far as to die romantically and heroically to that end. What comes next is no concern of hers. She’s pointedly apolitical, though socially somewhat liberal, and she distrusts communists and political radicals of any stripe. Her primary loyalty is to her superior and patron, Princess Marie Jose of Italy, and it comes second only to herself and her family.
Service History: Simona joined the Italian Red Cross as soon as Italy entered the war and her brothers, Giacomo and Vittorio, were deployed to Southern France. She has never been one to simply sit idle, especially not when others are out doing what is expected of them. Sent to the African theatre, she served in field hospitals and POW camps for the better part of two years, often working in collaboration with British and American Red Cross units in the area. This is where she picked up most of her English, though she has some cousins who live overseas. Most of these places were chronically underfunded, so she had to find...creative ways to finance them at times. Whether it be pickpocketing the dead and dying, skimming supplies intended for military garrisons, or stealing officers’ bonuses right out of their safes, If her superiors disapproved of her methods, they never had the chance to voice that disapproval, because that would've involved catching her first.
She was working in a field hospital just outside of Addis Ababa when the forces of her own country strafed the entire compound (this is based upon a real historical incident). While attempting to evacuate the wounded, she was shot high up on the left thigh with a heavy-caliber round from one of the aircraft and she passed out almost instantly. Simona awoke minus a leg and fell almost immediately into a serious depression, partially due to the injury and partially due to the fact that her own country's forces had been responsible for the monstrous attack. The government, of course, vehemently denied such absurd rumours, and the incident was quickly buried, though not before it was brought to the attention of the head of the Italian Red Cross, Princess Marie Jose. When Simona was shipped back to Italy to convalesce, she was personally visited by the princess, who was something of a personal enemy of Mussolini and was looking for ways to bring the war to a close as soon as possible. Though it was officially supposed to be little more than a courtesy/publicity visit, the princess was eager to confirm the rumours that she had heard, and the two women ended up speaking for hours. Simona was deeply impressed by the patron of her organization, and it inspired a degree of personal loyalty that she previously hadn't felt towards anyone outside of her immediate family. They talked deeply and frankly, and she must've made an impression herself, because Princess Marie personally paid for her rehabilitation and prosthetic leg. Not to be outdone, the Italian government, under Mussolini, awarded her a medal for bravery and being wounded in service (despite the fact that she was wounded by them and was in the service of an international NGO).
Unwilling to simply return home and collect a disability pension, Simona returned to her duties, albeit in what were considered safer, more 'home front' areas. However, with the allied invasion of Italy beginning in 1943, the home front became a front in the true sense, and not only was her brother Giacomo one of the early casualties, but her upper-middle class family’s finances were devastated when the bombing campaign destroyed her father’s auto factory. As the situation worsened, Marie Jose stepped up her anti-fascist activities, and Simona, in secret correspondence with her superior, offered her services above and beyond the call of the Red Cross. When Mussolini's regime collapsed and he fled to the north of the country, Simona followed, albeit as something of a mole. She's been working tirelessly for the last six months in hospitals and POW camps in North-Central Italy, not only healing and feeding, but also working clandestinely with POWs and wounded fighters from various partisan groups to subvert the new puppet regime. A couple of days ago, a critically wounded republican fighter, remembering that another member of his cell had told him that "you can trust the one-legged woman", pressed a message into the palm of her hand with a mysterious address in Ulm, Bavaria.
Other: Simona's a lot stronger than she looks, able to lug around her backpack/prosthetic/crutch(es) without complaint and despite her small size. She’s a generous 5’2” and weighs all of 78 pounds. Combined with her natural flexibility, this allows her to squeeze herself into extremely small spaces if need be. She’s picked up a number of other useful skills over the course of her relatively short life: She can play the flute and violin reasonably well thanks to lessons during her childhood; She speaks passable Swiss German as a result of growing up in Northern Italy not far from the border; She’s also picked up some English and some Ethiopian from her postings during the early part of the war and learned to swim while undergoing rehabilitation. Picking locks and pockets were further skills learned while in theatre. She also became pretty good at table tennis from playing with wounded soldiers in the various hospitals that she served in, though she’s not as good as she thinks she is.
This tendency to overestimate herself extends to drinking. Her tolerance for alcohol is much lower than she’s convinced it is (this is partly due to her being smaller than she used to be), and she is liable to make a fool of herself when drunk. In the past, this didn’t extend to throwing herself at men, as she was saving herself for marriage, but after becoming an amputee, she decided that her marriage prospects were slim to none and that waiting for something that would never come was a daft idea. She’ll still never outright make the first move, but she’ll definitely respond. The truth is, Simona doesn’t really know how to act around a man who she finds legitimately attractive. In particular, she has a thing for Americans, American culture, and motorcycles.
Culturally, she’s far from traditional, with a love for Big Band Jazz, fast cars, days at the beach, and late nights out dancing, though she’s a bit self-conscious about the latter two now. She’s eager to squeeze everything that she can out of life, she’ll make sport of anybody, and she can sometimes come across as a bit of a misandrist. She has a nickname, Legnoso (which means ‘Woody’ in Italian), for her prosthetic leg, and sometimes talks about it as if it’s a person with a will of its own.
Ultimately, as an Italian in late 1943, Simona knows that she can play either side if need be. As a nominal member of a neutral organization, she can gain access to people and places that might be impossible otherwise. As a small disabled woman, Simona knows that she won't readily be viewed as a combatant or any type of threat but also that it's not exactly easy for someone with such a visible difference to be inconspicuous if her cover is ever blown. She's never looked a man in the eyes and shot him, but she's certain that she could do it if the need ever arose.
Name (or known Aliases): Simona Ricci, aka. Gianna Verdi, Margarethe Vonlanthen, Hopper
Age: 23
Nationality: Italian
Affiliation: Italian Red Cross, works personally for Princess Marie Jose of Italy when she's not looking out for number one.
Role: Nurse, thief, infiltrator
Appearance: (shitty pic coming soon) A slim and petite (maybe 5'2") lightly-tanned Caucasian woman in her early mid-twenties, with shoulder-length straight black hair, blue eyes, and a nose that's just a bit too large, Simona skews to the 'pretty' side of average. She has dimples when she smiles (though it's usually more of a grin or a smirk), and a slight case of buckteeth. However, these things are usually not what people notice about her first. Instead, it's the pronounced limp that she walks with or - when she's not wearing her prosthetic - the fact that she's missing nearly her entire left leg. Due to the height of her injury, she moves better on crutches, though she'll often use her artificial leg to blend in more easily. Indeed, when she's just standing in a crowd, she tends to fade into it. Simona's not exactly open about the cause of the injury, mostly because it's a touchy enough subject that she risks getting emotional.
She usually wears her Red Cross uniform, which looks just a little bit like a nun's habit. Otherwise, she prefers knee-length dresses or skirts. She's unlikely to be seen in a revealing or provocative outfit except when she's drinking. Simona usually carries a large brown backpack stuffed full of first-aid equipment, clothes, a flask of Limoncello, a small satchel of tools that look like scalpels but are really for less legal uses, and sometimes her prosthetic leg. It really is amazing what she can fit in there. The leg itself is actually useful for holding things, as it’s hollow and she uses it to smuggle letters and contraband when necessary. That’s dangerous works, so sometimes, she also wears a leg holster with a small Beretta under her skirt/dress. She knows how use it, but that doesn't mean that she knows how to use it well. It’s more for her own sense of agency.
Personality: Simona is whatever she needs to be at the moment, whether that be a dutiful Catholic girl and committed nurse, a sophisticated and creative young woman from a wealthy family with contacts in the government, a physically and emotionally broken victim of war, or a loud, irreverent, warm, and somewhat uncultured rural Italian stereotype. Exactly which of these is closest to her genuine personality is up for debate, and the truth may be that she’s a bit of each.
The final one, however, is undoubtedly the face she wears easiest. Simona can talk. She loves spinning a good story, sharing a good laugh (sometimes about rather crude subjects), and engaging in frank, witty, and often quite incisive verbal fencing. She can appreciate a good pun, though she hasn’t mastered the art of making them herself (at least not in English), and will readily make self-deprecating jokes about her one-leggedness. Having witnessed a great deal of death and suffering, at some point she ‘got over the hump’ with regards to emotional attachment and simply learned to accept that people come and go and that they’re still worth investing in. She’s quick to get close with anyone who’ll allow it, and can be almost uncomfortably touchy-feely at times, though she will never make romantic advances, nor will she be stupid enough to trust them.
In general, Simona calls upon the powers of sympathy, stereotype, friendliness, and caricature to ensure that she’s seen as a complete non-threat by enemies and most friends alike. At best she’s plucky and admirable, at worst she’s either a vacuous and annoying chatterbox or a pity case.
Outside of the social aspects of her personality, Simona is intelligent, quick-thinking, and surprisingly competent (mainly due to sheer moxie) at a number of unrelated skills. Conversely, she can be impulsive, pushy, and Quixotic in terms of her personal quests and goals. She’s flighty but ambitious, and profoundly confident in herself on a basic level, though the loss of her leg has undermined this somewhat and occasionally leads to bouts of overcompensation. Regardless, Simona is used to succeeding and regularly getting her way. When she doesn’t, it can be ugly, both personally and professionally.
If she’s a bit materialistic, it’s not for the sake of having pretty things, but rather more practical reasons. She believes that money and resources can buy both safety and happiness to some extent and that accruing them will benefit her and her family. Despite this, the war has touched her profoundly, and Simona has come to genuinely care about those affected by it. She wants it to be over, and she would go so far as to die romantically and heroically to that end. What comes next is no concern of hers. She’s pointedly apolitical, though socially somewhat liberal, and she distrusts communists and political radicals of any stripe. Her primary loyalty is to her superior and patron, Princess Marie Jose of Italy, and it comes second only to herself and her family.
Service History: Simona joined the Italian Red Cross as soon as Italy entered the war and her brothers, Giacomo and Vittorio, were deployed to Southern France. She has never been one to simply sit idle, especially not when others are out doing what is expected of them. Sent to the African theatre, she served in field hospitals and POW camps for the better part of two years, often working in collaboration with British and American Red Cross units in the area. This is where she picked up most of her English, though she has some cousins who live overseas. Most of these places were chronically underfunded, so she had to find...creative ways to finance them at times. Whether it be pickpocketing the dead and dying, skimming supplies intended for military garrisons, or stealing officers’ bonuses right out of their safes, If her superiors disapproved of her methods, they never had the chance to voice that disapproval, because that would've involved catching her first.
She was working in a field hospital just outside of Addis Ababa when the forces of her own country strafed the entire compound (this is based upon a real historical incident). While attempting to evacuate the wounded, she was shot high up on the left thigh with a heavy-caliber round from one of the aircraft and she passed out almost instantly. Simona awoke minus a leg and fell almost immediately into a serious depression, partially due to the injury and partially due to the fact that her own country's forces had been responsible for the monstrous attack. The government, of course, vehemently denied such absurd rumours, and the incident was quickly buried, though not before it was brought to the attention of the head of the Italian Red Cross, Princess Marie Jose. When Simona was shipped back to Italy to convalesce, she was personally visited by the princess, who was something of a personal enemy of Mussolini and was looking for ways to bring the war to a close as soon as possible. Though it was officially supposed to be little more than a courtesy/publicity visit, the princess was eager to confirm the rumours that she had heard, and the two women ended up speaking for hours. Simona was deeply impressed by the patron of her organization, and it inspired a degree of personal loyalty that she previously hadn't felt towards anyone outside of her immediate family. They talked deeply and frankly, and she must've made an impression herself, because Princess Marie personally paid for her rehabilitation and prosthetic leg. Not to be outdone, the Italian government, under Mussolini, awarded her a medal for bravery and being wounded in service (despite the fact that she was wounded by them and was in the service of an international NGO).
Unwilling to simply return home and collect a disability pension, Simona returned to her duties, albeit in what were considered safer, more 'home front' areas. However, with the allied invasion of Italy beginning in 1943, the home front became a front in the true sense, and not only was her brother Giacomo one of the early casualties, but her upper-middle class family’s finances were devastated when the bombing campaign destroyed her father’s auto factory. As the situation worsened, Marie Jose stepped up her anti-fascist activities, and Simona, in secret correspondence with her superior, offered her services above and beyond the call of the Red Cross. When Mussolini's regime collapsed and he fled to the north of the country, Simona followed, albeit as something of a mole. She's been working tirelessly for the last six months in hospitals and POW camps in North-Central Italy, not only healing and feeding, but also working clandestinely with POWs and wounded fighters from various partisan groups to subvert the new puppet regime. A couple of days ago, a critically wounded republican fighter, remembering that another member of his cell had told him that "you can trust the one-legged woman", pressed a message into the palm of her hand with a mysterious address in Ulm, Bavaria.
Other: Simona's a lot stronger than she looks, able to lug around her backpack/prosthetic/crutch(es) without complaint and despite her small size. She’s a generous 5’2” and weighs all of 78 pounds. Combined with her natural flexibility, this allows her to squeeze herself into extremely small spaces if need be. She’s picked up a number of other useful skills over the course of her relatively short life: She can play the flute and violin reasonably well thanks to lessons during her childhood; She speaks passable Swiss German as a result of growing up in Northern Italy not far from the border; She’s also picked up some English and some Ethiopian from her postings during the early part of the war and learned to swim while undergoing rehabilitation. Picking locks and pockets were further skills learned while in theatre. She also became pretty good at table tennis from playing with wounded soldiers in the various hospitals that she served in, though she’s not as good as she thinks she is.
This tendency to overestimate herself extends to drinking. Her tolerance for alcohol is much lower than she’s convinced it is (this is partly due to her being smaller than she used to be), and she is liable to make a fool of herself when drunk. In the past, this didn’t extend to throwing herself at men, as she was saving herself for marriage, but after becoming an amputee, she decided that her marriage prospects were slim to none and that waiting for something that would never come was a daft idea. She’ll still never outright make the first move, but she’ll definitely respond. The truth is, Simona doesn’t really know how to act around a man who she finds legitimately attractive. In particular, she has a thing for Americans, American culture, and motorcycles.
Culturally, she’s far from traditional, with a love for Big Band Jazz, fast cars, days at the beach, and late nights out dancing, though she’s a bit self-conscious about the latter two now. She’s eager to squeeze everything that she can out of life, she’ll make sport of anybody, and she can sometimes come across as a bit of a misandrist. She has a nickname, Legnoso (which means ‘Woody’ in Italian), for her prosthetic leg, and sometimes talks about it as if it’s a person with a will of its own.
Ultimately, as an Italian in late 1943, Simona knows that she can play either side if need be. As a nominal member of a neutral organization, she can gain access to people and places that might be impossible otherwise. As a small disabled woman, Simona knows that she won't readily be viewed as a combatant or any type of threat but also that it's not exactly easy for someone with such a visible difference to be inconspicuous if her cover is ever blown. She's never looked a man in the eyes and shot him, but she's certain that she could do it if the need ever arose.
OP
Force and Fury Actually kind of mellow
Member
Seen
3 days ago
BIPOC & Older Characters
Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour tend to be either underrepresented or else represented in very stereotypical (or ham-fistedly anti-stereotypical) manners within the roleplaying community, though it is somewhat improving nowadays. Trying to be as sensitive towards issues of race an identity as I can while not focusing strictly on those, I aim to introduce diverse characters into the RPGs that I play and run without preaching. They're simply there, as they should be: a normal part of their worlds.
To some extent, I've also noticed a reticence among the roleplaying community to play characters over thirty as mains. They appear in world as mentors, parents, enemies, and authority figures, but rarely as central PCs. It's almost as if we idealize youth and its possibilities and seem to hold a subconscious belief that life's opportunity, fun, and promise disappear by age thirty. Hence, I also try to tell the continuing stories of people whose stories are already partly written and not necessarily just beginning.
Redwood and Lysandra are two of three potential characters that I've made for Code Vein, inspired by the game of the same name. Lysandra was always going to be Asian, but I've noticed that people tend to gravitate towards the 'cool' Asian ethnicities: namely Japanese and Korean. I almost made her the latter, but a reference pic was hard to find and gave me some time to think. It was also fun to base her four robotic agents on figures from Vietnamese mythology. As for age, I think that she finds herself at an interesting crossroads. Your late twenties to early thirties are a time when a lot of people start to become ossified in their life patterns, but her disabling injury and move from familiar surroundings have forced her to adjust and grow or else fail as a person. Redwood is just because it'd be cool to have a bit of a more modern druidic-themed character and to have that character be Black instead of Celtic, North American Indigenous, or Nordic.
R E D W O O D
| AGE |
Appears about thirty
| APPEARANCE |
Redwood's name is a child of his appearance. The first thing that people notice about him is his exceptional height. Very tall and fairly slender, though solid enough, he towers over other people and... well, low ceilings and hanging light fixtures are the bane of his existence while indoors. His skin is dark and somewhat leathery, making him look older than he is, and his hair is dark and curly. If people had to ascribe a human race to him, they'd call him Black. Finally, come his tendrils. Six of them sprout from his upper back, shoulders, and flanks (just below his arms) and it almost feels like a misnomer to describe them as tendrils, since they are unusually thick and strong. Despite his intimidating size, there is a gentleness of appearance and manner to Redwood. His eyes are large, dark, and keen: always watching, sometimes almost unsettlingly but never threateningly. He has a long face with a strong jaw, but fairly soft features. He most often wears either a gentle smile or a slight, determined scowl, but most of his expressions seem somewhat muted.
In terms of clothing, he wears what used to be basketball shoes, since they're the only ones he's found that'll fit his abnormally large feet. They've been patched, strengthened, and modified so much that they're scarcely recognizable anymore. He wears loose deep green shorts over black leggings that only make it about 2/3 of the way down his shins. His upperwear has been modified with holes for his tendrils. It consists of a green Timberland t-shirt with the logo in the center of his chest. Unusually, the t-shirt actually fits him. The ensemble is completed by the pair of black fingerless cycling gloves that he wears, with tough plastic guards over the knuckles. On colder days, he swaps the shorts for jeans and supplements the t-shirt with a brown leather bomber jacket.
In general, Redwood doesn't see much need to dress all that differently whether he's in combat or out of it, though he sometimes wears a motorcycle vest, along with elbow and knee pads in the former. His mask is a simple, practical thing: mostly brown leather and a pair of hoses leading to a backpack with an air canister and a few other useful items (like a first aid kit, multi-tool, and a knife) inside.
In terms of clothing, he wears what used to be basketball shoes, since they're the only ones he's found that'll fit his abnormally large feet. They've been patched, strengthened, and modified so much that they're scarcely recognizable anymore. He wears loose deep green shorts over black leggings that only make it about 2/3 of the way down his shins. His upperwear has been modified with holes for his tendrils. It consists of a green Timberland t-shirt with the logo in the center of his chest. Unusually, the t-shirt actually fits him. The ensemble is completed by the pair of black fingerless cycling gloves that he wears, with tough plastic guards over the knuckles. On colder days, he swaps the shorts for jeans and supplements the t-shirt with a brown leather bomber jacket.
In general, Redwood doesn't see much need to dress all that differently whether he's in combat or out of it, though he sometimes wears a motorcycle vest, along with elbow and knee pads in the former. His mask is a simple, practical thing: mostly brown leather and a pair of hoses leading to a backpack with an air canister and a few other useful items (like a first aid kit, multi-tool, and a knife) inside.
| PERSONALITY |
Helpful - Easygoing - Determined - Judgmental - Ferocious
| GROWTH/CAMOUFLAGE |
Tendrils: He has six of them and, as mentioned earlier, they are unusually thick and strong, perhaps as a side effect off Redwood's size. At a slow rate, they produce a sticky sap that can inhibit the movement of enemies if well-placed, adhere things to walls, and temporarily seal wounds and prevent blood loss. He uses them for a variety of purposes, their long reach and adhesive sap allowing him to control, impede, and delay enemies when in combat, setting them up for teammates or his own weapons. Enough of his natural adhesive will allow equipment and allies to hang from walls or ceilings, but he does not produce it very quickly and he is too heavy to make use off this ability himself in any case. Redwood also has some medical training and pairs this with his gift to provide emergency care when necessary. When not being used, he often wraps his tendrils around his midsection and over his shoulders.
| BACKGROUND |
Redwood's history is largely a mystery and you get the sense that either he would like it to stay that way or perhaps he does not remember it clearly himself. He has mentioned having associated with a small, independent human colony in the past, though he hasn't spoken of why he is no longer there. In general, one gets a sense of goodness and kindness from this sidhe, but purposeful distance, almost as if he fears attachment. The intensity with which he approaches the Lost certainly seems to stand in contrast to his generally laid-back nature.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
- 🙖 Specialized Combat: Redwood is quite skilled in mid-range combat, often using his tendrils like an extra set of longer limbs to hold enemies off, strike at them, catch allies, help push off for mighty jumps, and anchor himself against recoil and pushback.
🙖 Skewers: When in combat, Redwood wears sharp steel skewers on the tips of four of his tendrils. These can cut reasonably well, but are specialized in stabbing and pinning. Generally, it takes at least two of them to really hinder and enemy, and all four to definitively hold one down. That sets him up to deliver the coup de grace with...
🙖 Fat Mac: his trusty .950 cal rifle. Cumbersome, deafening, and dangerous, this colossal weapon can deliver a blast capable of piercing walls, concrete or cinder blocks, and vehicles. What it'll do to flesh and blood is... grisly. Lost might be immortal, but they'll be... out of action for a while after eating a round from this monster.
🙖 First Aid: It's almost obligatory for sidhe to be healers, and Redwood is no exception. He carries a kit in his backpack and can deal with all sorts of minor to moderate illnesses and injuries. He can also seal and staunch wounds with his sap.
🙖 Kinder Surprise: These are fragile ceramic vessels that look like large eggs and are kept in a padded container within a side pocket of his backpack. In fact, they are filled with Redwood's sticky sap (collected over an extended period of time) and have a very low-yield contact explosive inside. When they land, they shatter and spray their contents over a roughly two-to-three meter radius.
🙖 Intimidation: It might not be much good against the Lost, but Redwood's towering height and powerful tendrils can definitely lend him an intimidating air when he wants to cow uncooperative types. Generally, he is loath to use this, but if it saves him or his allies a fight, then he will.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
- 🙓 Saviour Complex: Redwood will often try to take on too much at once, put himself in danger, or step in to handle things that other people have under control out of misplaced concern. One gets the sense that he is used to being the protector of those much weaker than him as opposed to a member of a legitimate team, and he may need to be reined in.
🙓 Limited Stamina: When going all out, the big guy tires pretty quickly. He is best saved for an opening salvo, critical moments, and a big finishing move, and will almost always need a rest to recuperate if he overexerts himself. Of course, due to his saviour complex, he will rarely be open about this and it usually needs to be inferred.
🙓 Precious Ammo: It takes quite a while to replenish his Kinder Surprises when he uses them, so he can sometimes be a bit stingy with those. Similarly, ammunition for Fat Mac is heavy, so he doesn't carry too much at any given time. It's also hard to come by, so he tends to use it sparingly.
🙓 Boy Scout: While he can be ferocious in combat against the Lost, he tends to really hold back against other enemies.
🙓 Pollution: When exposed to it for extended periods or inn high dosage, this can prove lethal to him. There aren't many places where Redwood can safely remove his mask.
| NOTES |
- I'd love to include some better reference and thematic pics, but it hasn't been easy finding any.
- In terms of his combat role, I view him as fairly versatile. To use gaming terminology, he's mostly mid-range crowd control, with some healing and one big occasional nuke. It's tempting to view him as a tank, and he's reasonably tough, but doing so in all but the most desperate of situations would be a mistake.
L Y S A N D R A T R A N
| AGE |
Lysandra is 32 years old.
| APPEARANCE |
The first (and often only) thing that people remember about Lysandra is her wheelchair. It's a simple, sturdy, lightweight manual chair and, as a paraplegic of four years, she uses it from dawn to dusk in order get around. Otherwise, she's a fairly baseline human: a vaguely pretty Asian woman in her early thirties with tanned skin, dark hair and eyes, and a businesslike bearing. She is not and never has been much for dressing up and would rather dress for functionality and comfort. Layering is a rule to live by. It's easier to take something off than to put it on. To that end, her usual attire consists of a light t-shirt over a sports bra, jeans or leggings, and knee or thigh high socks. She'll usually toss on some flats even though shoes are irrelevant. Sturdy gloves - usually fingerless to allow her to work with touch screens - are more important, as they protect her hands from blisters. On colder days, She'll complete the outfit with a jacket. She has two and both have a striped patch in mint, seafoam green, and white sewn onto them: the flag of the settlement that she used to live in and where her brother still resides. Finally, though she rarely actually wears it as intended (because that'd be both inconvenient and goofy), is the supergirl medallion that she received from her mother as a girl. It's usually tucked into her bag or a jacket pocket as a kind of good luck charm. She tells herself that she doesn't believe in 'luck'; everything is probability. Yet, on the day when she broke her back, she didn't have it on her.
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking shoes, and athletic leggings with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
As a human, Lysandra doesn't require a mask, and this gives her one less thing to worry about, especially when she goes into the field. Of course, that doesn't happen often anymore. Much to her chagrin, the post-apocalypse isn't very wheelchair accessible. When fieldwork is necessary for research or intel, though, she brings along some sturdy cycling gloves, trades her handbag for a large backpack with seemingly endless pockets, and usually swaps out her indoor wheels for some with thicker, grippier treads, as well as larger front casters. In the past, she'd often wear motorcycle armour, hiking shoes, and athletic leggings with elbow and knee pads. It was all about getting as deep into trouble spots as possible and quickness and durability were paramount. Nowadays, Lysandra usually forgoes anything that could hamper her already-limited mobility unless it clearly and directly helps her get more fieldwork done. Her primary goal is maximizing her returns on those brief outdoor sojourns and minimizing the physical liability that she represents. If enemies ever succeed in actually reaching her, she knows that the jig is pretty much up. Still, she's held onto her body armour, just in case. It's sturdy, lightweight, and can go under her jacket. She still has the knee pads too. Maybe she can't actually feel a knock to the knee, but it's also not like they'll hamper her movement. Besides, she kind of slips things in behind them. Why oh why do women not get usable pockets in most of their clothing!?
| PERSONALITY |
Daring ~ Unsentimental ~ Hyper-aware ~ Bitter ~ Clever ~ Assertive
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
At her worst, Lysandra can come across as a 'bossy know-it-all science lady'. She can seem cutting, acerbic, and pushy. A lot of this, however, is just frustration and barely-suppressed insecurity. The significant gulf between what she knows needs to be done and what she can accomplish on her own is an open wound, regularly picked at by circumstance. The other major factor is simply that she is used to being the smartest person in the room and it grates upon her to entertain other people's stupid ideas when they could be making progress towards their (read: her) goals instead.
That said, she's a genuinely decent human being beneath it all. Lysandra is an absolute encyclopedia of both general and esoteric knowledge. She is a human calculator, a problem solver, has an amazing eye for detail, and is a natural-born storyteller. She is genuinely one of the most interesting people who you will ever talk to and, on her better days, her cutting wit, self-deprecating humor, and straight-faced delivery can have you - instead of her - rolling with laughter.
| BACKGROUND |
Lysandra's mother was an engineer. Her father was a biologist. Both were born before the Great Collapse and were not young parents (forty one and forty, respectively). Her childhood was full of diligent work and research. It was full of movement and stories while on the move. She learned about the world that was: the great open green fields and forests, the safe, cozy homes, and the shining universities: beacons of learning and opportunity. Most of all, however, she accrued skills: she studied the nature of living and unliving things with her father. She learned the wonders of robotics, sensors, computers, and mechanics from her mother. Instead of playing with lego, she handbuilt her first drone when she was seven. The family settled in the midsized and fiercely independent outpost of Fresh Haven. Lysandra and her slightly older brother, Daniel, grew up and their parents aged, so they took on increasingly important roles as scouts, field researchers, and even fighters. In particular, she was stealthy and an excellent scout and climber, with a natural aptitude for surveying and understanding her surroundings, using them to her advantage.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had once been her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
For all of the world's dangers, her father fell prey to a flu in his 61st year. Daniel, who'd become more of a soldier than his sister, was gone for long periods of time and their mother increasingly withdrew into tinkering with her dwindling supplies. Lysandra, telling herself that her mother's work was valuable in more ways than one, began roving ever further afield in search of parts. She conducted her own research while out there. It was frightening, but challenging. In some ways, it was invigorating, and better than just sitting in some hole waiting to die. She begun to feel as if she could get to the bottom of how and why mistle worked, the role of the Sidhe, and how the Earth might be healed. She begun to feel as if she had some agency in her life. Further she went, scouting ahead with her drones, infrared sensors, and binoculars. She saw and found things that most humans couldn't. She knew a little bit of martial arts and learned more. She taught herself how to shoot. There were close calls - hairbreadth escapes from death - and tense moments. She hid out, she climbed, leapt, and scampered from one safe place to another, and then plunged back into the lab after days or weeks out in the world. Her parents' stories of the years before she was born had instilled in her a wariness towards revenants. Their kind had feasted on humans, once. The only thing needed for them to return to it and become Lost was a short period of time without consuming human blood.
Her mother was in ill health when Lysandra went out that day, but she tried to put aside her worries. At a steady jog, she made quick progress through the well-mapped regions near Fresh Haven, fists clenched around the straps of her backpack and breath wispy and white in the cool air. Perhaps she was preoccupied with thoughts of her family. Perhaps she was just careless, but she ran smack into a pack of Lost. She took one out of the fight with a well-aimed shot to the head, but then there was no option but to do what she did best: run, climb, and hide. She dropped her backpack and took off, through the labyrinth of a ruined city. After what seemed like forever, two more fell off the pace. This was a bad situation - worse than the usual 'bad situations' - but she had escaped many times before and would again. Thirst clawed at her parched throat but one final Lost - a monster of a man - stayed doggedly on her tail. Further up a crumbling building she went, leaping nimbly from sagging staircase to rotting floor to support beam, and he started to falter. The jump is still burned into her memory: over a gap in a staircase. It was the type that you dismiss in your head as a 'ninety percent chance I'll land it'. She'd made ones like it plenty of times before and she doubted her pursuer would be able to follow. She'd be safe. The thing is, if you roll the dice enough times, the odds will catch up to you eventually. The floor had looked solid on the other side but it wasn't. It gave way instantly and Lysandra can still recall with absolute clarity those two seconds where her stomach just folded in on itself in terror. Then she hit.
She was told that a handful of revenants who'd been surveying the area had heard her gunshots. As a gesture of goodwill, they'd rescued her and brought her back to Fresh Haven but, in the weeks and months following that fateful fall, as people kept telling her that she was a 'warrior' and would surely walk again, as she had to relearn how to do basically everything, and as her elderly mother cared for her as if she were still a child, Lysandra began to wish that they hadn't. Mother passed away eight months after the accident and, officially, the strain of having to care for her grown daughter hadn't been a contributing cause. Daniel stepped away from his duties temporarily and she moved into his unit with his family, but it wasn't much more accessible than hers. The entire settlement was built in what had once been a vertical farm crisscrossed with staircases, scaffolds, and prefab walls that had once been her playground but that now meant that she couldn't go much of anywhere without assistance. Wracked with guilt and regret, Lysandra threw herself into her engineering pursuits, sitting in front of a work table for hours each day, hammering away at her mother's machines, digging through the endless piles of scrap that she had accumulated on her sojourns, and constructing drones to map, guard, and scout, water filters to help grow food and provide drink, and devices to supplement her broken body and make her remaining family's lives easier.
Soon, Daniel could not afford any more time away from his duties and so her nephew, niece, and sister-in-law became her protectors. This, Lysandra could not permit any longer. As she had hoped, she'd rediscovered a sense of purpose - an imperfect one, for it still hurt so much to not be whole - but enough to push her forward once more. This place, however, was holding her back. She was holding her family back. The revenants had saved her. She had judged them too harshly, she decided, on the basis of childhood fears and stories from people who were no longer alive. She was, though, and saw little point to living for herself alone. There were vanishingly few people with skillsets like hers and, even if she couldn't conduct much of her own fieldwork anymore, her skills were valuable - key, even. With the sort of bold decisiveness that had defined much of her life and a new unsentimentality that she had developed more recently, she bid farewell to Fresh Haven and joined civilization proper. She has been here for three years since, in an uneasy sort of alliance that allows her to shed some of her grating dependency while saddling her with more of a different nature. This arrangement may yet allow her to reach her goals, however: an end which justifies any means.
| SKILLS / EQUIPMENT |
💡Bigbrain: Lysandra is just honest-to-goodness smart. She seems to regularly be a couple of (figurative) steps ahead of everybody else in most situations. She has a wealth of scientific and practical knowledge that can benefit her allies.
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if - God forbid - she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
💡Mechanically Inclined: If there's a macguffin needed and anything that could possibly count as a tool, you can count on Lysandra to provide said macguffin, one way or another.
💡Tools of the Trade: The 'bossy know-it-all science lady' caries a backpack of wonders. It contains a first-aid kit, multipurpose mask, dehydrated food, flashlights, thermal packs, wiring, glue, screwdrivers, pliers, and a dozen other travel-adapted, lightweight, well-machined tools that used to be her mother's. If you need something, chances are that she has it. She can also patch you up pretty well, though she definitely doesn't give much thought to pain management.
💡Crack Shot: Lysandra knows how to shoot - by God does she know how to shoot. She can usually calculate things like bullet drop, wind effects, and ricochet angle too. If forced out into the field, she carries one pistol in her bag (or on her lap if - God forbid - she finds herself in a hot zone), and a spare duct-taped to the underside of her wheelchair close to one of her wheels. She can pull it out or fire it unexpectedly with a quick sleight-of-hand when it looks like she's just reaching down to wheel herself.
💡Human Shopping Cart: It seems like a small thing but, as long as someone's willing to help push her, Lysandra can easily carry a couple hundred pounds worth of equipment, specimens, a bound and gagged prisoner, or even a lazy or injured ally. Revenants don't recover immediately, after all.
💡The Immortals: Four robotic helpers serve as Lysandra's agents both when she stays behind and in the uncommon instances when she goes into the field. They can operate either autonomously with limited AI capabilities (results may... vary when used this way) or be controlled one at a time via joystick and VR headset. She's working on a neural interface, but 'working on' is very much the operative term here. Loosely themed after the Four Immortals from Vietnamese legend, her agents are:
- Mountain Man: A multilegged tumbling and walking robot with a flexible body about the size of a small cat, Mountain Man is able to traverse almost any terrain, slip into small spaces, climb, dig, and perform basic scouting, rescue, delivery, and sample return operations. He has a taser, tranquilizer, and scissors too.
- Marsh Sage: Primarily defensive in nature, Marsh Sage is a blindingly quick, maneuverable, and quiet coaxial quadcopter drone that can lay smokescreens, strobe blinding lights, and dispense nerve, mustard, and other poisonous gases. It is also quite handy for spying and scouting.
- Iron Horse: A series of wheels on articulated arms, this is Lysandra's supplementary mobility aid and latches onto her wheelchair. It can propel her, hands-free, at high speeds, stabilize and protect her from recoil or being pushed against her will, clamp itself magnetically to metallic surfaces, and boost her over curbs or flights of one to three steps. It can also act as a bridge, platform, or supply carrier on its own.
- Sky Princess: Lysandra's main offensive tool, Sky Princess is a large purple hexacopter drone that can lay down smokescreens, fire paralytic poison darts, release high-frequency sonic blasts that are extremely painful and induce headaches, dizziness, and nausea, and launch micro-rockets similar to the 'Whistling Birds' from Lucasfilm's The Mandalorian.
- Unless they don't have to go far, she cannot bring all of these with her at once. For extended missions, the maximum is three or sometimes two. Only Mountain Man and Marsh Sage are small enough to be carried comfortably on her person. Sky Princess can be too, in a pinch.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES |
👩🦽Headset: When directly piloting one of the Immortals or her other creations beyond her sightline, Lysandra wears a VR headset linked to the drone's on-board camera. This leaves her detached from her immediate surroundings and vulnerable to attack unless she is safely away from a hot zone (where she knows that she should stay) or has an ally to watch her back.
👩🦽No Signal: Ninety percent of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in a dangerous area - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
👩🦽No Signal: Ninety percent of her utility is linked to her Four Immortals. If they stray out of signal range (about 3 miles or 5 kilometers) or their signal is jammed somehow and they're forced to operate autonomously, she is much less effective and - if she is brave/foolish enough to be in a dangerous area - much more vulnerable.
👩🦽Limited Charge: While she carries extra battery packs and a solar panel charger, these can only do so much. Once her Immortals are out of power, they're deadweight until they can get more. The same goes for the offensive ones' ammunition. She has a few refills, but extended missions can be...challenging.
👩🦽Obstinate: Lysandra is used to knowing better. She will often dig in and insist upon the rightness of her opinions and preferred courses of action. She tends to aggressively prioritize her projects and ideas unless yours align with them.
👩🦽Fragile: At the end of the day, for all of the tech that she carries, the 'bossy know-it-all science lady' is human. She is not as physically capable as revenants and sidhe, which is compounded even further by her disability. Lysandra is painfully reminded every time that she watches a revenant recover from either fatal or crippling wounds that she is unable to do so herself. She gets one body to play the game of life with. Whatever happens to it (including death) sticks.
👩🦽Paraplegic: As a paraplegic, Lysandra has no feeling or movement below her waistline. This has the following effects:
- She needs to use a wheelchair for mobility and, even with its assistance, is severely limited in this regard compared to able-bodied people.
- While quite quick over flat ground and in open space, and with excellent stamina on flats or downhills, she is very terrain dependent.
- Things that we would not even think to consider, such as sand, gravel, curbs, cobblestones, and warped or cracked pavement cause Lysandra significant difficulty.
- Routes have to be carefully planned: shallow downhills maximized, extended or steep uphills and downhills minimized, and obstacles, rough terrain, and climbing avoided.
- She is incapable of strafing to the side or jumping. The closest that she can manage to the latter is to pop a wheelie.
- While pushing herself, her hands are occupied, making her unable to move and shoot or move and pilot any of the Immortals.
- She has a lower sightline than other people, takes up a larger footprint, and cannot squeeze through small spaces.
- If somehow separated from her wheelchair, Lysandra isn't realistically going much of anywhere on her own.
| NOTES |
- Lysandra is, low key, a huge science fiction nerd, particularly with regards to Star Trek. She gets that from both of her parents. They had a flash drive with old recordings and she used to watch them as a kid. She has, with only slight self-consciousness, told people to 'Live long and prosper'. She also has a soft spot for comics, even though most of them are kind of low brow. She read them as a kid and those were happy times.
- She appreciates some good Pho. Seriously, ethnic foods are a dying thing. She's trying to learn how to cook, but... revenants don't really appreciate human food all that much.
- She still strongly dislikes having to give her blood up for revenants. For pragmatic reasons, she'll do it, but it's just a reminder of her (and other humans') helplessness compared to them and it rankles. She sees it for what it is: an increasingly unsustainable practice.
- Lysandra's had romance in her life before. She had a couple of boyfriends, years ago in Fresh Haven, but they bored her before long. One, in particular, wanted to settle down, but she has always made it clear that she does not want to have children. Not only would it take time away from her responsibilities as a researcher, she worries that she'd be unable to properly care for them and that bringing a child into a world like this, just to live in constant fear and be food for others, would be grossly irresponsible. She tells herself that she doesn't like children anyways: they're loud, disruptive, and annoying. She'd be lying, though. Secretly, she's a big kid at heart. That was half the reason she used to go gallivanting around the ruined cities, running, jumping, and climbing.
- She loves the animals that nobody else does... except for frogs. She cut far too many of those open as a girl in the name of science to not be unnerved by them now.
- I'd love to find a more anime-like reference pic, but... resources are scarce on that front.
- Four years on from her accident, Lysandra has more or less adjusted to her altered reality and reached an understanding of what her abilities and limitations are. However, twenty-eight years of life experience before then have hardwired into her an approach of bold, independent action, a boundless curiosity best satiated firsthand, and the self-image of someone who can handle herself and get out of tough scrapes. Rationally, she knows that much of that is no longer practical, but hanging back, being cautious, and letting others do the work still causes occasional moments of dissonance.
Both of these characters are NPCs from The Hourglass Order, a fantasy magic school/mystery RPG that I'm GMing set in an original world with its own extensive lore. The first, Jomurr, has a fairly important role to play in the story along with his three fellow NPC students, Marlijn, Penny, and Manfred. In a lot of ways, he represents a departure for me: he's young and kind of mouthy. One archetype I've noticed that we don't usually see Black characters filling is the 'snooty noble', so I decided to make him one of those. There's depth there, too, though. He's more than he appears to be. Joshe Intaba is a bit of a wise old master type, but he's also got an irreverent streak to him and isn't in for all of the politics of his office.
Jomurr Ikon III
I don't think I'm better than other people. I know it.
16 | Male | Belzaggic | Noble | 8.26
P E R S O N A L I T Y
❖ Confident
❖ Competitive
❖ Shameless
❖ Showman
❖ Snobbish
❖ Competitive
❖ Shameless
❖ Showman
❖ Snobbish
Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and the mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is reactionary and a response to the threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.
L A N G U A G E S
Belzaggic: native
Avincian: fluent
Joruban: fluent
Perrench: fluent
Revidian: passable
Azjulish: passable
C H A R A C T E R A P P E A R A N C E
Look at the pic. There's your answer. He dresses in light, loose cloths, like most Belzaggic people. He'd show off his muscles if he had a bunch, but he's still a bit scrawny. Impeccably dressed, though. He just screams 'noble'.
T H E G I F T
Jomurr is a prodigy with the Gift and has the goal of either becoming an Arch-Zeno someday or returning to his house and usurping his firstborn brother to rule over the Duchy of Zowenga in his stead. Jomurr practices with all schools and knows the fundamentals of all. However, his favourite is Chemical and he's learning Atomic from a Zeno hired to be his tutor. He also has a thing for Kinetic because it's just so damned fun tossing plebs out your castle window with but a flick of your finger. Alas, this school only allows for two specializations. He should have his father talk to the Zenos about that. Arcane is pretty dope too. Binding? Hah! Binding magic isn't used for offense, and who needs healing? You have some pleb to follow you and heal you, of course!
B A C K G R O U N D
Jomurr's a second son and he has complexes. He's powerful, rich, and handsome, but he's a second son. His father is an arch-conservative duke under Emperor Jobanzaggah IV and that mindset has rubbed off on him. To some degree, his snobbishness is performative and a reaction to the perceived threat of the other classes' rise. A lot of it stems from a genuine belief that Dami chose people like him to govern, though. Jomurr looks at himself and rightly perceives that he's better at magic than 99.9% of the population. He's healthy, he's smart (even if it's more due to a good education), he's good-looking, and he's physically capable, perhaps even more so as he gets older. In a sense, he feels as if Ersand'Enise is a battleground where the lesser classes are trying to challenge the nobles' right to rule and that, if they win, the consequences for society will be genuinely disastrous. It is also a place where he can let loose. He can learn and unleash his full potential without restraint or compunction, and he can prove himself the better heir to his father. Zemon's RAS is only 7.82, after all.
M O T I V A T I O N
"I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was!"
In all seriousness, see the above bit on 'background'. Basically, like everyone else, Jomurr's here to become the person he's going to be for the rest of his life. He's also here to flex, though.
I N V E N T O R Y
Tons of outfits, a coinpurse full of Kizans, Coronas, and some Neskals because that's what all of the cool kids are paying with. There's no bigger flex than rolling up to some merchant, purchasing a papaya, and asking if he can make change for your Great Neskal. Jomurr also carries the signet ring of his house and a Teddy Lion that he sometimes sleeps with.
S T R E N G T H S & S K I L L S
❖ Magic prodigy
❖ Quick and athletic
❖ High noble and well-connected. He can pull some strings when he needs to.
❖ Quick with words, usually.
❖ Good liar
❖ Quick and athletic
❖ High noble and well-connected. He can pull some strings when he needs to.
❖ Quick with words, usually.
❖ Good liar
W E A K N E S S E S & F L A W S
❖ Honestly just kind of a jerk
❖ Insecure, deep down
❖ Overconfident
❖ Not quite as quick with words as he thinks he is
❖ Does not handle failure well initially
❖ Insecure, deep down
❖ Overconfident
❖ Not quite as quick with words as he thinks he is
❖ Does not handle failure well initially
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
Unless they're from Belzagg and/or a high noble from at least a neighbouring region, other students are unlikely to know that Jomurr is a second son.
Colour Code: 800080
Zeno Joshe Intaba
"A Zeno's business is the Gift... and only the Gift."
64 | Male | Medrilaner | Noble | 8.86
D E S C R I P T I O N
Joshe Intaba is a living legend and one of the most powerful mages alive today. Master of the Magical Pentad, Hero of the Nashorn, Warden of the Lantern of Shune-Zept, and Lion of Medrilan, he is in possession of a virtually unparalleled resume as a practitioner of the Gift. Yet, for all of his accomplishments and sublime talent, he is a mere Zeno, as he has been for the past thirty years.
Joshe has never liked politics. He has never cared to play them. He believes strongly that a Zeno should be a practitioner of the magical arts and only the magical arts. To this end, he has refused every honour and promotion that has come his way but a handful that he found to be meaningful. While many have sought to garner his support and use his renown for their own ends, he always replies with a sad, friendly smile and a tired shake of his head. "I am sorry, friend, but it cannot be so. A Zeno's business is the Gift, and only the Gift. I wish you luck." It is said that he sees with far more than just his eyes, and that he sees all. Many feel themselves judged in his presence and found wanting, but there is never any malice or disdain.
While others have risen further and faster on the strength of their ambitions, Joshe has been content to remain a teacher, researcher, and - in times of trouble - arguably the academy's mightiest weapon. He eschews the ostentatious silks, laces, and jewelry of many of his fellow mages, in favour of a simple dark robe of excellent cut and quality. In his younger years, he was known for his boisterous celebrations, generosity, and many lovers (including the current Zenith, some whisper), yet he is in every way now, a wise and wizened master, if not with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
Ironically, his hard stance on the duties of a Zeno and his steadfast dedication to his craft has grown this old Medrilaner a sizable following - one that he has never sought to leverage. The Academy, too, has recognized this. He is considered their foremost active instructor. To be apprenticed to Zeno Intaba is generally considered an honour and a privilege reserved for only the most gifted and promising of students. Yet, such is his cachet that he is given free reign to choose his own pupils, and his choices often raise eyebrows, as do his methods. Yet, none can argue with his results.
Both of these character sheets were submitted for the same RPG (which I was really into): Oh My Gods. They were all descendants of deities. Sadly, this one didn't last long. The GM was cool but didn't provide much in the way of guidance or IC worldbuilding so I got kind of lost and never really found a footing. Matthew was kind of an evolved version of my much earlier Rintor: modern world, older, and less edgy. I really wish I'd had the chance to play him. Selena was also older than your average character: approaching middle age and with a family, but she was a badass. I also tried to make her ethnic (Latinx) and religious (Catholic) identities relevant to her character.
Name: Matthew Roderick-Wright
Gender: Male
Age: 68
Appearance: Matthew is an older man of mixed African American and Caucasian ancestry, still fit and in good shape into his late sixties. He has a full head of thick grey hair, kept close-cropped and professionally short. He often dresses in jeans, a golf shirt - always tucked in - and a comfortable pair of running shoes. He can often be found wearing a US Army pin and sometimes a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
Sexuality: This is even a question?!
Godly ancestor: Mars
Son/daughter or further removed: Grandson
Relationship with godly ancestor: Matthew grew up knowing of his unique ancestry and sought to live up to it. In the jungles of Vietnam, he was fueled by thoughts of doing this legacy proud. As a soldier, he excelled in waging war and indeed, Mars looked with pride upon this mortal grandson of his. Shying away from the less... martial aspects of his ancestor, he remained in the army following the end of the war, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel and commanding an armoured division during Operation Desert Storm. Having retired with full honours a handful of years ago, he decided to pursue his interest in his family history by moving to New Celestia and meeting with Mars for the first time. There was no emotional outpouring - just a heartfelt handshake and a long conversation between two professional military men who shared a deep respect for each other - exactly the way that Matthew had always pictured the encounter.
Relationship with mortal family: Matthew's parents are long gone, though he is in occasional contact with his brother Lawrence, who is a corn farmer in southern Illinois. The two of them go to see Cubs games together at least a couple of times per year, and Matthew occasionally dotes on his great nephews and nieces, though he thinks that they're being raised to be soft and indulged and that a bit of discipline would've done them good. He has no wife or children of his own, though he was briefly married to a woman named Costanza in the early eighties. His stepson, Roger, was a disappointment to him, and the two of them do not speak to each other at all.
Powers: At age 68, Matthew is still absurdly fast and strong, and has 20/20 vision and excellent hearing. He knows his way around multiple types of weapons and can figure out how to best use them instinctively. He is incredibly tough and difficult to injure in spite of his advanced age, and possesses mildly superhuman endurance. He has a natural tactical acumen that extends past the battlefield into virtually any situation involving conflict. Matthew also has a green thumb, but has never really developed this talent. He keeps a nice cactus garden, he supposes.
Personality: Matthew is a tough, no-nonsense retired veteran and a career military man. While he is deeply socially conservative in most ways, he is a firm backer of civil rights and a quiet but unflinching warrior in the fight against racism. He believes strongly that attitudes help to shape reality and as a result, you will never hear him drop an 'N-bomb' under any circumstances. Matthew has an oldschool sense of honour and duty, but he can also be aggressive and a bit of a bully. He is used to a chain of command and does best when part of one. Matthew will not complain about what he sees as 'petty concerns', nor will he 'stand for any special snowflake bullshit'. As a result, he holds a lot inside, and he's a bit of a lonely man with his share of regrets, standing on his pride and military service as the sun begins to set on his life.
Bio: Matthew and his younger brother Lawrence were born during the baby boom in Chicago to an African-American mother and a mixed-race father who had served with distinction during the second world war but been prevented from rising above the rank of captain due to his race. His parents both worked: his father in a factory, and his mother doing room cleaning at a hotel. Matthew wasn't old enough to remember much of the first phase of the civil rights movement, but he still remembers where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the death of Martin Luther King.
Matthew was an average student during his high school days, but he was an incredible natural athlete, especially as a football running back. Only a fiery and violent disposition and a lack of discipline prevented him from being offered multiple tier one scholarships. In any event, he still ended up playing in the NCAA for a year before the Vietnam War draft was held and he was called to service. Though he considered refusing, like his hero Muhammad Ali, he decided to answer the call in order to honour his father, who had fallen ill and been forced to take a leave of absence from his job.
In the jungles of Vietnam, Matthew truly came to life for the first time. He was cited for numerous acts of personal bravery well above and beyond the call of duty. He proved to be excellent at sniffing out ambushes ahead of time, thwarting enemy plans, and extricating himself and his fellow soldiers from impossible situations. It wasn't long before the medals, commendations, and promotions came flooding in. Whatever he may have felt about the flimsy justifications for the war, Matthew pushed it all aside. His job was elimination of the enemy in the name of his country, and he carried it out with loyalty and gusto. The conclusion of the war was something that he had seen coming, but at this point, he was already firmly entrenched in the military life. During the relatively conflict-free eighties, (despite the incendiary rhetoric being tossed about between cold war rivals) he made an attempt to settle down with the widow of one of his Vietnam buddies who he'd kept in touch with. However, her teenaged son was a delinquent, and Matthew's attempts to set the boy straight drove a wedge between them and resulted in the marriage failing after only a couple of years.
After that, he dedicated his life to serving his country, and did so as a captain and then a lieutenant colonel in the conflicts of the eighties, nineties, and early twenty-first century. That there was something more than human blood running through his veins, Matthew was certain, and he'd been told the family secret by his father upon his passing from cancer at age 56. Upon his retirement, Matthew decided to pursue this interest all of the way to New Celestia, half expecting it to have been little more than some elaborate last joke of his father's.
Gender: Male
Age: 68
Appearance: Matthew is an older man of mixed African American and Caucasian ancestry, still fit and in good shape into his late sixties. He has a full head of thick grey hair, kept close-cropped and professionally short. He often dresses in jeans, a golf shirt - always tucked in - and a comfortable pair of running shoes. He can often be found wearing a US Army pin and sometimes a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
Sexuality: This is even a question?!
Godly ancestor: Mars
Son/daughter or further removed: Grandson
Relationship with godly ancestor: Matthew grew up knowing of his unique ancestry and sought to live up to it. In the jungles of Vietnam, he was fueled by thoughts of doing this legacy proud. As a soldier, he excelled in waging war and indeed, Mars looked with pride upon this mortal grandson of his. Shying away from the less... martial aspects of his ancestor, he remained in the army following the end of the war, rising to the rank of lieutenant colonel and commanding an armoured division during Operation Desert Storm. Having retired with full honours a handful of years ago, he decided to pursue his interest in his family history by moving to New Celestia and meeting with Mars for the first time. There was no emotional outpouring - just a heartfelt handshake and a long conversation between two professional military men who shared a deep respect for each other - exactly the way that Matthew had always pictured the encounter.
Relationship with mortal family: Matthew's parents are long gone, though he is in occasional contact with his brother Lawrence, who is a corn farmer in southern Illinois. The two of them go to see Cubs games together at least a couple of times per year, and Matthew occasionally dotes on his great nephews and nieces, though he thinks that they're being raised to be soft and indulged and that a bit of discipline would've done them good. He has no wife or children of his own, though he was briefly married to a woman named Costanza in the early eighties. His stepson, Roger, was a disappointment to him, and the two of them do not speak to each other at all.
Powers: At age 68, Matthew is still absurdly fast and strong, and has 20/20 vision and excellent hearing. He knows his way around multiple types of weapons and can figure out how to best use them instinctively. He is incredibly tough and difficult to injure in spite of his advanced age, and possesses mildly superhuman endurance. He has a natural tactical acumen that extends past the battlefield into virtually any situation involving conflict. Matthew also has a green thumb, but has never really developed this talent. He keeps a nice cactus garden, he supposes.
Personality: Matthew is a tough, no-nonsense retired veteran and a career military man. While he is deeply socially conservative in most ways, he is a firm backer of civil rights and a quiet but unflinching warrior in the fight against racism. He believes strongly that attitudes help to shape reality and as a result, you will never hear him drop an 'N-bomb' under any circumstances. Matthew has an oldschool sense of honour and duty, but he can also be aggressive and a bit of a bully. He is used to a chain of command and does best when part of one. Matthew will not complain about what he sees as 'petty concerns', nor will he 'stand for any special snowflake bullshit'. As a result, he holds a lot inside, and he's a bit of a lonely man with his share of regrets, standing on his pride and military service as the sun begins to set on his life.
Bio: Matthew and his younger brother Lawrence were born during the baby boom in Chicago to an African-American mother and a mixed-race father who had served with distinction during the second world war but been prevented from rising above the rank of captain due to his race. His parents both worked: his father in a factory, and his mother doing room cleaning at a hotel. Matthew wasn't old enough to remember much of the first phase of the civil rights movement, but he still remembers where he was and what he was doing when he heard about the death of Martin Luther King.
Matthew was an average student during his high school days, but he was an incredible natural athlete, especially as a football running back. Only a fiery and violent disposition and a lack of discipline prevented him from being offered multiple tier one scholarships. In any event, he still ended up playing in the NCAA for a year before the Vietnam War draft was held and he was called to service. Though he considered refusing, like his hero Muhammad Ali, he decided to answer the call in order to honour his father, who had fallen ill and been forced to take a leave of absence from his job.
In the jungles of Vietnam, Matthew truly came to life for the first time. He was cited for numerous acts of personal bravery well above and beyond the call of duty. He proved to be excellent at sniffing out ambushes ahead of time, thwarting enemy plans, and extricating himself and his fellow soldiers from impossible situations. It wasn't long before the medals, commendations, and promotions came flooding in. Whatever he may have felt about the flimsy justifications for the war, Matthew pushed it all aside. His job was elimination of the enemy in the name of his country, and he carried it out with loyalty and gusto. The conclusion of the war was something that he had seen coming, but at this point, he was already firmly entrenched in the military life. During the relatively conflict-free eighties, (despite the incendiary rhetoric being tossed about between cold war rivals) he made an attempt to settle down with the widow of one of his Vietnam buddies who he'd kept in touch with. However, her teenaged son was a delinquent, and Matthew's attempts to set the boy straight drove a wedge between them and resulted in the marriage failing after only a couple of years.
After that, he dedicated his life to serving his country, and did so as a captain and then a lieutenant colonel in the conflicts of the eighties, nineties, and early twenty-first century. That there was something more than human blood running through his veins, Matthew was certain, and he'd been told the family secret by his father upon his passing from cancer at age 56. Upon his retirement, Matthew decided to pursue this interest all of the way to New Celestia, half expecting it to have been little more than some elaborate last joke of his father's.
Name: Selena Casillas Ochoa
Gender: Female
Age: 38
Appearance: Selena is a petite woman with tanned skin, and straight black hair with bangs cut to shoulder length with lazerlike precision. She often wears a full skirt suit in either white or black, with a thin pencil skirt and high heels that add a forbidding click to every step that she takes. He makeup is always perfect and her nails are always painted blood red. On sunny days, she will wear a pair of aviator sunglasses that make it impossible to see her eyes.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Thanatos
Son/daughter or further removed: Daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: It used to be very strained, though it has improved in recent years.
Relationship with mortal family: Selena's mother died during childbirth, and she was raised by her aunt and uncle as if she were one of their many children. In fact, while growing up, virtually nobody knew that she wasn't one of theirs. Time and distance have separated them somewhat, though they're still on good terms and she regularly visits on holidays. Of more consequence are her husband, Michael: the son of a minor Chinese water deity, and her daughter Victoria: a synthesis of the two sets of powers. They are her everything.
Powers: Selena has always been deeply uncomfortable with her powers, since she was raised as a devout Catholic and they come from a Greek death god. The most peculiar of these is her apparent age. Though she's approaching forty, she doesn't look a day past her early twenties. Of course, as the offspring of a death god, she possesses the ability to call people into the afterlife with nothing but a touch and intent. In some circumstances, she can also return them to the mortal plane. However, the ability that has made Selena the most uncomfortable is her power over pain and grief. With but a look and a thought, she can inflict immense amounts of it upon people, but conversely can relieve it. She herself can move at will from one plane to the other. Though while she is in the land of the dead, her body remains behind in the living world and is completely vulnerable. Finally, just like her father, she can sprout a pair of ethereal wings from her back and use them to fly. They look almost exactly like angel's wings except for the fact that they're pitch black.
Personality: Selena is a warm and caring individual by upbringing, but it contrasts with the detached and distant yet coolly benevolent nature bequeathed to her by her father. Every day of her life she remains locked in a struggle against that side of herself. Selena can laugh at a good joke, but she's not very good at making any herself. Her marriage has been blessed with genuine passion as well as understanding and a great many common interests. In most ways, Selena is utterly typical of an upper middle class woman in her late thirties, from her taste in media to her set of interests, to her social and political opinions, which lean conservatively left but little more.
Bio: Selena grew up cursing her father, whoever he was, for leaving. She always assumed that he was some no good gangbanger. She was raised by her aunt and uncle and it was a largely happy upbringing, though they were rather poor and often struggled. Just having her in the room often made them feel better.
Taking this a step further, she got into medicine and after years of schooling, eventually became a doctor. It was right after her graduation that she was told the truth about her birth by her aunt. The old woman was rather skeptical herself, but she had never known her sister to lie. Upon investigating New Celestia herself, Selena was contacted by her father and was horrified to find out that not only was he real, but he was the very epitome of a cool, handsome, emotionless death god. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him, not understanding (or perhaps not wanting to understand) that he saw it as his job to ease pain as well.
Moving her practice to New Celestia, she did well for herself and eventually fell in love with one of her clients, a man named Michael Xu, the son of a Chinese water deity. Before long, they had gotten married and Selena had gotten pregnant. She worked for as long as was medically responsible, before temporarily referring her clients to another physician while she went on maternity leave. Her daughter, Victoria, is the light of her life, and was born seven years ago. That was also the time that her father picked to come back into her life. They talked rather openly about her resentment. He admitted that he had probably inadvertently killed her mother. There was nothing that could be done to change the past. However, they could attempt to have a future.
Gender: Female
Age: 38
Appearance: Selena is a petite woman with tanned skin, and straight black hair with bangs cut to shoulder length with lazerlike precision. She often wears a full skirt suit in either white or black, with a thin pencil skirt and high heels that add a forbidding click to every step that she takes. He makeup is always perfect and her nails are always painted blood red. On sunny days, she will wear a pair of aviator sunglasses that make it impossible to see her eyes.
Sexuality: straight
Godly ancestor: Thanatos
Son/daughter or further removed: Daughter
Relationship with godly ancestor: It used to be very strained, though it has improved in recent years.
Relationship with mortal family: Selena's mother died during childbirth, and she was raised by her aunt and uncle as if she were one of their many children. In fact, while growing up, virtually nobody knew that she wasn't one of theirs. Time and distance have separated them somewhat, though they're still on good terms and she regularly visits on holidays. Of more consequence are her husband, Michael: the son of a minor Chinese water deity, and her daughter Victoria: a synthesis of the two sets of powers. They are her everything.
Powers: Selena has always been deeply uncomfortable with her powers, since she was raised as a devout Catholic and they come from a Greek death god. The most peculiar of these is her apparent age. Though she's approaching forty, she doesn't look a day past her early twenties. Of course, as the offspring of a death god, she possesses the ability to call people into the afterlife with nothing but a touch and intent. In some circumstances, she can also return them to the mortal plane. However, the ability that has made Selena the most uncomfortable is her power over pain and grief. With but a look and a thought, she can inflict immense amounts of it upon people, but conversely can relieve it. She herself can move at will from one plane to the other. Though while she is in the land of the dead, her body remains behind in the living world and is completely vulnerable. Finally, just like her father, she can sprout a pair of ethereal wings from her back and use them to fly. They look almost exactly like angel's wings except for the fact that they're pitch black.
Personality: Selena is a warm and caring individual by upbringing, but it contrasts with the detached and distant yet coolly benevolent nature bequeathed to her by her father. Every day of her life she remains locked in a struggle against that side of herself. Selena can laugh at a good joke, but she's not very good at making any herself. Her marriage has been blessed with genuine passion as well as understanding and a great many common interests. In most ways, Selena is utterly typical of an upper middle class woman in her late thirties, from her taste in media to her set of interests, to her social and political opinions, which lean conservatively left but little more.
Bio: Selena grew up cursing her father, whoever he was, for leaving. She always assumed that he was some no good gangbanger. She was raised by her aunt and uncle and it was a largely happy upbringing, though they were rather poor and often struggled. Just having her in the room often made them feel better.
Taking this a step further, she got into medicine and after years of schooling, eventually became a doctor. It was right after her graduation that she was told the truth about her birth by her aunt. The old woman was rather skeptical herself, but she had never known her sister to lie. Upon investigating New Celestia herself, Selena was contacted by her father and was horrified to find out that not only was he real, but he was the very epitome of a cool, handsome, emotionless death god. She wanted nothing whatsoever to do with him, not understanding (or perhaps not wanting to understand) that he saw it as his job to ease pain as well.
Moving her practice to New Celestia, she did well for herself and eventually fell in love with one of her clients, a man named Michael Xu, the son of a Chinese water deity. Before long, they had gotten married and Selena had gotten pregnant. She worked for as long as was medically responsible, before temporarily referring her clients to another physician while she went on maternity leave. Her daughter, Victoria, is the light of her life, and was born seven years ago. That was also the time that her father picked to come back into her life. They talked rather openly about her resentment. He admitted that he had probably inadvertently killed her mother. There was nothing that could be done to change the past. However, they could attempt to have a future.
A CS for a superhero/metahuman RPG from years ago called 'Collateral Damage'. Sadly, it never got off the ground. I really see China as a way underrepresented nation of origin for RPG characters despite it having such a large population. Maybe people just shy away from the political dimension? I also wanna see some Asian dudes kicking ass, an no, not just because they know martial arts (though that is pretty badass)
Name: Gary Xu
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gary is a middle aged Chinese man of below average height, solidly built but not carrying any extra weight. He’s clean shaven, with lightly tanned skin and a full head of straight black hair worn professionally short and just starting to grey around the temples. His teeth are unexpectedly perfect, and though he sometimes wears glasses, he generally looks somewhat younger than his 41 years – perhaps mid-thirties. He can usually be found wearing a collared shirt in a hue of pastel with the top button undone, as well as a pair of business slacks and dress shoes. When not working, he prefers a pair of comfortable, slightly worn blue jeans and a golf shirt, or a tracksuit with blue Air Jordans. As one might imagine from this description, he’s fit and in good shape.
Age: 41
Alias: (The Indestructible Man)
Alignment: undecided (he is leaning towards hunter, though likely as more of a facilitator)
Identity: Private and recently discovered
History: Gary was born in 1976 in the small mountain village of Wulingyuan in scenic Hunan province, south-central China. It was the final, violent spasm of the Cultural Revolution, and his parents, who were shop owners, were forced into hiding until a degree of sanity returned. In 1982, the nearby mountains were designated a protected area, and over the following decade, morphed into a significant tourist attraction. Gary’s father, a shrewd and intelligent man, soon expanded his business to provide beverages, tours, and lodging. He used his savings to purchase a second home in the nearby city of Zhangjiajie, and the young family split their time between the two places.
With Deng Xiaoping’s open door policy picking up steam, the area witnessed its first western tourists, and Gary’s father was of the opinion that there would be many more to come. The boy was enrolled in English lessons (which were not easy to come by in those days, especially in a provincial backwater), and given the English name that he still carries. Being able to speak the language of international business proved to be a huge boon to his prospects, and as a teenager, he earned a good deal of extra cash acting as a tour guide and bootleg interpreter to curious Americans, Europeans, and others who came to visit.
By the time that Gary was 20, he decided to make the move to Shanghai, a decision fully supported by his parents. The city was on the precipice of a major boom, and both Gary and his father could sense it.
Living on the cheap in rough and ready Baoshan, a former port town in the process of morphing into an industrial suburb, he paid the bills for most of his first year by working construction jobs. During this time, Gary was involved in more than his fair share of barroom brawls, and found that he could take a punch better than anyone else either he or his new friends knew. However, he didn’t remain in his lowly position for long. With international companies beginning to move their manufacturing to Shanghai, his ability to speak passable English was a major asset and he was soon moved to international customer liaison.
1997 was a huge year for Gary, as he was promoted and used his newfound time off to moonlight as a student at Shanghai’s prestigious Jiao Tong University. While he didn’t have the money or education to formally attend, he bought clothes to look the part, became a regular in the library, and managed to sneak into lectures. There, he not only furthered his knowledge of marketing and economics, but he also made many friends from influential backgrounds. Before long, this young group began formulating plans and studying the marketplace, looking for investment opportunities. Gary worked two jobs, scrimped and saved in order to invest along with the others. Also, in the world at large, a couple of important things happened. Firstly, China opened up to Western media, with the box office hit Titanic becoming a massive cultural phenomenon there. Second, and more importantly, the presence of metahumans became publicly known, resulting in intense interest, debate, and official ambivalence.
Gary had little time to worry about the actions of superheroes and supervillains so long as they didn’t affect him. Over the next three years, he and his group of ‘Young Tigers’ invested in ever larger projects, gradually amassing a fortune. Despite having been promoted again, Gary left his job to focus on becoming a fulltime investor. By 2002, he returned to his former employer, having purchased it outright. With an eye to the future, the young tycoon purchased shares in up and coming social media and online banking platforms as well as local distributors of cellphone technologies. His construction firm thrived during the boom and was able to buy out a number of its rivals. He eventually married and became a father of two, willingly paying the government-imposed fine for having a second child. Over the next decade, Gary managed to get his fingers in a number of industries: English training schools, entertainment, banking, and insurance.
It was in the case of the latter that the metahuman issue impacted Gary the most. His firm was among the first to offer metahuman insurance, but this proved to be a difficult and unpredictable field, prone to losing money. Working closely with the government, he pioneered a public-private approach that combined compensation with both market prospecting and law enforcement. On a personal level, Gary was deeply disturbed by much of what he witnessed, becoming convinced that human beings with such power were inevitably bound to misuse it even if their intentions were good.
Gary himself had become something of a renaissance man by the time that he celebrated his fortieth birthday. He spoke seven languages, was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Jeet Kune Do, as well as an avid hiker and cyclist who could also pilot personal aircraft. He maintained a large garage, as well as interests in history, physics, and geology. He attempted to learn guitar but found that he wasn’t particularly talented.
It was shortly after his forty-first birthday that an incident took place which would profoundly alter his world. He was in the middle of a meeting when a fight between a pair of local metas – Suprasonic (a deliberate – though flying – knockoff of Supersonic) and The Mountain – erupted nearby. Gary was in the process of evacuating when the metas did serious damage to the office tower that he was in, causing the elevator cables to snap. The tycoon and two of his long-time associates plunged over four hundred feet to their deaths – except, Gary didn’t die. In fact he was completely uninjured while his colleagues were killed instantly. Removing himself from the building before it collapsed, dazed and confused, he quickly invented a story to account for his survival while the Chinese government cracked down harshly on metahuman activities.
Over the past two months, he has been on leave from his many business ventures, rethinking a number of incidents in his past that he had originally put down to good luck, a strong constitution, and sheer toughness. His father always liked to recount the story of how Gary had fallen into a steep ravine as an infant while his family was running from the red guards, only to be found completely unscathed. Then there had been the time that a carelessly handled i-beam had struck him as a young man working on a construction site, sending him tumbling over forty feet to the ground below. He had dusted himself off and resumed working later that same day. His youthful brawls where he’d been able to swing for the fences while brushing off opponents’ punches had to be reconsidered, as did a waterskiing incident a few years back where he’d hit the water going nearly 100km/h and been completely unharmed. When Gary really thinks about it, he realizes that he can’t remember a single significant injury over the course of his life. The inescapable conclusion is that Gary Xu has been a metahuman the entire time. He is what he has come to hate. How he will deal with that going forward, only he can know.
Personality: Gary’s a man who has lived a lot. He is very competent in a number of areas and possesses a deep – though slightly cynical – understanding of human nature. He enjoys making dry jokes and wry comments, and isn’t afraid of being self-deprecating, though his humour is almost always situational. In general, he’s a friendly guy and a good communicator, with a large circle of friends. However, his relationships with other people are best described as ‘friendly but somewhat distant.’ This extends to his own family. That doesn’t denote a lack of caring, however, just a desire to maintain a healthy distance between himself and other people and a lack of involvement in their everyday and quite frankly mundane affairs.
As one might expect, he’s extremely motivated and determined, almost obsessively so. When Gary sets his mind to something, he will systematically break it down, examine it in detail, and execute a carefully-laid plan. He’s not entirely averse to risk, though he does try to minimize it. Perhaps due to his success in life, Gary is not easily impressed and has little sympathy or use for people who complain or make excuses, especially if they have a background or talents that give them a head start. Though he tries to see the world for the subjective thing that it is, and to always keep his own ego in check, he can be unintentionally arrogant at times.
Skills: Gary is in good though not exceptional shape. Though fairly small, he is a skilled and experienced hand-to-hand fighter, schooled in multiple martial arts, as well as possessing elementary training with some traditional Chinese weapons. He has never fired a gun before and hopes that he’ll never have to. He has, however, piloted personal aircraft and boats up to the size of a small yacht. He enjoys racing his collection of exotic cars at the track.
Gary’s also perceptive and a good negotiator, able to read people and situations quickly and thoroughly. Finally, he is fluent in Mandarin (including his local Hunan dialect), Cantonese, English, and Korean, as well as passable in Italian, Japanese, French, and Spanish.
Abilities: Gary hasn’t really had the chance to become familiar with his metahuman abilities, though he seems to possess only one: he is completely indestructible. Beyond that, he is a bog-standard human.
Equipment: Gary doesn’t really have any special equipment right now, except for an extensive garage full of exotic cars, aircraft, and boats. Obviously, he can’t bring this with him. Beyond that, he has a name that means something in business, dozens of high-level international contacts, and a credit card with no limit. Maybe he’ll build a batcave?
Gender: Male
Appearance: Gary is a middle aged Chinese man of below average height, solidly built but not carrying any extra weight. He’s clean shaven, with lightly tanned skin and a full head of straight black hair worn professionally short and just starting to grey around the temples. His teeth are unexpectedly perfect, and though he sometimes wears glasses, he generally looks somewhat younger than his 41 years – perhaps mid-thirties. He can usually be found wearing a collared shirt in a hue of pastel with the top button undone, as well as a pair of business slacks and dress shoes. When not working, he prefers a pair of comfortable, slightly worn blue jeans and a golf shirt, or a tracksuit with blue Air Jordans. As one might imagine from this description, he’s fit and in good shape.
Age: 41
Alias: (The Indestructible Man)
Alignment: undecided (he is leaning towards hunter, though likely as more of a facilitator)
Identity: Private and recently discovered
History: Gary was born in 1976 in the small mountain village of Wulingyuan in scenic Hunan province, south-central China. It was the final, violent spasm of the Cultural Revolution, and his parents, who were shop owners, were forced into hiding until a degree of sanity returned. In 1982, the nearby mountains were designated a protected area, and over the following decade, morphed into a significant tourist attraction. Gary’s father, a shrewd and intelligent man, soon expanded his business to provide beverages, tours, and lodging. He used his savings to purchase a second home in the nearby city of Zhangjiajie, and the young family split their time between the two places.
With Deng Xiaoping’s open door policy picking up steam, the area witnessed its first western tourists, and Gary’s father was of the opinion that there would be many more to come. The boy was enrolled in English lessons (which were not easy to come by in those days, especially in a provincial backwater), and given the English name that he still carries. Being able to speak the language of international business proved to be a huge boon to his prospects, and as a teenager, he earned a good deal of extra cash acting as a tour guide and bootleg interpreter to curious Americans, Europeans, and others who came to visit.
By the time that Gary was 20, he decided to make the move to Shanghai, a decision fully supported by his parents. The city was on the precipice of a major boom, and both Gary and his father could sense it.
Living on the cheap in rough and ready Baoshan, a former port town in the process of morphing into an industrial suburb, he paid the bills for most of his first year by working construction jobs. During this time, Gary was involved in more than his fair share of barroom brawls, and found that he could take a punch better than anyone else either he or his new friends knew. However, he didn’t remain in his lowly position for long. With international companies beginning to move their manufacturing to Shanghai, his ability to speak passable English was a major asset and he was soon moved to international customer liaison.
1997 was a huge year for Gary, as he was promoted and used his newfound time off to moonlight as a student at Shanghai’s prestigious Jiao Tong University. While he didn’t have the money or education to formally attend, he bought clothes to look the part, became a regular in the library, and managed to sneak into lectures. There, he not only furthered his knowledge of marketing and economics, but he also made many friends from influential backgrounds. Before long, this young group began formulating plans and studying the marketplace, looking for investment opportunities. Gary worked two jobs, scrimped and saved in order to invest along with the others. Also, in the world at large, a couple of important things happened. Firstly, China opened up to Western media, with the box office hit Titanic becoming a massive cultural phenomenon there. Second, and more importantly, the presence of metahumans became publicly known, resulting in intense interest, debate, and official ambivalence.
Gary had little time to worry about the actions of superheroes and supervillains so long as they didn’t affect him. Over the next three years, he and his group of ‘Young Tigers’ invested in ever larger projects, gradually amassing a fortune. Despite having been promoted again, Gary left his job to focus on becoming a fulltime investor. By 2002, he returned to his former employer, having purchased it outright. With an eye to the future, the young tycoon purchased shares in up and coming social media and online banking platforms as well as local distributors of cellphone technologies. His construction firm thrived during the boom and was able to buy out a number of its rivals. He eventually married and became a father of two, willingly paying the government-imposed fine for having a second child. Over the next decade, Gary managed to get his fingers in a number of industries: English training schools, entertainment, banking, and insurance.
It was in the case of the latter that the metahuman issue impacted Gary the most. His firm was among the first to offer metahuman insurance, but this proved to be a difficult and unpredictable field, prone to losing money. Working closely with the government, he pioneered a public-private approach that combined compensation with both market prospecting and law enforcement. On a personal level, Gary was deeply disturbed by much of what he witnessed, becoming convinced that human beings with such power were inevitably bound to misuse it even if their intentions were good.
Gary himself had become something of a renaissance man by the time that he celebrated his fortieth birthday. He spoke seven languages, was a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and Jeet Kune Do, as well as an avid hiker and cyclist who could also pilot personal aircraft. He maintained a large garage, as well as interests in history, physics, and geology. He attempted to learn guitar but found that he wasn’t particularly talented.
It was shortly after his forty-first birthday that an incident took place which would profoundly alter his world. He was in the middle of a meeting when a fight between a pair of local metas – Suprasonic (a deliberate – though flying – knockoff of Supersonic) and The Mountain – erupted nearby. Gary was in the process of evacuating when the metas did serious damage to the office tower that he was in, causing the elevator cables to snap. The tycoon and two of his long-time associates plunged over four hundred feet to their deaths – except, Gary didn’t die. In fact he was completely uninjured while his colleagues were killed instantly. Removing himself from the building before it collapsed, dazed and confused, he quickly invented a story to account for his survival while the Chinese government cracked down harshly on metahuman activities.
Over the past two months, he has been on leave from his many business ventures, rethinking a number of incidents in his past that he had originally put down to good luck, a strong constitution, and sheer toughness. His father always liked to recount the story of how Gary had fallen into a steep ravine as an infant while his family was running from the red guards, only to be found completely unscathed. Then there had been the time that a carelessly handled i-beam had struck him as a young man working on a construction site, sending him tumbling over forty feet to the ground below. He had dusted himself off and resumed working later that same day. His youthful brawls where he’d been able to swing for the fences while brushing off opponents’ punches had to be reconsidered, as did a waterskiing incident a few years back where he’d hit the water going nearly 100km/h and been completely unharmed. When Gary really thinks about it, he realizes that he can’t remember a single significant injury over the course of his life. The inescapable conclusion is that Gary Xu has been a metahuman the entire time. He is what he has come to hate. How he will deal with that going forward, only he can know.
Personality: Gary’s a man who has lived a lot. He is very competent in a number of areas and possesses a deep – though slightly cynical – understanding of human nature. He enjoys making dry jokes and wry comments, and isn’t afraid of being self-deprecating, though his humour is almost always situational. In general, he’s a friendly guy and a good communicator, with a large circle of friends. However, his relationships with other people are best described as ‘friendly but somewhat distant.’ This extends to his own family. That doesn’t denote a lack of caring, however, just a desire to maintain a healthy distance between himself and other people and a lack of involvement in their everyday and quite frankly mundane affairs.
As one might expect, he’s extremely motivated and determined, almost obsessively so. When Gary sets his mind to something, he will systematically break it down, examine it in detail, and execute a carefully-laid plan. He’s not entirely averse to risk, though he does try to minimize it. Perhaps due to his success in life, Gary is not easily impressed and has little sympathy or use for people who complain or make excuses, especially if they have a background or talents that give them a head start. Though he tries to see the world for the subjective thing that it is, and to always keep his own ego in check, he can be unintentionally arrogant at times.
Skills: Gary is in good though not exceptional shape. Though fairly small, he is a skilled and experienced hand-to-hand fighter, schooled in multiple martial arts, as well as possessing elementary training with some traditional Chinese weapons. He has never fired a gun before and hopes that he’ll never have to. He has, however, piloted personal aircraft and boats up to the size of a small yacht. He enjoys racing his collection of exotic cars at the track.
Gary’s also perceptive and a good negotiator, able to read people and situations quickly and thoroughly. Finally, he is fluent in Mandarin (including his local Hunan dialect), Cantonese, English, and Korean, as well as passable in Italian, Japanese, French, and Spanish.
Abilities: Gary hasn’t really had the chance to become familiar with his metahuman abilities, though he seems to possess only one: he is completely indestructible. Beyond that, he is a bog-standard human.
Equipment: Gary doesn’t really have any special equipment right now, except for an extensive garage full of exotic cars, aircraft, and boats. Obviously, he can’t bring this with him. Beyond that, he has a name that means something in business, dozens of high-level international contacts, and a credit card with no limit. Maybe he’ll build a batcave?
One of my first characters was for an RPG called Through the Portal that had a really interesting premise but a too-large cast and got bogged down in interpersonal (IC) strife before folding. Rintor acted as an inspiration for Illusion Arcanists in The Hourglass Order, however. I'd noticed that, within the large cast, there weren't any characters of colour and almost none over the age of thirty. Hence, this guy was both. I think a lot of times, we become focused on having lots of fantasy races while forgetting the variance in human ones.
Name: Rintor Otorik, aka. The Smiler, The Blade of Boshir
Age: 33
Race: Human (Sub-Saharan African in appearance)
Appearance: Rintor is a smallish, very dark-skinned man in his early thirties, wiry but muscular. He has dark grey-brown eyes and is vaguely handsome. However, he suffers from Alopecia Universalis, which renders him completely hairless across his entire body. He usually dresses in a simple black robe, with black leather boots, loose black pants, a handful of fur pelts, and a thick brown leather belt with a trio of leather satchels around his waist. In his youth, he would often wear a mask that covered most of his face. However, he doesn't wear it anymore.
Role: Linguist, assassin, scout
Bio: Rintor comes from Boshir, a powerful fiefdom in the south, where he was the third son in a family from his country’s equivalent of the landed gentry. His father and grandfather had both served with distinction in the king’s army as armed scouts in previous conflicts, rising to become commanders. Rintor seemed destined for the same path, and indeed demonstrated considerable aptitude as a child. However, he manifested somewhat unexpected magical abilities upon puberty and was sent for schooling in the arcane arts. He showed little promise with higher magicks, but excelled at what was called ‘lightbending’, which, in short, allows him to bend the visible light spectrum so as to appear all-but invisible. Before long it appeared that he had reached a dead-end. While lightbending was a useful skill, people who trained at the academy of thaumaturgy were strictly forbidden from using the abilities learned there for violent ends.
When war erupted with a neighboring Elven kingdom, Rintor, then only seventeen, remained at the academy. He had flourished during his years there and grown into a thoughtful young man. However, after a year, the military situation turned for the worse, and he was personally pulled out of the academy upon orders of the king and placed into the army as a commissioned officer. Whatever his moral qualms, Rintor served as his father and grandfather had before him. If his swordsmanship was subpar for his station, he had little use for it during scouting missions. However, one can only last for so long in a war without resorting to violence. Forced to kill an enemy scout who would have revealed his army’s position, Rintor had shed his first blood. Surrounded by martial culture, his guilt was quickly assuaged.
From that point onward, he became the leader of an advance party that quickly became infamous for its lightning strikes, guerilla warfare, and sabotage. His lightbending skills made him almost absurdly effective, and before long Rintor was doing more than scouting. Assassinations came next, followed by long missions deep into enemy territory. His initial moral objections having become a thing of the past, and fed a steady diet of awards, honours, propaganda, and berserker mushrooms, Rintor became a gleeful killing machine. Gifted a pair of finely honed daggers by the king himself, the lightbender’s trail of bodies grew until he was feared, revered, and loathed across much of the continent. It became something of a legend that he would always appear out of nowhere a bare moment before striking the fatal blow, smiling like the devil himself.
His high (or low) point, came when he infiltrated the bedchambers of the Elven king and murdered him and his entire family in cold blood. This plunged the country into civil war and forced their interim leadership to sue for peace terms. Back home, Rintor was hailed as a hero, but with the war over and the accolades, drugs, and honours drying up, he felt increasingly hollow. He longed for purpose, which he attempted to find in hunting, bloodsport, and horse racing. All were dead ends. The academy had long since severed all ties with him and he was not allowed to return there. At some point, he disappeared from society altogether.
Nobody is entirely certain where he went for seven years, but when he reappeared, he was able to speak six new languages and he seemed to have found his peace. He sat outside of the academy in meditation, drinking only one bottle of water each day, for twenty-six days and nights until he was finally granted an audience with the provost. The price that he paid for readmission to the academy was considerable: all of his lands, honours, titles, and possessions save what he had carried with him, as well as a solemn vow of non-violence to be broken upon pain of a degenerative curse that will slowly and painfully cause him to waste away.
For the next three years, he ensconced himself within its hallowed halls, re-emerging at around the same time that the opening of the portal was announced. He appeared before the king, dressed in his simple black robes, and requested that he be the first of his nation to step through the portal. Given his status as a war hero, it was a request that could hardly be refused. Nobody knows what his motivation is except for Rintor himself, though one would assume that it has to do with the fascination of exploring a new land and finding redemption in the process.
Skills: Rintor can move with the utmost stealth and silence. Even elven ears struggle to detect him. He is almost ridiculously proficient with knives and daggers, though he has sworn never to use them for violence against another sentient being so long as he lives. He is able to draw maps and describe topography in considerable detail, though perhaps not as well as he might’ve in his youth. He is adept at sabotage, guerilla warfare, and has some tactical abilities, though these are qualities that he tries not to advertise. Rintor is a skilled horseman and reasonably proficient with a bow, though not what one would call 'naturally talented'. He can fast for an extended period of time and possesses basic survival skills. He has an innate ear for languages and has studied linguistics over the prvious handful of years, though he tends to speak with a thick accent.
Magic: Rintor is able to bend light so that he blends in flawlessly with his surroundings for extended periods of time when still and short bursts while moving. This effectively makes him able to turn invisible. However, the ability only extends to the visible light spectrum, and requires considerable concentration. He also struggles to blend into backdrops with especially intricate patterns or with many colours and a great deal of motion.
Equipment: Rintor has the clothes on his back, a flask of water in one satchel, some parchment and a quill in another, and some dried fruits, jerky, and nuts in another. He also has a pair of wickedly sharp daggers gifted to him by the king, but he wants nothing to do with them.
Other: Rintor is quiet and reserved – some would say aloof and subtly arrogant. He never shows his teeth anymore when smiling. He seems to be highly intelligent, though he will rarely correct people’s mistakes. He also appears to have little to no interest in women. Though he has tried hard to train it out of himself, he harbours a degree of suspicion towards elves and many near-human beings. Before Rintor went through the portal, the king gifted him his old daggers back and bade him take them through the portal. Rintor could not disobey with so many eyes on him, but he plans to drop them the moment that he steps through, and not just for his own sake. Given his past and his distinctive appearance, I'd assume that he would be known to many of the other characters, at least by name and reputation.
Age: 33
Race: Human (Sub-Saharan African in appearance)
Appearance: Rintor is a smallish, very dark-skinned man in his early thirties, wiry but muscular. He has dark grey-brown eyes and is vaguely handsome. However, he suffers from Alopecia Universalis, which renders him completely hairless across his entire body. He usually dresses in a simple black robe, with black leather boots, loose black pants, a handful of fur pelts, and a thick brown leather belt with a trio of leather satchels around his waist. In his youth, he would often wear a mask that covered most of his face. However, he doesn't wear it anymore.
Role: Linguist, assassin, scout
Bio: Rintor comes from Boshir, a powerful fiefdom in the south, where he was the third son in a family from his country’s equivalent of the landed gentry. His father and grandfather had both served with distinction in the king’s army as armed scouts in previous conflicts, rising to become commanders. Rintor seemed destined for the same path, and indeed demonstrated considerable aptitude as a child. However, he manifested somewhat unexpected magical abilities upon puberty and was sent for schooling in the arcane arts. He showed little promise with higher magicks, but excelled at what was called ‘lightbending’, which, in short, allows him to bend the visible light spectrum so as to appear all-but invisible. Before long it appeared that he had reached a dead-end. While lightbending was a useful skill, people who trained at the academy of thaumaturgy were strictly forbidden from using the abilities learned there for violent ends.
When war erupted with a neighboring Elven kingdom, Rintor, then only seventeen, remained at the academy. He had flourished during his years there and grown into a thoughtful young man. However, after a year, the military situation turned for the worse, and he was personally pulled out of the academy upon orders of the king and placed into the army as a commissioned officer. Whatever his moral qualms, Rintor served as his father and grandfather had before him. If his swordsmanship was subpar for his station, he had little use for it during scouting missions. However, one can only last for so long in a war without resorting to violence. Forced to kill an enemy scout who would have revealed his army’s position, Rintor had shed his first blood. Surrounded by martial culture, his guilt was quickly assuaged.
From that point onward, he became the leader of an advance party that quickly became infamous for its lightning strikes, guerilla warfare, and sabotage. His lightbending skills made him almost absurdly effective, and before long Rintor was doing more than scouting. Assassinations came next, followed by long missions deep into enemy territory. His initial moral objections having become a thing of the past, and fed a steady diet of awards, honours, propaganda, and berserker mushrooms, Rintor became a gleeful killing machine. Gifted a pair of finely honed daggers by the king himself, the lightbender’s trail of bodies grew until he was feared, revered, and loathed across much of the continent. It became something of a legend that he would always appear out of nowhere a bare moment before striking the fatal blow, smiling like the devil himself.
His high (or low) point, came when he infiltrated the bedchambers of the Elven king and murdered him and his entire family in cold blood. This plunged the country into civil war and forced their interim leadership to sue for peace terms. Back home, Rintor was hailed as a hero, but with the war over and the accolades, drugs, and honours drying up, he felt increasingly hollow. He longed for purpose, which he attempted to find in hunting, bloodsport, and horse racing. All were dead ends. The academy had long since severed all ties with him and he was not allowed to return there. At some point, he disappeared from society altogether.
Nobody is entirely certain where he went for seven years, but when he reappeared, he was able to speak six new languages and he seemed to have found his peace. He sat outside of the academy in meditation, drinking only one bottle of water each day, for twenty-six days and nights until he was finally granted an audience with the provost. The price that he paid for readmission to the academy was considerable: all of his lands, honours, titles, and possessions save what he had carried with him, as well as a solemn vow of non-violence to be broken upon pain of a degenerative curse that will slowly and painfully cause him to waste away.
For the next three years, he ensconced himself within its hallowed halls, re-emerging at around the same time that the opening of the portal was announced. He appeared before the king, dressed in his simple black robes, and requested that he be the first of his nation to step through the portal. Given his status as a war hero, it was a request that could hardly be refused. Nobody knows what his motivation is except for Rintor himself, though one would assume that it has to do with the fascination of exploring a new land and finding redemption in the process.
Skills: Rintor can move with the utmost stealth and silence. Even elven ears struggle to detect him. He is almost ridiculously proficient with knives and daggers, though he has sworn never to use them for violence against another sentient being so long as he lives. He is able to draw maps and describe topography in considerable detail, though perhaps not as well as he might’ve in his youth. He is adept at sabotage, guerilla warfare, and has some tactical abilities, though these are qualities that he tries not to advertise. Rintor is a skilled horseman and reasonably proficient with a bow, though not what one would call 'naturally talented'. He can fast for an extended period of time and possesses basic survival skills. He has an innate ear for languages and has studied linguistics over the prvious handful of years, though he tends to speak with a thick accent.
Magic: Rintor is able to bend light so that he blends in flawlessly with his surroundings for extended periods of time when still and short bursts while moving. This effectively makes him able to turn invisible. However, the ability only extends to the visible light spectrum, and requires considerable concentration. He also struggles to blend into backdrops with especially intricate patterns or with many colours and a great deal of motion.
Equipment: Rintor has the clothes on his back, a flask of water in one satchel, some parchment and a quill in another, and some dried fruits, jerky, and nuts in another. He also has a pair of wickedly sharp daggers gifted to him by the king, but he wants nothing to do with them.
Other: Rintor is quiet and reserved – some would say aloof and subtly arrogant. He never shows his teeth anymore when smiling. He seems to be highly intelligent, though he will rarely correct people’s mistakes. He also appears to have little to no interest in women. Though he has tried hard to train it out of himself, he harbours a degree of suspicion towards elves and many near-human beings. Before Rintor went through the portal, the king gifted him his old daggers back and bade him take them through the portal. Rintor could not disobey with so many eyes on him, but he plans to drop them the moment that he steps through, and not just for his own sake. Given his past and his distinctive appearance, I'd assume that he would be known to many of the other characters, at least by name and reputation.
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