If I'm a Sittin', I'm a Knittin'
| NAME: |
-Rohan Nott
| ALIAS: |
-The Knitter
| ABILITIES/SKILLS/EQUIPMENT: |
- Knitting – From stitches to wales, Rohan has mastered the art of knitting. Having learnt the skill at an early age, Rohan can practically knit anything he can think of, given he has enough yarn at hand. Due to his talent at this, he can knit fairly quickly, with a 60” taking around 30-60 seconds to manufacture.
- Enchanted Knitting Needles – Inherited from his grandmother, Rohan has found that he is able to mysteriously control anything that he has knitted using these knitting needles, such as his small knitted animal creations. These knitting needles seem to allow him to knit much faster too, almost as if they have a mind of their own. Some of his knitted creations using these needles involve:
- Rohan mostly uses the needles to create yarn puppets/animals, which he fondly refers to as Knittens. From time to time, he gives them knitting needles for teeth and/or claws.
- Rohan also uses the needles to knit yarn into numerous other creations, such as lassos for combat, or makeshift ladders, etc.
- Knitting Needles – Razor sharp, Rohan makes use of a collection of metallic knitting needles for both knitting and for close quartered combat.
- Yarn - Rohan carries around a small bag full of yarn of all different colours, variety and brands.
| LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES: |
- Rohan has no superhuman abilities and is essentially a normal human being. While his current costume is fitted with a Nomex body-piece, his arms and head remain unprotected so he is vulnerable from bullets, knives, and the like. He is only just being to work out on a regular basis so isn’t relatively fit at this moment in time, although he’s getting better.
One considerable weakness is that while the enchanted yarn he makes use of won’t snap under intense pressure, it is extremely vulnerable to fire.
One considerable weakness is that while the enchanted yarn he makes use of won’t snap under intense pressure, it is extremely vulnerable to fire.
| SAMPLE POST: |
”What’s wrong, Ro?”
Rohan looked up at his Grammy as she spoke. He had been sat at the kitchen table ever since he had returned home from school. Evident by the way he had been gazing glumly out at the rain outside through the kitchen, as well as the fact that he had been sat in front of a bowl of uneaten cereal for the past half an hour, he was upset.
“I… I took some of my hats in for show and tell.” Rohan replied softly, wiping his face clean of tears. That was when the boy reached down from where he was sat, and pulled a plastic carrier bag onto the table. The bag and its contents were dripping with water, with the brightly coloured hats that Rohan had spent hours knitting now resembling screwed up rags.
“They laughed at me.” Rohan continued, fixing his eyes once more on the rain outside. “They called me gay.”
The sound of the chair screeching against the floor echoed around the dimly lit kitchen as Grammy pulled out the chair to Rohan’s left. Sitting down she let out a long sigh, before placing a beautifully carved wooden box on the table in front of her. At this point, Rohan had returned his attention to his Grammy, with him now staring intently at the wooden box, questionably.
“Rohan, listen love.” Grammy began, her soothing voice seemingly brightening the room as it left her mouth. “Don’t worry about being different. They’re probably just jealous of your talent. Your knitting is beautiful, deary!”
Rohan seemed to blush at the comment, giving his Grammy a warm smile.
“What’s in the box?” He asked, inquisitively.
Grammy chuckled to herself slightly at the question, before reaching down towards the box.
“Something that I was given when I was just around the same age as you!” She explained, opening the lid. “Something that is going to make your art even more beautiful than ever before.
To Rohan’s surprise, the box was relatively empty, save for a pair of elegantly widdled knitting needles.
Rohan looked up at his Grammy as she spoke. He had been sat at the kitchen table ever since he had returned home from school. Evident by the way he had been gazing glumly out at the rain outside through the kitchen, as well as the fact that he had been sat in front of a bowl of uneaten cereal for the past half an hour, he was upset.
“I… I took some of my hats in for show and tell.” Rohan replied softly, wiping his face clean of tears. That was when the boy reached down from where he was sat, and pulled a plastic carrier bag onto the table. The bag and its contents were dripping with water, with the brightly coloured hats that Rohan had spent hours knitting now resembling screwed up rags.
“They laughed at me.” Rohan continued, fixing his eyes once more on the rain outside. “They called me gay.”
The sound of the chair screeching against the floor echoed around the dimly lit kitchen as Grammy pulled out the chair to Rohan’s left. Sitting down she let out a long sigh, before placing a beautifully carved wooden box on the table in front of her. At this point, Rohan had returned his attention to his Grammy, with him now staring intently at the wooden box, questionably.
“Rohan, listen love.” Grammy began, her soothing voice seemingly brightening the room as it left her mouth. “Don’t worry about being different. They’re probably just jealous of your talent. Your knitting is beautiful, deary!”
Rohan seemed to blush at the comment, giving his Grammy a warm smile.
“What’s in the box?” He asked, inquisitively.
Grammy chuckled to herself slightly at the question, before reaching down towards the box.
“Something that I was given when I was just around the same age as you!” She explained, opening the lid. “Something that is going to make your art even more beautiful than ever before.
To Rohan’s surprise, the box was relatively empty, save for a pair of elegantly widdled knitting needles.
| NOTES: |
He’s one of those heroes who tries to constantly make puns related to their personal gimmick, i.e. knitting puns. He also regularly pays visits to homeless shelters, where he donates numerous pieces of knitwear to those who need it.
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