Have you ever imagined a universe where powerful heroes stand up for the common man? Where any danger is fought off by altruistic gods among men? Of course you have. We all have. But sadly, reality is not nearly what we dream of. I ask you now, do not give up on this dream. You may not be able to live this dream outside of your home. But here, with me and my brethren, we are living this dream together. So come join us - welcome to QUIX Universe!
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Welcome to Marvel and DC’s younger brother - QUIX. In this roleplay, we strive to create an original superhero universe, building the canon from the ground up. You can play your classic hero or heroine, risking their lives to protect humanity, you can play the antihero, using questionable means for the greater good, or anything inbetween.
One of the interesting aspects in this RP is that there are 3 IC-threads - each pertaining to a certain city. Your characters will roam between the cities to suit the people’s needs, although he or she probably calls one of the cities home. Because of this unusual element, we are able to handle a very large cast of characters and even still, characters will have room to make special bonds with each other. At least I hope this is the case!
1. I, Hansa, am the almighty, but chill dictator of this RP. My word is law, but I encourage everyone to speak their mind. 2. As any dictator, I have my goons. Here, these are the loyal, but mischievous LHG and Dan. Treat them with respect and love, and tell me if they misbehave. 3. For a general ruleset, please see the sitewide rules of RPG. 4. We have collectively decided that we will be using solid time in this RP. This means that your character can at any one time only be in a single thread. 5. A member may not post in the IC-thread without having their character accepted. 6. As common courtesy dictates, try your best to post in turns. If two-three characters are interacting closely, ex. in dialogue, i urge you to collaborate in posts. Suited mediums for this are Google Docs, Etherpad or Titanpad. Make sure to clarify what members have contributed to the post. 7. This is the main OOC and Character Directory. Each of the three IC-threads will have OOC-threads where members in an ongoing arc in that city can discuss internally. This Main Hub will not have IC-activity until further notice. 8. Keep IC-posts in a literary 3rd-person. No breaking the 4th wall, no mention of cinematography, no controlling other characters. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff.
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Character sheet
Alias:(Your superhero name, ex. Baboonman or Ultragirl) Real name:(Hero’s birthname. A human might be named John, an alien from a far-away galaxy might be named Blehgg-Rizz 04) Age:(The number of years that has passed since birth) Gender:(Male or female. If you want something in between, confer with me)
Appearance:(Write a paragraph here regardless if you have a picture or not. Oil paintings are encouraged)
Personality:(What kind of person is this? How does he/she feel about being a hero?)
Short Biography:(Put a paragraph-long origin story here. If it was for Spiderman, it would explain how Peter Parker was a student bitten by a mutated spider, gaining several enhancements from it, and how he decided to become a hero when his uncle was murdered. Not how his complicated romance with Mary Jane strengthened his conviction)
Powers, Skills & Equipment:(Write down everything that makes your hero able to do what they do)
Weakness:(Achilles had his heel, Superman has his kryptonite. What weakness does this hero have?)
Full Biography:(Put this in a hider. Go wild, write a novel. I'll be taking 40% of the revenue.)
Fun facts:(What would a curious person like to know about your character? Does he like spaghetti? What are his thoughts on the current economical state of China? Favorite color?)
Alias: Eldritch Real name: Gareth Robert Scott-Wilson - Name changed to 'Gary Eldritch' later in life. Age: 56 chronologically, biologically around 26. Gender: Male
Appearance: Gary stands at a rather short 5 foot 8. His hair is black and travels down to his shoulder in messy locks. His eyes are bright gold and are almost always hidden by his black aviators. He is rather skinny in appearance, with a small amount of muscle on his arms which obviously does not represent his true strength. His skin is, of course, pale white.
Personality: Gary is the right man in the wrong place to put it simply. He was never made for heroing, he just happened to fall into it. He approaches his heroing duties like he would approach any other job, by trying to get it done as quickly and as cleanly as possible. Along with this, Gary is rather loud and foul mouthed, often swearing at his enemies in an attempt to rile them up. He mostly goes on his gut instinct rather than thinking matters through.
Short Biography: Gary was born in Liverpool, England and formed his first band at the age of 15 with his friends. The band evolved throughout his teen years until it finally came to the formation that would bring him fame at the age of 19. They were discovered by a recording agent while they were playing in a pub. They gained a cult following throughout the 80s but things turned south around 1985. He was bitten in a dark alleyway by a vampire, and subsequently transformed into a vampire by chance. He had dabbled in the occult in the past and soon found that the rituals and spells he had practiced in the past now worked like a charm. He met his mentor soon after discovering this, who taught him how to use the magic and how to fight evil. Which he has been doing ever since.
Powers, Skills & Equipment: As a vampire, Gary possesses all of the strengths and weaknesses of one, such as: -Eternal youth, Increased aspects of the human body, night vision and being able to turn others into vampires.
Gary is also a master of the occult. He is able to perform and use magic in both hostile and non hostile situations. His main source of attack with this magic is his conjuration and manipulation of holy fire, ironic for someone of his race. His magic is mainly based in being able to exorcise spirits and other such things.
He does not regularly carry any firearms
Weakness: Weakness wise he is of course extremely weak to sunlight, although he uses various spells and charms to negate this effect. He cannot however, negate the effects of a crucifix and silver is like fire to him. Along with this, a shotgun to the face at point black range is exactly like it would be to a normal human. His durability only extends to small caliber rounds.
Along with this, while it does not physically harm him, any holy ground can negate some spells.
Full Biography: Gary was born in Liverpool, England to a rugby playing father and teacher mother. His early life consisted mostly of getting into fights with his brother and being bored at primary school. He first picked up a guitar at age 12, when his uncle came to visit. He was fascinated with the instrument and quickly accepted the offer when his uncle offered to teach him how to play it. He was obsessed with the instrument as soon as the lessons started, and even more obsessed after he saved enough money to buy his own guitar. He played the instrument day and night, to his parents annoyance.
He eventually formed a band with a few lads from his school. Their music was bad, to put it bluntly. They couldn't decide on a genre between them and ranged from funk to rockabilly to metal. The band eventually split up after a fight which ended in a broken drum set and a smashed bass guitar. Gary stuck with the drummer of the band and they eventually found another bass player to join their band. Of course, being the gothic rock band they were, they all decided on pseudonyms. The new bass player, Ana Nightingale was a perfect addition to the 'Sisters of Forbearance'.
They started off playing in pubs for tiny amount of money. Their gothic style didn't exactly match up with the Tina Turner and Michael Jackson styles of the time. They really came into their own when Billy Idol began to gain ground and the punk scene began to rise up. They gained a cult following within Liverpool and were eventually signed to an indie label. With their signing they began to gain a much bigger following outside of Liverpool. Mainly in Scotland, where they travelled to a lot.
Things quickly turned sour on a rainy night in Aberdeen. Gary had wandered off into an alley to piss and was surprised to hear someone following him. He turned to see a rather dishevelled man following him. Gary turned to tell him to fuck off but was met with the pain of having your neck bitten. He was left in the alley, drained of blood and as pale as a ghost. His drummer, Eddie Hitler carried him home. Gary was lucky that, Eddie had found him, otherwise he would have blown up like semtex as soon as the sun rose.
Gary felt very strange the next morning. With the amount he had drunk the night before, he was sure to have a hangover the next morning, but he felt fine. Better than ever actually. Another strange thing was that whenever he stepped into sunlight he would feel a slight burning sensation. The truth was that Gary was not fully a vampire yet. He was still mostly human and so sunlight was not as lethal as it would have been. He decided to stay in his house for a few days, putting the strange feelings down to sickness. In the time he spent indoors, he picked up his old occult books and began practicing them out of sheer boredom more than anything else.
Surprisingly enough, the spells began to work. Small spells like being able to conjure a flame the size of a match began to work. Unbeknownst to Gary, they were also giving off something that can be described as 'A magic flare'. He heard a knock on his door on his third day of being a shut in. He opened the door to meet what looked like Van Helsing had a baby with Dr Jekyll. The man introduced himself as a master of the occult and attempted to explain the situation to, Gary. Gary, being a 'normal' person, thought the man was a nutter, as would any sane person when told they were a vampire. The man named, Baron Palmowski, proved the situation in two ways. First of all, by showing Gary his own golden eyes and newly developing fangs. Secondly through his demonstration of his 'holy magic'. Gary was awestruck by, Palmowski's power. Palmowski offered to teach Gary how to become a master of the occult, Gary, of course, accepted.
He first taught him how to protect himself from the sun, for obvious reasons. The teachings went on for a year. Along with teaching him spells and whatnot, Palmowski also taught Gary how to use weaponry and how to fight with his fists. Soon after his training was complete, Gary joined Palmowksi in his occult affairs all over the globe. That is, until they met, Oculus. Oculus was a large eyeball based demon. It controlled a large cove of vampires and spelled trouble for both Gary and Palmowski. They fought with Oculus quite a few times before Palmowski was struck down by the demon. Gary, in a fit of rage, practically pulled out all of Oculus' numerous eyeballs. He left the cove, bloody and angered.
After the affair with Oculus, Gary began moving on to higher class villains. While he was the go-to guy for occult affairs, Gary also began making a name for himself in the higher heroing world. A name which is still growing to this day.
Fun facts: -His band was called 'The Sisters of Forbearance' -His favourite colour is, of course, black -He is ambidextrous
@Mr_pink Alright, could you choose one of them as your main, and let the other be a side character. There are gonna be so many characters here that I can't let people have two. Not yet at least.
Super power wiki If you're having problems figuring out a super power or just want to check out what kind of weird shit some crazy asshole has thought up... Give it a gander.
Alias:Crisis Real name:Victor Knight Age:27 years young. Gender:Male
Appearance:Victor, underneath the high-tech armor and helmet, is a handsome, tall, muscular young playboy, with naturally blonde and deep brown hair, a chiseled jawline, and twinkling, crystal blue eyes that hides a much, much darker outlook. A more accurate presentation of his height is 6'2", standing at a respectable height that is rather average for the men within his family. He tend to wear expensive Armani suits out in public, but can wear other clothing, depending on the weather, and the activity he is going to do that specific day. A highly well-known figurehead within Grimmarch, and amongst the world, Victor has achieved the first page in many female magazines, although he tries not to think about that most of the time.
Personality:Crisis, as Victor Knight, is the standard confident, charismatic man you'd expect to see in a multi-billionaire CEO. Always with a smooth, flirtatious smirk and a constant glint in his eyes, Victor is known as a whip-smart, yet undeniably playboyish and psuedo-irresponsible man that loves the big things in life. He has had multiple - numerous female partners within the last year...at least, that's what the media believes, and he is just, over-all, a smooth-timed playboy. He seems to care for others at a compassionate level, despite his womanizing manner, as he has given millions and millions of dollars into hospitals, disease studies, and orphanages/charities across the world. He is as much as a politician as he is a businessman, and Victor generally has a high position within today's world. As they say...Victor is a genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist. Of course, this is only a faux personality...something that isn't truly him, at all.
At his core, and as Crisis, he drops the grin for an expression of focus, and the slicked hair and Armani suit for a dark, lethal imagery. Deeply determined, intelligent, focused, and vengeful, Crisis gives both criminals and regular civilians nightmares. He doesn't talk during the job, finding it to be a waste of breath, but whenever he does; mainly to intimidate corrupt politicians or a group of fire-arm-wielding thugs, Crisis' words are deep, sharp, and fear-inspiring. His facial expressions barely shifts out of it's grim frown, and his emotions are incredibly hard to read and decipher - especially due to the helmet that obscures his identity away. Despite all of this, Crisis kills, threatens, and fights for one thing, and one thing only...and that is Justice. To clean the world, and rid it of it's natural impurities, one by one...to save helpless and helpful victims, from the shadows...even if they don't appreciate the method. His mind, razor-sharp and constantly pumping, has a dark, gritty wit about it ;; he doesn't 'do' one-liners, but mocking an opponent may happen. His bravery and determination comes at a cost - he is always thinking, and that, combined with said traits, makes him do some very...daring and devilish stunts, which ends up succeeding in the end.
One thing is for sure...you wouldn't want to run into this masked vigilante in a dark alleyway.
Short Biography:Victor Stone was born as a rich kid to a multi-billionaire pair of parents, Amelia and Lance Knight. His body-guard/uncle, Gregory 'Pop-Eye' Hills, over-looked the birthing. Victor grew up as a spoiled, smart little boy, training with Pop-Eye, and studying with his mother and tutors whenever he wasn't busy with something else. He was taught to be a man, and what a man he would become. When he was eight years old, Tommy Pigureli, a dangerous mafia boss, and an enemy to the Knight family, invaded his manor and killed his family. Although guards fought valiantly, they were eventually killed, until Pop-Eye managed to run them away with a bit of extra firepower, and some other stuff Victor doesn't know due to having blacked out. Torn by the death of everything he knew, Victor traveled the world alongside Pop-Eye, to become strong enough to stop any of this from happening to others. This conviction transformed into Crisis being born. When he came back, at the age of 20, Crisis was officially birthed, while Victor Knight, the heir to the reborn Knight Enterprises, made himself known. For the next seven years, and even further, Crisis waged a war against crime, within the city of Grimmarch.
Powers, Skills & Equipment:To keep it simple, he can run faster and longer, hit harder and take hits harder, and heal at a faster rate than a Olympic-leveled human. However, it isn't enough to lift cars or punch through solid steel...in a technical term, he can bench-press over one ton, but with stress. His brain reacts at a quicker pace - enhanced reflexes, and he can hit things with accuracy second to none by non-super beings. His powers, to put in a simple term, is 'Enhanced Physical Prowess'. He doesn't have super-speed, or super-strength...just enhanced versions of said attributes. It's more than enough to deal with human and inhuman threats, however, when coupled with his skills. At a younger age, it wasn't prominent, but as he grew - around the time he began to travel the world with Pop-Eye, it began to show, and helped in his training.
His lack of destructive super-powers is hardly a crutch, seeing as Victor is a master of close quartered combat. He has mastered every fighting style currently known to man, using a blend of Krav Maga, ninjutsu, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu on his opponents. Along with this, he is an expert user of weaponry - having mastered his trench knives, as well as a wide variety of other weapons - a disguise expert, a talented liar, a technological genius, a master strategist, a polymath, an expert driver/crack pilot, an escapologist, along with a few other titles. A master of many, as they say. He has done a lot since he left Grimmarch at the age of eight.
Crisis Suit - His standard Vigilante costume/armor, used to prowl the streets as Crisis. The suit itself is composed of a hardy, lightweight, and customly synthesized Kevlar material for it's main component, with rubbed-down and insulated titanium for certain coating along vital areas. The suit has been tested and made sure to be bullet, pierce, and slash proof due to it's armored materials, along with being flame, explosion, and water-retardant. The helmet's visor is programmed with x-rays, infrared viewers, and auditory sensors. The helmet itself is programmed to plug into police and emergency department frequencies, along with having a miniature map of his current area in the visor's bottom left corner. The suit has a dark gray/mottled black utility belt on either hips, equipped with a variety of different gadgets, raining from scanners to smoke/explosion/freeze pellets.
Gadgets - A hero that believes in lethal force, Crisis holds a wide variety of different lethal equipment on his person, at all times. The gloves of his suit contains built-in grappling hook devices, launched directly from the underside of the wrist. The hooks are made of a razor-sharp steel alloy, allowing it to be used as weapons, traversing tools, and even restraints. A specific twist of the wrist will send a varied amount of volts of electricity through the metal wiring of the grappling hooks.
Along both sides of his rib-cages, tucked into the black Kevlar material, are various amounts of small, black, lethal throwing blades - each one made of light-weighted, hollowed steel alloy. As they are sewn and connected within the inside of his suit, wrapping around the inside of his back, taking one out of it's holster will push another one into the holster, from the inside, giving him a large amount of throwing knives to use to his discretion.
By far, his 'mainly-used' weapons are the two razor-sharp, dark-colored trench knives, magnetically holstered to his hips. They are rather mysterious in their own right, as the exact metal they are made of is unknown, and they can be recalled back to his gloved hands, as if by a magnetic force. Weighted perfectly, and made at the perfect length for close-ranged combat, these are tools of destruction.
He has many vehicles, both within his mansion, and within his Crisis Base, and he can cycle through them all for automatic-honing [A technique that brings the vehicle towards his personal signature at maximum speed] through his suit's control panel, located on either wrist. This technique is often used for fast get-aways, or even combat. His currently used vehicle is a customly-created motorcycle. Futuristic and a deep ebony, the motorcycle features a nitro-entailed engine, customly-bolstered gas mileage, and dermal armor all along it's base; along with a bullet-proof visor and tires.
Weaknesses:Hm...let's see. Well, first off, Victor isn't a destructive ball of fire. Don't get me wrong...he can clear an entire warehouse of armed criminals faster than most super-power-wielding-heroes...but in a one on one fight with someone with, say, elemental-manipulation, he would need to be on his toes, and finish the fight quickly. He lacks the necessary powers to go head to head with such a foe, but a little tricking, and his superiority in skill would allow him to -hopefully- finish the person off...swiftly, and for all.
His caution could be a weakness. When he first see you, he immediately analyzes your form for weaknesses and exploits, even if he's Victor Knight, and not Crisis. He's too ready at times.
His methods of execution has also garnered Crisis a lot of haters and/or enemies, mainly in the form of law enforcement agencies and such. They don't know whether to label him villain or hero, since he only targets villains and criminals...but leaves them as bloodied, cooling corpses.
A physical weakness would be his durability. While resistant against blunt physical forces that are manageable, along with crushing forces such as being slammed through stuff, firearm rounds would pierce his flesh. He isn't a Man of Steel - his durability is only a supplement, not an active, godly power in itself.
Full Biography:
The crying of a baby boy was vibrant within the large, posh Knight Manor, and the scurrying of dozens of maids, butlers, and staff fumbled throughout the mansion's interior. A wisp of a man, with fraying blonde hair and a form-fitting suit, sat at the edge of the hospital bed, eyes wide and hands creaking under the pressure of a woman's grip. The woman breathed quickly and loudly, a scream tearing through her throat as the doctors around the comfortable bed yelled 'PUSH'. The woman was beautiful by all realms of the imagination, only subliminally marred by the sweat sticking her dark brown hair to her forehead. The entire situation was going smoothly, and only within seconds, they would garner an heir.
These two were Lance and Amelia Knight, respectively...both head owners of Knight Enterprises, which, in itself, was an international, multi-billion dollar company that span the globe, and one of the few, if not the top business expansions in the entire world, in both the present and the future. The two have been trying for an heir for the past three years, with minimal success. It was thought that Lance was sterile, since he had an attempted vasectomy in one of his youthful escapades decades ago, but that was proven wrong when Amelia was found pregnant those faithful months in the past. Now...their precious Victor would be borne. He would be born...and lead the Enterprises further into victor, with his parents at his back. It would be wonderful.
"PUSH!" Amelia pushed. The sound of young, squeaky crying abruptly filled the air, and relieved smiles formed on the faces of all those present. Amelia immediately reached for her precious baby, cobalt eyes twinkling in the dim candle-light of the Knight Private Hospital, and her smile widened as she noticed the dark brown and blonde hair, fleeting due to young age. When the eyes opened, revealing dark blue pools of royal navy, a squealed was released from all of the women doctors, Amelia amongst them. The doctors began filing out after a look from Lance - the slim man still holding an authorative intimidation. Standing, Lance sidled up to his wife's shoulders, slowly reaching forward to stoke the side of the baby's cheek. "Victor's beautiful, honey..." He whispered softly, a small smile on his lips as he kissed his wife's damp forehead. "...I love him...and I love you." The baby's crying had stopped, and the small family shared a warm hug.
Skip forward a few years. A young child, around four years old, squared off to a tall, buff man around middle-age. They were both shirtless, wearing gym shorts, with bright red boxing gloves tapered off at the wrist. With dark brown and blonde-peppered locks, the child had a deviously cute visage; a future heart-breaker in the beginning of his childish youth. A smirk was on his face, rather uncommon for little kids. Meanwhile, the older man had a mohawk and beard, with darker-toned skin, and a vibrant scar going down his left eye. His mouth was grinning, showing multiple golden teeth. This was all happening within what appeared to be a private gym, with multiple weight sets all around, and the two being within what seemed to be an ornate boxing ring. "Okay, kid, let's start with some light boxi-" The child had already crossed the ring, leaping up in the air, a gloved fist heading straight for the man's cheek. The smirk had stretched.
Yes, life for young Victor Knight...it was wonderful, all things considered. The youngest heir to a multi-billion dollar company, and the youngest scion to a filthy wealthy and rich family; with his mother being a world-renown scientist, physicist, and technician, while his father was a world-renown aerospace engineer, philanthropist, and businessman. Obviously, this gave him cockiness and arrogance in his life, but most of it wasn't mean-spirited arrogance, just the classic rich-kid-swagger. He got everything he wanted growing up. Toys, video-games, attention, private tutoring...he was a once in a life time prodigy. Everything he did, he mastered, and everything he didn't master, he spent hours upon hours on to master. He had a drive to be the best boy and future businessman he could be, and his parents supported their son wholeheartedly.
And then...that's when the trouble began brewing. As you know, such a...popular and spirited company and family would have life-long enemies, right? Well, at the age of eight, whilst practicing Taekwando with his bodyguard - the bearded and mohawked man that went by the joking name of Pop-Eye, panic seemed to surge within Knight Manor. Panic seemed to reign supreme; with butlers and maids running all throughout the manor. It made for a scene highly reminiscent to an event that happened approximately eight years ago. However, this was obviously not something that carefree and glorious. The sound of cracking, automated firearm usage suddenly blasted throughout the manor, as if coming from a distance, and it was slowly, slowly getting closer. From the door's window, before his eyes, with fear creeping down his throat, Victor witnessed a group of maids running down the hallway, before a constant barrage of lead slammed into their backs and heads, sending them reeling through the air, bodies becoming pin-cushions for the .40 bullets. Blood flashed across the door's window, and he flinched subconsciously.
He was abruptly thrown to the ground, as a rearing and shouting Pop-Eye slammed against the door shoulder-first, both large, calloused hands gripped around what seemed to be a .50 cal Desert Eagle, Bessie; Victor recognized it immediately, from training with the man. "Vic! Go hide in the safety room in the back of the gym...and don't come out until you hear my, Jeff's, or your parent's voice through the speakers!" The man grunted out in his usually deep, gravelly voice. He slowly opened the door, only to leap back, grabbing Victor with him, as two large, bulky men - bloodied and wielding assault rifles - shouldered through the openings. "Hey, Ross, look at what we have here-" The first man was abruptly cut off by a .50 cal bullet blasting through his cranium. Ross panic-squeezed his trigger at the loud CRACK, and the spray hit the ceiling. Another CRACK echoed, and he was lying on the floor, a hole leaking gray brain matter across the marble.
Victor just...just stared blankly at the bodies. The way the blood slowly congealed on the floor, bits of bone chips literally the wall and door hinge. It was all...just...disgusting. Pop-Eye glanced over from where he had his ear pressed against the wall. The sound of stomping feet and wild yelling didn't fill him with confidence. "Come on, kid, we need to get to you to a safe place!" There was hesitation in the deep voice. He was worried if Victor was in shock. The boy shook his head sharply, bending down with shaking hands and eyes. His ward pretended not to notice the boy grabbing a familiar combat-knife from Ross's hip.
With a nod, Pop-Eye began dashing down the opposite end of the hall, light panting from slightly behind him showing that Victor was keeping pace relatively well. Regardless, he slowed down so that the boy could be slightly in front of him, while he kept a lookout on both the front and back directions. As they ran towards the grand staircase, Pop-Eye narrowed his eyes at Victor's back. Despite being eight...the boy was willing to fight for the Manor. They both didn't know what was going on...but he planned on finding out, and protecting the boy he began to think of as a nephew.
They passed a corner, and Pop-Eye faltered slightly at the entrance of the manor. Victor, however, stumbled completely, falling to his knees. Bile rose up through the young boy's throat, and Pop-Eye could only pat the puking boy on the back. Stacked at the entrance, keeping the mansion locked, was mutilated bodies and body parts of the Knight's staff; maids and butlers that Victor knew for years, and that Pop-Eye had known for even longer...dead and violated. A thug, that had been standing, arms crossed, in front of the meat-blockade, began reaching for his assault rifle.
A CRACK echoed through the building, and the thug fell to the ground. Pop-Eye lowered his Deagle, looking down at Victor. "You okay...?" He asked the young boy. A hiccup is all he got in return. Slowly, Pop-Eye stood, easily throwing Victor over a shoulder. "Let's get to the safe-room." He whispered, sprinting for the stairs. However, he had to stop once more...when the mangled and torn body of Lance Knight slowly rolled down the stairs, with a large, bulky man in a white suit following slowly after the mutilated corpse, a tommy gun in hand.
"Gregory Hill...Interesting. Is this what you've been lowered to? A body-guard to a spoiled brat?"
A strangled gasp split the air, and Victor fell from Pop-Eyes shoulders, tackling his father's dead body. He began to cry, all of the emotions he had tried to restrict to continue on...all spilling forth. A bang echoed, and a tommy gun round splintered through his right shoulder. He dully heard himself bit right through his lip, not being able to restrain the scream as the bullet threw his body down the rest of the few stairs. More words were spoken, and when he next opened his eyes, the deep brown hair of his mother was covering his face - along with the feeling of her cold skin. Fire was spreading everywhere, and the now-realized Gregory zoomed in on his body, bleeding from what seemed to be a bullet-wound, a head injury, and various lacerations. That's when he blacked out.
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The rest of his history has been frayed by Victor's own mind, at a young age, as a way of coping, but after that faithful night, things changed. Knight's Manor had fell, his parents and staff all going down with it...only Pop-Eye was a constant, stable figure in his young life. Torn and broken by this, Victor yearned to leave Grimmarch...just leave, for now. He wanted vengeance...he wanted to kill every single one of the criminals that had infested his home and destroyed it. This created Crisis, and as he, along with Gregory, traveled the world, with Gregory and a plethora of other different figures teaching Victor everything he wanted - no, needed to know and master, Victor began to formulate the Vigilante of his mind. Crisis. Through his absence, friends of the Knight family, and the executives and CEOs of Knight Enterprises, began to rebuild the Knight Manor, along with regaining it's previous fame. It took a time, but Knight Enterprises recovered, and took over the business and political world once more.
Meanwhile, the crime boss Tommy Pigureli, and his entire mafia, mysteriously died in a fire, whilst staying at their alternate base in Saltlake Valley. They were the slayers of the Knight family.
At the age of twenty, he returned to Grimmarch as Victor Knight - the heir to the Knight legacy returning to his home sparked months of press coverage, and together, with his top executive and friend - along with private teacher and instructor, Gregory Hall AKA Pop-Eye, Victor began to reconstruct his life. He returned to Knight Manor, and oversaw the various construction plans. Once the reconstruction was completely finished, Victor began to secure the manor, so that a repeat would not happen again. It was now upgraded, and grander than ever; but not complete. Using his funds, and technology from another branch of Knight Enterprises - Knight Engineering and Tech - he constructed the Crisis Base, located underneath Knight Manor. That is when the Legacy of Crisis, and Victor, began.
Seven years have passed since the reign of Crisis, and even his alias spoken allowed sent chills down the spines of any listeners. They knew of how the vigilante appeared, and although he brought fear, to much of the people in Grimmarch, his name also gave them a sense of grim hope. He wasn't messy - he didn't leave gore and guts along the streets. He kept his kills precise, clean, and hidden. He was what the crime-ridden city needed...and what the authority figures hated.
Fun facts:Victor enjoys drinking black coffee.
He's slightly allergic to wasp stings.
He hasn't actively cried since four years ago, when he was watching a really, really sad movie.
Believe it or not, he's rather...shy of popularity. You won't ever see the shyness, however.
Wayne Enterprises has donated millions of dollars into charity, and are willing to connect with other business in a partnership. [Hint Hint]
Would you mind if we post our Character without giving a Full Biography right away? I could probably give a short one, but I would prefer more time to work on the full story and all the details and such.
Yeah man;; You can just put up the CS without the Full Biography, and work on it on your own time. Just make sure to state that it's a Work In Progress somewhere.
Damn, I forgot a section in the CS! Dan, Crisis looks good, but if you could edit in the Weakness-section, that would be sweet. Also put his full biography in a hider :D
Alias: Legionnaire. Real name: Mitchell Bellini. Age: 97. Gender: Male.
Appearance: Legionnaire looks like he’s in his mid-twenties. Clear skin, full head of hair and bright eyes. Nothing about his appearance reveals his actual age. He’s a big guy, not easy to miss in a crowd. He keeps his black hair short and his shin clean shaved at all times. He has brown eyes and a slight tint to his skin. Clothes, he always wear a contemporary para-military armor, and hides his face behind a mask. Otherwise people would recognize him after a while.
Personality: Mitchell is a classical anti-hero. He doesn’t want to be a symbol of hope, or a paragon of good. He doesn’t want people to suffer either. He has lived long enough to see everything that mankind has to offer and has come to the conclusion that your basic, average human is a greedy, selfish and shortsighted psychopath. While he will try to do some good every once in a while, he will ultimately do more harm than good in the long run. What Mitchell truly wants is to find those few truly altruistic people that eventually pop up in the lowest, filthiest and sickest parts of the human society and make sure that no one fucks with them. In the beginning Mitchell saw his fate as a gift, a chance to truly make a difference. As time has passed that gift has turned more and more into a curse. He wonders every day when and if he will be able to die.
Short Biography: During WW2 the Nazis worked on several “occult” projects, trying to get any supernatural force on their side. One such project involved infusing living soldiers with the souls of former warriors, giving raw recruits the experience and skills of a veteran. Mitchell was part of a small team of specialists that were sent behind enemy lines to make sure these projects failed. The team failed and most were captured alive, they were then used as guinea pigs in the projects. After being hailed as a great success he used his newfound powers to escape and get back to civilisation. Since then he’s been moving around a lot, but has settled down in Grimmarch for a while.
Powers, Skills & Equipment: Mitchell has become a vessel for the souls of dead soldiers. This has granted him some “powers” that mortals can only dream of.
Slightly heightened senses. Impeccable, but still human physique. Bullet time - Superhuman speed and reflexes. Seemingly immortal - No wound has yet made him fall. Zombie - Very few of Legionnaire’s organs seem to be vital. Fuck-this-shit-mode - Berserk. A myriad of stories about warriors back in the day talks about them being overcome by anger, disregarding their own safety and going all-out in a frenzy. The old norse called it “going berserk”, the templars “Holy fury”, scholars in the 17th century spoke of “primal rage”. It’s all the same. Mitchell calls it his “fuck-this-shit-mode”. While overcome with rage he will completely disregard his own and anyone else's safety. He will not be able to separate friend from foe and will be unable to communicate. This is his biggest strength because he can fight unrestrained with the skill of thousands of men. It is also his biggest weakness because he is easily fooled and may end up doing a lot more harm than good.
Comfortable with the use of every military gear ever created. Master martial artist influenced by hundreds of martial arts. Can operate most kinds of machinery that doesn’t require special training.
MT-56 Assault rifle with laser sight, scope and grenade launcher. Laser-sharpened, light-weight, straight 1½-handed sword with a circular guard.. G-6 automatic pistol. 1789 bayonet.
Weakness: Apart from his “fuck-this-shit-mode” making him likely to harm both friend and foe, and his questionable morals, his biggest weakness is pretty much the same as any mortal. Being confined in a space he can’t escape will mean that he’ll be there when someone is dumb enough to open the door. So far Mitchell only eats when he wants, but he might be able to starve to death.
Work in progress!
Year: 1941. Location: Top secret compound a few miles down the rails from Auschwitz. Team Shadow broke away from the prisoner train that had carried jews, homosexualls, political prisoners and others that were “uncomfortable” to the current rulers to the concentration camp. The train had not been completely emptied there, and some unfortunate humans had been taken to a second camp a few miles away. While armed guards led a rough dozen men and women into a big box-shaped concrete building the six members of the allied assault team snuck into the shadows. They had been briefed on their mission several hour before, and each member knew it by heart. What they didn’t know was the missions of their companions, their names, nationalities, even their hair colour… In short, they didn’t know anything, so they couldn’t reveal anything if they were captured and tortured. Mitchell Bellini, a third generation Italian from jolly old England was tasked with entering through the sewers, planting a few explosives and getting out. He would then meet up with another member of the team that had mirrored his mission from above and together they would detonate their bombs exactly three hours after mission start.
Getting into the sewers had been the easy part. All modern houses had indoor plumbing and such things required sewers to carry the waste away. The pipes were a bit narrower than he’d expected, but crawling through them was not a problem. The blue-prints of the compound burned in his memory, every crossing, turn and drop was as well known to him as the street where he’d grown up. The explosives were quickly set and Mitchell turned inside an expansion tank and made his way out. It was late night when he finally breathed fresh air one more. He’d spent almost two hours with his lungs filled with the fumes of human waste, even air so polluted by evil smelled sweet and fresh. A discreet cord followed him away from the sewer grate. He was already some way away from the concrete building, and almost completely safe from the guards. He hid by the rendezvous-point and waited.
Ten minutes before detonation he could see the shadow of his team mate slide down the vertical wall of the concrete building. It was a slow process, but also quiet. A squad of guards passed right underneath the climber and didn’t notice a thing. The same kind of cord trailed behind him as he lept from shadow to shadow, closer and closer to the ground. Just as the man set his feet on mother earth the alarm went off. Red lamps were lit, sirens screamed and huge, insanely powerful lights started to search the skies. No need to keep quiet, Mitchell’s team mate started to run, then sprint toward him. Mitchell’s heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil with each step. His eyes darted from the man to each of the sides of the concrete box, expecting guards to round them at any second, guns blazing.
The shot came at the exact last second. The team member had arrived and was on his way down to a prone position when a single gunshot was heard and the man’s body suddenly went limp. Mitchell couldn’t see where the shot had come from, but the sound had come from the concrete box. “You must do it” his friend whispered in broken english as life poured out of him. He knew the mission, he took both cords and twisted them into one, then separated the anod and kathod and plugged them into the detonator. With a twist of his hand, the building would be gone. With one last glance at his friend he twisted the dial.
Nothing happened.
He turned it again and again, hoping it was simply a fluke, but after an eternity of twisting the bombs still would not go off. Their whole mission, possibly the fate of the world, foiled by a faulty detonator. The other guy carried the spare. Mitchell took it and began to rewire it, but as he was plugging the anod into the new detonator he heard footsteps coming from his right and instinctively rolled away to his left into a thick batch of bushes. He tried to stay still and breathe as slowly and silently as he could. Two guards came from the right, weapons armed. The inspected the body on the ground, spoke some german into a walkie-talkie and gave the body a three-shot spray into the chest just to be sure. Mitchell tried to force them away with his mind, thinking “go away” over and over and concentrating on the soldiers. Only a few seconds later they turned and began to head back, they had not found, nor suspected another intruder. With a sigh of relief Mitchell thought himself safe. Then the detonator was yanked out of his hand by force. One of the soldiers had gotten his foot stuck on the cord and kicked to get rid of it, the detonator flew through the air and hit the man in his ass.
Mitchell didn’t wait, he was already on his feet. The gun in his hand roared twice and neatly punctured the right lung and heart of one of the men. The other raised his weapon, but didn’t have time to pull the trigger. Another two shots severed the spine and ruptured the aorta. Mitchell threw himself on the ground as guns all around him began to send their deadly payloads at him. He was surrounded, he hadn’t even noticed them filling the area. With both ends of the cord and the detonator he had a chance of completing the mission before he died. A stray bullet caught his shoulder, and with pain shooting out in every direction he pushed the metal wire into the tiny hole. He looked up again, one last look on the concrete box before it would erupt in fire and smoke. He saw a reflection of light, then the detonator shattered into a million pieces and his hand hurt as if it had been struck with a sledgehammer. A sniper. He got up, at least he’d try to get away, but as he turned around the wooden butt of a rifle met his jaw. Surrounded, captured… MIA. End of report.
Mitchell awoke, genuinely surprised, a few days later. His body was naked if not for the bandages that he had already began to bleed through. He was in a cell of some description. All alone in the dark. The floor and three off the walls were made of hard concrete. The last wall and roof was made from iron bars. “Er ist wach” said a voice above him, and heavy boots clanked against the bars. “verwenden Sie ihn.” A door opened somewhere in the iron wall and at least two men in german uniforms came in, they grabbed his arms and led him away through along and dimly lit corridor. Then a lift, it brought them up for a long time, maybe they were far down, maybe the lift was slow, Mitchell couldn’t tell. He was greeted by bright lights and people with white coats and strange hair. It looked like their heads had exploded, hair standing out, reaching out, trying to escape. One of them stepped forward and ordered the uniformed men to follow. He led them through the building. Past rooms where the doors were closed, some walled up. Other doors were open, and from the rooms came disturbing sounds. Bones rattling, dark chants, meat splashing, metal being dragged across bone, flesh and concrete.
He was forced into a square room, still everything made from either concrete or iron bars. The whole building was a work of great haste. His room didn’t even have a door. I did however have a altar, a huge thing, big enough to serve christmas dinner on for the whole family. On the side symbols of varying origins were carved, some with great detail and care, while others looked like they had been scratched there in a matter of seconds by some very angry men. He recognized some of them, mayan, egyptian, even old norse symbols were then, but for each symbol he could guess the origin of there was at least three that he’d never seen before. On the altar laid two pairs of shackles. One pair for the arms and one pair for the legs, as Mitchell soon found out. He was stretched over the altar, and even though he was a pretty big guy he could not reach the edge of it with either his hands or his feet.
The guards left the room and he was alone with the man in the white coat. “Please, let me go” Mitchell tried, but the man looked puzzled for a second, before he turned around to face a shelf containing many strange objects. The guy didn’t speak a word english, just his luck. Something was splashed over him from a bucket, nothing landed near his mouth, so he couldn’t taste it, but the smell of blood was a familiar one for a soldier. The man in the white coat started speaking, but not to Mitchell, he spoke german, or something close enough at first, but as he spoke he changed language several times. Some of the european languages were easy enough to identify, but once he moved outside that zone he could only guess. A dagger was thrust into his hand as the man kept talking and mitchell’s fingers grasped the handle of it. He didn’t know why he had been given a weapon, but if he got a chance he knew how to use it.
The man in the white coat kept talking for several minutes while he walked around the room, every now and then he glanced at Mitchell on the altar, as if he expected something about the shackled man to change. Mitchell didn’t know what was going on, and was starting to get pretty scared. If only he’d been allowed to do something, anything, walk around, move his arms around, kick the concrete wall. Just lying there made him too scared to open his mouth and scream. He tried to block out the man in white, but the constant changes in language made him very hard to ignore. Suddenly the man stopped, turned toward the altar and brought a heavy dagger down upon Mitchell’s chest. He screamed, no fear could hold him back now, but still he made barely a sound. The weapon was heavy, it had shattered the bone that was protecting his heart and punctured it. Blood poured out and ran across the surface of the altar and down its sides. Mitchell spent his last seconds looking into the eyes of the man in white as he kept speaking a language he didn’t understand.
To his surprise Mitchell woke up. His eyes opened and began scanning his surroundings. He was in a cell once more. The door was open though, and he couldn’t see or hear anyone nearby. Instinct motioned him forward. There was a long corridor outside, empty. He looked back and saw a pile of dead bodies, some of the faces he’d seen earlier when he had peeked into the other rooms. They hadn’t survived whatever had been done to them. He then remembered the dagger and touched his chest, but it was whole, no wound suggested that he had been brutally stabbed before. It could’ve been a dream.
He made his way down the corridor and met his first obstacle at the far end. A single armed guard stood with his back against the corridor, humming some sort of tune. Thousands upon thousands of lethal takedowns flashed inside Mitchell’s head, he selected one and performed it as if he had done so hundreds of times. He stole the weapon, an smg of german design, and went on. He took his time, chose his targets and slowly made it out of the building. He was so relieved to see the sky again that he didn’t even bother to look around for more guards one he was outside. A small patrol rounded a corner just as he walked by. Time froze, Mitchell stood there right in front of the armed men, stunned. The guards couldn’t believe their eyes. A gunshot echoed out over the landscape and a small crater was formed right below Mitchell’s right leg, it was slowly filling up with blood, his blood. Time resumed, Mitchell brought the smg up and sprayed ten to fifteen bullets point blank into the guards and then ran away. A second distinct gunshot came, but this time something jerked Mitchell’s head slightly to the right and he could see the bullet ricochet of a small stone in front of him. The sirens began to cry out, the red lamps were lit and the searchlights started to scan the night sky, but this time Mitchell didnät stick around, he kept running. He didnät stop until the searchlight looked like upturned flashlights in the distance.
The snipers bullet had penetrated his thigh, but it was not a serious wound, the guards hadn’t had a chance to fire, so he was almost unharmed. Lucky son of a gun.
Eventually Mitchell made it across the border to occupied France and could contact the resistance. They set him up with a trip back to England. Mitchell kept fighting in the war, but another squad took over the demolition mission in 1943 and succeeded.
Fun facts: Mitchell’s middle name is “Sofia”.
Since he broke his tooth on one as a child, he can no longer eat hard fruit.
Mitchell loves meat.
Despite everything, he is an agnostic.
There is no living person today that is related to Mitchell by blood.
Just to make sure that I get this right; We don't have the option of actually playing as Villains, right? It's not because I want to play as a Villain, but because I've been working on some that I was planning on posting and if I would actually have to play them... Yeah, you probably get where I'm going...
