Second characters are allowed, you say? Well, let's try this one on for size....
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
W O L V E R I N E
"I was the best at what I did. But what I did...wasn't very nice."
Logan (Last name unknown) ♦ Hermit ♦ Canadian Rockies, British Columbia
O R I G I N S:
For almost fifty years, rumors and urban legends have spread about a "wild man" roaming the wilderness in the Canadian Rockies. As the Pacific Northwest has the Sasquatch, and the Okanagan Lake has the Ogopogo, the Rockies have a cryptid the locals just call 'the Wolverine.' Sometimes he's described as a savage, hairy beast who preys on unwary campers and hikers, other stories say he's a missing link between man and ape, others still say he's a nature spirit roaming the wilderness to shepherd the lost back to civilization. Several others, however, say he's just an unpleasant drifter, a drunkard who wandered off into the woods and went feral. The truth about the Wolverine, however, is far stranger than any conspiracy theorist could have guessed.
The man who goes by "Logan" is old-- how old, he can't say, but despite still looking to be in his prime, he feels his age in his bones. He doesn't remember much of his past, a fact he's grateful for, since what bits and pieces he can recall involve him doing things he's not proud of. He has glimpses of being a soldier, an assassin, a sharp object to stick into people that the Powers That Be considered inconvenient. He has nightmares of being on an operating table, his body flayed open and his bones injected with metal. Sometimes he can almost see the face of a beautiful woman, someone he loved with all of his heart, and he can almost feel the warmth of her blood on his hands.
Whatever his life used to be, he's tried to put it behind him, tried to move forward, to build a new life and make new connections, only for the ghosts and demons from his old days to track him down time and time again. After so many attempts of trying to become human again, Logan has resigned to being a hermit, only drifting into the occasional small town for a pack of beers or the odd cigar, disappearing into the wild when people get curious. Considering what a mess gets made any time he tries to get close to anyone, he's accepted that he's better off living (and maybe one day finally dying) alone.
At least, that's how he's lived until just now. A strike team of heavily armed men has touched down deep in the heart of the Rockies, right in the middle of Logan's territory. They were easy pickings, until Logan found something that surprised him: the spooks weren't after him at all. By sheer dumb luck or some twist of fate, they had stumbled onto Logan's hunting grounds entirely by accident, hunting for something...or rather, someone.
S A M P L E P O S T:
"Lambda Three, this is Lambda One, what's your twenty?" the man in several millions of dollars in high-end tactical gear whispered into his radio, moving as silently as he possibly could.
He carefully placed his feet to avoid twigs, fallen leaves, deep patches of snow that would crunch under his step.
He controlled his breathing, slow and even, careful to avoid sharp gasps or heavy exhalations where the moisture of his breath might let out a cloud of telltale fog in the freezing cold.
His body armor, covered in hard plates to protect from small-arms fire, was heavily insulated from the inside to protect him from the cold, reduce his signature on IR sensors, and even muffle the noise of his movements.
Even the gun at his shoulder--a high-powered air rifle loaded with tranquilizing darts-- could fire its full clip with barely a whisper.
The operative was geared, trained, and armed to move like a ghost, invisible and inaudible to anyone on the planet.
For all the good it did him here, he might as well have wrapped himself up in Christmas lights and played a tuba.
"Repeat: Lambda Three, this is Lambda One, what's your twenty?"
In the pitch black, someone else moved in through the thick snow, closing in on his quarry. He didn't need a million-dollar sneak-suit, or night vision goggles that lit up the black woods like the fourth of July. He could see and hear his prey a mile away...and given the oil on the guy's gun and the plastics in his gear, he could smell him from even further.
"Lambda Three, this is Lambda One, do you copy? Lambda Two? Lambda Four?"
"Lambda Three," whoever that was, would never answer. Neither would any of the other spooks. They were already dead; truth be told, they were dead the second their helicopter had touched down in his woods.
Slowly, carefully, the shadow crept towards the gunman, his blood hot, his senses keen, his claws out and dripping with gore.
"This is Lambda One, does anyone copy?" the spook said again, a touch of panic in his voice. "Does anyone have eyes on the target?!"
"Right behind you, bub," he growled. As the gunman turned and raised his rifle, Logan lunged.
A scream echoed across the valley.
Then the woods were quiet once again.
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
All formatting originates via the work ofLord Wraith
“I know the costume isn’t much. My mom’s making a new one for me."
Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Journalist ♦ Metropolis
O R I G I N S:
Clark Kent was always different. For as long as he could remember, he could do things that no one else could do, see the world in ways that no one else could see. While his mother and father always did their best to make sure he was accepted and loved, he never exactly had what could be called a ‘normal’ childhood in Smallville. Whether it was the time he flipped a tractor over as a toddler to find a lost toy, the time in fourth grade when he thought his classmates had all turned into skeletons because he could see through their skin, or the time on his fifteenth birthday when his feet lost touch with the ground and he fell up into the empty sky, Clark was always reminded that even though he was surrounded by people who cared for him, he wasn’t one of them.
Things came to a head when he was eighteen, and one of the largest tornados in Kansas’s recorded history blew through the state, threatening to obliterate Smallville and everyone in it. In what some journalists called a ‘meteorological miracle,’ the tornado stopped dead in its tracks, and then dispersed like it had been blown apart from the inside. While the story everyone gets told is that the weather just changed inexplicably, the town has kept the truth a secret for years: that night, Clark Kent fought the forces of nature itself, and by the accounts of everyone who saw it, he won.
After a long conversation with his parents, Clark left Smallville soon after, partly to protect the people there from out-of-towners asking too many questions, and partly to look for more answers about who and what he really was. For seven years, he’s traveled the world, helping people where he’s needed, and looking for anything to lead him to the truth. Along the way, his drive for truth and passion for justice has developed into a knack for journalism, eventually growing into a budding career as a freelance reporter. Unfortunately, he also developed a tail, as for the last three years, his activities as a “paranormal rescuer” (he’s still working on the name for it) have caught the attention of a rival reporter named Lois Lane. Just recently, Clark has returned to the US, to the bustling mega-city of Metropolis, for an interview at the Daily Planet. The only problem being that once again, Lois Lane is hot on his trail, and there’s only one spot open on the Planet’s staff.
I plan on playing Clark himself (as well as most of the principle cast) fairly close to what you’d expect, but with the expectation that all the pieces aren’t quite in place yet. This will eventually become the Superman we’re all familiar with, but not on day one. He doesn’t know about Krypton yet, he and Lois are rivals, he’s going to screw up and make bad calls and learn and grow into the \S/ before he’s really ready for it. Along the way, I’m hoping to lean into the manic energy of Metropolis, the fun will-they-won’t-they between Clark and his various paramours, and have some high-octane action with some fun disaster scenarios and some (hopefully) fresh takes on his rogues gallery.
S A M P L E P O S T:
Give an example of how you would write your chosen character. Try to focus on simple actions and a sampling of dialogue.
Before I even reach the lower east side of New Troy, I can hear the crunch of crumbling asphalt with every step he makes, followed by the sizzling of melted pavement.
I hear the crash of glass breaking, the groans and shrieks of metal twisting in his grip.
I hear the screams of people desperately trying to get away, some of them cut short with a sudden gasp, followed by nothing.
And I hear his voice, a pained, hoarse rasp.
"Sssssuuuu-perrrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
I don't know who or what he is, but he's calling me out, and people are getting hurt. I can't let that happen.
The buildings around me become a blur as I shoot through the air, stopping and starting as I home in on the source of the chaos. Handling sharp turns at speed still isn't easy for me, so more often than not I just cannonball myself down the long straightaways of the city's major streets until I reach a corner, come to a stop, then launch again at a new angle. I'd prefer to just go over rooftop level and fly more directly at the problem, but the last time I tried that, I nearly plowed through a Lexcorp air-train full of passengers, so I find it's better to stay at an altitude where I'm less of a collision risk.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....."
It takes almost a full forty-five seconds to navigate my way to the source of the commotion. He's made it all the way to Metro Square, and left a horrible mess in his wake. I can see cars that have been melted into slag, buildings warped and buckling as their facades have bubbled and burned away...shadows on the walls that used to be people...
...and I see the monster responsible for it all, shambling out into the center of the concrete-and-steel canyon of Metro Square.
He's wearing the tattered remains of what looks like some kind of hazmat suit, crumpled in a way that suggests it's been fused to his flesh. Most of the suit has been charred and blackened, but I can see patches of its original white, and the remnants of a S.T.A.R. Labs logo on the shoulder piece. Where pieces of the suit have been ripped away, there's a glow of sickly green.
"You called for me, so hear I am," I call out to the monster, trying to get its attention. "I don't know why you've decided to hurt these people, but--"
With one hand, the thing reaches up to its helmet, and rips it clean off. For a moment, the whole world turns green, and my skin starts to feel like it's on fire. My stomach lurches and turns, and it's hard to stay on my feet.
"...good God," I manage, as the green light subsides and I get a look at what was under the helmet. In the center of a pulsing green flame, there's a blackened skull, staring at me with empty eye sockets.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." it calls out again, its other arm shakily reaching out towards me. "Ss--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!"
A blast of that sickly green light erupts from its hands, and before I can react, it engulfs me, sending me tumbling backwards at least a full city block. I tumble end over end, only coming to a halt when I smack, back-first and upside-down, into the side of a garbage truck. After leaving a dent roughly the shape of my head and shoulders, I fall to the pavement, disoriented and sick to my stomach.
"What...what the..." I groan as I struggle to get up, my vision blurry and my muscles screaming.
"Superman!" I hear a muffled voice call my name. Four people in hazmat suits-- no, just two, I'm still seeing double-- approach me. "We know who that is! His name is Dr. Albert Michaels, he's a senior engineer at S.T.A.R. Labs, and he's somehow mutated himself into some kind of living radioactive plasma!"
"I'm thinking of going with 'The Atomic Skull' for a name!" the other suited figure adds. "Sounds pretty epic, right?"
"You can't get too close to him!" the first one says, ignoring the second, "They told us ten meters is instant death for anyone who isn't, well, you."
"Well, I can't just let him irradiate half the city, so I'm going to--" I stop, as I turn towards the two hazmat suits and realize I know those voices. "Wait a minute...Miss Lane? Jimmy?! What the hell are you doing here?!"
Great. Now not only is there a killer radioactive monster on the loose, but Lois Lane has scooped me on the story, so I can kiss that freelance paycheck goodbye. I'll see if I can't pick up a few more night janitor shifts at Lexcorp Tower to make up for it.
"Watching you stop this guy and save the city, what else would I be doing here?!" Lois answers as she helps pull me to my feet.
Meanwhile, I can already see Jimmy loading up another reel into his camera-- an old-fashioned film one so the radiation won't burn out his digital cameras. "Superman vs. the Atomic Skull, now that's a main event! It's a shame that Clark is going to miss this one."
"Oh yeah, my heart just bleeds for him," Lois says, her smirk practically visible from inside the polarized visor of her helmet. "Now go get him, Big Blue!"
For a moment, the painful burning of the Atomic Skull's radiation stings just a little less than Lois having a barb at my expense, but when she pats me on the shoulder, I can't help but notice her hand stays on my arm just a little longer than usual.
"Right," I say, a rush of confidence coursing through me as a grin reaches my face, "You two stay clear and get to safety. I'll try to make this quick."
As the Atomic Skull shambles in our direction, I line myself up in a three-point stance, chunks of debris lifting around me as I shift my gravitational field around me, pinching the gravity behind me and making it lighter in front. I can't quite explain how I know how to do it, but it's almost like squeezing a ketchup packet from one end until the other bursts open.
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Skull rasps, its arms up and wide, that awful green radiation flaring out from him.
Just as the proverbial gravity 'packet' bursts in front of me, I shove off with my legs and shoot forward, faster than a speeding bullet. Lois said his radiation is instant death for most people. Fortunately, I'm not most people. I just need to tough it out long enough to get him out of a populated area, and then....well, I'll just have to wing it from there.
I crash into him at full speed, reflexively wrapping my gravity field around him to avoid accidentally tearing him in half on impact, and immediately the burning and nausea makes my world spin.
"All right, Dr. Michaels," I say through gritted teeth as I carry him up and out of the city, looking for somewhere safe to land before the radiation sickness makes me pass out. "I'm putting a stop to--"
"Sssssuuuuu-perrrrr-maaaaaannnn....." the Atomic Skull says my name again.
Then he finally says something else. Something that, even with the horrible radioactive burning, makes me go cold.
"Hhhhhheeeeellllllp......mmmeeeeeeeeeee......."
P O S T C A T A L O G:
A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.
Maybe have a backup? I always think competition brings out the best for both players in terms of sheets
Oh absolutely. I'm digging through my old pic folders on Imgur looking for inspiration, and I've got the seeds of like six different character applications in my head now.
Mao Mao,
Roman,
Morden Man,
PatientBean,
Cyberlad,
Sep,
Retired,
Score1,
Ezekiel,
udonoodles
