Grant Wilson
Red clouded the edges of his vision, his heart pounding in his ears. His hands shook as he gripped the side of a brick wall to steady himself. When he pushed off, there was a palm print in the wall. He walked with an eerie calm, the tremors in his body the only outward show of his rage. As he walked, he found himself in an alleyway, accosted by four gangbangers, arrogant men who just wanted some action. Perhaps they thought he was easy prey, given his state of mind. No one can quite say as to their intentions. Not after what happened next. One came up and whistled in his face, waving a hand as well. The boy turned back to his friends and waved them over.
Grant didn't move an inch, and stood stone still, hands and face still shaking. The sword was locked into its sheath by way of a prototype DNA reader in his gloves, and in his state, it wasn't going to see any action. The gun, on the other hand, was held in place only by a snap strap. The gun wasn't sentimental for any real reason; swords were his weapon of weapon of choice, and the one on his back was special, to him at least. The blade itself was made of a rare promethium/titanium blend courtesy of the League of Assassins, and the hilt was made of titanium as well, with the DNA tech built in. On the end of the hilt was a strip of orange cloth, similar to the back of its mask, minus the black cloth tied with it.
Regardless, the banger grabbed hold of his gun and waved it in his face. Then he snapped. Lashing out like a caged animal, he slammed his fist into the banger's face, easily breaking his jaw, most likely landing him a concussion. Then, like idiots, they all rushed him.
End result: four men beaten within a literal inch of their lives.
The red still tainted his vision, as it perennially would, but he could no longer hear his own heartbeat. Feeling calmer, he reached a hand up and did not feel his mask. Like his uniquely crafted sword, it was of sentimental value, and his next task was to retrieve it.
Ekaterina "Katya" Dobrova
Clearing her throat, she told them quietly of what had transpired outside the mansion, of how enraged he was. She told them of how she had fallen in love with the mercenary and how she thought it was something to do with his brother that had made him this way.
When she was done, she stood back and sighed.
"And that is my story."
"And that is my mask."
The deep voice of The Ravager sounded in the mansion.
DeathstrokeSW Member
- Last Seen: 8 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 1341 (0.34 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- DeathstrokeSW 11 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
I stand corrected. My amended statement is as follows: While I write up Grant's rage problems perhaps Tyran and Lady Steel can deal with Katya, the Russian ex-spy hopelessly in love with Grant, who is clearly distraught and clinging his mask/helm to her chest pleading to help save the man she loves. Also, Grant does not see that she is in love with him but it is painfully obvious.
Post-script: I will now solely refer to her as Lady Steel because that's actually a cooler title in my opinion.
Post-script: I will now solely refer to her as Lady Steel because that's actually a cooler title in my opinion.
Chev said
...Whatserface? *Steel jumps out of the Rp and punches Deathstoke in the face.*My name is Steel.*Jumps back into the Rp.*
What? But DC already has a character named steel! His name is John Henry Irons.
Chev said
*Whistles while waiting for a post.*
Tyran and whatsherface can deal with a distraught Katya in the mansion who clings Grant's mask/helm to her chest asking to help save the man she loves.
Master Crim said
I don't know where to go with Ace now... He doesn't know anyone, and can't fight any of the main baddies due to him not having the power behind his punches.
Well, do you want him to get the shit kicked out of him by an enraged Grant who is strong enough to rip car doors apart?
Chev said
Anyone going to post any time soon? xD
Grant's dealing with his rage, and Katya(his love interest NPC) has ran inside the mansion clutching his mask asking to help save him.
Yup.
Grant nodded, and left the warehouse, slipping into a barbershop nearby and gave himself a quick haircut before slipping on the bi-colored mask. Though when he first started being a mercenary, he had decided against wearing the same mask as his father, events in the time he was away led him to don the mask as a way to honor him. He checked his armor one last time before heading towards the mansion. He had decided to heed Rachel's advice and let his former teammates know that he was, indeed, back. The decision, of course, was not completely out of his plan, and in all honesty, he needed them. The team had strengths he was lacking, and powers that he would never be able to access.
He knew he could avenge his brother, but it wasn't a one man job, unlike what he planned for the archer who took his eye. And if there was one thing he was going to handle alone, it was that he was going to completely destroy his personal life, and beat him as badly as he had been all those months ago. But that was the near future, and this is now. Grant parked his bike and walked up to the mansion, the holster on his hip and the gun in it bouncing slightly from his walk. He knew that there were magical defenses, but he didn't believe in magic, not really. No, Grant preferred to think of magic as energy sources not yet within science's grasp. He was a cynic and a realist, cold and hardened by the experiences in his life, more recently by the things he had encountered, choices he had to make during his time away. Nevertheless he had to appear to them as a much lighter version of himself, still cold, but perhaps less so than what he really was.
His father had trained him to fight. The League had trained him to be a killer. The Russians had trained him to be a ghost. But he had taken his training, a lifetime's worth, and made himself into what he really was. A mercenary.
Of course, he expected shock at his missing eye, questions at where he had been, but they were an accepting lot. Then again.....he looked down at his hand. The tremors had returned, and while he was able to hide them temporarily, when the full-body tremors came, it's be impossible to hide and they'd see just how much rage he walked around with, how much anger he carried from 18 years of living. Rā's had seen it from an early age and had taught him to harness it, but even then, he knew. This kind of rage can't be put on a leash, can't be controlled, at least not fully.
Grant Wilson was an angry, enraged person beneath the calm exterior he put forth. He liked to think of himself as a planner, a tactician, but the moment he gave into that well of rage beneath the surface, it became less about the plans he put in place, and more about breaking bones, making his enemies suffer underneath his hands.
A rustling from behind him caught his attention. He walked over, rage evident in his eye behind his mask and ripped Katya Dobrova from her hiding place. She flew through the air for a foot and a half before hitting a tree. He turned to see Sinna leave, probably to a date, judging by her state of dress. Katya's landing against the tree sounded in tandem with the door slamming shut and it was fairly dark outside by now so she couldn't see them. Grant turned back to Katya.
"How long have you been following me? HOW LONG?! Since Rachel?" He bellowed. Grant's heartbeat began to pound in his ears. His hands shook uncontrollably now, as he undid the straps to his mask, which fell to the ground. Grant yelled in frustration and punched a nearby tree, bark flying off, before running. He had to go, to get away before he killed someone and by extension, his plans.
Katya grabbed his mask and ran inside the house, clutching his mask tight against her. She spoke in fluent English with a very thick Russian accent.
"Help me save the man I love. His name is Grant Wilson."
He knew he could avenge his brother, but it wasn't a one man job, unlike what he planned for the archer who took his eye. And if there was one thing he was going to handle alone, it was that he was going to completely destroy his personal life, and beat him as badly as he had been all those months ago. But that was the near future, and this is now. Grant parked his bike and walked up to the mansion, the holster on his hip and the gun in it bouncing slightly from his walk. He knew that there were magical defenses, but he didn't believe in magic, not really. No, Grant preferred to think of magic as energy sources not yet within science's grasp. He was a cynic and a realist, cold and hardened by the experiences in his life, more recently by the things he had encountered, choices he had to make during his time away. Nevertheless he had to appear to them as a much lighter version of himself, still cold, but perhaps less so than what he really was.
His father had trained him to fight. The League had trained him to be a killer. The Russians had trained him to be a ghost. But he had taken his training, a lifetime's worth, and made himself into what he really was. A mercenary.
Of course, he expected shock at his missing eye, questions at where he had been, but they were an accepting lot. Then again.....he looked down at his hand. The tremors had returned, and while he was able to hide them temporarily, when the full-body tremors came, it's be impossible to hide and they'd see just how much rage he walked around with, how much anger he carried from 18 years of living. Rā's had seen it from an early age and had taught him to harness it, but even then, he knew. This kind of rage can't be put on a leash, can't be controlled, at least not fully.
Grant Wilson was an angry, enraged person beneath the calm exterior he put forth. He liked to think of himself as a planner, a tactician, but the moment he gave into that well of rage beneath the surface, it became less about the plans he put in place, and more about breaking bones, making his enemies suffer underneath his hands.
A rustling from behind him caught his attention. He walked over, rage evident in his eye behind his mask and ripped Katya Dobrova from her hiding place. She flew through the air for a foot and a half before hitting a tree. He turned to see Sinna leave, probably to a date, judging by her state of dress. Katya's landing against the tree sounded in tandem with the door slamming shut and it was fairly dark outside by now so she couldn't see them. Grant turned back to Katya.
"How long have you been following me? HOW LONG?! Since Rachel?" He bellowed. Grant's heartbeat began to pound in his ears. His hands shook uncontrollably now, as he undid the straps to his mask, which fell to the ground. Grant yelled in frustration and punched a nearby tree, bark flying off, before running. He had to go, to get away before he killed someone and by extension, his plans.
Katya grabbed his mask and ran inside the house, clutching his mask tight against her. She spoke in fluent English with a very thick Russian accent.
"Help me save the man I love. His name is Grant Wilson."
Drakel said
I just have a little problem with this character but overall she will be easily accepted depending on your answer lol. Before I accept I'll need to ask a simple question. How does her immortality work? Is it like a classic "I live forever" type deal but if she is killed she dies or is it more like how Deathstroke and wolverine are immortal and can basically take swords through them, get decapitated and other such....??
Deathstroke isn't immortal. As long as his brain was intact was his limitation and that was Pre-New 52. Now it's just accelerated healing from non fatal injuries. He's still injured, it just takes less time to heal.
RumikoOhara said
LOL That Was Indirect Fire not Precision
Shhhh. The best tactitians know to make the best of any situation.
© 2007-2024