ActRaiserTheReturned said
Uhhh.....Hell is Youtube itself?
Goldmarble
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Uhhh.....Hell is Youtube itself?
Lady Squee said
Oh lordy. Lol.
I'm sorry Squee, can we still be friends?
idlehands said
Now we can get our twin rocking chairs on the porch.
Yes. Very much so.
Thank you for the compliments, I have enjoyed reading everyone else's posts as well.
Throwing in:
Name:
Aliases:
Race:
Gender:
Age:
Hometown:
Current Location:
Alignment:
Height:
Weight:
Build:
Hair Color/Style:
Eye Color:
Facial Hair:
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Tattoos:
Outfit:
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Personality:
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Oldguild. No current games.
Name:
Real Name: Ira Per Hawkins
Current Identity: Wade Cormier
Past Identities: Mason Ferrel (1969-1978), Jack Briggs (1978-1982), Liam Zurba (1982-1989), Wade Macneil (1989-1990), Cieran Liles (1990), Joe Thoms (1990-1995), Arne Tomassi (1995-2003), Alan Dussault (2003-2010), Kyle Nells (2010-2012), Wade Cormier (2012- )
Current Identity: Wade Cormier
Past Identities: Mason Ferrel (1969-1978), Jack Briggs (1978-1982), Liam Zurba (1982-1989), Wade Macneil (1989-1990), Cieran Liles (1990), Joe Thoms (1990-1995), Arne Tomassi (1995-2003), Alan Dussault (2003-2010), Kyle Nells (2010-2012), Wade Cormier (2012- )
Aliases:
Leatherneck, Toughman and Hyde. All aliases date back to the 1970's
Race:
Caucasian (Technically)
Gender:
Male
Age:
64
Hometown:
Etna, California, USA.
Current Location:
Vetluzhskiy, Russia
Alignment:
Good/Free
Height:
5'7"
Weight:
363 lbs
Build:
Stocky, thick, barrel chested. Heavy.
Hair Color/Style:
None
Eye Color:
Rusty Brown
Facial Hair:
None
Scars:
None noticeable.
Tattoos:
None
Outfit:
Loose, baggy clothing. Hoodies, cargo pants, red/black plaid jackets with grey hoods, rain wear, heavy winter coats, steel toed work boots that are far from new with worn toes and stained leather.
Personal History:
Grew up in a small, mountain town, lead a normal life. Played football as a running back, was good, not not good enough for a scholarship or anything. Learned how to work on cars with his father when he was young, and carried that with him when he went to highschool. When he was 17 however, he got into a rather horrible wreck while racing down a road. split the car in half, one of his good friends in the passenger seat died on impact when the tree took his place. Best friend in the back seat was rendered paraplegic, who was also the school's star quarterback. No one quite understood how Ira was alive, and walking. The doctors and nurses were shocked at how quickly he recovered from his injuries.
That year, they lost the championship in their league of football, and his teammates blamed him for killing the star quarterback. At first they beat the living tar out of him, and left him tied in a shed over night. They were going to free him after that...but when they returned, it was like they hadn't so much as scratched him the night before. Furious, afraid, and in disbelief, they beat him down again, and fueled by liquor and adrenaline, the tied him to the back of someone's truck, and dragged him 12 miles along a gravel road. He recovered, eventually, but his appearance was now, quite different. His skin thickened, almost scaly. He exacted revenge on the former teammates, accidentally killing one of them before disappearing.
Since he left home, Ira has lived in the shadows of the world, from living in a forest for two years, and racking up two deaths from bad mushrooms and being hit by a rockslide, to living in abandoned buildings, and struggling to find work to feed himself. A lot of his childhood notions of right and wrong have been shattered over time, but he still tries to cling to the core tenets of good vs evil, and right vs wrong. He's been forced to steal food to keep himself going. He's been forced to kill on a number of occasions from anti-mutant groups hunting him, to perhaps his worst stroke of luck of being mistaken as an ally to a thief by a superpowered do-gooder who had a very zealous streak to him.
However, it always seems like when he's at his lowest, moments before the tenets he clings to finally wither into dust; something comes and renews just a little hope in him. The most empowering, and longest lasting of which was many years ago. It started back in 1971 when he was nineteen and after the rockslide incident, he made his way our of the mountains into Redding. He began living in an abandoned miner's shack on the outskirts of town. Around this time, he didn't appear too "different" to normal people, just his skin looked thickened, like he was covered in a giant callous. He got himself a job at the local lumbermill and was doing fairly well until one night, when his house was destroyed by the collision of two men, a young Joseph Carter and the man known as Buzzsaw (no one really knew why he called himself that, he was just your typical strong guy). Buzzsaw had managed to get the drop on Joseph until Ira, awakened by two jackasses crashing into his abandoned shack, got up and cracked Buzzsaw over the head with a cast iron frying pan. Thus ending his less than illustrious criminal career.
Joseph Carter, eighteen and with the power of magnetism, and Ira Hawkins decided to team up and be the "Defenders of Redding". And truth be told, they did damned well for themselves and the young, growing city. For the next seven years, they had a tremendous run in learning how to fight, how to work together, and were even rewarded by the city for keeping their streets safe in 1976. By then, Joseph had become known as Magnetron. Ira had several nicknames spawned by the press; Leatherneck, Toughman, and finally Hyde, recalling his growing "disfigurement". Ira was able to buy a car in 1976, a Toyota Celica Liftback GT. Not an expensive car by any means, but a good looking car that worked. 1977 however, was a turning point. Redding's streets were safer than practically anywhere else. Magnetron and Hyde, the Defenders of Redding were heroes. This publicity helped to fuel Redding's population boom from the 16,000 or so when Ira arrived, to 46,000 (with the annexation of a neighboring town). Following this population, and fame....was a small band of "anti-vigilantes". A group of powered thugs who saw the end of organized crime in the future due to the success of these self-styled "Heroes".
This group had a systematic plan, that was rather well thought out. Two female members stalked the two Heroes to learn about them and their habits, and then installed themselves in their lives, quickly becoming "girlfriends". Magnetron's girl was Evelyn, and the girl who became Hyde's relationship was Cassandra. Evelyn began seeding Joseph's ears with words of honey coated lies, saying that Hyde was jealous of his popularity in the town. Truth be told, Hyde sort of was. But he also understood why; Joseph was a poster boy if there ever was one; Young, charming, good looks, able to fly and wield magnetism. He even had a sharp costume. Hyde on the other hand...well, was becoming rather ugly, his power wasn't all that flashy; many saw him as sort of a body guard to Magnetron. Cassandra meanwhile, fueled this jealousy in Ira, pointing out how many times he'd been shot, hurt, and injured while Joseph usually got out of anything without a scratch. How the public liked Joseph much more.
After the women had a few months to work, the rest of the anti-vigilantes started their smear campaign. Colouring the public's view of their heroics. Shortly after, two destructive "Villains" appeared. They stole little, but damaged a lot. In short order, nearly half of Redding began to decry the Defenders. Meanwhile, they were beginning to fall apart themselves. Everything came to a head in 1978. Joseph's ego, fueled by Evelyn came to a head. He demanded to be made Mayor of Redding. By force. Ira, after a two hour showdown that destroyed three city blocks, and several hundred thousand in assorted property damage, brought Joseph down. Hard. He had killed his first partner, and the best friend he ever had. Three minutes later, he looked up into the two dark holes of a twelve gauge shotgun.
He survived. It took a week for him to regrow the parts of his brain that were damaged, the bone structure of his skull, and all of his face. A week of sheer agony. But he survived. On the sixth day, he opened his eyes to the gasping astonishment of a little girl who was crouched on stairs that lead into the dark basement, and then disappeared. Moments later, a man, three years younger than Ira himself came downstairs. His name was Kinsley Morgan. He was a doctor and had found Ira's body in the street where the people had left him for dead. Kinsley revealed that he had a massive respect for Ira and the things he had done for Redding. Kinsley had been 18 when Ira joined up with Joseph, and started cleaning up the streets. The pair had actually saved Kinsley during an attempted robbery, where Ira had jumped into the line of the gunman's aim intended for Kinsley himself. Seeing someone jump, without hesitation into the path of bullet for a stranger, to willingly take that pain and risk of death astonished the young man. While he knew he couldn't be a super hero, he could do something for people, and went to university to become a doctor. Now here he was, a wife, a daughter, and a good practice. Saving the people the Defenders never could.
For another week, Ira stayed with Kinsley, regaining his strength as the anti-vigilantes revealed themselves to Redding. Gloating in their victory. Ira left after that week. Leaving Kinsley and his family with what remained of his tattered jersey and badge, his uniform, and a note; "You're the real Defender of Redding, Kinsley."
For twelve years, Ira remained kept himself out of the light. The only thing he kept, was his Celica. Occasional situations forcing his hand in saving someone, or being stabbed in the back by those he tried to trust. Until in 1990, he dragged back into the spot light for a brief period of time.
In twelve years, his body had changed quite a bit, most of his skin turning to the dark rusty-brown scutes, making him look lizard-like, but lacking the heavier plating and scales of his current stage in life. He found himself in Lubbock, Texas. He had found work as a graveyard shift cleaner of a local school. Hired by someone who didn't mind his outward figure. He was at a grocery store, getting some food in the early morning, when he had just gotten off work. He suddenly heard the alarm as the store had just been robbed. He was there, it seemed like a small issue that he could deal with without attracting much attention; he charged out after the thugs. Only to find the three of them laid out on the ground, bleeding from wounds caused by a man who appeared to have blades for arms. Instantly Ira was mistaken for one of the criminals, and the young "Dark Blade" went after Ira.
Ira quickly subdued the young Hero, and then ran home. Figuring he'd get groceries the next day. Dark Blade however was infuriated. He got the drop on Ira the next day, and managed to sever Ira's right arm. Ira managed to get away, and stay low for three days before he ran into a young man known as Jake Collins. Jake happened to be the Dark Blade. Instantly throwing away his secret identity to catch this "ruthless criminal", Collins went after Ira. He was enraged, having been defeated, and then having this freak escape him....he refused to let that happen a third time. Their fight lasted an hour, and left several people injured in its wake as Ira tried to lead Collins away from people. But it seems like Collins had somehow increased his skills drastically in those three days. Eventually, Ira was able to knock the kid out. He went straight to his boss, and told him that he was leaving. Trying to just get away from the insanity.
A month later and in Dallas, Dark Blade showed up once more. Fully unhinged and with Ira's old boss' head in hand, claiming he was Ira's "Crime Boss". The kid seemed to have somehow increased his skills drastically once more. Practically cutting Ira to ribbons as he realized that the kid also had some kind of power to rapidly learn from his own mistakes. Couple that with his shattered ego and mental state, Ira quickly realized that this kid might finally kill him. How? He wasn't sure, but if anyone was going to, this kid might accomplish it. No longer a fight over right or wrong, mistakes or not. It was down to pure life or death. Subdue him now and leave him, and he would still hunt him to the ends of the earth, and come back stronger than Ira could possibly hope to defeat. Leading Collins into a construction site, finally away from people, Ira tried to come up with a plan to take down someone who seemed to be faster, stronger, and more skill then he himself. Finally, Ira gained the upper hand by practically letting Dark Blade get a hacking cut into his shoulder, where the blade became trapped in the dense bone and muscle. Locking the blade-arm into his shoulder with his free arm, he shoulder rushed Jake Collin's into stack of rebar, impaling the young man to death.
By then, news helicopters were on the scene, broad casting the battle between the two mutants. Ira managed to get home and escape. Fleeing to the north. Trying to get away from the blood that had been spilled in his past. For thirteen more years, he has tried to remain under the radar of the world. Living in the shadows. Moving sporadically to try and prevent the chances of someone getting hurt. In desperation to escape the law, he has fled from America for the anonymity of foreign shores for the past fourteen years.
That year, they lost the championship in their league of football, and his teammates blamed him for killing the star quarterback. At first they beat the living tar out of him, and left him tied in a shed over night. They were going to free him after that...but when they returned, it was like they hadn't so much as scratched him the night before. Furious, afraid, and in disbelief, they beat him down again, and fueled by liquor and adrenaline, the tied him to the back of someone's truck, and dragged him 12 miles along a gravel road. He recovered, eventually, but his appearance was now, quite different. His skin thickened, almost scaly. He exacted revenge on the former teammates, accidentally killing one of them before disappearing.
Since he left home, Ira has lived in the shadows of the world, from living in a forest for two years, and racking up two deaths from bad mushrooms and being hit by a rockslide, to living in abandoned buildings, and struggling to find work to feed himself. A lot of his childhood notions of right and wrong have been shattered over time, but he still tries to cling to the core tenets of good vs evil, and right vs wrong. He's been forced to steal food to keep himself going. He's been forced to kill on a number of occasions from anti-mutant groups hunting him, to perhaps his worst stroke of luck of being mistaken as an ally to a thief by a superpowered do-gooder who had a very zealous streak to him.
However, it always seems like when he's at his lowest, moments before the tenets he clings to finally wither into dust; something comes and renews just a little hope in him. The most empowering, and longest lasting of which was many years ago. It started back in 1971 when he was nineteen and after the rockslide incident, he made his way our of the mountains into Redding. He began living in an abandoned miner's shack on the outskirts of town. Around this time, he didn't appear too "different" to normal people, just his skin looked thickened, like he was covered in a giant callous. He got himself a job at the local lumbermill and was doing fairly well until one night, when his house was destroyed by the collision of two men, a young Joseph Carter and the man known as Buzzsaw (no one really knew why he called himself that, he was just your typical strong guy). Buzzsaw had managed to get the drop on Joseph until Ira, awakened by two jackasses crashing into his abandoned shack, got up and cracked Buzzsaw over the head with a cast iron frying pan. Thus ending his less than illustrious criminal career.
Joseph Carter, eighteen and with the power of magnetism, and Ira Hawkins decided to team up and be the "Defenders of Redding". And truth be told, they did damned well for themselves and the young, growing city. For the next seven years, they had a tremendous run in learning how to fight, how to work together, and were even rewarded by the city for keeping their streets safe in 1976. By then, Joseph had become known as Magnetron. Ira had several nicknames spawned by the press; Leatherneck, Toughman, and finally Hyde, recalling his growing "disfigurement". Ira was able to buy a car in 1976, a Toyota Celica Liftback GT. Not an expensive car by any means, but a good looking car that worked. 1977 however, was a turning point. Redding's streets were safer than practically anywhere else. Magnetron and Hyde, the Defenders of Redding were heroes. This publicity helped to fuel Redding's population boom from the 16,000 or so when Ira arrived, to 46,000 (with the annexation of a neighboring town). Following this population, and fame....was a small band of "anti-vigilantes". A group of powered thugs who saw the end of organized crime in the future due to the success of these self-styled "Heroes".
This group had a systematic plan, that was rather well thought out. Two female members stalked the two Heroes to learn about them and their habits, and then installed themselves in their lives, quickly becoming "girlfriends". Magnetron's girl was Evelyn, and the girl who became Hyde's relationship was Cassandra. Evelyn began seeding Joseph's ears with words of honey coated lies, saying that Hyde was jealous of his popularity in the town. Truth be told, Hyde sort of was. But he also understood why; Joseph was a poster boy if there ever was one; Young, charming, good looks, able to fly and wield magnetism. He even had a sharp costume. Hyde on the other hand...well, was becoming rather ugly, his power wasn't all that flashy; many saw him as sort of a body guard to Magnetron. Cassandra meanwhile, fueled this jealousy in Ira, pointing out how many times he'd been shot, hurt, and injured while Joseph usually got out of anything without a scratch. How the public liked Joseph much more.
After the women had a few months to work, the rest of the anti-vigilantes started their smear campaign. Colouring the public's view of their heroics. Shortly after, two destructive "Villains" appeared. They stole little, but damaged a lot. In short order, nearly half of Redding began to decry the Defenders. Meanwhile, they were beginning to fall apart themselves. Everything came to a head in 1978. Joseph's ego, fueled by Evelyn came to a head. He demanded to be made Mayor of Redding. By force. Ira, after a two hour showdown that destroyed three city blocks, and several hundred thousand in assorted property damage, brought Joseph down. Hard. He had killed his first partner, and the best friend he ever had. Three minutes later, he looked up into the two dark holes of a twelve gauge shotgun.
He survived. It took a week for him to regrow the parts of his brain that were damaged, the bone structure of his skull, and all of his face. A week of sheer agony. But he survived. On the sixth day, he opened his eyes to the gasping astonishment of a little girl who was crouched on stairs that lead into the dark basement, and then disappeared. Moments later, a man, three years younger than Ira himself came downstairs. His name was Kinsley Morgan. He was a doctor and had found Ira's body in the street where the people had left him for dead. Kinsley revealed that he had a massive respect for Ira and the things he had done for Redding. Kinsley had been 18 when Ira joined up with Joseph, and started cleaning up the streets. The pair had actually saved Kinsley during an attempted robbery, where Ira had jumped into the line of the gunman's aim intended for Kinsley himself. Seeing someone jump, without hesitation into the path of bullet for a stranger, to willingly take that pain and risk of death astonished the young man. While he knew he couldn't be a super hero, he could do something for people, and went to university to become a doctor. Now here he was, a wife, a daughter, and a good practice. Saving the people the Defenders never could.
For another week, Ira stayed with Kinsley, regaining his strength as the anti-vigilantes revealed themselves to Redding. Gloating in their victory. Ira left after that week. Leaving Kinsley and his family with what remained of his tattered jersey and badge, his uniform, and a note; "You're the real Defender of Redding, Kinsley."
For twelve years, Ira remained kept himself out of the light. The only thing he kept, was his Celica. Occasional situations forcing his hand in saving someone, or being stabbed in the back by those he tried to trust. Until in 1990, he dragged back into the spot light for a brief period of time.
In twelve years, his body had changed quite a bit, most of his skin turning to the dark rusty-brown scutes, making him look lizard-like, but lacking the heavier plating and scales of his current stage in life. He found himself in Lubbock, Texas. He had found work as a graveyard shift cleaner of a local school. Hired by someone who didn't mind his outward figure. He was at a grocery store, getting some food in the early morning, when he had just gotten off work. He suddenly heard the alarm as the store had just been robbed. He was there, it seemed like a small issue that he could deal with without attracting much attention; he charged out after the thugs. Only to find the three of them laid out on the ground, bleeding from wounds caused by a man who appeared to have blades for arms. Instantly Ira was mistaken for one of the criminals, and the young "Dark Blade" went after Ira.
Ira quickly subdued the young Hero, and then ran home. Figuring he'd get groceries the next day. Dark Blade however was infuriated. He got the drop on Ira the next day, and managed to sever Ira's right arm. Ira managed to get away, and stay low for three days before he ran into a young man known as Jake Collins. Jake happened to be the Dark Blade. Instantly throwing away his secret identity to catch this "ruthless criminal", Collins went after Ira. He was enraged, having been defeated, and then having this freak escape him....he refused to let that happen a third time. Their fight lasted an hour, and left several people injured in its wake as Ira tried to lead Collins away from people. But it seems like Collins had somehow increased his skills drastically in those three days. Eventually, Ira was able to knock the kid out. He went straight to his boss, and told him that he was leaving. Trying to just get away from the insanity.
A month later and in Dallas, Dark Blade showed up once more. Fully unhinged and with Ira's old boss' head in hand, claiming he was Ira's "Crime Boss". The kid seemed to have somehow increased his skills drastically once more. Practically cutting Ira to ribbons as he realized that the kid also had some kind of power to rapidly learn from his own mistakes. Couple that with his shattered ego and mental state, Ira quickly realized that this kid might finally kill him. How? He wasn't sure, but if anyone was going to, this kid might accomplish it. No longer a fight over right or wrong, mistakes or not. It was down to pure life or death. Subdue him now and leave him, and he would still hunt him to the ends of the earth, and come back stronger than Ira could possibly hope to defeat. Leading Collins into a construction site, finally away from people, Ira tried to come up with a plan to take down someone who seemed to be faster, stronger, and more skill then he himself. Finally, Ira gained the upper hand by practically letting Dark Blade get a hacking cut into his shoulder, where the blade became trapped in the dense bone and muscle. Locking the blade-arm into his shoulder with his free arm, he shoulder rushed Jake Collin's into stack of rebar, impaling the young man to death.
By then, news helicopters were on the scene, broad casting the battle between the two mutants. Ira managed to get home and escape. Fleeing to the north. Trying to get away from the blood that had been spilled in his past. For thirteen more years, he has tried to remain under the radar of the world. Living in the shadows. Moving sporadically to try and prevent the chances of someone getting hurt. In desperation to escape the law, he has fled from America for the anonymity of foreign shores for the past fourteen years.
Mental Disabilities:
Depression, borderline, schizotypal, anxiety
Personality:
Ira was raised to be a selfless, giving, caring young man. Frequently his cynicism gets in the way of his better nature, but he tries to keep an open mind about everyone and everything. However, vengeance is not above him. Desires a better life. Wishes he could trust people to not try to kill him, or get the police to hunt him down for no reason at all.
Medical Conditions:
Nothing harmful, however his physiology has been mutating to such a degree that it is debatable as to whether or not he is still even classifiable as Homo Sapiens.
Powers:
Reactive Adaptation and Regeneration. In essence, whenever Wade is injured, his body regenerates, and makes that area harder to hurt the next time. Over his 64 years of life, Wade has been injured so much, that his skin is no longer skin, having hardened itself past normal animal hide, and into hyper-keratinized bony scutes akin to alligator/crocodile skin in some areas, loose scales of keratin akin to that of a pangolin, and the most heavily damaged areas of his body have formed sheets of very thick chitin, layered with enamel. These sections appear on his legs, forearms, and sections of his skull. In addition, his muscles and bone structure have become denser to support the added weight, and from the numerous impacts and broken bones he has been subjected to, his ribs especially are reinforced, with splayed ends for greater connection to cartilage. He has begun growing muscle structures throughout his body around his various blood vessels, that can seal off arteries and veins, preventing substantial blood loss.
A side effect of Wade's regeneration and adaptations is, he is quite strong and has phenomenal endurance*. While his strength is not an ability in and of itself, Wade could comfortably compete with the highly trained athletes of "Worlds Strongest Man" competitions. One other thing to note, is that it does seemingly extend his life, as Wade does not show the typical signs of aging a regular 64 year old would**.
A side effect of Wade's regeneration and adaptations is, he is quite strong and has phenomenal endurance*. While his strength is not an ability in and of itself, Wade could comfortably compete with the highly trained athletes of "Worlds Strongest Man" competitions. One other thing to note, is that it does seemingly extend his life, as Wade does not show the typical signs of aging a regular 64 year old would**.
Weaknesses:
The most obvious, is that Wade's ability is permanent. He can not change back into a human-looking form. He is permanently a "monster". His abilities are also not instantaneous, it takes time for his body to adapt to a damaging stimulus. His regeneration is quick, but it is not of the same caliber as say, the Character of "Wolverine" for a reference point. Other, notable weaknesses are: Wade cannot swim. Due to his compact mass and density, Wade is incapable of floating on water. If however, he tried half-drowning himself a couple dozen times, it is believe that his body would figure out a way for Wade to adapt to the environment. His sense of touch is almost non-existent and his ability to feel temperatures is muted, and extremely delayed except for his sensitive organs such as his mouth, nose, and eyes. From sheer mass, and body shape, he is not that fast of a runner, his overall flexibility is also rather poor.
*While Wade does have phenomenal endurance, he does suffer from exerting himself in the form of heat buildup in his body. The same skin that protects him from feeling a burst of flame, also inhibits the removal of waste heat energy he generates. This can force him to take a break from physical exertion, lest he fall unconscious.
** Wade is not immortal, drown him, burn him to ash, cut off his head, asphyxiate him, etc and he will die. Caveat however, is that all brain activity must end. Also, partial skull/brain tissue loss, vast portions of body tissue loss, while not technically killing him, would render him effectively dead in game time terms, as it can take over a month to regenerate 1/2 his brain from nothing. IE, good as dead.
*While Wade does have phenomenal endurance, he does suffer from exerting himself in the form of heat buildup in his body. The same skin that protects him from feeling a burst of flame, also inhibits the removal of waste heat energy he generates. This can force him to take a break from physical exertion, lest he fall unconscious.
** Wade is not immortal, drown him, burn him to ash, cut off his head, asphyxiate him, etc and he will die. Caveat however, is that all brain activity must end. Also, partial skull/brain tissue loss, vast portions of body tissue loss, while not technically killing him, would render him effectively dead in game time terms, as it can take over a month to regenerate 1/2 his brain from nothing. IE, good as dead.
Accomplishments:
Surviving, saving the life of a teenager who repaid the favor years later after becoming a doctor. Saving a young homeless super girl from killing herself, and helping to stabilize her psychosis somewhat. Other small acts of stopping small time, violent crime.
Failures:
Having to kill his best friend, and several other people in self defense.
Theme Song:
"Hurt" - Johnny Cash
Likes/Dislikes:
Likes: 1970s, 80s, and 90s rock, metal, and alternative music. Solitude. Protecting people in need. Whiskey, Bourbon, Tequila.
Dislikes: People with "plans", predators, people who want to use him. Modern R&B/Pop music. Beer.
Dislikes: People with "plans", predators, people who want to use him. Modern R&B/Pop music. Beer.
Treasures:
Wade has a small tin cookie can from the 70's with faded, worn paint, and rust at its seams. Inside the tin, is a collection of artifacts he has collected; mementos of his triumphs and failures that trace him through history. He keeps a copy of all of his false identities, along with his original drivers license and birth certificate. He has three photographs of him and Joseph; the first is a polaroid faded from the years of two young men laughing at the edge of a lake, on the bottom is written in faded black marker; 72, the second as their alter egos, a professional print that has lasted fairly well, written on the back; 74, and the final one just them hanging out on a sunny afternoon in front of the Celica, the back scrawled in a different writing, "Nice car Ira! Proud to be your friend and comrade, Joseph Carter" Under that in the same printing as the others: 76. A yellowed, folded, and mildly stained scrap of news paper from the Redding Record Searchlight that detailed the day of the conflict between Magnetron and Hyde. Several other newspaper clippings in various states of yellowing and decay. A small folding knife with a blade half rusted and pitted, a blank black button, a highway patrol officer's badge, and a blood stained half of an apron folded neatly.
Oldguild. No current games.
Well, my post is a bit longer than expected.
I think I like Russl.
I think I like Russl.
A pair of thick arms encircled an attractive, strong featured woman in her thirties at the airport, one sheathed in a white and green checked shirt, the other in a solid, drab brown. The arms belonged to her parents; her mother Aiki wearing the drab brown, long sleeved shirt, was a heavier set woman with a face that greatly resembled her daughter's features, if aged a few more years and bearing a bit more flesh. Her skin seemingly naturally resistant to the weight of time, lines and wrinkles few and sparse, leaving her strong jawline, and beautiful green eyes, quite noticeable still in her early sixties. She smiled as she hugged her daughter, her eyes moist, but glad to have seen her youngest, if only for a few short days. As she released her daughter, she kissed her cheek, and then stooped to her grandchildren, giving the pair of them great encompassing hugs. Aiki enfolded them in her embrace, and the mixed scent of earthy clay, and a light, berry-like fragrance that they would always associate with mummo. When little Kamryn pulled the kerchief from her mummo's head, the short ponytail of rich chestnut hair, carefully tucked away unfurled and fell to just below the older woman's shoulder, tickling Kamryn's nose. Aiki gently pried the blue and white kerchief from the five year old's hands, before untying it, and wrapping it around her youngest granddaughter's auburn hair with gentle care, and a warm loving grin.
In contrast to his wife, Russl bore the deep lines and creases of age with a stern, pensive expression that was just as natural as stone. As he released Seikku, his stubbled cheek brushing hers before he kissed her goodbye as well. His blue eyes, now faded with time, caught his daughter's glance, and a rare smile crept across his face. As his wife said goodbye to the children, he turned to Cecil, a handsome man with a strong, French appearance, and engulfed his outstretched hand with his bear-like mitt of calloused, leathery skin, and gave it a solid shake. Cecil, the man his daughter loved, and the father to her children had a firm grip, despite his more slender appearance. A lean muscled, physical trainer for the motorcycle team that Seikku managed. In the few short days they had spent together, Cecil had earned Russl's respect. As Aiki rose from the children, Russl stooped to their up-stretched arms. A deep grin of playful jubilance cracked his stern gaze as he took the pair by their waists, and straightened with the pair over his shoulders, their shrieks of laughter could be heard by all around as they beat at his broad back ineffectually. He sung softly in his deep, resonant bass, a passage of an old song his mother sung to him as a child.
The comfortable weight of Aiki's head against his shoulder as she slept, kept Russl's nerves calm as he watched out the window, to the growing storm. He couldn't say he liked it, he had always viewed thunderstorms as somewhat ominous. They were rare back home, but could be fiercely damaging. Having his business burn down to the ground, caused by a lightning strike of course, might make him slightly biased against nature's display of power. A flash of lightning rippled through the clouds, and the thunder drowned the constant drone of the engines for a moment. A tense sigh escaped the older man, as he looked back to Aiki. A careful gesture of brushing a stray hair away from her closed eyes, revealed his thick finger, rough from a life of hard work and scarred from cuts, abrasions, and burns of both heat and chemical, skin long stained a darker tone from the dirt and oil of his work. He envied her, being able to sleep so soundly. The first time they flew to America to see Seikko, he hadn't slept at all. This trip, he had managed an hour or two on the way from Finland, but eight hours out of Seattle, and he hadn't slept for a second. Not for lack of trying. Even so, he tried again, casting his solemn eyes out the window. Silently praying for this storm to pass, as he closed his eyes.
Buckled into the seat during the thirteenth hour of the flight, his nerves were frayed by the violence of the turbulence, Aiki's face was white with terror as she gripped his left hand.
A blinding flash of light, and the deafening blast of the air splitting in the wake of the electrical charge was trailed by the metallic ripping and popping of aluminium and steel. Aiki's hand shifted, and he grabbed hold of her hand int the split moment, as vision came back to his eyes, he saw the chasm between the front of the plane, Aiki, and himself growing as the front pivoted to the side, sucking Aiki out into the darkness of the storm, he gripped her hand as tight as he could as her body was whipped around to the exterior side of the aircraft, her arm meeting the jagged and torn metal at the elbow, where it separated and parted in an instant. Wind tore at his skin and clothes, lashing his silver hair in furious turbulance, his legs would have dangled in open air if they had not been pinned under the seat by the air pressure, rain drops pelted him with stinging velocity, as he snatched the arm of Aiki to his chest.
Grit.
Grit lined his tongue, his teeth, his cheeks. He tried to lick the grit away, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. He coughed, and flinched, the sharp stabbing pain near his diaphragm causing him to try and curl in on himself momentarily. A sudden wash of water flooded over him, filling his gaping mouth as he tried to deal with the pain. He coughed again, racking the water from his throat, as the pain stabbed harder, shards of black and white filling his vision as the pain threatened to take him once again. He fought the coughing down, grateful for the water to clear the worst of the grit from his mouth. Another blast of cold salt water crashed into his back, with some awareness, he kept his mouth closed, but this time opened his eyes, letting the salt water flush the grit from his corneas.
It stung. It stung like hell, and he snarled, hissing in pain as the water receded again, wrenching his eyes shut.
Another two waves washed against him, but not over him as he waited for the searing fire on his eyes to ease, he forced his eyes open, even as it brought more agony, he surveyed his immediate situation. He was on something soft, which turned out to be one of the floating seat cushions. Around him was sand, to the limit of his currently blurred vision. He was on his stomach, his right arm clutching something to his chest, between him and the cushion, his left was buried in the sand, clinging onto the cushion itself. A grimace of distaste washed over him, he couldn't even administer proper first aid to himself with his arms trapped like this, but if he moved and he had a spinal injury...
He forced the thought from mind, and focused on his feet. Cold. He wiggled his toes within the flooded confines of his his shoe on his left foot, and free air on his right. He could feel the grit between his toes, and no flashes of pain. So far, so good. Ankles worked, to his knees and thighs, nothing but deep aches, and the stinging of slight lacerations or abrasions. Trying to check his hands for feeling was useless, numb from lack of circulation with his soaked body weight pushing them into the sand. The only thing for it was to move. A grunt escaped his lips as he pushed with muscles that felt dead and spent. Shoving himself to his right, and rolling over onto his back. He took a deep breath after the exertion, and at the rising noise of the water, he closed his eyes and held the second intake of air, letting the wave flood over him. Feeling crawling back through his alien arms, his skin prickling with salt, cold, and sand.
The cushion was clumsily cast up the beach overhead, as he righted himself. Finally, he looked to what he numbly clutched to his chest, and halted. The tone was wrong. The tanned skin was grey and lifeless, the fingers still entwined with his from the parting hold. The forearm ended at the ragged cut through to the elbow joint, a couple shreds of skin dangling loosely. He stared at the arm of his lost wife blankly. Trying to process this. At some level, it registered. His wife was dead. She had been ripped from the plane at over three thousand meters of altitude, and fallen. Her arm had been severed.
Slowly, he pried his fingers from hers, kissing the back of her hand one last time before he carefully removed the wedding ring from her ring finger. Looking into the simple ring, his mind lurched, but he held it back. His vision was clearing. There were others. There were others who were alive, and who may need his help now. Nothing could be done of Aiki at this moment. Grief could wait. It had to wait. He forced himself to his feet, against every muscle, ligament and bone in his body's protests. He leaned over, picking up the cushion, before he trudged, slowly up the beach to the edge of the sand. He laid the cushion down, and Aiki's arm above it, keeping her from rolling back to the water. The ring, he shoved into a soaking wet pocket, as he turned to look at the blurred white shape of the wreckage of the fuselage.
His breath hitched on the pain. He looked down as he pulled up his shirt; across his abdomen was a deep bruise that spread up to just overlap the lowest of his left ribs. A touch there confirmed it in his mind, a rib or two were broken. Maybe three. Must have been wrenched when the seatbelt failed. It would hurt like hell, but there was little he could do about it, he had to push on. He began through the drizzling rain towards the shape of the aircraft. His eyes squinting against the stinging pain, his skin covered in small scrapes, and lacerations. Seeing movement of human shaped masses, he called simply waved, while moving towards them.
In contrast to his wife, Russl bore the deep lines and creases of age with a stern, pensive expression that was just as natural as stone. As he released Seikku, his stubbled cheek brushing hers before he kissed her goodbye as well. His blue eyes, now faded with time, caught his daughter's glance, and a rare smile crept across his face. As his wife said goodbye to the children, he turned to Cecil, a handsome man with a strong, French appearance, and engulfed his outstretched hand with his bear-like mitt of calloused, leathery skin, and gave it a solid shake. Cecil, the man his daughter loved, and the father to her children had a firm grip, despite his more slender appearance. A lean muscled, physical trainer for the motorcycle team that Seikku managed. In the few short days they had spent together, Cecil had earned Russl's respect. As Aiki rose from the children, Russl stooped to their up-stretched arms. A deep grin of playful jubilance cracked his stern gaze as he took the pair by their waists, and straightened with the pair over his shoulders, their shrieks of laughter could be heard by all around as they beat at his broad back ineffectually. He sung softly in his deep, resonant bass, a passage of an old song his mother sung to him as a child.
The comfortable weight of Aiki's head against his shoulder as she slept, kept Russl's nerves calm as he watched out the window, to the growing storm. He couldn't say he liked it, he had always viewed thunderstorms as somewhat ominous. They were rare back home, but could be fiercely damaging. Having his business burn down to the ground, caused by a lightning strike of course, might make him slightly biased against nature's display of power. A flash of lightning rippled through the clouds, and the thunder drowned the constant drone of the engines for a moment. A tense sigh escaped the older man, as he looked back to Aiki. A careful gesture of brushing a stray hair away from her closed eyes, revealed his thick finger, rough from a life of hard work and scarred from cuts, abrasions, and burns of both heat and chemical, skin long stained a darker tone from the dirt and oil of his work. He envied her, being able to sleep so soundly. The first time they flew to America to see Seikko, he hadn't slept at all. This trip, he had managed an hour or two on the way from Finland, but eight hours out of Seattle, and he hadn't slept for a second. Not for lack of trying. Even so, he tried again, casting his solemn eyes out the window. Silently praying for this storm to pass, as he closed his eyes.
Buckled into the seat during the thirteenth hour of the flight, his nerves were frayed by the violence of the turbulence, Aiki's face was white with terror as she gripped his left hand.
A blinding flash of light, and the deafening blast of the air splitting in the wake of the electrical charge was trailed by the metallic ripping and popping of aluminium and steel. Aiki's hand shifted, and he grabbed hold of her hand int the split moment, as vision came back to his eyes, he saw the chasm between the front of the plane, Aiki, and himself growing as the front pivoted to the side, sucking Aiki out into the darkness of the storm, he gripped her hand as tight as he could as her body was whipped around to the exterior side of the aircraft, her arm meeting the jagged and torn metal at the elbow, where it separated and parted in an instant. Wind tore at his skin and clothes, lashing his silver hair in furious turbulance, his legs would have dangled in open air if they had not been pinned under the seat by the air pressure, rain drops pelted him with stinging velocity, as he snatched the arm of Aiki to his chest.
Grit.
Grit lined his tongue, his teeth, his cheeks. He tried to lick the grit away, but his tongue felt like sandpaper. He coughed, and flinched, the sharp stabbing pain near his diaphragm causing him to try and curl in on himself momentarily. A sudden wash of water flooded over him, filling his gaping mouth as he tried to deal with the pain. He coughed again, racking the water from his throat, as the pain stabbed harder, shards of black and white filling his vision as the pain threatened to take him once again. He fought the coughing down, grateful for the water to clear the worst of the grit from his mouth. Another blast of cold salt water crashed into his back, with some awareness, he kept his mouth closed, but this time opened his eyes, letting the salt water flush the grit from his corneas.
It stung. It stung like hell, and he snarled, hissing in pain as the water receded again, wrenching his eyes shut.
Another two waves washed against him, but not over him as he waited for the searing fire on his eyes to ease, he forced his eyes open, even as it brought more agony, he surveyed his immediate situation. He was on something soft, which turned out to be one of the floating seat cushions. Around him was sand, to the limit of his currently blurred vision. He was on his stomach, his right arm clutching something to his chest, between him and the cushion, his left was buried in the sand, clinging onto the cushion itself. A grimace of distaste washed over him, he couldn't even administer proper first aid to himself with his arms trapped like this, but if he moved and he had a spinal injury...
He forced the thought from mind, and focused on his feet. Cold. He wiggled his toes within the flooded confines of his his shoe on his left foot, and free air on his right. He could feel the grit between his toes, and no flashes of pain. So far, so good. Ankles worked, to his knees and thighs, nothing but deep aches, and the stinging of slight lacerations or abrasions. Trying to check his hands for feeling was useless, numb from lack of circulation with his soaked body weight pushing them into the sand. The only thing for it was to move. A grunt escaped his lips as he pushed with muscles that felt dead and spent. Shoving himself to his right, and rolling over onto his back. He took a deep breath after the exertion, and at the rising noise of the water, he closed his eyes and held the second intake of air, letting the wave flood over him. Feeling crawling back through his alien arms, his skin prickling with salt, cold, and sand.
The cushion was clumsily cast up the beach overhead, as he righted himself. Finally, he looked to what he numbly clutched to his chest, and halted. The tone was wrong. The tanned skin was grey and lifeless, the fingers still entwined with his from the parting hold. The forearm ended at the ragged cut through to the elbow joint, a couple shreds of skin dangling loosely. He stared at the arm of his lost wife blankly. Trying to process this. At some level, it registered. His wife was dead. She had been ripped from the plane at over three thousand meters of altitude, and fallen. Her arm had been severed.
Slowly, he pried his fingers from hers, kissing the back of her hand one last time before he carefully removed the wedding ring from her ring finger. Looking into the simple ring, his mind lurched, but he held it back. His vision was clearing. There were others. There were others who were alive, and who may need his help now. Nothing could be done of Aiki at this moment. Grief could wait. It had to wait. He forced himself to his feet, against every muscle, ligament and bone in his body's protests. He leaned over, picking up the cushion, before he trudged, slowly up the beach to the edge of the sand. He laid the cushion down, and Aiki's arm above it, keeping her from rolling back to the water. The ring, he shoved into a soaking wet pocket, as he turned to look at the blurred white shape of the wreckage of the fuselage.
His breath hitched on the pain. He looked down as he pulled up his shirt; across his abdomen was a deep bruise that spread up to just overlap the lowest of his left ribs. A touch there confirmed it in his mind, a rib or two were broken. Maybe three. Must have been wrenched when the seatbelt failed. It would hurt like hell, but there was little he could do about it, he had to push on. He began through the drizzling rain towards the shape of the aircraft. His eyes squinting against the stinging pain, his skin covered in small scrapes, and lacerations. Seeing movement of human shaped masses, he called simply waved, while moving towards them.
Name: Gold Marble
Nickname: Goldy
Birthday: Oct 11, 1983
Grown up or Kid: Old guy. Obviously.
Favourite colour: Blue
Gender: Male
movement 5/8
speech 2/8
expr.2/8
attitude 2/8
overall 7/8
Nickname: Goldy
Birthday: Oct 11, 1983
Grown up or Kid: Old guy. Obviously.
Favourite colour: Blue
Gender: Male
movement 5/8
speech 2/8
expr.2/8
attitude 2/8
overall 7/8
Cpt Toellner said
NOT THE YOUNGLINGS!
Loved the idea of the show, but finding out the whys, and the ehn acting kind of made it less interesting.
In
(TL;DR Rant) Standard based Roleplay sections and why I don’t like them.
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Spam Forum
To be blatantly honest?
Pretty much every other RP forum I've ever come across is separated by genre.
Fantasy
Sci-fi
Modern
Historical
Etc.
And you know what? I have never liked that.
The reason is simple: The games I generally like cross boundaries of each, and I never find them, or they simply don't exist. I also don't like playing with a bunch of people who are posting single line responses.
I have never looked into free, myself.
I, personally, vastly prefer this segregation of writing preference.
Pretty much every other RP forum I've ever come across is separated by genre.
Fantasy
Sci-fi
Modern
Historical
Etc.
And you know what? I have never liked that.
The reason is simple: The games I generally like cross boundaries of each, and I never find them, or they simply don't exist. I also don't like playing with a bunch of people who are posting single line responses.
I have never looked into free, myself.
I, personally, vastly prefer this segregation of writing preference.
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