Mao Mao

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

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Nicholaus Lemaître

---

The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.

And speaking of blood magic...

Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.

Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."

Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"

"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."

"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.

"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."

Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.

---

Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

---

Nicholaus Lemaître

---

The speech given by the three senior Grey Wardens stirred up a wave of nostalgia within Nicholaus Lemaître. It reminded him of the time spent in the Inquisition, battling alongside comrades against hordes of demons for a just cause. A sense of purpose that abruptly was ripped away in the end, leaving behind a bittersweet taste. Now, though, Nicholaus found a new cause with the Grey Wardens—for the most part. Their usage of blood magic at Adamant Fortress was an indelible stain in its history, one that should never be easily forgotten.

And speaking of blood magic...

Warden Ashlea stood on the balcony, her silence palpable as the crowd below chanted in unison. Nicholaus cast a disapproving look her way, knowing all too well the dangers of gabbling in the forbidden magic. He had seen enough of the consequences of such a practice and firmly believed it should be prohibited. But instead, one of the senior wardens was a proud blood mage, unfathomable to him. Nicholaus tore his gaze away from the balcony and slipped back inside without anyone noticing just as the chanting came to an end. He thought he was in the clear until he heard his name being called by someone familiar, Arnoul Crépin. "Nicholaus. I see you're so keen on drinking the tap dry. I can't blame you, especially after hearing the plan," the Orlesian archer chuckled to himself.

Oh yeah, the plan to ultimately rid the world of the darkspawn once and for all. Nicholaus thought it crazy and desperate, but at least it didn't involve summoning another demon army. That was a plus. Though he didn't really leave the speech for that reason, it was the perfect excuse to use. Nicholaus threw his hands up in mock defeat, a wry smile playing at the corners of his lips. "You know me too well. Anyone in my shoes would gladly drink til they're facedown on the floor."

Arnoul frowned, "You're part of the Pathfinder teams?"

"Yeah," whispered Nicholaus as he started walking towards the barrels of ale, reaching for a mug along the way. "The Senior Wardens are convinced that we can eradicate the Blight once and for all by sacrificing us to the slaughter."

"Well... at least it isn't like Adamant." Arnoul said, trying to lighten up the sour mood.

"I suppose so."' Nicholaus shrugged and then reached for his mug, pouring himself a drink from the barrel. "Still though, assault the fortress of an old god reeks of desperation."

Arnoul took the mug from him and replaced it with another, saying with a weak smile, "Well then, let us celebrate now and pray you live to fight another day." Nicholaus appreciated the gesture and gratefully accepted the chance for one last spirited festive. Even though a couple of darkspawn wouldn't easily take him down, he wasn't getting any younger with each passing season that slipped by. So, as the hall began to fill up, other wardens joined in what was supposed to be a private celebration. At first, Nicholaus was a little irked but soon found himself warming up to the lively atmosphere, enjoying the company more than he would have liked to admit. The idle chatter became a pleasant noise to lose himself in. And it was quite fitting for an old friend like Warden Arnoul to be by his side at this crucial moment more than ever. So, he will eat and drink til he's called over to join the chosen few on the perilous journey into the Deep Roads. Nicholaus took a long, bracing swing from the mug, hoping to quell the sense of dread within him.

---

Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

---

BATMAN

_{OLD GOTHAM}

HOMECOMING - BITTERNESS

---

Harvey Dent. What more could be said about a childhood friend who undoubtedly had every reason to be furious? It was hard to blame him, given it had been years since their last farewell at a lively high school grad party. Rather than reaching out the moment he landed in Gotham, Bruce let two long weeks drift by in complete silence, with each day stretching on until Harvey decided he'd had enough and undoubtedly contacted Alfred to set up this long-awaited reunion. Seated outside a vibrant café, Harvey was finishing typing on his phone when he spotted Bruce approaching, an air of awkwardness trailing him like a shadow. As he took a seat across from his old friend, the tension was palpable, to say the least.

"Hey there, how's it going?" Bruce offered a hopeful smile, clearly aiming to lighten the mood.

Harvey raised an eyebrow, his face shifting into a scowl as he shot back with biting sarcasm. "'How's it going?' Seriously, Bruce? That's the best you can do after disappearing for eight years? No letters, no texts—just this? Impressive, truly."

"I needed to find myself, you know that." Bruce replied, a hint of regret flickering across his face as he spoke.

"Find yourself? Since when does 'ghosting' everyone in your life count as self-discovery." Harvey retorted, his voice edging towards a shout. "I never thought you'd just disappear on us—especially not on Alfred. He needed you just as much as you needed him. That girl from the repair shop and I had to step in, trying to fill the void you left behind. Just thinking about it gets me so fucking furious, Bruce."

Harvey was always merciless, his bluntness a constant since their middle school days. Fortunately, that hard-edged demeanor hadn't dulled with time. Perhaps that was exactly what Bruce needed—a stark reminder of the consequences of his choices, something Alfred would never have the heart to deliver. Feeling the weight of his friend's words, Bruce realized how much he had missed their dynamic over the years of travel. With a shaky breath, he finally admitted, "You're right. I shouldn't have pushed you, Alfred, or anyone else away. Yet, I chose to. Now, I'm here to make things right—not just with you, but with everyone I've hurt with my choice. I am genuinely sorry."

Bruce noticed a subtle shift in Harvey's demeanor; the fire in his eyes began to cool. He let out a deep sigh, and a faint smile crept onto his face. "Well, it's a start," he said, the edge in his voice softening.

"I guess those years away have worked some magic. You've actually grown up a bit." Harvey teased, unable to resist a jab.

Bruce chuckled in response. "You have as well, Chief Deputy District Attorney Dent."

"Yeah, well, nothing like uncovering the depths of Gotham's corruption to speed up the aging process," Harvey said with a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as a wry grin crept onto his face. "And what about those student loans!"

Alfred had informed him about Harvey's rise in the legal field. Fresh out of law school, Harvey participated in a groundbreaking lawsuit against the renowned Doctor Thorne for medical malpractice stretching years, resulting in revoking his medical license. Harvey caught the attention of the former District Attorney, who nominated him for his current position just before passing away from liver failure. Now, with a special election looming to fill the vacant position, whispers began to swirl that Harvey might be contemplating a run. It felt as if Gotham itself was beckoning to him, recognizing the potential hidden within the man willing to grapple with the shadows. This sensation was all too hauntingly familiar for Bruce—an echo of his current crusade. But this was something that could easily be something truly monumental. Unable to shake his curiosity, he leaned closer to his friend and asked:

"I've caught wind of your ambition to run for DA. Is there truth to those rumors?"

Harvey looked surprised before quickly giving way to a flash of irritation. "Don't put any stock in whatever the Gazette is spinning."

Bruce raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. "That's a shame. I honestly think you'd make a fantastic DA."

"Oh, y-you really think so?" Harvey stammered, his surprise giving way to an unmistakable spark of interest.

"Absolutely, Dent. You've always been the one to take a stand against injustice. I checked out your record as a prosecutor, and honestly, it's extraordinary. Taking down a caporegime in your first year? Getting justice for the victims of Dr. Thorne? I remember that day you almost got suspended for standing up to Tommy because you were fed up with his bullying. That moment made it clear to me: you were destined for greatness. And now, you have the chance to do even more." Bruce's voice was warm and sincere as he touched his friend's hand reassuringly. "I want a safer Gotham, and I'm convinced you're the only official who can make it happen."

Harvey sat speechless, the weight of the moment enveloping him. "I... I need to discuss this with Gilda. She's been encouraging me to run."

Bruce's eyes widened in surprise. "Gilda? Gilda Gold?" The name seemed to spark a flash of old memories, and his expression brightened at the revelation. The smile that spread across Harvey's face spoke volumes, filling Bruce with unexpected delight. Gilda had been a cherished friend from middle school, but she only knew Harvey from high school before moving away during their sophomore year. Now, the news of their rekindled friendship intrigued him more.

"Wow, how did that even happen?" Bruce asked.

"Well, she ended up attending the same law school as me, and then things just fell into place. We've been together for three years now. I really think she's the one." There was a warmth in Harvey's tone that made Bruce's heart swell with joy for his friend. Yet, amidst the happiness, a bittersweet ache lingered within him—a sorrowful reminder of the love that remained just out of reach as his crusade pressed onward.

---

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B A T M A N

---

_{"Your day of reckoning has arrived."}

---

^{_{♦ B R U C E W A Y N E ♦ B I L L I O N A I R E ♦ G O T H A M C I T Y ♦}}

O R I G I N S:

---

On a rainy summer night, a nine-year-old child's innocence was forever shattered in a dim, dank alleyway. His parents, the richest in all of Gotham, were murdered in what seemed to be a botched robbery. The lone boy was none other than Bruce Wayne, the now sole surviving heir to the vast Wayne fortune. The nearby police station was encircled by reporters and paparazzi when the family butler arrived after extensive questioning by officers, which unsurprisingly went nowhere. Bruce remembered vividly the camera flashes that blinded his every step towards the car from the station. The crowd of newshounds shouted their questions as loudly as humanly possible behind the fence outside his home. Alfred's warm hug. And his sworn vow to avenge them somehow.

Bruce never let himself forget the promise he made that night. Soon, it became an obsession as the years went on. Therapy sessions with the family doctor weren't enough to smother the grief. School and work at an auto repair shop served as distractions for the anger. And when Bruce graduated high school, he sought out answers by visiting places all around the world. It was when he began to figure out his purpose in life, the reason he was spared a bullet on that cold night. Eight years abroad made the urge to return home unbearable, even if his home was in a rough state of affairs—corruption, brutality, and crime were all too common nowadays. So Bruce put all his newfound skills and techniques to use, hoping it would be enough to fill the void in his shallow life.

But the first few nights out still wasn't enough. It wasn't until a large bat crashed through one of the manor windows that Bruce found the missing piece of his raw sense of purpose. This marked a new chapter of his life as he got to work on a costume that resembled a bat, taking several days to complete. His position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises made it possible, along with assistance from Lucius Fox. It was a warm summer night when the crusade against crime began anew from the Batman.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Alfred Pennyworth, a veteran of the Gulf War, had always followed a routine around the manor. He woke up to the alarm set at six in the morning, got dressed in his uniform, and cleaned around the manor—inside and out. And for the most part, the routine remained the same with a few exceptions. Some were quite happy ones, like when Martha's water broke or the unexpected birthday party. But many of them were terrible, like that night on June 26, 2008. It was almost midnight when he answered the phone, knowing beforehand that something horrible had happened to the Waynes. By the time he made it to the police station in Park Row, every reporter in Gotham was eager to grab a scoop on the story of the decade, not caring about the lone victim at all.

Young Bruce looked utterly traumatized in front of the intrusive officers, his coat still stained with his parents' blood. There were only a few times that Alfred had seen that look before, and all of them were from his brief time in Iraq. But there was something entirely different seeing that expression on a child, which made it... gut-wrenching, to say the least. Alfred approached the grieving boy and hugged him, not minding the blood-soaked coat at all. He cautiously removed the coat, not wanting to further upset him, while offering comforting words, "I know I won't be able to understand the pain you're going through, but I will always be here for you, Master Bruce. Always."

That night was the worst one in a long while for Alfred. But what happened tonight... was close.

Alfred turned away from the sink, with a wet, soapy plate in hand, and saw him. A dark, shadowy figure standing tall with his piercing eyes being encased by the darkness on the other side of the kitchen. The silhouette wasn't human but some sort of freakish man-bat standing there menacingly as if he was about to pounce upon him. Alfred dropped the plate and let it shatter on the tile floor, paralyzed with complete fear as he could only let out a gasp. Suddenly, the figure reacted strangely, ripping off the mask to reveal... Master Bruce underneath? The sight was surreal. The boy he used to drive to school every weekday, the teenager who nervously brought his date over, the same man with an inexplicable fear of bats, was now sporting as one.

"Alfred," Bruce called out, a mixture of guilt and curiosity in his voice, "Are you alright?"

How could one answer that after witnessing such a... creature? What answer could convey the feeling of dread he had just endured? Alfred wasn't sure if there was one, but he had to try regardless. He only needed a moment for his nerves to calm down before he could respond. "I'm not... entirely certain, Master Bruce. Your costume is something else, even though Halloween's months away. Why do you have it on now?"

"It's not just a costume, Alfred." Bruce answered straightforwardly.

"Huh?" Alfred tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"It represents what our city has long forgotten: justice."

Alfred frowned, knowing full well what he was referring to now, his fight against the 'filth' in Gotham. Crime families, corrupt officials, would-be thieves, and anyone else engaged in criminal behavior had become fair game. But Bruce had seemingly gotten nowhere with his crusade since his time back home. That was until now, and it was frightening. Alfred was acutely aware that he needed to stop him before it became too late. Yet, he couldn't shake the troubling thought: perhaps it was already too late? Ever since his parent's death, there was always this sense of anger tucked away in the young boy that only ever got unleashed at schoolyard bullies. Alfred thought it would eventually be phased out with counseling from Leslie, but he was so wrong.

Now, this rage of his was going to hurt him, or worse, god forbid. And Alfred was ever so powerless to prevent it from happening. All he could do was be there for his adopted son whenever he needed the support, no matter how much it stung.

"Well, at least you've decided to not wear the gown and wig." Alfred chuckled to himself before deciding to be rather direct with his question. "But I have to ask, sir: Why a bat? You're absolutely terrified of them."

Bruce had a rather wicked smirk on his face. "I am, and that fear will too paralyze criminals."

"I see..." Alfred was suddenly too uncomfortable to probe any further, so his focus shifted to cleaning up the pieces of the broken plate on the floor. "So I assume you're leaving for another night on the town?"

"Of course." Bruce nodded and was about to say something but paused instead. His demeanor shifted so quickly that it was unsettling. "I have to leave very soon."

Alfred stopped what he was doing, realizing this could be their last interaction. Each night that Bruce left for the city filled him with such dread. What if he got the call? He couldn't live with himself if Bruce had gotten hurt or worse... died. It would've haunted him til the sweet release of death if he had to bury another Wayne. He just couldn't bear the thought. So he got up from the floor and tried to grab Bruce, desperate to get his attention, to stop his bloody crusade of pure madness. "Master Bruce, wait a sec-"

But his boy wasn't there anymore. "I'll see you in the morning, Alfred." The monster's softly spoken words left the butler completely utterly speechless as it rushed out of the kitchen. Alfred was alone, overwhelmed by intense fear, followed by a sense of despair from his boy. And he could do nothing about it other than clean up the mess on the floor and pray that the telephone does not ring at all tonight.

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 as a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Ultimate One Universe: Emergence

The Dark Knight

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B A T M A N

---

_{"Your day of reckoning has arrived."}

---

^{_{♦ B R U C E W A Y N E ♦ B I L L I O N A I R E ♦ G O T H A M C I T Y ♦}}

O R I G I N S:

---

On a rainy summer night, a nine-year-old child's innocence was forever shattered in a dim, dank alleyway. His parents, the richest in all of Gotham, were murdered in what seemed to be a botched robbery. The lone boy was none other than Bruce Wayne, the now sole surviving heir to the vast Wayne fortune. The nearby police station was encircled by reporters and paparazzi when the family butler arrived after extensive questioning by officers, which unsurprisingly went nowhere. Bruce remembered vividly the camera flashes that blinded his every step towards the car from the station. The crowd of newshounds shouted their questions as loudly as humanly possible behind the fence outside his home. Alfred's warm hug. And his sworn vow to avenge them somehow.

Bruce never let himself forget the promise he made that night. Soon, it became an obsession as the years went on. Therapy sessions with the family doctor weren't enough to smother the grief. School and work at an auto repair shop served as distractions for the anger. And when Bruce graduated high school, he sought out answers by visiting places all around the world. It was when he began to figure out his purpose in life, the reason he was spared a bullet on that cold night. Eight years abroad made the urge to return home unbearable, even if his home was in a rough state of affairs—corruption, brutality, and crime were all too common nowadays. So Bruce put all his newfound skills and techniques to use, hoping it would be enough to fill the void in his shallow life.

But the first few nights out still wasn't enough. It wasn't until a large bat crashed through one of the manor windows that Bruce found the missing piece of his raw sense of purpose. This marked a new chapter of his life as he got to work on a costume that resembled a bat, taking several days to complete. His position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises made it possible, along with assistance from Lucius Fox. It was a warm summer night when the crusade against crime began anew from the Batman.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Alfred Pennyworth, a veteran of the Gulf War, had always followed a routine around the manor. He woke up to the alarm set at six in the morning, got dressed in his uniform, and cleaned around the manor—inside and out. And for the most part, the routine remained the same with a few exceptions. Some were quite happy ones, like when Martha's water broke or the unexpected birthday party. But many of them were terrible, like that night on June 26, 2008. It was almost midnight when he answered the phone, knowing beforehand that something horrible had happened to the Waynes. By the time he made it to the police station in Park Row, every reporter in Gotham was eager to grab a scoop on the story of the decade, not caring about the lone victim at all.

Young Bruce looked utterly traumatized in front of the intrusive officers, his coat still stained with his parents' blood. There were only a few times that Alfred had seen that look before, and all of them were from his brief time in Iraq. But there was something entirely different seeing that expression on a child, which made it... gut-wrenching, to say the least. Alfred approached the grieving boy and hugged him, not minding the blood-soaked coat at all. He cautiously removed the coat, not wanting to further upset him, while offering comforting words, "I know I won't be able to understand the pain you're going through, but I will always be here for you, Master Bruce. Always."

That night was the worst one in a long while for Alfred. But what happened tonight... was close.

Alfred turned away from the sink, with a wet, soapy plate in hand, and saw him. A dark, shadowy figure standing tall with his piercing eyes being encased by the darkness on the other side of the kitchen. The silhouette wasn't human but some sort of freakish man-bat standing there menacingly as if he was about to pounce upon him. Alfred dropped the plate and let it shatter on the tile floor, paralyzed with complete fear as he could only let out a gasp. Suddenly, the figure reacted strangely, ripping off the mask to reveal... Master Bruce underneath? The sight was surreal. The boy he used to drive to school every weekday, the teenager who nervously brought his date over, the same man with an inexplicable fear of bats, was now sporting as one.

"Alfred," Bruce called out, a mixture of guilt and curiosity in his voice, "Are you alright?"

How could one answer that after witnessing such a... creature? What answer could convey the feeling of dread he had just endured? Alfred wasn't sure if there was one, but he had to try regardless. He only needed a moment for his nerves to calm down before he could respond. "I'm not... entirely certain, Master Bruce. Your costume is something else, even though Halloween's months away. Why do you have it on now?"

"It's not just a costume, Alfred." Bruce answered straightforwardly.

"Huh?" Alfred tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"It represents what our city has long forgotten: justice."

Alfred frowned, knowing full well what he was referring to now, his fight against the 'filth' in Gotham. Crime families, corrupt officials, would-be thieves, and anyone else engaged in criminal behavior had become fair game. But Bruce had seemingly gotten nowhere with his crusade since his time back home. That was until now, and it was frightening. Alfred was acutely aware that he needed to stop him before it became too late. Yet, he couldn't shake the troubling thought: perhaps it was already too late? Ever since his parent's death, there was always this sense of anger tucked away in the young boy that only ever got unleashed at schoolyard bullies. Alfred thought it would eventually be phased out with counseling from Leslie, but he was so wrong.

Now, this rage of his was going to hurt him, or worse, god forbid. And Alfred was ever so powerless to prevent it from happening. All he could do was be there for his adopted son whenever he needed the support, no matter how much it stung.

"Well, at least you've decided to not wear the gown and wig." Alfred chuckled to himself before deciding to be rather direct with his question. "But I have to ask, sir: Why a bat? You're absolutely terrified of them."

Bruce had a rather wicked smirk on his face. "I am, and that fear will too paralyze criminals."

"I see..." Alfred was suddenly too uncomfortable to probe any further, so his focus shifted to cleaning up the pieces of the broken plate on the floor. "So I assume you're leaving for another night on the town?"

"Of course." Bruce nodded and was about to say something but paused instead. His demeanor shifted so quickly that it was unsettling. "I have to leave very soon."

Alfred stopped what he was doing, realizing this could be their last interaction. Each night that Bruce left for the city filled him with such dread. What if he got the call? He couldn't live with himself if Bruce had gotten hurt or worse... died. It would've haunted him til the sweet release of death if he had to bury another Wayne. He just couldn't bear the thought. So he got up from the floor and tried to grab Bruce, desperate to get his attention, to stop his bloody crusade of pure madness. "Master Bruce, wait a sec-"

But his boy wasn't there anymore. "I'll see you in the morning, Alfred." The monster's softly spoken words left the butler completely utterly speechless as it rushed out of the kitchen. Alfred was alone, overwhelmed by intense fear, followed by a sense of despair from his boy. And he could do nothing about it other than clean up the mess on the floor and pray that the telephone does not ring at all tonight.

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 as a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

The Dark Knight

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B A T M A N

---

_{"Your day of reckoning has arrived."}

---

^{_{♦ B R U C E W A Y N E ♦ B I L L I O N A I R E ♦ G O T H A M C I T Y ♦}}

O R I G I N S:

---

On a rainy summer night, a nine-year-old child's innocence was forever shattered in a dim, dank alleyway. His parents, the richest in all of Gotham, were murdered in what seemed to be a botched robbery. The lone boy was none other than Bruce Wayne, the now sole surviving heir to the vast Wayne fortune. The nearby police station was encircled by reporters and paparazzi when the family butler arrived after extensive questioning by officers, which unsurprisingly went nowhere. Bruce remembered vividly the camera flashes that blinded his every step towards the car from the station. The crowd of newshounds shouting their questions as loudly as humanly possible behind the fence outside his home. Alfred's warm hug. And his sworn vow to avenge them somehow.

Bruce never let himself forget the promise he made that night. Soon, it became an obsession. Therapy sessions with the family doctor weren't enough to smother the grief. School and work at an auto repair shop served as distractions for the anger. And when Bruce graduated high school, he sought out answers by visiting places all around the world. It was when he began to figure out his purpose, the very reason he was spared a bullet on that cold night. Eight years abroad made the urge to return home unbearable, even if his home was in a rough state of affairs—corruption, neglect, brutality, and crime were all too common occurrences. So Bruce put all his newfound skills and techniques to use as a vigilante, hoping it would be enough to fill the void in his shallow life.

But the first few nights out still wasn't enough. It wasn't until a large bat crashed through one of the manor windows that Bruce found the missing piece of his raw sense of purpose. This marked a new chapter of his life as he got to work on a costume that resembled a bat, taking several days to complete. His position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises, the last remnants of his family's legacy, made it possible, along with assistance from a close family friend, COO Lucius Fox. While Alfred and Leslie were unsuccessful in convincing their adopted son to move on from the vow that a scared little boy made. It was a warm summer night when the crusade against crime began anew from the Batman.

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.

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.

Mao Mao's Rambling Concepts

The Dark Knight

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

B A T M A N

---

_{"Your day of reckoning has arrived."}

---

^{_{♦ B R U C E W A Y N E ♦ B I L L I O N A I R E ♦ G O T H A M C I T Y ♦}}

O R I G I N S:

---

On a rainy summer night, a nine-year-old child's innocence was forever shattered in a dim, dank alleyway. His parents, the richest in all of Gotham, were murdered in what seemed to be a botched robbery. The lone boy was none other than Bruce Wayne, the now sole surviving heir to the vast Wayne fortune. The nearby police station was encircled by reporters and paparazzi when the family butler arrived after extensive questioning by officers, which unsurprisingly went nowhere. Bruce remembered vividly the camera flashes that blinded his every step towards the car from the station. The crowd of newshounds shouted their questions as loudly as humanly possible behind the fence outside his home. Alfred's warm hug. And his sworn vow to avenge them somehow.

Bruce never let himself forget the promise he made that night. Soon, it became an obsession as the years went on. Therapy sessions with the family doctor weren't enough to smother the grief. School and work at an auto repair shop served as distractions for the anger. And when Bruce graduated high school, he sought out answers by visiting places all around the world. It was when he began to figure out his purpose in life, the reason he was spared a bullet on that cold night. Eight years abroad made the urge to return home unbearable, even if his home was in a rough state of affairs—corruption, brutality, and crime were all too common nowadays. So Bruce put all his newfound skills and techniques to use, hoping it would be enough to fill the void in his shallow life.

But the first few nights out still wasn't enough. It wasn't until a large bat crashed through one of the manor windows that Bruce found the missing piece of his raw sense of purpose. This marked a new chapter of his life as he got to work on a costume that resembled a bat, taking several days to complete. His position as CEO of Wayne Enterprises made it possible, along with assistance from Lucius Fox. It was a warm summer night when the crusade against crime began anew from the Batman.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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Alfred Pennyworth, a veteran of the Gulf War, had always followed a routine around the manor. He woke up to the alarm set at six in the morning, got dressed in his uniform, and cleaned around the manor—inside and out. And for the most part, the routine remained the same with a few exceptions. Some were quite happy ones, like when Martha's water broke or the unexpected birthday party. But many of them were terrible, like that night on June 26, 2008. It was almost midnight when he answered the phone, knowing beforehand that something horrible had happened to the Waynes. By the time he made it to the police station in Park Row, every reporter in Gotham was eager to grab a scoop on the story of the decade, not caring about the lone victim at all.

Young Bruce looked utterly traumatized in front of the intrusive officers, his coat still stained with his parents' blood. There were only a few times that Alfred had seen that look before, and all of them were from his brief time in Iraq. But there was something entirely different seeing that expression on a child, which made it... gut-wrenching, to say the least. Alfred approached the grieving boy and hugged him, not minding the blood-soaked coat at all. He cautiously removed the coat, not wanting to further upset him, while offering comforting words, "I know I won't be able to understand the pain you're going through, but I will always be here for you, Master Bruce. Always."

That night was the worst one in a long while for Alfred. But what happened tonight... was close.

Alfred turned away from the sink, with a wet, soapy plate in hand, and saw him. A dark, shadowy figure standing tall with his piercing eyes being encased by the darkness on the other side of the kitchen. The silhouette wasn't human but some sort of freakish man-bat standing there menacingly as if he was about to pounce upon him. Alfred dropped the plate and let it shatter on the tile floor, paralyzed with complete fear as he could only let out a gasp. Suddenly, the figure reacted strangely, ripping off the mask to reveal... Master Bruce underneath? The sight was surreal. The boy he used to drive to school every weekday, the teenager who nervously brought his date over, the same man with an inexplicable fear of bats, was now sporting as one.

"Alfred," Bruce called out, a mixture of guilt and curiosity in his voice, "Are you alright?"

How could one answer that after witnessing such a... creature? What answer could convey the feeling of dread he had just endured? Alfred wasn't sure if there was one, but he had to try regardless. He only needed a moment for his nerves to calm down before he could respond. "I'm not... entirely certain, Master Bruce. Your costume is something else, even though Halloween's months away. Why do you have it on now?"

"It's not just a costume, Alfred." Bruce answered straightforwardly.

"Huh?" Alfred tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"It represents what our city has long forgotten: justice."

Alfred frowned, knowing full well what he was referring to now, his fight against the 'filth' in Gotham. Crime families, corrupt officials, would-be thieves, and anyone else engaged in criminal behavior had become fair game. But Bruce had seemingly gotten nowhere with his crusade since his time back home. That was until now, and it was frightening. Alfred was acutely aware that he needed to stop him before it became too late. Yet, he couldn't shake the troubling thought: perhaps it was already too late? Ever since his parent's death, there was always this sense of anger tucked away in the young boy that only ever got unleashed at schoolyard bullies. Alfred thought it would eventually be phased out with counseling from Leslie, but he was so wrong.

Now, this rage of his was going to hurt him, or worse, god forbid. And Alfred was ever so powerless to prevent it from happening. All he could do was be there for his adopted son whenever he needed the support, no matter how much it stung.

"Well, at least you've decided to not wear the gown and wig." Alfred chuckled to himself before deciding to be rather direct with his question. "But I have to ask, sir: Why a bat? You're absolutely terrified of them."

Bruce had a rather wicked smirk on his face. "I am, and that fear will too paralyze criminals."

"I see..." Alfred was suddenly too uncomfortable to probe any further, so his focus shifted to cleaning up the pieces of the broken plate on the floor. "So I assume you're leaving for another night on the town?"

"Of course." Bruce nodded and was about to say something but paused instead. His demeanor shifted so quickly that it was unsettling. "I have to leave very soon."

Alfred stopped what he was doing, realizing this could be their last interaction. Each night that Bruce left for the city filled him with such dread. What if he got the call? He couldn't live with himself if Bruce had gotten hurt or worse... died. It would've haunted him til the sweet release of death if he had to bury another Wayne. He just couldn't bear the thought. So he got up from the floor and tried to grab Bruce, desperate to get his attention, to stop his bloody crusade of pure madness. "Master Bruce, wait a sec-"

But his boy wasn't there anymore. "I'll see you in the morning, Alfred." The monster's softly spoken words left the butler completely utterly speechless as it rushed out of the kitchen. Alfred was alone, overwhelmed by intense fear, followed by a sense of despair from his boy. And he could do nothing about it other than clean up the mess on the floor and pray that the telephone does not ring at all tonight.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

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A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used as a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed interactions and stories.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

You know what, I'm gonna be a madman and apply for Batman.

Marvel & DC: Emergence (Canon RP)

So, I assume that my chances of finally writing the TMNT are still low?

Dragon Age: Grey Dawn

Nicholaus Lemaître

Nicholaus Lemaître

| {Full Name} |

Nicholaus Lemaître

| {Age} |

43

| {Species} |

Human

| {Gender} |

Non-binary

| {Class/subclass} |

Knight-Enchanter Mage

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| {Appearance} |

Standing 6' 2" tall, Nicholaus stands alongside others rather with a sense of pride from being an olive-skinned Orlesian. His long, wavy, dark brown hair is complicatedly styled, often in different hairstyles depending on the occasion. While his impressively long, trimmed mustache isn't too touched upon with wax and other products. And often wearing battlemage armor formally from the Orlesian Army, modified to appear similar to armor worn by Inquisition forces. Out of combat, Nicholaus wears casual clothing made originally by manufacturers from Val Royeaux, either brought or gifted to him.

Nicholaus has trimmed eyebrows and dark brown wide eyes with measured, wearing round glasses for reading. His pointed chin, long face, and full lips are defining features in addition to his wide hips. His short torso lacks any chest muscle tone while maintaining his weight to a certain degree.

| {Equipment and Personal Belongings} |

Enchanter Staff
Battlemage Armor

| {Skills} |

Advisor of the Magi - Having been nothing more than a plain old advisor to those illiterate in magic, Nicholaus flourished throughout the years learning much about the practices.

Survivor of The Game - Growing up amongst the nobility of Orlais, it's almost expected that one has a deep understanding and appreciation of The Grand Game. Nicholaus often found himself in the middle of such challenges quite often.

Knowledge Curator - Given there wasn't much a mage could do while stuck in a tower, Nicholaus took to reading history scrolls and books to relieve the boredom.

| {Talents} |

Spear Handling - Despite being a mage, a Knight-Enchanter was expected to engage in melee combat. Nicholaus chose to treat his stave like a spear, unlike a sword, to maintain as much distance as possible.

Nomad - Given his job required constant travel, Nicholaus quickly adjusted to temporary living, always ready to move to different locations without much difficulty.

| {Spells} |

Winter's Grasp
Spirit Blade
Combat Clarity
Fade Shield

| {Home/Family} |

Montsimmard Circle Tower, Orlais.

| {Flaws and limits} |

Calculated Bastard - In order for one to survive the Game, Nicholaus had to be one step ahead of his enemies. That meant doing whatever it took even if it brought forth death to those that crossed him. And even after leaving that life behind him, old habits were still around and often reared its ugly head regardless of the circumstances.

Aging Body - Nicholaus was not getting any younger, and it was beginning to show when his eyes started to get weaker. So far though, he was in decent enough condition to continue fighting for the Wardens.

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| {Personality} |

Being from the countryside originally was something engraved into Nicholaus, even as he was sent away to the tower at the unusual age of five. His intense desire for a family was quickly used against him in The Game, where compassion could easily be discarded without remorse. It was something that was quite difficult to let go especially when he got more familiar with the dance. But it could never be crushed. His mask was a deliberate one, in which his clients assumed him to be a calculated, distant mage. Someone who wanted to break free of his confines in the tower and be amongst the nobility. And even though his freedom came with his work, taking off the mask in front of anyone was impossible.

And he paid accordingly when he did let the mask down ever so slightly. Nicholaus relied on his training as a Knight-Enchanter to push through the mental pains alongside his work as an advisor. Combat also provided thrills and the adrenaline rush to his otherwise dull life, though he did not enjoy taking away life from any life form. His mask was now a tightly held safeguard designed to never be let down even at the slightest inconvenience in front of him. But with his time in the Inquisition and the Grey Warden, the mask began to show cracks (age also played a major factor). Nicholaus was facing a dilemma that couldn't be solved with clever tactics or a simple spell trick, and that left him baffled for the first time in decades.

| {Background} |

For much of their early adulthood, Nicholaus Lemaître served as a traveling arcane advisor to noble families across Orlais. They often remained beside their patrons for a few weeks to months, depending on the severity of the commission. But given the usefulness of a knight-enchanter, they mainly dealt with protective roles or the occasional wildlife hunter. It was well-paid and respectable enough to keep the Orlesian Chantry and its Circle of Magi off of their back. That was until the War of the Lions brought forth chaos to the homeland, forcing Nicholaus to get involved.

The Knight-Enchanter was cautious to not align with the crown nor the rebels, an attempt to play both sides of the conflict. It was at this point in Nicholaus' life that the Game was truly dangerous. Lies and deceit were common tactical decisions made to protect their bottom line, which was an occurrent feat to achieve on a daily basis. And after a year of keeping up with the charade grew ever tired of the civil war and the inconvenience it brought forth to the lands. So when news came of the Inquisition and their efforts to secure a truce, it was an opportunity of a lifetime for Nicholaus, a talented mage capable, to offer their services to the cause.

The Breach was more of a threat to the whole world than the Orlesian noble ever could have realized. Nicholaus was part of the platoon that attacked Corypheus and his forces of Red Templars. Not long after it was sealed, and with the world seemingly saved, Orlais soon descended into a new kind of war from the shadows where The Game was ever so essential to one's survival. In the hopes of finding a new sense of normalcy, Nicholaus chose to remain in the Inquisition until it was publicly disbanded by the Exalted Council. So, with no desire to resume their previous occupation, they sought out purpose in the Grey Wardens alongside their fellow comrades.

Nicholaus survived the Joining and quickly adapted to life, having been transferred over to Wheisshaupt to assist the mage teachers with their lessons.