@The Fated Fallen You didn't come across as hostile at all. No worries. Poo did say he hasn't experimented much with them as of yet, and I wanted to make a monster hunter so I decided to be his guinea pig.
Nib Member
- Last Seen: 3 mos ago
- Old Guild Username: sartorous
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 1022 (0.26 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Nib 7 yrs ago
- █████████ 11 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Username: Ink Blood
Character Name: Gaderon Fleurin
Race/Species: Human- Half Banian/ Half Vrettonian
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Career/Class: Darkslayer
Weapons:
Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Gaderon stands at 5’11” with a lithe but solid frame. He shares the fair skin of his Banian roots but has a lighter shade of brown hair from his mother’s bloodline. He keeps his shoulder-length hair tied back in a half ponytail. His eyes are a piercing, ice blue. His facial structure is an interesting combination of his Banina and Vrettonian, giving him a squared jawline and high cheekbones. The most distinguishing factor to Gaderon, though, is a large scar across the left side of his face reminiscent of a bolt of lighting. It begins just above his eyebrow and runs clear down just below his mouth in a jagged line that branches of across the bridge of his nose and several other places. To stave off the cold of his homeland, he usually wears a thick shirt under his armored chest piece, a long cuffed coat, and high boots. Since coming to south, though, Gaderon has taken to wearing a thin shirt open at the chest with shorter sleeves and leaves his coat slung across his bag.
Armor: Gaderon is usually clad in a leather chest piece overlaid with chainmail.
Equipment/Other
Mental Description/Personality: Gaderon is a headstrong person confident (some would say arogant) in his own abilities. Because of this, he finds himself being skeptical of others’ abilities on a subconscious level, preferring to do things himself if possible, at times being stubborn and still attempting to do them himself. He is also a very studious and inquisitive person, constantly observing his surroundings, especially people. He has earned himself a reputation in specializing in finding the creatures that hide amongst their potential prey. As he observes so much, Gaderon usually has very little to say or contribute as far as conversation goes, but when he does talk he can be long winded at times. Despite this, he’s friendly enough, not too standoffish in terms of his personality, but his scar tends to intimidate the more faint of heart. Gaderon doesn't mind people avoiding him much, usually wanting to be left to his thoughts and observations or studies of various creatures.
Goals: Gaderon began his journey south when tracking a banshee from his homeland and found monsters he had not faced or studied before as well as variations of monsters he had faced before, so he continued his journey to study new monsters and learn what he could of them. His studies and jobs continued leading him further south.
Background/History:
Character Name: Gaderon Fleurin
Race/Species: Human- Half Banian/ Half Vrettonian
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Career/Class: Darkslayer
Weapons:
- Estoc with silver-laced valdium blade
- Silver dagger
- Hunting knife
Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Gaderon stands at 5’11” with a lithe but solid frame. He shares the fair skin of his Banian roots but has a lighter shade of brown hair from his mother’s bloodline. He keeps his shoulder-length hair tied back in a half ponytail. His eyes are a piercing, ice blue. His facial structure is an interesting combination of his Banina and Vrettonian, giving him a squared jawline and high cheekbones. The most distinguishing factor to Gaderon, though, is a large scar across the left side of his face reminiscent of a bolt of lighting. It begins just above his eyebrow and runs clear down just below his mouth in a jagged line that branches of across the bridge of his nose and several other places. To stave off the cold of his homeland, he usually wears a thick shirt under his armored chest piece, a long cuffed coat, and high boots. Since coming to south, though, Gaderon has taken to wearing a thin shirt open at the chest with shorter sleeves and leaves his coat slung across his bag.
Armor: Gaderon is usually clad in a leather chest piece overlaid with chainmail.
Equipment/Other
- Grey horse named Cinder
- Simple trail rations
- 2 Waterskins
- Fire starting kit
- Holy symbol of Bael
- Belt pouch full of various ingredients used in fighting different creatures.
- Journal
Mental Description/Personality: Gaderon is a headstrong person confident (some would say arogant) in his own abilities. Because of this, he finds himself being skeptical of others’ abilities on a subconscious level, preferring to do things himself if possible, at times being stubborn and still attempting to do them himself. He is also a very studious and inquisitive person, constantly observing his surroundings, especially people. He has earned himself a reputation in specializing in finding the creatures that hide amongst their potential prey. As he observes so much, Gaderon usually has very little to say or contribute as far as conversation goes, but when he does talk he can be long winded at times. Despite this, he’s friendly enough, not too standoffish in terms of his personality, but his scar tends to intimidate the more faint of heart. Gaderon doesn't mind people avoiding him much, usually wanting to be left to his thoughts and observations or studies of various creatures.
Goals: Gaderon began his journey south when tracking a banshee from his homeland and found monsters he had not faced or studied before as well as variations of monsters he had faced before, so he continued his journey to study new monsters and learn what he could of them. His studies and jobs continued leading him further south.
Background/History:
- Gaderon is born to his Banian father and Vrettonian mother, who lived on the border between the two countries.
- Gaderon’s uncle on his mother’s side takes him on as an apprentice to train him as a Darkslayer as well as dueling styles of Vretttonia.
- Gaderon begins keeping his own journal about the creatures he hunts and studying them on an almost obsessive level.
- Gaderon becomes well known while under his uncle’s tutelage when he helps destroy a pair of vampires that were terrorizing a village near the border of Andred.
- Gaderon is wounded by one of the vampires and almost succumbs to his wounds and the sickness caused by them.
- Gaderon strikes out on his own as a full fledge Darkslayer at the age of twenty-three and continues studying the creatures he was taught to kill, determined to shed new light on them and find cures to some if possible.
Conclusion: Elves have hygiene magic in their blood.
Green Lantern/Sentinel
"And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light. The light of...
THE GREEN LANTERN!"
Alan Scott ♦ 12 February, 1837 ( 180) ♦ M ♦ Neutral Good
C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T:
Thank you sir. If anyone would like to tean with Alan just PM me.
Green Lantern/Sentinel
"And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light. The light of...
THE GREEN LANTERN!"
Alan Scott ♦ 12 February, 1837 ( 180) ♦ M ♦ Neutral Good
C O N C E P T A B S T R A C T:
I will work on a timeline later on. I think I will also be putting Raphael on a back burner for now because I am having a major block with writing for him, but I have been trying. I’ve just been really wanting to make Alan.
The refugee shuttle rocked as it came out of hyperspace above the desert planet. The shuttles definitely weren’t top of the line, but they did their job, even if the ride was rough. There was a short wait as the shuttle approached the Imperial cruiser and was cleared for entry once the proper codes were exchanged. Lohke sat atop an abandoned supply crate along the wall of the shuttle, peering out of the small viewport. He watched the inky blackness of space transition into cloud coverage and then clear away to reveal Abafar’s orange skies and its infamous desert, the Void.
Staring at the planet surface as the shuttle made its way toward the Rhydonium mining facility, if it could be called that, Lohke saw why the desert was called the Void; it stretched on with not so much as a sand dune or farmstead. The “workers”, the people of Abafar, were no more than slaves to the Empire now. As all slaves tend to do, they grew tired of the Empire’s boot to their throats and called for aid. Apparently there was a lone rebel cell operating on Abafar that had made contact with the Alliance, so the higher ups decided to send Lohke to make contact with the cell and gauge the situation. They awaited his report to make a decision on sending aid to the rebels of Abafar.
The shuttle touched down with a jolt that forced most of the refugees to steady themselves before making their way to the exit ramp, where their identification would be verified and their persons checked by the troopers. The people were desperate enough to come to this wasteland to work under the Empire as slaves. Lohke grabbed his satchel and followed the line of refugees to the aft ramp. He held his arm out to the troopers to be scanned as he stepped forward. There were six total around the landing pad; two to scan and pat the refugees down and the other four to impose the fear of the Empire in their sand-stained armor and loaded blasters.
The scanner read Lohke’s ID band and came back with his falsified history. He was operating under the alias, Lavoz Bola. Lavoz, Lav for short, was an incoming supervisor for the mining facility. He wouldn’t be treated much better than the actual workers, but he’d be afforded just enough leeway to make contact with the rebel cell. Next came the other trooper’s search of Lohke’s person and his bag. Nothing but clothes and a measly pile of credits.
“Report to Section Three’s Foreman,” the first trooper said in the usual mechanical voice.
“And where would they be?”
The trooper checked his datapad before replying, “Section six-oh-two. Follow the markers. Next.”
Lohke left the landing pad to make his way into the mines. The markers were easy enough to follow through the facility. As he passed through the mines, he could feel more than see the workers bristle as he passed them. They were weary of a newcomer who wasn’t led into the facility in a line, as that could only mean he wasn’t a new worker but someone who would be over them in some way. He ignored them for the time being.
When he came to the marker with “602” shining on it, he began looking around for the foreman, who came in the form of a male Besalisk. He was standing on a catwalk above the workers, peering down upon them. In these mines he was the one in charge, he had the power. As Lohke walked up the catwalk to the foreman, he could see the pistol strapped to his belt. He let his eyes linger for a moment on the weapon.
“Oo are you,” the foreman asked in between chewing on the end of a stale-looking cigara.
“New supervisor for Section Three. You the Section Three foreman?”
“Aye, that I am. ID band,” the foreman demanded, bringing up his scanner in one of his four hands. Lohke held out his arm to the Besalisk like he had with the troopers. The scan came back green and presented the same falsified information as the first scan had.
“Lavoz Bola?”
“That’s me. Lav for short though.”
“Right. Head over to the bunkhouse. You get a bunk to yourself. You’ll be over Bunk Eight. Last supervisor was dumb enough to let his skin get exposed to the Rhydonium.”
Lohke nodded and made to go find his bunk.
“Oh, and you don’t get one o’ these, “ the foreman patted his blaster, “strictly for the Foremen and troopers.”
Lohke nodded again and left the foreman behind to chuckle to himself as he relished in imposing his power over the workers in the mine, a product of having the Empire impose its will on the galaxy more and more.
Staring at the planet surface as the shuttle made its way toward the Rhydonium mining facility, if it could be called that, Lohke saw why the desert was called the Void; it stretched on with not so much as a sand dune or farmstead. The “workers”, the people of Abafar, were no more than slaves to the Empire now. As all slaves tend to do, they grew tired of the Empire’s boot to their throats and called for aid. Apparently there was a lone rebel cell operating on Abafar that had made contact with the Alliance, so the higher ups decided to send Lohke to make contact with the cell and gauge the situation. They awaited his report to make a decision on sending aid to the rebels of Abafar.
The shuttle touched down with a jolt that forced most of the refugees to steady themselves before making their way to the exit ramp, where their identification would be verified and their persons checked by the troopers. The people were desperate enough to come to this wasteland to work under the Empire as slaves. Lohke grabbed his satchel and followed the line of refugees to the aft ramp. He held his arm out to the troopers to be scanned as he stepped forward. There were six total around the landing pad; two to scan and pat the refugees down and the other four to impose the fear of the Empire in their sand-stained armor and loaded blasters.
The scanner read Lohke’s ID band and came back with his falsified history. He was operating under the alias, Lavoz Bola. Lavoz, Lav for short, was an incoming supervisor for the mining facility. He wouldn’t be treated much better than the actual workers, but he’d be afforded just enough leeway to make contact with the rebel cell. Next came the other trooper’s search of Lohke’s person and his bag. Nothing but clothes and a measly pile of credits.
“Report to Section Three’s Foreman,” the first trooper said in the usual mechanical voice.
“And where would they be?”
The trooper checked his datapad before replying, “Section six-oh-two. Follow the markers. Next.”
Lohke left the landing pad to make his way into the mines. The markers were easy enough to follow through the facility. As he passed through the mines, he could feel more than see the workers bristle as he passed them. They were weary of a newcomer who wasn’t led into the facility in a line, as that could only mean he wasn’t a new worker but someone who would be over them in some way. He ignored them for the time being.
When he came to the marker with “602” shining on it, he began looking around for the foreman, who came in the form of a male Besalisk. He was standing on a catwalk above the workers, peering down upon them. In these mines he was the one in charge, he had the power. As Lohke walked up the catwalk to the foreman, he could see the pistol strapped to his belt. He let his eyes linger for a moment on the weapon.
“Oo are you,” the foreman asked in between chewing on the end of a stale-looking cigara.
“New supervisor for Section Three. You the Section Three foreman?”
“Aye, that I am. ID band,” the foreman demanded, bringing up his scanner in one of his four hands. Lohke held out his arm to the Besalisk like he had with the troopers. The scan came back green and presented the same falsified information as the first scan had.
“Lavoz Bola?”
“That’s me. Lav for short though.”
“Right. Head over to the bunkhouse. You get a bunk to yourself. You’ll be over Bunk Eight. Last supervisor was dumb enough to let his skin get exposed to the Rhydonium.”
Lohke nodded and made to go find his bunk.
“Oh, and you don’t get one o’ these, “ the foreman patted his blaster, “strictly for the Foremen and troopers.”
Lohke nodded again and left the foreman behind to chuckle to himself as he relished in imposing his power over the workers in the mine, a product of having the Empire impose its will on the galaxy more and more.
I will try to start on something soon. School just got a bit busier since I'm in teacher clinicals every day of the week on top my usual homework and work a few days a week.
I was about to post in here to let you know, I will try to start on something soon. School just got a bit busier since I'm in teacher clinicals every day of the week on top my usual homework and work a few days a week.
Change is The Only Constant: Introduction
Philadelphia, PA; March 12th, 2017; 03:25
Raphael slid the manhole cover away and climbed out into the dark alleyway. He crouched there for a moment and looked up and down the alley to make sure there was no one around before he slide the metal cover back over the manhole and straightened up. Seeing that there was no one around, he reached behind the nearby dumpster and pulled out the gear he dropped there earlier when he was on patrol with his brothers: a hockey mask Casey had given him before they moved to Philadelphia from New York, a Yankees ballcap April had given him for his sixteenth birthday, and a long coat he had found abandoned on the street. He slipped his gear on and made for the fire escape toward the end of the alley, leaping up and pulling the ladder down with ease.
On the roof of the dingy brick building left to fester like one of many in the turtles’ new home, Raph looked out over the city and took it all in. It was still different to him, much more different than living in New York. Perhaps the thing that was the most different and hardest was the fact April and Casey had to stay behind in New York to finish college and could only occasionally visit them, even though he’d never admit it affected him negatively. Instead, he just dealt with it and continued on doing the same thing night after night: training exercises with Master Splinter, patrol with his brothers, and then sneaking out to do his own patrol in the gear he hid near the manhole that led to his new home. Some nights the routine helped, other nights it drove him crazy. Why were they still hiding away in the sewers when there were more and more mutants popping up in the world like the X-Men? Like Spider-Man? Superman? Maybe some of them weren’t full blown mutants or metahumans, or whatever the news was calling them nowadays, but there were mutants out there helping people instead of hiding. Others like them who weren’t sticking to the shadows and operating in secret, no more than an urban legend.
Master Splinter had told him it was because the Foot Clan was hunting them, that while there may be mutants out in public, others like them, that they were still in danger by being revealed because of their origins. The Mutagen, from Stock Gen. Between the Foot Clan and the researchers at Stock Gen, it seemed like everyone wanted Raph and his brothers and father, probably to cut open and study more than anything else. What about the other mutanimals in New York? He wondered if they were hunted down and rounded up like everyone tried to do with the turtles and Splinter. Most likely. Hey might be in a lab right now being subjected to who knows what. Even Apec and his gang, as tough as they were, were probably hunted down by Stock Gen and captured. He felt a slight pang in chest thinking about the innocents in Apec’s little community being rounded up when really Apec and his enforcers were the only ones who deserved to be hunted down like the animals they acted like. One of his calloused green fingers found the scar from the bullet Apec had put into his leg during a fight once. He had gotten lucky Apec missed his shot, but Apec wouldn’t be lucky if they ever ran into each other again.
Same with The Shredder. He may have bested him in battle last time and nearly killed him, but he was training harder than ever now and would be ready for the leader of the Foot. The scars on his body were still fresh, not nearly as fresh as the scars to his ego though. Those would probably never heal, unless he got another shot at fighting the old ninja. And that would only happen if the Foot found them again or they took the fight to the Foot. If the ninja clan did find his clan first, he would fight tooth and nail to protect his brothers and make sure he paid back every last bit of what he owed their leader.
The young mutant was pulled from his thoughts of beating the Shredder in battle by a commotion below him in the alleyway adjacent to where he had surfaced. He peered down from his vantage point and watched as three men cornered a fourth along the alley, brandishing weapons of various types. It looked like one was swinging a pipe around while another brandished a switchblade, and the third massaged his knuckles.
”Probably wearing brass knuckles,” Raph thought to himself as he descended on the scene, unheard and unseen.
The first thug raised his pipe at the cornered man, but before he could swing his weapon, three shuriken sunk into his arm. He yelped and dropped the weapon. Before he could do more than that, Raph had swept his legs and landed a punch to the chest. The thug fell the ground, winded and clutching his chest. In a fluid motion, the young ninja leapt over the first thug and brought his knee into the head of the thug holding the knife. As they both hit the ground, Raphael rolled toward the third thug as the second one rolled around holding his head. As he came up from his roll, he brought his head straight up into the chin of the last thug standing. As his head snapped back from Raphael’s headbutt, the ninja landed a blow to his solar plexus, sending him reeling like the other two.
”You ok,” Raphael asked as he turned away from the thugs rolling on the ground to look at the man they cornered.
“I - I’m fine… Thank you.”
”Don’t mention it. Just get outta here.”
“Ri- right,” the would-be victim stammered before running off.
Raphael swept his eyes over the thugs before heading down the alley the opposite way the other man had run and began his own patrol. He wasn’t going to stand on rooftops and hide in the shadows forever. He had to be out here, helping people as much as he could. In a way, he felt obligated to help anyone he could.
© 2007-2024