@Member 00492 I originally had him at seventeen. But I wanted to reflect the possibility for growth with his both his powers and character development. So I looked to Marvel's greatest teenage hero: Spider-Man. I thought to myself, "I can make him a tad bit younger."
"Just leave. You don't stand a chance against me."
Character Type - Cannon Inspired Name - Nayden Reynolds Alias - The Sword (The Scourge) Age - 15 Social Class - Downtown Alignment - Bad Archetype - Enhanced Human Powers - Nayden discovered several well-documented abilities that he can utilize. All of them have either spawned from or was a direct result of his psychic powers. His super-strength, nigh-invulnerability, and super-speed are all acts of corporal manipulation; reinforcing, energizing, and shielding his body. Of course, he could barely call himself a psychic without the telltale repertoire of gifts. Telekinesis is one of them. At most he can lift a sedan without effort. Unlike his mom, who could dive into another's mind unaided, Nayden can only defend his from other psychics and experience past memories from the unaware. Try as he might, he has never been able to read one's current thoughts or future intentions.
Skills - Nayden's personal skills are severely lacking. He's relied on his powers for most of his life so he's kinda useless if they were taken away. He's good at reading the tension in the air, probably the result of some uncounted power. Very manipulative, charming even to most people. He plays a good fool.
Weaknesses - One-on-One fights are his specialty, however group fights tend to be trickier. His powers work on the premise of mental concentration. Too many distractions often leave openings for mistakes and without his psychic powers backing him up, he's essentially a normal, un-athletic teen. One whose never really felt true pain or disappointment. Furthermore he's never encountered another super-powered being, sure he heard word of Spider-Man, seen him on the big-screen, but he never had to fight the freak himself. Arch Enemy - Nayden shrugged his shoulder to the idea. BRIEF Bio - Nayden was born to Annalise Reynolds, single-mother and workaholic in the downtown streets of Nueva York. She was a librarian, dabbling model, and aspiring lawyer. Incapable of ever returning to her scholarly ambitions, Annalise had become content with learning what she could at her part-time job and taking care of her psychic, wallflower of a child. Because, regardless of how desperate she was to better her own life, she was fully devoted to insuring the best for his.
Nayden Reynolds was the latest of a rare breed. A child who had been born with their ancestor's: Robert Reynolds' (The Sentry) peculiar gifts. As powerful and heavy as those gifts were, Nayden had not avoided the importance of them. For a time he had ostracized himself, struggling to beat the learning curve for controlling his power; she had sensed that much with her own limited talents. Recently though, puberty had smoothen the rough edges, giving Nayden some form of personality. He was kind but quiet and often selfless, but that came with a volatile tendency of overreacting. Which with his gifts were often fatal for others. She had always been on guard for "accidents", always dipping in and out of his mind, searching for the unfortunate. Sometimes he blocked her out. That was hard to deal with but understandable. Still she trusted him and loved him dearly, she knew he was a good kid and knew one day he would become something spectacular.
What she did not know was truth about Nayden Reynolds
Yea, he had took time to hone his powers but it wasn't for the safety of the herd. It was for himself. Having dozens of thoughts, both hideous and mundane, fill his head everyday was a circus. A painful, obnoxious one. Truth was he was the central guard for a very powerful, very ugly gang leader. They were sharks, very dangerous but very awe-inspiring to look at. All wore suits or similar garments, the majority looked like cronies but special members... well they stood out. When they had saved him from those bullies all those years ago, he wondered the same as everyone else. Why? Why did the, then, second-in-command offer to protect him. Well he knew the answer now; y'see, them pressing him to learn control had ultimately been advantageous. Now he knew they wanted him for his power. Now he knew they had seen his strength.
Now he knew... that it had not been them that took out those bullies but none other then himself.
He had been unmovable against the fist of those thugs, a pure monster in terms of strength, and for a moment, he had floated over them like a god. They had seen it all and they had greedily wanted him for themselves. He was irreplaceable to The Boss; so long as he had his powers, he didn't need to be viewed as a demon to be left alone. He needed only be known as a member of The Old Nueva Gang.
Notes -Not The Same is his favorite audio file (regardless of its age).
It should be mentioned that his powers are not essentially psychic in nature. Robert Reynolds powers were born from a secret formula created by some professor. Its caused a phase-shift in his molecules, having his atoms jump ahead of the current time-line and giving him hyper-state of consciousness. It was very potent in Robert, since his time its been diluted, and now part and parcel of the formula floats inside of Nayden's molecules. He has yet to awaken to its latent capabilities but has realized several psychic powers and seems to believe that's all he's capable of.
Sample Post - He reached into his pocket until his entire hand was obscured, his fingers grasping for his domicile's key. He pulled it out, flinching from the gentle but unwanted touch of his mother's mental probing. She really needed a less invasive way of checking the door. He allowed her entrance to his initial thoughts while the door slid up into a wedged compartment.
"Perfect timing I was just leaving for a photo-shoot."
Nayden slipped off his weary sneakers and without pause carried himself down the hall to his room. "Yea, I remember you saying something like that." His voice grew louder the further he traveled. "Its that small shady group right? on Kjad Avenue?" Nayden hated the tedium of playing nitwit, his position within the Old Nueva Gang had afforded him plenty of insight. That shady studio on Kjad was filled with swindlers, nothing more. Rumors of rapist and murders had surfaced months ago but the actual employees were cowards, and as of recent, they were subservient to The Gang.
"Mhmm. Before you start I know awful things have been said about them but I wouldn't worry too much about it. Your mom can handle herself."
Nayden fixed his work clothes on, buttoning the remainder his white dress shirt and draping his topcoat around his shoulders. Course you wouldn't. You could probably smelt their minds easy, he thought. He heard her keys scrape against the counter as she snatched it up. "Food is in the fridge. Remember, Nayden, study, eat, sleep. I don't want to come home to your food still in the fridge."
"You got it, Ma," he voiced loudly. He sat on his bed, amidst his flawless room, awaiting to hear the final click of the door. When it resounded through the silent house, he rose, and begun his small trek to the hideout.
Steady breaths, though shallow and hard-fought, flowed from Nove as he raised his blade against a duo of steel-clad rats; backed up by a squad of Skaven warriors. The two Skaven in front chatted in squeaks, their gnarly teeth barely moving as they fidgeted and stepped forward without hesitance.
Not today. A voice, gentle but strong mumbled in his head. It was tender, womanly, and held a dash of no-nonsense.
Yea, not today, he agreed.
Novella felt warm liquid trickle down the side of his face in waves from the last assault he had survived. Three Skaven warriors had leapt forth, of course he had slayed them with ease but that left him open for the darting sting of the commanders that had come from beneath them. Now he had a deep cut down his right torso.
“Brinnnng ittt!” he yelled.
And they did. The first Skaven scuttled forth, jabbing his spear three times. Nove forced his body to move, springing forth beyond the taunt rubbery feeling in his legs. He twisted himself around the first jab, predicted the second and blocked with his buckler, then completed his rotation with a mighty swing of his longsword. A crunch of bone and the wet thump of a Skaven skull were the next few sounds.
He growled in the primal way that only a human could, creating a horrid sound filled with emotion, determination. Off of instinct alone, he rolled forward, slashed down two more Skaven warriors and just narrowly dodged the piercing stab of the halberd-wielder. It chattered loudly before crawling on all fours towards him.
Nove fell into the throes of combat and begun to remember the fundamentals of his swordmanship. In battle, it all came down to sequence and adaptability. The Skaven began to twirl high-above, stepping towards him as he did. Nove kept low, keeping out of the monster’s insane reach. It's comrades were either too dumb or trusting to do the same. They lost their heads and suffered wounds to the chest.
Nove saw it, a chink in the Skaven’s technique. There was a opening when the weapon twirled behind him and were oncoming to the front. He just had to time his attack perfectly. If he didn’t his head would roll just as easily as theirs. So he kept out of range and when he finally felt it so, he leapt back, dug heels into the unyielding stone, and rocketed off with all he had. His skin pulled at his face but his actions were decided. His longsword slipped into the Skaven’s protruding nose before banging against the inside of its steel helm. Its squeaking turned into a gurgle before it fell backwards. Nove fell with it, taking in its stench.
He exhaled deeply before catching ear of the King Dwarf’s warcry. He sighed, feeling separated from his friends and allies, from the victory of battle. Then he felt it, the pinch of a Skaven warrior latching onto his leg.
He screamed. “Arrghh!”
It bought him the attention of four more steel-clad Skaven. As he notice armor flashing his way, Nove couldn't help but laugh. “Fine,” he growled. “But you’re coming to your deaths.”
Novella strode beside Marianne, sliding the black and silver rings into place on his left-hand. One on his index finger and the other his middle. From the black band he felt the power that Marianne told him of, a soothing rejuvenation that touched him with all the force of a feather. Here and there his small bruises would quit their aching before altogether numbing to obscurity. Nove smiled, thankful for the respite and chance to indulge in more pleasant discoveries.
Discoveries such as the gilded-covered halls of the Dwarves. Statues that inspired images of brave, stout warriors that overcame horrifying odds. In that pertinent moment, Novella imagined his own figure molded in gold, seventeen-feet tall, and posed with his blade held high in victory. In midst of his friends, he covertly tightened his fist with excitement and grinned furiously to himself.
Then he felt something deep in the nook of his skull. So much so that he had begun to push pass Grendrick and Sir Siph but as he took the lead he thought better of it. Pausing then slowing to a gait that had allowed the others to quickly overtake him.
Why did I stop? he muttered, feeling a realm of misgiving.
It wasn’t until a growing babel of noise had Nove pushed it all aside and ran ahead with the others. A booming voice, foreign and strong, was quick to order them around. Novella drew his longsword from his back and without hesitance rushed to join the fray. A part of him couldn’t stop himself, another piece of him just wanted to test out his new treasures.
So he dove in, a sly twist to his entrance as he struck gold and felt his blade slice through a Skaven’s neck. A gurgle slithered away with its dying breath, announcing his presence. Nove raised his buckler to guard his face and neck, and brought his sword close to himself to create a radius of reaction while pushing forward step by step. Impulsive to a fault, he for some reason felt comforted in the fact tha his friends would be close behind.
Grendrick’s collision with the Rat-Orge had sent a physical pressure towards him, blowing back the tails of his coat and forcing him to guard his eyes from dust and the like with his buckler. He tried to force himself into the conflict but the savagery of Grendrick’s attack left no room for him. Instead, he stood there, both fearful and astounded by the pure bloodlust. Unblinking and thoughtful.
He found he had a puzzling hunger for the strength in front of him. A most-deep desire to have such power himself. But where had it come from? Had the thirst for strength always there? lurking and prowling inside of him. As the gruesome show came to an end and the others had begun their looting, Nove strode along the battlefield, looking at the dead Skaven and Dwarves. He gritted his teeth behind his closed-lips.
What would I do with the power I crave? His eyes fell onto Grendrick, who was now lowering his gaze onto a Dwarf. In that moment, Grendrick was the whole of all his comrades. Would I protect them or end up killing others constantly for them. This ground is soaked in the blood of innocent and criminal alike...
Maybe I’m over thinking things, I should just gather some random loot and head back to Sir Siph, hopefully he can help me clear things up.
As he thought this, a caw boomed above. He looked up, only to see a bone-tailed raven overhead. Two pieces glinted in the gray sky. He narrowed his eyes hard before leaping several meters into the sky and snatching them up. In his hands were two rings, one black and the other a poorly upkept silver.
Nove scrutinized the jewelry as he made his way to the others. The small trek had brought his mind to the black ring, from it he felt a bit of relief; as if a tad bit of his aches were fading away. The silver one however felt stale. He waved a small Skaven dagger in the air, insidious in its appearance. “Can you tell me what these do?” he asked aloud, hurrying over to Marianne. “A bird dropped them from above. Must have scavenged them from the corpses.”
Notia touch the frail crimson petals of once strong flower, now it had been stomped and desecrated. Crushed beneath the sole of someone’s boots. He looked behind his shoulder, pass the only woman to have accompanied them, and beyond the dense forestry that loomed in wait. A small part of him could see it, the imaginary trip back into the past. A shadow-veiled figure skillfully darting through the moonlit forest, careful to leave no traces but in a hurry irregardless.
Perhaps-, he had begun to think before hearing the beautiful Ambroise voice her concern.
Secretly, he felt himself drift into empathy for her, something that only happened when his sixth-sense had willed it to. Her voice was thinly glazed with apprehension or caution; a soft, clear wax that asked for acceptance or acknowledgement. He fixed his gaze to the ground now, making sure to avoid her curious eyes just in case his staring had become worrisome.
A breath escaped him and from the silence of the others, whom he had hoped to answer her, he spoke calm, gentle; his wrist falling to the hilt of his katana: Cragsky. “The Goddess does not make mistakes. Four for one. It will take at least this much. Are you afraid?” he asked indifferent.
Nove just barely avoided the Rat-Orge’s knee-jerk swat and even still the backlash of the blow had sented him sprawling back head-over-heels. He came to a halt after a sluggish moment. With it, the disappointment and frustration of his weakness rushed in like a great wind. He brought his forearms crashing into the earth with a huff as he readied for his counterattack.
He had others to think of. Others that could support him and vice-versa. But if he was too weak to even accomplish his first rift-dive than of what use was he to anyone? Dammit! Sir Siph, said go low and the top would follow. But what happens when the top is whipping ass on the way down?
With a stab to the earth, Nove pulled himself up to his feet and charged forward to attack once more. This time his gaze darted around for anything he could take advantage of; anything that could make taking the giant down easier.
... But was it pointless?
Everyone was attacking at once. It was chaos on the field and he didn’t want to add to it. So he skidded to a stop and begin to really put together the pieces to everyone’s individual actions. Was there a method to the madness here? And where was Sir Siph at? How was he taking the downpour of enemies, comrades, and other complexities on the field. Nove felt like he should look to the greats for inspiration.
Then he seen it.
Grendrick fighting with all his might. It was a source of fuel and realization; now he knew that there was no plan. At the moment, all they had were their guts and vigor. So he trusted in those feelings, deciding to pour all his power into helping Grendrick. He had faith that some small part of the Lupine would remember him, would choose not to competently destroy him. He just had to wait for an opening to strike was all.
Name:Notia Cragsky. Age: 18 ½ . Gender: Male. Race: Human. Nation: Astopol. Appearance:Notia is a stoic-looking youth at first glance. His serene green eyes and blond hair are often reminiscent of the Astopol’s scenery. Rural and full of a quaint, transcendent peace. He stands at a height of 6’0” (182.88cm) even and can often be seen wearing an unorthodox though somewhat rugged and worn white mantle. His clothing can vary between his military uniform and casual clothing, Though usually he’d be seen sporting a black shirt, fit likewise-colored jeans, and hard-sole boots.
Personality: Notia is deeply indebted to his mother and by association to The Goddess of Miracles. So he shows undying loyalty to both. At his core, Notia is a rash, hardworking swordsman whose discipline and willpower has given birth to a powerful sense of duty. To mask his impulsiveness, he has adopted a quiet strength. He rarely speaks and more often than not will be the first to leap to someone’s defense. His mother, by nature, cultivated a empathetic sixth-sense in him. One that at times can make reconsider his actions midway and causes hesitance. Its this bad-habit that encourages the fear of failure inside him. Besides this, he has a hard time trusting newcomers into his life and often looks for betrayal in others. In their words, actions, or lack thereof.
Biography:
At the age of 16 his elder sister: Relena Cragsky and father: Lodall Cragsky was honored for their part in averting a small crisis. Seen as heroes in the eyes of his people, Notia too places them on a pedestal. To him, they were too bright to look upon. He begins his training with Lodall and Relena. He shows promise but is often neglected in order for Relena and Lodall to sharpen their skills on worthy opponents. He begins to recede into himself, showing less and less interest in the affection of his mother: Ecva Cragsky.
Now 18, Relena leaves home in order to participate in upscale tournaments. She tells Notia to take the chance to grow stronger. Lodall, without Relena to distract him puts his all into training Notia. Father and son forges a bond for the first time; Notia finally feels seen.
Word of Relena’s death reaches the Cragsky home. She lost to a particularly vicious swordsman who used a vicious pale-blade. Lodall Cragsky leaves in order to avenge his daughter’s death. With tears in her eyes, Ecva senses a disturbance in Notia’s silent and cold goodbye. 3 months Notia heartlessly blurts out that Ecva was never like them. She doesn’t dispute his claims but instead embraces them. She argues legitimate claims of harmonious balance, tender kindness, and unseen strengths.
7 months pass without disturbance. Ecva sits out on her cobblestone porch often to watch Notia practice his elegant, complicated sequences. Relena returns with a stub where her left arm should be along with their father’s sword. Notia grows depressed for a year and half. He joins Astopol military to distract himself. Impressed with his natural talent, they test to see if he’s compatible with Talentium, which resulted in a phenomenal success.
Notia turns 17, still heavy with emotional baggage. Ecva and Relena takes him to the nearby monastery. They spend an entire week there. Ecva speaks of Lodall’s grisly determination. Relena, who still held capable skill with a blade, sparred with Notia in a almost kind-manner; recounting Lodall’s signature moves and philosophies. In the end, the two managed to exorcise Notia of his sadness.
Abilities:
Daring Sky | A sword skill that allows him to instantly defend against perceived attacks, transcending both space and time. This ability operates on a surreal version of muscle memory, usually consisting of pre-programmed defensive and offensive tactics (ie. A sequence of learned parries, dodges, or disarming techniques.)
Recognized by the prismatic undertone behind his green eyes.
Manifested from his desire to be greater than his father.
Lasts only two seconds at a time.
Relena! | A sword skill that doubles the strength of his blows with every consecutive clash that lands on his opponent.
The sword must be held in his left hand. Manifested from his desire to honor his sister's sacrifice.
His eyes have a prismatic undertone to them.
If he swings and misses or waits over a minute to attack, the multiplier resets.
He attacks another target besides the focus of his (current) multiplier, the multiplier resets.
If he receives a direct blow, the multiplier rests.
Boundless Sky | A sword skill that concentrates and cultivates his willpower to a phenomenal degree, to the point that it allows him to mutate physically. His physical attributes are all quintupled.
A prismatic glow can be seen emanating beneath the skin. His hair grows wild, shoulder-length and changes to a unnerving white.
Manifest from his desire to protect his mother.
In spite of his unnatural boost in physicality, this ability snatches his will to fight further.
He has a time-limit of thirty seconds.
Important Items:
Cragsky | His Talentium katana.
Relena’s Charm | A solid slate of gold that hangs from the hilt of Cragsky.
Ecva’s Earring | A indigo crystal that hangs from his right ear. It holds the ability to heal him once a day. (snatches energy from his mother to do so.)
Member
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